I
wake up groggy as fuck like I drank a whole fifth of whiskey last night. I look
down to see my hands are handcuffed to a steel table that is in the middle of a
concrete room with a thick steel door in front of me. I sit there as sweat
beads off my forehead as I begin to wonder whose cereal did I shit in last
night to end up here. I know this isn't a police station because there's no
two-way mirrors in this room or even a camera. If this is Hell, they could at
least have thrown in a TV or something. Either way, someone really doesn't want
me to leave.
A
minute later, her voice echoes out, "Morning, Ronnie."
"Morning,
Madam," I reply as I fight back the urge to throw up across the table. I
shudder as cold sweat runs down my back because her voice alone makes my skin
fucking crawl.
"If
you promise to behave, I'll have my servants release you so you can join me for
breakfast."
"I'll
behave," I say even though the thought of eating with this succubus is
making my stomach flip around like a fish on the summer sidewalk.
"Good
because I don't want to flip a switch to end your life in this drab room,"
she giggles.
I
begin to think if someone recorded Satan himself giggling, it would sound like
Madam. I also wonder what she means by ending my life, but quickly stop when I
glance at the ceiling. My hands tremble as I see above my head is a shaft in
the ceiling that goes up about fifty feet. I swallow back the bile in my throat
as I see at the top of the shaft is a steel cage completely covered in very
long, sharp steel spikes pointing downwards. If she did drop that, the walls
would be painted in my blood, and my body would fit nicely inside a trash bag.
I wish I could see her face so I can look into the eyes of this sick, twisted
bitch that plays with people like they're a toy.
The
door opens, and a nervous, lanky man walks in. His black hair is unruly, and
his navy suit is wrinkled. As I look into his brown eyes, he starts shaking as
he approaches me. He pulls a key out of his pants, and fiddles with the
handcuffs as his hands tremble. I chuckle as I feel like Madam sent her
accountant in instead of one of her guards. As he finally unlocks my cuffs, he
rushes for the door while I rub my wrist. I can't help but laugh as he almost
screams when I stand up.
"Break..fast...is...served,"
he stutters before vanishing behind the door
"Okay,"
I reply even though I so want to mess with him, but after seeing that shaft,
I'm going to do what I'm told without saying a word. I'm in the den of a
fucking cobra, and I'm not going to piss her off. A minute later, he wheels in
a cart with a covered, silver tray on top of it along with a pitcher of orange
juice. I smile as he sets the tray in front of me because I mostly get my meals
served in a paper bag. I lift up the tray to see I'm being served steak, eggs,
and lobster for breakfast which is a far cry from the shitty egg sandwiches I
get through whatever drive-thru I stumble across. I begin to laugh considering
the room I'm in, this might be my last meal.
"Enjoy,"
he says before almost running into the door, and slamming it shut behind him.
I
sit there and poke at the eggs with my fork as I honestly think this is the
last thing I'll ever eat. I watch the yolks run over the home fries imaging
it's my blood as I can't stop focusing on the spikes over my head. Then again,
knowing what little I do know, if she wanted to kill me, she wouldn't waste it
with such expensive food. So, I pick up the knife, and begin digging into the
steak.
"Figured
you were hungry. Everything to your satisfaction, Ronnie?"
I
swallow before replying, "Yes, Madam."
"Now,
you can keep on eating as I explain the purpose of this meeting," she
states. "Ever hear of the drug called tantrix?"
"That's
my best seller," I say. I tried it once, and the best way to describe the
feeling is you're having an eight-hour orgasm. I laid in bed until it wore off,
but I had the biggest grin on my face as my body was filled with pleasure
during that time. The downside is when the drug begins to wear off, you're
hornier than a teenage boy, but a wave of paranoia and hallucinations kick in
to the point you won't leave your room for the next hour. In other words, you
want to fuck anything with a pulse, but your mind is fucking you up that you're
afraid to move. I never touched the stuff ever again because of the after
affects. It was like having the best sex ever only to be smashed in my balls
for the next hour.
"Well,
I need a favor," she pleas. "I need you to go down to Curva, Florida
to sell a new version of it. Will you do it that for me, pretty please?"
I
honestly thought I was down with this psycho, but it seems you cross paths once
with her, your soul belongs to her. Now, I'm doing a favor in exchange for my
life. I look at the spikes once more and simply ask, "When do I
leave?"
"In
about an hour. So, finish your meal, and I'll have someone come for you."
"I
have one request."
"What's
that, Ronnie?"
"No
black hood," I reply. I'm tired of waking up in a room with no clue how I
got there. That shit is getting old.
"I'll
see what I can do," she giggles
"Thank
you, Madam."
The
intercom goes silent as I do my best to finish my meal. I don't know why she's
shipping me from California all the way to Florida. I almost wanted to ask if
the old fuckers were tired of shuffleboard and Viagra. I almost find it too
ironic that I'm going to the state where most people go to die. However, when
the devil has your number, you go where she sends you and hope she doesn't blow
out your brains before you can answer the call. My life has slide into a pool
of shit, and there's no way to climb out. I guess I'll sell the pills and do my
best to stay alive.
As I
finish the last of the orange juice, I feel something sting me in the ass, like
a bee stung me through my jeans. I get up, and see a needle sticking out of the
seat. "Not this fucking bullshit!" I shout before everything goes
black.
No comments:
Post a Comment