Escape: Day 9

Word Count: 54,016

Summary of Events:

While Trace was driving the gangsters caught up to them, in the daylight, but his fellow truckers rallied to help them escape. Dallis was still charged up after the scare when they got to a restaurant to eat and she bit a man who tried to hit on her. Trace and the man got into a heated discussion before deciding to fight it out; Dallis tried to get Trace to let her fight, but he wouldn't, so she stepped in when he got tossed off to the side and beat the man. Afterwards, in Trace's truck, Dallis tended Trace's wounds . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

"Once Trace's nose had finally stopped bleeding he'd started grimacing and holding his wrist. Dallis wasn't surprised that it hurt. Trace was a fairly good, tough fighter, but he'd been going into things injured, and he'd just made it worse.

"What about your feet and ankles?" she asked.

"They hurt," Trace replied.

"How badly?" Dallis asked.

"Sprain-like," Trace replied.

Dallis looked at Trace. He looked like he'd been through a serious wringer; his lip was swollen and bloody, there was still blood dried on his upper lip, his cheek looked swollen, and he was leaning his head back, his eyelids wearily lowered.

She lowered herself down and removed his boots and socks before feeling over his feet and ankles gently. She could feel some swelling warmth, but they didn't look in any way distended.

"You should be alright," Dallis said quietly, rising to her feet.

"So you're a waitress, an expert fighter, a firecracker, and a doctor?" Trace asked.

"I read a lot when I was younger and I had an extensive library to choose from," Dallis replied. "Most of it on hand-to-hand combat, weapons, basic medicine, and self-defence."

"Hm," Trace said.

Dallis crossed her arms and looked at Trace.

"So, if you're an expert fighter, how do you think I did?" Trace asked.

"The kneeing him in the gut was a good manoeuvre, but you should've gone lower and the fight would've been over," Dallis replied. "I'm surprised, actually, how well you did."

"That's nice to know," Trace said, rising slowly.

"Why?" Dallis challenged.

"It means I learned something from my childhood," Trace replied.

Dallis furrowed her brow and looked at him, not sure what to make of his statement, as he removed his shirt and tossed it off to the side.

He turned around and looked at her. "It was a literal fight for survival growing up."

"You think you had it hard?" Dallis challenged.

"Yes," Trace replied. "I think I did. Being called out for every little mistake by a man who wasn't even my father, and given severe retribution for them that went over and above reasonability."

Dallis slowly slid her jaw. There was genuine pain in his eyes, genuine hurt, like he'd suffered something rather terrible that he wasn't telling her.

He turned away and closed the privacy wall between them. Dallis wasn't sure what to do with that display of pain. He'd looked raw and exposed, and the fact that his face was battered didn't really help with things, as far as she was concerned.

There was something about his rawness, something about his exposure, it was like he'd trusted her with some sort of secret that he'd never told anyone else. He was telling her something that few others knew."