Chapter 12
ARIA
Every inch closer to the end of this fucked-up tunnel has my legs moving faster and faster, the need to breathe clean air eating away at me like never before.
When I first climbed through the small opening in the tunnel and through to the old sewer line, I was thoroughly repulsed by the smell.
Who would have known that an old sewer line could have possibly smelled that bad?
Joke’s on me, right? I was the moron who suggested it.
But it could be worse. At least it’s not an active sewer line.
Four, five, or six hours on, the smell is just as bad.
I’ve lost track of time. Is it late afternoon, or past nightfall?
I have no idea. The whole day is starting to turn into a blur.
It was already a massive drive just to get to the prison, add on the time it took to get through the gates and induction, and my morning was already flying by.
In comparison to how the rest of my day has panned out, that’s nothing.
To say today’s activities are not generally part of my usual routine is an understatement, and as I continue hustling my ass toward the exit, I mentally tick off my list, determined not to forget a damn thing about this whole ordeal.
After all, when the time comes, I’m going to need to call on all the feminine rage pouring through my body, and the best way to do that is by recalling every last thing that went down today.
Hmm, where to start? Oh yeah. A thorough projectile vomit. Check.
Visited a maximum security prison. Check.
Interviewed a convicted murderer. Che—ugh. I don’t know if what I did can actually be considered an interview. It was more like a shameless attempt to get under his skin. But to be fair, he had already more than wasted my time. He didn’t deserve my help at that point.
What next? Oh, can’t forget the moment the whole world turned to shit when I became an unwilling participant in a prison riot, saw my whole crew get murdered, and then shot somebody. Triple motherfucking check.
I assisted a murderer in performing a throat expulsion operation, via shiv.
I mean, what the fuck even was that? Just the thought of how Stone ripped out that guy’s throat sends shivers down my spine.
I crawled around in a rat-carcass ceiling.
Got attacked by no less than two potential convicted rapists.
I watched a man die via accidental eyeball extraction. And then met a possible cannibal.
I feel as though that barely scratches the surface, and I haven’t even added escaped a prison via a literal shit tunnel, been part of the most fucked-up case of mistaken identity that will probably cost me my life, or walked at least twenty miles through old, dried-up sludge to my list.
Like fuck.
Is it too much just to ask for a moment to wrap my head around all of this?
If I somehow survive, I need to write a book. There’s no doubt about it. I’d make a killing on this story, no pun intended, not that anybody is going to believe me. All this shit happening to one person in the span of twelvish hours? Hell no. I’d get called a liar and then laughed away.
All of this just to say, I need a nap. A good fucking nap. Though something tells me that’s not going to happen anytime soon. Once we get out of this tunnel, we’ll be running. To where, one might ask? Who fucking knows, because every time one does ask, she gets her goddamn head bitten off.
Did I mention how fucking hungry I am? God, I get grouchy when I haven’t eaten.
I’m okay skipping lunch on the odd occasion, but after a shitty breakfast, no lunch, and absolutely no snacking?
Shit. I feel as though I’m about to be possessed by a demon.
I don’t even care that the asshole beside me is literally the most terrifying man on the planet.
All that matters is eating something. There were a few snacks jammed into my pockets when we first started this hike, but after who the hell knows how long and no less than five or six arguments between me and Stone, those snacks have more than gone missing.
Were they dropped, stolen, or launched at his head? Who the hell knows. I just need to eat.
And pee. I’d love to pee as well, but I’m not about to whip my pants down and pop a squat in front of this guy.
I’d rather let him kill me. Which is also a very real possibility.
I should add his constant death threats to my list of what-the-fuck moments from the day.
Though, I should probably let him know that after hearing something repeated a billion times over, it starts to lose its power.
I mean, surely after the way I’ve baited and gotten under his skin, if he really wanted me dead, he would have done it hours ago.
But so far, nada. I’m still as alive as I was when Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos came hurling out of my guts and onto the pavement.
Ha. And to think I thought that was the worst thing that was ever going to happen to me.
What a joke. If only I had known, I’d never have pranced my ass through the prison gates this morning.
It’s almost another forty minutes before the light at the end of the tunnel is finally within reach, but shit, looks are deceiving. When I first saw the tiny spec of light, I thought I was seeing things, but with every step I took, that spec grew, and now, it’s barely fifty yards away.
I pick up my pace, desperate to get out of here, to feel the real world beneath my feet and figure out a game plan that’s going to see me through this shitshow. Stone’s hand reaches out and braces against the front of my chest, slowing my pace.
My head whips up, my brows furrowed. “What are you doing?”
“Keep your voice down,” he murmurs, his tone dropping to a near whisper. “If the prison knows I’ve escaped, there could be armed SWAT officers and snipers waiting at the end of this tunnel.”
Oh shit.
My heart kicks up a notch, fear pulsing through my veins, but it shouldn’t.
The idea of the tunnel being surrounded by officers should settle me.
It should give me hope that I might actually make it out of here with a heartbeat, but it doesn’t.
Because for whatever reason, I find myself trusting this wild, terrifying man.
Sure, he’s an asshole with an attitude problem, but he’s also protected me at every point of this insanity. He’s kept me safe, made sure I wasn’t harmed, and deep down, I don’t think he actually wants to hurt me.
I slowly nod, and we keep moving toward the end of the tunnel, neither of us making a sound as we listen to the world outside.
Fifty yards, turns to twenty-five, and then only ten without a single word between us. The only noise I hear is the rapid boom of my pulse in my ears. The air starts to clear, the rotten smell quickly beginning to ease up and making it easier to breathe.
It can only get better from here. I hope.
There are bars on the end of the sewer line, and for just a moment, my world shatters. I should have seen this coming. Should have known it would be welded closed, but Stone doesn’t seem fazed by the bars. To him, they’re just another obstacle standing between him and freedom.
We pause just inside the opening of the tunnel, our backs up against the walls as we stand in complete silence.
I peer outside. There’s still a little bit of daylight left, and from what I can tell, we’re somewhere deep in the forest. Thick trees surround us, going on for miles with overgrown foliage, giving me just a glimpse into what the next few hours, or maybe even days, might look like for us.
There’s no sugarcoating this. It’s not going to be pretty.
The tunnel seems to end in what might have once been a flowing creek that’s long since dried up, and if Stone is smart, he’ll have us follow the old creek, because surely it might lead us to water. But then, that might be too much of an obvious choice.
Fuck. This is going to suck.
We stand in silence for at least twenty minutes, listening, waiting for any sign that we’re not alone—a small branch breaking under a heavy boot or the subtle click of a gun, but when nothing comes, Stone finally lets out a heavy breath. “We’re in the clear.”
“Holy shit,” I breathe, having started to sweat from the nerves. He steps right up to the bars and wraps his hands around them, testing their integrity. “What’s the plan? Can you get through them?”
Stone looks them over, his hand dragging down his face as though deep in thought. “Don’t know,” he mutters. “These bars weren’t made to be broken.”
“True, but they’ve also got to be at least a hundred years old. The bars might not break,” I muse, stepping up beside him and brushing my hand over the decaying concrete. “But the walls might.”
Stone steps back, his gaze automatically shifting from the bars to the walls surrounding us, looking over the old cracks in the concrete and searching for anywhere that might have significantly weakened over time.
The sewer line was underground for a good portion of our walk; that much was clear by the tree roots that had grown through the tunnel’s walls over the years. But here at the end, the walls are exposed. If we could break through somewhere, we’d be free to run.
“Here,” he says a moment later, running his fingers over a portion of the wall that has signs of deterioration. “I just gotta figure out a way to get through it.”
I search around for anything we can use, but there’s nothing here but old sludge, mold, spiders, and dead rodents. But outside the tunnel . . .
I step right up to the bars, gripping them with both hands as I peer through to the overgrown bushland outside, searching the ground for anything I could grab, when my eyes widen, finding exactly what we need.
“Bingo,” I say, crouching down and slipping my arm as far through the bars as I can go, straining to reach. My fingers stretch out, landing on the edge of the old creek bed and digging at the years of overgrowth to the big rocks below.
I start pulling, trying to dislodge them from the creek bed, but after living here for so long, it’s not easy. The rocks put up a fight, and just as they start to wiggle, Stone sighs. “Anytime now.”
“I’d like to see you get your big, meaty arms through these bars,” I throw back at him. “Oh, wait. You can’t. So I suggest that because I’m the only shot you’ve got at getting out of this fucking tunnel, you shut up and let me do my thing.”
He wisely shuts up, and after a minute of wiggling the crap out of the rock, it finally loosens enough for me to pull it free from the creek bed. I roll it across the dirty ground, pulling it right up to the edge of the bars, but that’s about as much as I can help.
This rock must weigh more than a small human, and Stone has to step in to work the fucker through the gaps in the bars. It’s frustrating and takes longer than either of us cares for, but the moment he forces it through, he wastes no time, nailing the fucker right into the deteriorating concrete.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sound of the rock slamming against the wall pounds through my head and echoes up the long tunnel, but Stone doesn’t let up, giving it all he’s got until beads of sweat dance across his skin.
The sun shifts lower, turning the sky a deep orange as we quickly begin running out of daylight, but he’s making headway, and piece by piece, bits of concrete crumble from the old tunnel wall.
His muscles swell, and even through the orange jumpsuit, I can tell just how hard they’re working. Concrete ricochets across the tunnel, and I cower behind him, my arms protecting my face as it turns into a wild rock storm. Until finally, we’re free.
Stone goes first, probably not trusting me not to make a break for it, and as he steps out into the real world for the first time in seven years, planting his feet on the overgrown bushland, he closes his eyes and breathes it in.
It feels like a personal moment, so I make a point to focus on getting one foot out of the tunnel, followed by the other, without somehow screwing it up.
I take my time, but when I glance up and find Stone glaring daggers at me, I realize that perhaps taking my time is exactly what he doesn’t want me to do.
I hurry my pace, climbing the rest of the way out of the tunnel and into the fresh air when Stone steps right into me, something shifting in his eyes, warning me that he’s no longer the irritated tunnel companion with a short temper, he’s the man who was convicted of six murders, the man I watched effortlessly kill at least fifteen men without breaking a sweat, the man who tore someone’s throat out with his bare hands. And his undivided attention is on me.
My body shakes involuntarily, the terror returning tenfold, making me realize what a fool I’ve been trying to bait him, or to even suggest that he wouldn’t hurt me.
I back up a step, and he follows, tracking me like a predator until my back is up against the crumbled remains of the wall he just broke through.
My eyes remain locked on his, distantly aware of the way his hand shifts into his pocket, and not knowing what he’s doing until I feel something sharp at the base of my throat, pressing into my skin just enough to cause a mild pain, but not enough to break the skin.
“You try anything, my pretty little menace, and I will carve your fucking heart out with my goddamn teeth, you hear me?”
I swallow hard, my throat bobbing over the shiv at my neck. “I hear you,” I murmur, holding his haunting stare until he finally eases up and pulls away from me.
“Good,” he grunts, turning away and walking deeper into the thick woods. “Get moving. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”