Sharp jolts of pain seared up his forearms. He must have pulled a muscle or something. What if his hands wouldn’t let him turn the wheel? What if they seized up completely? He rested them on the wheel and tested himself, gripping and releasing the metal.
He had to distract himself.
“Damn, look at the time. I guess Ana’s a no-show,” Ellis said flatly. “Must be dead, or maybe hiding. Maybe she decided you weren’t worth risking her life for.”
There was no reaction from Alex.
“It doesn’t matter. When you’re dead, if the clock resets, I’ll go hunting.”
Still nothing.
“You know, I liked you, Alex. You’re a good guy. Genuinely. I’m sorry it had to end this way.”
Nothing. Damn it. Ellis’s fingers seized again. What was wrong with him? He was in the final stretch; the game was his to win. So, why did he feel…off? It was as though his body was betraying him.
He pictured a flash of cloth in his hands, camo stretched through his fingers. Black hair, grabbed firmly in his fist.
Fuck it.
He grabbed the wheel and yanked on it hard.
There was a loud clank, followed by a creaking noise. The rope was moving, the cord cutting into Alex’s wrists as he pulled against it, then suddenly stopping again. Alex’s arms were over the line now. Ellis wondered how much of him had to cross over before they would shoot him. Head? Head and chest? Or whole body?
He should wait. There was still time. It was the smart thing to do. It was just so hard. He was spiraling.
“Fucking say something, Alex,” he barked. It was reasonable. If Alex wanted to live for the remainder of the hour, he would have to put the work in. “Amuse me. Talk.” Anything that would stop the thoughts.
But Alex did nothing. He didn’t even look in Ellis’s direction. There was something calm about the way he held himself, as though the deepest part of him had already crossed the line, was already free.
Envy. It came out of nowhere. To face your death with such courage, strength. Alex was going to die, but he was clean, his hands were clean. He had lived well and knew it. There was no fear left. No guilt. No shame.
Not like Ellis.
Both hands seized up. Caden’s T-shirt slipping in his fingers. Raya’s hair falling from his fist. When death came for Ellis, now or in a hundred years, there would be no peace, no absolution. No redemption.
Lucky Alex.
That was it. Enough.
“Fine. Have it your way.” He couldn’t do this any longer, his thoughts eating away at him, his hands failing him. He needed this to be over one way or another. He needed to go home.Now.
“It’s been nice knowing you, Alex. See you on the other side,” he muttered darkly, grabbing the wheel firmly and turning.
41
Ana
11:28
“STOP!”
Ana skidded to a halt, her feet kicking up a small cloud of red dust.
As far as dramatic entrances went, this was a good one. She couldn’t tell who was more shocked to see her—Alex, lying halfway across the white line, or Ellis, caught red-handed, mid-murder.
Ellis released the wheel and turned around on his tractor-throne to face her. The old tractor clanged and creaked as the rope stopped moving. Alex’s head and arms were across the line already, but he was safe for now.
“Ana…” Alex muttered. He seemed so lost, so vulnerable. Ana wished she could run over and kiss him, hold him, untie the rope, and tell him everything was going to be okay. But first, she had a job to do.
