Page 87 of Devoured

That was the only option that clicked.

“Wait, I know you,” Jake said. “You’re Roland Price.”

“I am.”

“What the hell do you need Roofies for?”

“We all need them,” Roland said. He leaned in closer and said in a low voice, “How else are we going to get a reluctant bitch to heel?”

At those words, the world swayed and Jake opened the door, letting Roland in. Another tear slipped down my cheek as he came into view, but I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t move. I was paralyzed. But that didn’t matter. What was coming was unstoppable now.

No. I couldn’t give up.

“Who’s this cunt?” Roland said, eyeing me with a downturned mouth.

“A nobody,” Jake said. Roland studied me for a second, looking at the bruises on my face, the swollenness, the dried blood on my lips, then dismissed me, going to the kitchen, following behind Jake.

“One last hooray before you get locked up?” Roland asked.

“Something like that,” Jake said.

“Where’s the stuff?”

Jake patted the kitchen counter. “I keep it in here. But it’s real easy to have it ready to go. Dissolves like a charm.” He fixed Roland a drink.

“Do you keep them in line with anything else?”

Jake pat the back of his pants, where he was keeping his gun. “Just my old trusty. Never comes to that though.”

“But this one?” Roland gestured to me. “She get out of hand then?”

“Yeah. Tried to run away.”

“Bet it was fun to put her in line.”

Jake grabbed his dick. “It’ll be even better later. You want to help me out?”

“I never turn down a good time,” Roland laughed.

They faced each other in the kitchen, holding their drinks. “So you’re going to get my sentence dismissed, man?” Jake asked. “That would be unreal. I’d be indebted to you. I’ll work for you, man. Do whatever you want.”

“It’s on me,” Roland said, his voice quieter then, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Suddenly Roland grabbed the gun from Jake’s pocket and tossed it across the room. It clattered onto the table and I tried, tried so hard to cover my ears, to move, to reach out and grab it, to doanything, but I couldn’t move. Roland barrelled into Jake, thrusting him to the side, and the whole RV shook like an earthquake.

“Pick it up, Iris!” Roland shouted. “Shoot the bastard!”

Shoot him? Who?

Why couldn’t I move?

None of this felt real.

Jake brandished the knife and jabbed at Roland. Roland blocked his attack, but the knife sliced into his hand. They grappled, fists flying, knives dicing, everything going faster than I could process. Roland tried to get the knife out of Jake’s hand, but Jake cut him again, on the cheek this time.

“Fuck,” Roland grunted, wrestling until he was on top, grabbing Jake by the throat, blood dripping onto his face. Jake hissed. “Get up, Iris,” Roland growled, “Get the gun!”

“You were working together,” Jake howled. “You a traitor. You’re a fucking traitor.”