Dying Days Read Online Free Page B

and trying to fit in. When she looked up from her half-finished plate her last swallow was caught in her throat.
    The bar had gone silent and everyone was openly staring at her, waiting for something. The woman looked at her with that expression again and Darlene realized it was with relief. The woman was actually smiling when Darlene began to feel woozy.
     
    *   *   *   *   *
     
    Darlene woke, in the fetal position, on a dirty mattress. Her clothes were gone and her body felt like one big bruise. Her mind felt fuzzy around the edges, like she'd taken too much cough syrup.
    She rolled over onto her back and felt nauseous. A quick, painful spin to her side and she was throwing up onto the floor.
    "You'll have to clean that up yourself."
    Darlene saw the woman, the grinning bitch, from the bar. She was sitting patiently in a chair near the closed door, with Darlene's clothes in a neat pile on her lap. Next to the leg of her chair was a wash basin, soap and a small bottle of shampoo.
    "What happened to me?" Darlene asked, wiping the vomit from her lips.
    "What do you think? You're the new favorite. Wash up, get dressed, and meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes. You need to cook." The woman rose and went to the door but turned back, a look of disdain on her face. "Enough with your lazy fat ass lying around here."
     
    *   *   *   *   *
     
    Rusty stepped between Darlene and Ginger, keeping the women at arm's length. "Enough, or you know what happens."
    Apparently Ginger knew it would be bad and not an idle threat because she immediately put the saucepan down and went back to washing the carrots.
    Rusty pulled Darlene to the back of the kitchen. She winced when his grip found one of her many bruises. "I need you to settle down."
    "You have to be kidding. These bitches are mad at me ! How fucked up is that?" Darlene said.
    Since yesterday she'd had it equally as rough. After getting cleaned up and dressed and crying until no tears would come, she went to the kitchen in hopes of finding a knife. Her goal was to rally the other women - even the bitch - and bust their way out from these madmen. Instead, she'd been attacked by the women, clearly jealous of her and how the men were now favoring her. When the dust had settled she was beaten by two psycho rednecks and locked in the walk-in freezer (which didn't have power, luckily) for hours until she 'learned to play nice with the other whores'.
    Darlene decided to bide her time, learn as much as she could about the group, and try to find a weakness. She also wanted to find the bastard that took her Desert Eagle.
    She spent the day cleaning vegetables and cutting potatoes for the communal soup they were making. Including Ginger (who kept her distance but shot dirty looks at her whenever she could) and the bitch (who she overheard being called Barbara), there were five other women in the bar but they ignored Darlene and went about their business.
    Rusty came in right before the soup was done and watched Darlene work. The other women became clearly agitated by the intrusion but said nothing.
    Finally, as Darlene handed over her part of the food and cleaned up her countertop, Rusty approached her. "Doug wants to see you."
     
    *   *   *   *   *
     
    Doug Conrad was not what Darlene had expected. With the group of men in the bar area, she'd seen a common thread: rednecks from the frozen wastes of northern New York State or down from Canada, farmers and hunters and inbred pieces of shit that thought with their dicks and/or their rifles.
    This guy was a foot above them, both physically and mentally. He wore an American flag sweatshirt, his baseball cap with SoTNP stitched on it and striped in red, white and blue. He carried himself with a swagger, a self-confidence, she hadn't seen in a man in a long time. He wasn't a hillbilly or a redneck or a Good Ol' Boy, he was… powerful.
    "I understand you had a problem with Ginger?" he asked, a thick New England