Bad Nights Read Online Free PDF

the bruises, the crusted blood, and the eye that wasn’t yet open.
    The woman had been using a kerosene lamp. Which probably meant the electricity was out. But maybe there was still hot water in the tank. Turning on the tap, he let it run hot while he found a cloth and gingerly washed the dried blood off his nose and mouth.
    As he did, memories of the beating zinged back to him. The bastards had worked him over pretty good, but he knew they were just doing their job. Or to put it another way, they were avoiding similar punishment, because Trainer’s men ignored his orders at their peril.
    The man was a stickler for discipline. The grunt who’d let Jack get away had made a bad mistake—leaning over a prisoner he thought was unconscious.
    Jack had surprised him with a head butt, then slammed a fist into the guy’s jaw before heaving himself off the torture table and dashing down the hall. Then what?
    He had a vague memory of stealing an SUV and barreling out the main gate, then ending up in a ditch. After that he must have taken to the woods, intent on getting the hell out of there before he ended up buried in the camp garbage dump.
    Apparently he’d escaped. But how far had he gotten from the compound in his battered condition? He had no way of knowing for sure. His guess was—not far enough.
    He gripped the sink, steadying himself when a wave of dizziness swept over him. It passed, and he hoped he didn’t have a hematoma bleeding into his brain.
    Lifting his hand, he touched the lump on the back of his head. He wasn’t quite sure where he’d gotten it. Hell, he wasn’t perfectly sure what he’d been doing just before the torture session. When he tried to reach for those memories, they simply weren’t there, which was probably a consequence of the blow to the head.
    He clenched his fists. He had a feeling that whatever was missing was important. But when he strained to recall the missing hours of his life, the only thing he got for his efforts was a throbbing skull.
    Looking for something to relieve the pounding in his head, he opened the medicine cabinet. On the bottom shelf, he found a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers and swallowed a couple with water cupped in the palm of his hand.
    The woman had put salve on his burns. He found the tube and applied more before sticking his head out of the bathroom and looking down the hall. His hostess was still sleeping in the wingback chair. Given the cold and the storm, she’d probably saved his life by bringing him inside. He’d hate to return the favor by getting her killed.
    He moved quietly into one of the bedrooms farther down the hall. The double bed was covered with a quilt. An oval rag rug lay on the pine floorboards. Across from the bed was a low dresser that held a lamp and old-fashioned washbasin and pitcher. When he tried to switch on the lamp, nothing happened, and he reminded himself about the electricity.
    In the darkened room, he turned to the taller chest near the door. When he started opening drawers, he found men’s folded jeans and shirts. From the husband she’d mentioned, presumably. He pulled on jeans that were a little short and a button-down cotton shirt that was an inch too short in the arms. For good measure he took an extra shirt. His luck held when he found socks and tennis shoes in the bottom of the closet. They were a size too big, but better than too tight, he thought as he kept exploring.
    He’d probably have to rough it in the woods for a few days. Was there anything else he could use? He found a sleeping bag in the closet.
    Again he stuck his head into the hall and saw that the woman named Morgan hadn’t shifted her position in the chair. Steadier on his feet, he entered a second bedroom where he found a couple of backpacks with useful items like water bottles, ponchos, a flashlight, knife, and wooden matches.
    Was there a back door? He’d take the stuff and get out of