Ravenous

Chapter 27 What’s On the Menu

What’s On the Menu

RIPLEY

Ican feel Preacher’s eyes on me as I slip through the crowd, but my focus is on Jonathan’s target.

She looks pretty pissed, finally reaching the end of her patience as she gives him a less than subtle shove backward.

Even from my vantage point, I can see the tiny change in his expression.

The fake smile falters, as a bit of artifice falls away; it’s the same look Gabriel gave me time and time again when I ‘stepped out of line.’

How dare you disrespect me.

All because a woman wants some fucking space.

But unlike my rotting ex-boytoy, Jonathan’s a professional. He pulls back the intensity immediately, raising his hands defensively and laughing it all off as some misunderstanding.

“You know, all you had to say was no, sugar!” He calls out over the music.

The redhead stomps past me, bumping me right in the shoulder before the crowd of writhing bodies swallows her like a black hole. Maybe his act convinced her he’s just some drunk asshole she can safely forget about the second she’s out of sight, but I can see the venom in his gaze.

He’s ready to strike— if not her, it’ll be someone else.

I love that for me.

Jonathan shakes his head, turning back to the bartender and ordering another drink right as I slide into the newly vacant seat.

“She was something else, huh?”

He casts me a dismissive look before pulling out his phone.

“If you came to rip my head off about your friend, you can save it.”

It’s impossible not to smirk at his choice of words.

“You think I’m friends with that psycho? She slammed into me out there and didn’t even apologize. Fucking rude.”

Instantly, I can tell I’ve started to win him over. Guys like this are always so happy to be seen as the real victim.

“Tell me about it,” he snorts. “She left me hanging after a single off-color joke.”

The more I align myself with this asshole’s worldview, the more he’s going to trust me. It feels like shit, but I’ll make up for it later when I show him what his own intestines look like.

“Jack and Coke. Twelve bucks.”

The bartender slides a glass of dark liquid across the bar.

“Goddamn highway robbery,” Jonathan mutters as he opens his wallet before letting out a groan. “Shit. I gotta go to the ATM.”

There’s a real chance he comes back, but I can’t risk losing him this early, not when the compulsion to drink and dash is so strong.

“I got it.” I pull a fresh fifty out of my clutch, sliding it to the bartender. “And I’ll have what he’s having.”

Jonathan’s smile sends a chill down my smile. He thinks he’s reeling me in.

“You seem like you’re having a rough night.”

My tone is so honeyed it almost makes me nauseous, but he laps it up.

“Definitely not the night I was expecting,” he chuckles, raising his glass. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

Nice touch. If I squint, he almost seems human.

The bartender fixes me another, slipping me my change before moving off to deal with the rest of the crowd that’s hovering around the bar.

“So, I guess the question is what were you expecting?” I ask, sipping my drink.

“I was hoping to meet a nice girl.”

My heart starts to thump like a kick drum. I think I’ve got him.

“And she wasn’t?” Some of the condensation from my glass drips onto my cleavage, and I giggle, blotting myself with the napkin the bartender gave me. “Sorry. Clumsy.”

I take my time, dabbing at my chest with the napkin while Jonathan stares— well, not at me exactly.

“You know if you take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I purr.

His lips curl into a sly grin and he finally meets my gaze.

“I’m starting to think I met the right girl tonight. Jury’s out on the nice part.”

He’s got about as much charisma as a pile of cow shit. Smells just as ripe, too.

“Well, what do you think? Am I gonna be a nice girl, or not?”

Before he can answer, his attention is pulled away as a woman in a tight black dress pushes past him, with barely more than the lightest touch.

I’m not sure if it’s just the contact, or that he’s getting riled up by some imagined slight, but I can tell he wants to chase her.

I can practically see it radiating off of him as he licks his lips.

That tongue might be the first thing I cut out.

Maybe I’ll shove it up his ass so he can taste his own shit.

While he’s distracted, I take my chance, reaching into my purse and stealthily tapping some pixie dust into his drink before giving it a quick stir.

My adrenaline is through the roof and I have to remind myself to stay calm.

If I freak out, he’s going to know something’s up, which is made all the worse when I realize the drink still looks slightly foggier than normal.

“So…” Jonathan turns his attention back to me as the woman in black vanishes around the corner. “You got a name?”

“Amber.” My voice comes out real soft and smoky, even catching me off guard. “What about you?”

He wraps one hand around the glass and I can feel the beads of sweat trickling down my spine.

Drink it.

Drink it motherfucker.

“Jake,” he replies, playfully swirling the drink.

He probably uses a fake name every time he goes out on the hunt; thinks it’s enough to keep him from getting caught. I look over my shoulder, spotting Preacher lurking near the stairs as I take in the crowd, that big hat pulled down over his eyes.

My Grim Reaper.

“You lookin’ for someone, gorgeous?” Jonathan purrs in my ear. “Because I was about to ask if you wanted to come home with me, but I’d never want to impose…”

I can smell his cheap cologne, and feel his crusty, chapped lips against my skin. It’s hard to suppress the urge to shudder, but I swallow the bile that’s bubbling in the back of my throat and turn, ghosting my lips against his.

He might be a little too eager, because I need him to start sucking down that drink.

“Come on, Jake, put your hand between my legs.” I resist the urge to vomit as I grasp his wrist, and place his hand on my thigh. “Don’t you want to see what’s underneath all of this?”

I can see the tent in his pants as he stares me down, but just before his hand can slip any higher up my leg, the sound of a piercing shriek drags everyone’s attention to the back of the dance floor.

It’s pretty easy to spot the source: an extremely intoxicated woman in a short blue dress is being hauled off of the redhead Jake was talking to. The frenzy of flailing fists quickly built up a little circle of onlookers, with only a couple actually trying to do anything about it.

Suddenly, I can feel my clutch buzzing, and I peek inside to see the burner Preacher gave me lighting up.

I make sure Jonathan’s distracted enough by the commotion, deciding it’s safe enough to take a look.

Preacher told me the phone was only for emergencies, so it’s not really something I can ignore.

UNKNOWN NUMBER:

You’re compromised. Get out before the pigs show up.

I don’t even get the chance to reply before I feel the arm around my waist, and Jonathan’s crusty lips brush up against my ear.

“Did you really think you got away with it?” He asks, reaching into my bra and pulling out the baggie I stuffed in there. “You were so sloppy.”

An icy chill rushes down my spine as he dangles it between his fingers.

“Tell me what this is.”

This is just a speed bump.

I can spin this, I can still win.

“It’s ecstasy,” I beam, putting on my best dumb bimbo impression.

He drops the baggie on the counter and slides his drink toward me.

“Sure,” he smiles, violence flashing in his eyes. “Prove it.”

His lifeless, empty expression makes shiver.

I see Gabriel. I see my father. I see—

“I said prove it. If you’re telling the truth, we can party. If not, you’re gonna be telling the cops exactly what you tried to drug me with. Once you come down, of course.”

“Okay! Jesus fucking Christ,” I snap, snatching the drink off of the bar, and draining it in a few seconds. “You want me? I’m yours. Otherwise, I’ve got a whole bar to pick from.”

This is a dangerous game. I don’t fully know what he’s capable of, or how quickly he might escalate, but it’s too late to walk away now. According to Preacher, I have about five minutes before this shit fully kicks in, and only a few of the symptoms are gonna look like ecstasy.

I rest my hand on his pants, squeezing his cock hard enough to make him wince.

I’ve gotta move fast, because I’m sure as shit not leaving without my prey.

“So, did I pass your little test?”

He grabs what's left of my own, untainted drink, finishing it off with a reassured smirk.

“I’m parked out back.”

“Perfect,” I purr.

So is my man.

We slide off our stools, and Jonathan quickly starts leading me through the crowd of sweaty bodies.

Only a minute or so in and I can already start to feel the effects of the pixie dust: cold sweats, clenched jaw, distorted vision…

I feel like I’m walking through a dark tunnel, and all I can think about is finding the exit.

But I have a mission.

Sweat starts to pour down my face, or maybe it's been like that for a while now; the music is wrong, distorted, like someone’s turning the volume up and down every couple seconds, feeding it through a shitty synthesizer they grabbed from a thrift shop.

I feel nauseous and my teeth won’t stop chattering.

I feel every step I’m taking ripple through every cell in my body.

I feel like I’m trapped, walking three steps behind… me.

Jonathan pushes the back door open and I’m hit with a rush of warm summer air, momentarily snapping me back into a slightly more present state of mind, but I barely get to take a breath before he has me up against the wall, his mouth slamming into mine.

His kiss, if you can even call it that, is angry and demanding, and he bites down on my lip hard enough to make me bleed.

I wince, trying to shove him off of me, but the pixie dust makes my limbs feel like they’re made of concrete.

I can taste the acid building up in the back of my throat, mixing with the thick film of Jack and Coke that’s still lingering on my tongue.

He squeezes my hips, digging his nails into the fabric of my brand new dress, and pins me against the building with a strength I never would have guessed he possessed. My veins flood with ice-cold water, and a thousand racing thoughts come flying at me all at once.

This is not happening.

I should have kept my eye on him.

I was compromised.

Should have kept my phone on me.

I can still do this.

It’s over.

Jonathan grasps me by the throat, slamming my head against the wall as he tears at my dress. Then I’m just… gone, watching it all happen from a distance.

Just like before.

“You’re mine now, bitch.” He squeezes harder, cutting off my air supply as I watch my body vainly try to claw at him. “We’re gonna play a game, and these are the rules: you scream, you die, do you understand me?”

I watch as she nods my head for me, tears streaming down my face. I want her to scream Preacher’s name, but that’s not me anymore. It’s not happening to me.

“Good girl, see how easy that was?” Jonathan snarls, reaching down to unbuckle his belt. “I think I’ll have you right here—”

A tiny pained grunt is all that manages to escape his lips as Preacher’s presence suddenly threatens to swallow the two of us whole. I watch as my head lifts, and she looks up—

No, I look up, expecting to see those beautiful, soulless eyes that are so like my own; this time, there’s a hellfire burning inside.

“Jonathan Jackson, I believe I just severed your spinal cord.” His deep, husky voice is cold and clinical, but there’s a new edge to it I can’t quite place.

“That means you no longer have control over your legs, or most of your bodily functions for that matter… which means sadly, you probably won’t be able to feel the rest of what’s coming. ”

The muscles in Jonathan’s face contort into a painful, torturous expression, sputtering and struggling to hold himself up against the wall as he crumbles. In the moments before he passes out from shock, he reminds me a lot of that Munsch painting, The Scream.

Preacher yanks him off of me and hauls him over his shoulder in one fluid motion, wasting no time at all.

“Follow me, rabbit.”

I obey, walking behind him as he carries Jonathan over to the pickup, tossing him into the back like a ragdoll before turning back to face me.

He puts a hand on my cheek.

“Ripley? Are you okay?”

The sound of my name forces a straining, painful sob from my throat, and Preacher wraps me in his arms, gingerly stroking my hair.

“It’s not your fault,” he murmurs. “I should have been closer.”

Angry tears rush down my cheeks.

He thought I could handle it.

He believed in me.

“I’m a failure.”

Preacher slips a finger beneath my chin, tipping my head up.

“No, you’re not. I failed tonight.” He sighs. “This? It’s on me, and I promise you I’m gonna make it right, little rabbit. You understand?”

He wipes away my tears, his face still twisted up in concern. Watching me. Waiting to see if I’m truly okay.

“Yes, sir.”

But I’m not okay.

I need to hurt someone.

“That’s my girl. Come on, let’s go home.”

Thankfully, that’s exactly what’s on the menu tonight.