Page 81 of Iris' Lying Eyes
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Roman’s eyes go wide, and he stares at me like he’s never seen me before. And maybe he hasn’t because I’m not the trembling, frail girl he knew. She’s gone, I hope for fucking ever.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
I have a raging headache from all the manhandling, but the pain is nothing compared to the hate burning in my chest. I want him to die. I want them all to fucking die.
Monsters. Evil. Hated. Why are they allowed to walk this earth?
Biting back the fury on my tongue, I lick my lips instead and rasp, “I said, wouldn’t you like to know? What’s the matter, Hunter? The seat getting too hot for you?”
“Fucking little bitch,” he grunts, grabbing me up and tossing me to my back. Lucky me, now I get to gaze into his evil stare, but when I spy the frustrated glint, I smile. Maybe I’m going to die. Right fucking now. But I’ll never give him what he wants, and the knowledge warms the cockles of my cold, dead heart.
“You think this is funny? It’s not going to be so funny when the senator is looking for you, hm?”
Laughing, I arch into the air and slam my fist into his shoulder. “Bring it. He’s just a man. Just like you. A horrible, evil, fucking man.”
Cuffing me on the head, he raises his fist again but freezes. I twist toward the sound and smile. Bastion’s home.
“Iris?” He’s by the house, but it’s only a matter of time before he searches the trees. Is he speaking to his grunt even now?
Roman’s face twists into a grimace, and he grabs my cheeks in a brutal grip. “Here’s the deal, little bitch. I know what you love. I’m going to kill what you love. It’s done now. There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Tell Bastion; tell the world. Because I’m going to fucking rip yours apart.”
He stalks into the trees, away from the house. Staring after him, I exhale shakily before pulling to my feet. My head aches like a motherfucker, but I have to ignore it. I have to power through.
It just became ten times more important that I speak to Diem. Roman has to go. If it’s him or me and mine, I’m picking the latter every fucking time.
“Iris?” Bastion bellows, and I glance toward the house. How long before he’s searching for me out here? Too soon for my comfort.
Stepping through the bushes, I claw my way past brambles that scratch my cheeks and leave my arms raw before emerging on the other side. Truthfully, that shit would deter a normal person, but I’m not normal. A little pain doesn’t even phase me.
Since Bastion is hot on my heels, subterfuge is the game. Once I’m on the street, I hug the bushes as I head toward town. I kind of feel like an idiot and wave stupidly when a car approaches and slows to observe me tiptoeing from bush to bush, hunched over like a pathetic excuse for a spy or some shit.
The older couple eyes me with matching frowns before they cruise past. Another car approaches from behind me, and I drop to the ground, rolling into the bush as best I can.
Shit, if I’d known I’d be rolling around in the damn dirt, I would have worn more appropriate clothes. The jeans and T-shirt aren’t cutting it. The car slowly passes while I stare at the dirt and pray. Please let him just go. Please.
Finally, the sound dies down, and I sit up, brushing myself off before continuing my trek. I don’t know if it was B who passed, but either way, I make it to a more populated area after fifteen minutes and sigh in relief as I disappear into a rabbit warren of intersecting streets.
∞∞∞
Two hours later, I’m cleaning off in the bus depot bathroom. The cheap mirror creates a warped image that I stare at with a frown before washing the dirt and blood down the drain. The bathroom smells like urine and air freshener, a combination that’s making my stomach roil.
I’ve made arrangements with the senator, but I can’t exactly show up looking like I tussled with a bear and lost. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about my clothes, and with a resigned sigh, I cross the street and enter the local mega-mart.
While I’m here, I need to grab some makeup. I have deep scratches along my temple and a bruise forming on my forehead. I suspect I have Roman to thank for the bruise.
Dressed in clean jeans and a halfway decent top, I pull my hair back into a high ponytail, cover my injuries and order a taxi. This time, the senator wants to meet somewhere less populated. Now that I actually have news for him, I’m hoping he won’t kill me and dump my body.
But when I pull up and send the driver down the street to wait, the area is empty. In the light of day, the shack is far less ominous. It’s so quiet. I hear nothing but the low tumble of the water rushing through the creek behind me and a slight breeze rustling the trees.
I hate that this fucker wants seclusion, but my hands are tied. I have to follow through with this, or I lose, and I didn’t sell another piece of my goddamn soul for nothing.
I haven’t broached the subject of Sam with Bastion in a while. I guess I’m so used to living with the knowledge that the poor kid is two seconds away from being tortured or murdered that it’s habit. It was John’s favorite pastime, after all. How many times did I give in, knowing it was saving Sam, when all I wanted to do was run?
To my right, there’s a beautiful old tree with limbs that bend toward the ground. The long sweeping greenery brushes the earth, forming a fan of sorts that covers the evil behind it. I love that tree. It reminds me of myself. Or should I say the version of me that I want to be?
It may bend. It may twist and curve. But it doesn’t break, merely reforming into something different. I’m still here. I’m different, bent and unnatural, but I live. That has to count for something.