Page 140 of Taste of Addiction

“No, I’m not some monster.” Bryce fake scoffs. “I was just setting the stage for gaining your trust. Ironically enough, you were already on your way to craving the buzz all on your own. I could have just handed you pills and said ‘swallow’ and you would probably have salivated over them. So, don’t blame all of this on me. You have to take responsibility as well.”

I ignore his condescending comments. “What about Hanna? She your accomplice too?”

“She fell in love with my charm,” he says proudly, “and convincing her to share Hoffman’s habits was too easy. It is almost like the universe is working for me. Ya know?”

I shake my head, trying to absorb all of the information he is freely sharing. I look around the dark dungeon-like room, with the only lights coming from the lanterns hooked to the walls on rusty chains. “Where are we?”

“In the pits of hell.”

I thought hell would be hotter than this. And less damp.

The door creaks open and in walks Owen. I half expect Paul to be accompanying him. My head still throbs from where he hit me.

Owen’s eyes are void of remorse. It’s like someone pulled the plug on the emotional compartments of his brain. I am surrounded by two sociopaths—and probably a fleet more waiting in the wings.

“Just tell me what’s going on. Please,” I beg.

“It’s cute when you beg,” Owen says, pervasive meaning seeping through his word selection.

“No harm in doing story time,” Bryce says with a shrug. “She already knows too much. The Prophet can fill in the rest of the gaps later.”

“Who the hell is The Prophet?” I snap. I wiggle my hands, trying to break free with all my might.

“Now, now, now,” Bryce fake soothes. “Everything will be revealed soon.”

“Huh,” I say, looking at him with pity. “You don’t fucking know, do you?” I watch as his face drains of color, confirming my suspicions. “Oh my gosh! You are allowing some mystery dictator to call the shots, and you guys haven’t even met him yet? Or her?”

“It’s ahim,” Owen yells, disgusted by my revelation.

“You all are risking going to prison and don’t even know the mastermind behind all of this lunacy. You bunch of dirty douche bags.” I start laughing, so much so that I cry a little. “Idiots.”

“Are you done running your mouth, bitch?” Bryce’s voice is sinister.

“You are just a pathetic puppet, who refuses to look up to see where his strings are attached.”

“Do you want to be gagged?” Bryce snaps, his annoyance showing.

“Just get on with your story time before I lose interest.” I need to keep them off their game until I can figure out what their plan is, where we are, and how I am going to get out alive.

“So, once upon a time,” Owen starts, in an octave higher than his normal voice, “there was this young teenager named Angie. She was a very naive teenager who attended a college party late one night with a friend. Big bad wolves Owen and Bryce were into having somefunwith the lady folk.”

“And byfun, he means that we drug and rape them for pleasure,” Bryce interjects. “Just your normal college boy hobbyists.”

“But Angie took a wrong turn at the party and put her nose where it didn’t belong. She accidentally found our little laboratory where we had our pill presses and makeshift pharmacy. We were running a huge network of drugs through Baker City and no one knew that two college-aged, C-average students could make a name for themselves in such a small town.”

Bryce clears his throat. “You found everything. Our receipts, our scales, our list of contacts. You just kept snapping pictures. I tried to drug you. I wasn’t even going to snatch your innocence. I just needed you to forget. But you fought me. Made a scene. I tried to cut you to subdue you with my favorite pink dull knife—the one that has a horrible entry into flesh. But instead you got ahold of it and used it as your ticket out of the party. You told me you were going to the police and that there was nothing I could do to cover this up. So you fled with your ride.”

“You chased us down. You murdered my twin brother!” I yell, thrashing around in my seat, almost wobbling over.

“You murdered him,” Bryce corrects. “If you would have just let me drug you so you would have memory loss, things could have been different. So I had to stop you. And I thought I did. Except—”

“I survived.”

“Unfortunately,” he sighs. “But, wait, plot twist. You didn’t have any memories anyway from the accident. So I lucked out. When we saw how you were handling the media attention, we knew that you had no idea what happened to James McFee that night. We kept tabs on you. You dropped out of community college, and enough time passed where we could stop worrying over the past.”

“We were amateur rapists, really. We were not running a date rape factory,” Owen interjects. “We were primarily running a mini drug lab. We were like born-again chemists and highly respected in a small town.”

Bile rises in my throat as I think of all of the people they must have violated. “Why did you come to Portland?”

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