Roland’s mouth went dry. A cold hand seemed to clutch his stomach.
I’ll be at her mercy.
Oh, shit what’ll she do to me?
It wasn’t a question of whether Dana would do something to him—it was a question of what.
You’ve got all night to wonder about that one.
Why didn’t I think of that before I cuffed myself to this fucking rail?
He jerked his left hand. The steel clattered and the edges of the cuff dug painfully into his wrist.
A twelve-hundred-pound pull. That’s what the salesman said it would take to break the links.
Roland felt along the floor at his side. He touched the flashlight, picked it up, and shined it at the card table. The bottles glinted in its beam. The key was up there, out of sight.
The table was eight or ten feet to his left.
With his cuffed left hand, he slid the bracelet along the rail. It made an awful, metallic scraping sound that sent a shiver through him. But it did move. Sliding it, he would be able to move sideways until he was close to the table. Then maybe he could hook a foot around one of the table legs and drag the thing over to him—and get the key.
Worth a try, he thought.
What about the bet?
No problem.
Roland grinned.
Just let me get the handcuff key, I’ll stay. A cinch.
A cinch because he realized that the restaurant no longer frightened him much. What really frightened him was knowing that Dana, at dawn, would come in and find him handcuffed.
I’ll get that damned key, he told himself.
He squirmed sideways off his sleeping bag, his back rubbing the smooth wood of the bar counter, his left hand scooting the cuff along the brass rail with that awful grating noise. A noise that made his teeth ache. A noise that tormented him like the scrape of fingernails down a blackboard.
He stopped to rest.
The silence was soothing.
Just a little more distance to go, and…
Roland heard a sound.
It was a soft thump, such as a rope might make dropping from a height onto the hardwood floor.
It came from…where?
Off to the right.
Roland’s flashlight was aimed in the general direction of the table. The bright center of the beam shook.
He listened. He heard his heartbeat and the rain and nothing more.
What could make a sound like that?
A snake? A snake flopping off the bar?
His skin suddenly crawled with goose bumps.
How could a snake get in here?
Hell, the place had been deserted for years. Maybe it fucking lives here.
Or Dana snuck it in. She might do that. Pick one up at a pet shop.
The bitch.
Dana bought a snake to scare him out, and Roland bought cuffs to keep himself in.
If she bought the thing, it’s harmless. They don’t sell poisonous snakes. Do they?
Roland needed to see it—to see what it was, and where.
Maybe the light’ll drive it off, he thought.
He swung the beam sideways, planning to check the floor to the right. It passed in front of him and had already moved on before he quite realized that he’d seen something between his feet. The beam jumped back to it.
Roland lurched. The back of his head thumped the bar. Urine sprayed his thigh, filled his jeans as he jerked his hands back.
The thing was fast. It squirmed like a sidewinder going for his right foot.
But it wasn’t a sidewinder.
It wasn’t a snake.
Roland lifted his right foot off the floor, away from its head, and shot his left at it. His heel caught the thing and sent it skidding and flipping away. It came straight back at him.
It had slimy yellow flesh webbed with red and blue veins. Its eyes had the dull gray look of phlegm. Its head—or mouth—made wet sucking noises as it flattened then spread open.
Roland raised both legs as high as he could. He was still urinating, the stream hitting the inside of his jeans and splashing back, showering his genitals and running down his buttocks. He kicked down hard with his right heel, but missed the thing and flung his leg high again.
It didn’t try to leap for his upraised foot. Instead, it darted forward and hit the back of his leg just to the right of his groin.
Roland’s throat constricted, ready to emit a cry of agony and horror.
But he felt no pain.
Only a hot, tingling pressure that sent a delicious shiver through his body.
He grabbed the thing, but didn’t try to tug it off. Instead, he held it gently. It felt warm and powerful. Soon it was gone, leaving a hole the size of a quarter in the leg of his jeans.
And in his leg.
The wound didn’t bother Roland.
He opened his waist button, lowered his zipper, and curled onto his left side. He slid his hand inside the seat of his jeans. He wore no underpants. The denim was sodden against the back of his hand, and the skin of his rump was wet.
The creature moved inside him, just beneath his flesh. With a hand pressed to the mound it made, he could feel it sliding along. His skin sank into place again after it had passed. He felt it turn toward his spine. Bending his arm behind him as much as possible, he caressed it through his skin until it was too high up to reach.
He put his hand to the back of his neck in time to feel the skin rise beneath his palm. Moments later, the thing stopped moving.
A sudden jolt hit Roland—pleasure so fierce it made him squirm and moan for release.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Alison hung her dripping raincoat and hat on a rack near the door of Wally’s Saloon. Fortunately, the rest rooms were just off to the side; she could change out of her waitress costume without having to pass through the crowd of drinkers.
In a toilet stall, she took off the uniform. She took off her slip and bra. Crouching, she removed her jumpsuit from her flight bag. Beneath it was the negligee. The sight of the royal blue fabric made Alison ache as if all her insides, from throat to bowels, were being squeezed and wrung.
That bastard. Oh, that bastard.
Screw him. Who needs him.
She stepped into the jumpsuit, pulled the soft fabric up her legs, pushed her arms into the sleeves, and raised the zipper. Then she stuffed her bra, slip, and uniform into the bag, and left the stall.
She leaned close to a mirror. Her short hair was matted down somewhat from the rain hat. She ran her fingers through it, shook her head, and it looked okay. Her eyes were still a little red from the crying she’d done after leaving Gabby’s. The hike through the rain, however, had left her cheeks with a rosy glow.
The jumpsuit clung to her breasts. Her nipples made the fabric jut. She wondered if she should put her bra back on. Did she really want to go into the bar this way?
Hell, why not? Give the guys something to look at.
Besides, the soft warm fabric felt good against her bare breasts.
She trembled as she slid the zipper down. In the mirror, she saw the pale skin below her sternum throbbing from her heartbeat.
She stared into her eyes.
Are you really going to do this? she wondered.
Damn right. Two can play this game.
This is crazy.
No, it’s not. Evan doesn’t want me, somebody else will. It’ll serve the bastard right.
But the zipper really was too low. If she bent over, everyone in the vicinity would get an eyeful. So she raised the zipper a couple of inches, then left the rest room, flight bag swinging at her side.
As usual, Wally’s was crowded and noisy. It was the university’s watering hole, so she recognized most of the patrons. She greeted a few friends on her way to the bar. Some asked where Evan was, and she answered, “Busy.” Which was, she thought, the plain truth.