Read Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 02 - Death in the Dark for Free Online Page A

asked, as gently as someone offering a cup of tea.
    “I just need a break,” I said, the chill water of the Sea of Cortez brushing against my feet.
    “Another thing time does not give you. Do you see how full of wanting you are? And how little action you’ve got going on?”
    “I don’t even know what you’re talking about half the time.”
    “Not so.” We stared at each other for a moment. I licked at my salty, sandy lips and felt the grit in my teeth. “Get up,” he said.
    “How am I supposed to do that with you standing over me like this!” I yelled, anger so rich it seemed to be bubbling up past the sand, the blood and the sea water that lined my insides. He just smiled, the fucker.
    “Not like that. Calmly. You always have an option. You’re not dead until you are, so keep going. Fight me.” His big brown eyes sparkled in the bright daylight. I swiped at the stick but he just pulled it up and then right down onto my throat again only this time harder so I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I rolled away, tucking my head into my arms, rolling and rolling like I was kid playing roly-poly. Then I popped onto my hands and knees. He came at me and I threw up my arm brushing his stick aside. With my other hand I grabbed onto it and pulled it out of his grip. Keeping hold of the stick I backed up onto my feet. He was standing with his arms spread wide and his feet parted. We circled each other, both smiling at the challenge.
    And so it went on like this. For one month, and then the next. We ran in the mornings and practiced fighting in the afternoon, then practiced fighting really slowly at dusk. Late at night, sometimes he would sneak into my RV and I’d have to defend myself from a state of sleep. You’d think after the first couple of times it happened I’d have trouble sleeping but I would hit my pillow every night and be out. The creak of the door, his footsteps, nothing would reach through my slumber until he was upon me. Once with his hands around my throat, another time it was a knife, on his third visit it was Merl’s dog, Michael, that awoke me.
    Michael was standing on my bed baring his teeth and growling. In the gloom of my bedroom I could see Merl in the doorway. “Wouldn’t Blue be responsible for this kind of thing?” I asked. “Can’t he take a shift?” I rolled away from Michael and tried to cover my head with a pillow and that’s when I noticed the handcuffs.
    “Blue won’t always be around. You must learn to defend yourself.”
    “From a Doberman pincher who can put handcuffs on me?” I sat up and held my bound wrist toward him. Michael snapped at the air millimeters from my fingers. I pulled them to my chest. “Whoa, watch it,” I said.
    “What are you going to do?” Merl asked. “You look like you’re getting angry.”
    “Ha, yeah, right,” I took a deep breath because he was right, I was getting really angry. “Fuck!” I yelled before slamming my hand against the end of the bed dislocating my thumb with a sickening pop. The handcuff slipped off and I smashed the thumb back into place.
    “Where did you learn that?” Merl asked.
    I glared up at him, cradling my throbbing hand. Using the pain as a centering point for my thoughts I let my body do what it’d been trained for. Slipping off the bed, taking a small knife concealed under my pillow with me, I stood. Michael leapt at me. I side stepped, then pivoting my body, used the dog’s momentum to slam him into the wall. Somersaulting over the bed, I landed inches from Merl with the tip of my blade at his throat.
    “Well done,” Merl said and nodded, smiling. “We will start with Blue tomorrow.” Then he slipped from beneath my knife and disappeared into the night without a sound. Michael brushed past me as he followed Merl out. Climbing back into bed I looked down at my swollen thumb and the wrist that the handcuffs still hung from. “One day you’ll thank me,” Merl called from outside. I flopped onto my pillow