Read Dead South Rising (Book 2): Death Row for Free Online Page B

pulled in a quick breath, covering her lips, eyes wide at Bryan. He giggled.
    The muscle man’s shoulders shook, huge grin spreading across his face as his deep laugh echoed through the hall. “I think ‘ole TJ did. Mallory’s too stoned to be scared.”
    “May I get David’s present, please?” Bryan asked.
    Lenny leaned over to tousle his hair. “You gots it, ‘lil man.”

Chapter 4

    Closure. David didn’t have it, but he desperately craved it. Needed it. He wasn’t sure how he’d get it, but he was sure that he couldn’t live without it. Tonic for his dehydrated soul.
    His self-imposed mission of mercy and redemption had ended, the outcome questionable. He second guessed himself—triple guessed himself—his actions, his motivations. His fears. He’d hesitated when he should have acted, reacted when prudence would have prevailed. More questions, mistakes. Why he didn’t kill those two men, why he let them go. Twice. Freeing them was the right thing to do, of course. That was why . He wasn’t a killer. But they weren’t the ones he’d originally set out to free that second time around. She was.
    Natalee.
    He missed her terribly, his estranged wife. He didn’t care that she’d left him, had used blue ink and paper to tell him it was over. That they were done. He wasn’t ready to stop loving her, like she’d done so effortlessly. It wasn’t that easy for him, that simple. He had no switch, no button. No love batteries to remove, discard. Only a heart that still felt for her, beat… only for her.
    He dismissed her cowardly proclamation, that their union was over, because she would always be his, and she’d proved it. She had come back, returned to him. Of course, he was lying to himself. She didn’t return to him. She had stopped by that day—the day the world died—to pick up something from the house, their home, not intending to stay. But she did stay, with the excuse that she was not feeling well. She didn’t intend to wake up dead, either.
    Sick. She was sick, not dead .
    It was easy, telling himself lie after lie. The child and the man inside believed every last one. He was gullible like that, because he trusted himself. And why not? He knew himself better than anyone, that’s why. Lie away, El Jefe. Lie like the liar you are, because you believe you and everyone else does, too. Practice makes perfect, and you’re as perfect as they come.
    Liar.
    He ignored the knock at his door, wasn’t ready to face anyone just yet. He knew it wasn’t the doctor. Doctor Luz Gonzalez would knock, then immediately enter. She didn’t wait for him to answer. But others knocked, waited. When he didn’t answer, didn’t say, come in , he could hear them shuffle away inside a cloud of whispers.
    He’s still sleeping. But it’s been almost three days. What did Dr. G. say? Coma? Exhaustion? Concussion? Let’s try again later. Give him time. He needs rest.
    He sat there in bed, staring but not seeing anything beyond the bright glass. Nothing registered, his mind shackled by guilt and second chances out of reach. He pined for the past. His emotions, his existence—they were like a vehicle stuck in reverse, unable to move ahead. Force it forward, and the gears would grind away, or worse, snap in two, never to move again.  
    Another tear slipped from his eye. Another goddamned tear. He was tired of tears.
    They came easily today, even more so than yesterday. His logical side said dehydration had held them back, sparing him. His emotional side said they’d been there all along, locked away, awaiting release. For the right time, if there were such a thing. Regardless, they were free now.
    David touched the bandage that wrapped his head, the gauze covering one closed eye. Everything was still tender to the touch. Dr. Gonzalez said that Sammy and Guillermo had done a number on him . Beat his body badly. Given him a concussion. But she said David was strong, a fighter, and that he’d pull through. He guessed she