Hard as You Can Read Free

in front of her. Two men barreled up the steps wearing masks. The first guy carried a gun aimed straight at her chest. And the guy in the rear held an unconscious man over his shoulder.
    She rushed back, causing the bottle of water to fly off the tray, though her hands clutched onto the plastic as hard as her throat held on to the scream suddenly lodged there. Her brain attempted to process what was happening. Jimmy Church’s operation had been infiltrated here, too? Jesus, who would risk pissing off the most notorious gang in Baltimore? And, oh God, no way this was a coincidence after whatever Bruno’d learned on the phone. She’d win some big-time favor if she sounded the alert, if she could just get her voice to work.
    All of a sudden, the men reached the top of the stairs, and, though they wore masks, Crystal recognized the steel gray eyes peering through the holes, the way that dark shirt hung over obviously defined muscles, the clean, masculine scent.
    Pretty Boy.
    Who the hell was this guy? And what kind of a death wish did he have?
    Whoever these men were, they were busting Church’s tortured prisoner out of here, and she couldn’t help but think escaping this basement was an absolute good. No one deserved to be held against their will, tortured, abused, or—the thing that terrified her most—sold.
    When she spoke, she wasn’t sure what she would say until the words were coming out of her mouth. “There was a call. They’ll be coming,” she whispered, her chin dipped in case she was within the shot of the camera trained on the exterior door. “I have to scream now, and you have to hit me.”
    “ What? ” the first man rasped under his breath. Through the hole in the mask, his eyes were horrified by her demand.
    “If you don’t, they’ll know I helped you. And I can’t . . .” What am I doing? Jesus, what am I doing? “You have to. Please.”
    Hating her reality, she screamed so loud her throat hurt.
    She didn’t have time for his morals, and neither did they. “ Please. ”
    A storm rolled across those eyes. “Pretend to fall and cradle your stomach.” The man swung a fist at her gut. She braced for an impact that never came. Relief and gratitude flooded through her as she played her part for the camera and threw herself backward, the tray of food flying to the ground with a thud. Her head and shoulder glanced off the wall, setting off immediate aches that had her moaning.
    When she looked up, the space where the men had stood was empty.
    But her scream had worked. Church’s men came running. Crystal curled into a ball on the floor, attempting to make herself as small as possible to avoid getting trampled by the boots pounding down the hall toward the exterior door. The one through which two masked men had just stolen her corrupt and violent boss’s prize prisoner.
    With her help. Or, at least, without her hindrance.
    Gunshots, shouts, and the squeal of tires against pavement erupted outside the heavy industrial door. More men ran past her. No one stopped or paid her any mind, like she was invisible. And in all the ways that mattered, she very nearly was.
    Her head throbbed in time with the pulsing bass beat out in the main part of Confessions, the walls nearly alive with the sound. Fear and adrenaline barreled through Crystal’s veins, making her shaky and unsteady as she pushed to her feet, trying not to step on the food scattered across the floor. Being upright exacerbated the ache in the back of her head. The one she’d caused herself. Because the man hadn’t hit her like she’d demanded. He’d only pretended to.
    Pretended.
    Why had he only pretended ? She’d told him to hit her. She’d had no choice. From the moment she’d seen him and his buddy hauling the unconscious prisoner up the basement steps, she’d known she would have to scream. On the injured guy’s behalf, she was glad that he’d gotten free because she knew firsthand how many people got trapped in the clutches of