DEAD IN BED By Bailey Simms: The Complete First Book

PART 6, SECTION 18

All the sudden, though, Jason's frantic movements slowed. But not because I'd told him to stop. He slumped a little, dazed.

"Ashley," he slurred into my ear. "This grasshopper. Is some gyood styufff. Best I everrrrrr had. . ."

The sedative was finally kicking in.

I frantically pushed him off me, and he woozily let me roll him over onto his back. His legs dangled against the SUV's bumper. His head lolled against the windshield.

He gave me this idiotic grin which I could just make out in the dark.

"Wowww," he said.

It was all I could do not to tip over and fall off the hood myself. I was finding it almost impossible to keep my balance. The sedative had started affecting me too, and it was coming on strong now. I felt my weight pitch forward, but I caught myself against Jason's chest and found my balance.

I took a deep breath.

For a moment all I could do was stare at Jason's grin, blinking my eyes. I eased away from him.

"Stupid byitch," he slurred, almost as if talking in his sleep. "Come back over heeere. You gotta syuck it now. . ."

Why would anyone ever say something like that? Even while in a drugged stupor? Jason had been a spoiled, horrible kid when I'd babysat him, and now he'd grown up into a spoiled, horrible jerk. Another wave of hatred passed over me.

But, strangely, I felt suddenly alert. My heart raced, and I was overcome with the same weird feeling of limitless confidence I'd had after waking up in the motel room more a than week earlier. My anger and hatred for Jason seemed to have triggered the feeling.

I could barely see in the dark, but I found my pants where Jason had tossed them aside. Instead of putting them on, though, I searched the pockets.

Right away I found what I was looking for. It was still there. Just alongside my dad's topo map, I felt a long, smooth cylinder about the size of a pencil. I grabbed it and jerked it free of my pocket.

It was the knitting needle I'd killed Morgan with.

After I'd shoved it into her ear the night before, just when I'd thought I'd heard the Home Guard crashing toward me, I'd instinctively hid the needle in my back pocket. Now, in the dim starlight, I could see that it was still smeared with some of Morgan's blood.

Jason grunted and lifted his hand toward me, but he dropped his arm back down against the hood and rolled over, now face down, with a dull thump.

"Byiiitch," he droned woozily.

My heart thudded with yet another surge of hateful energy. Jason's bare, pale butt lay exposed after he'd rolled over on the hood.

Without fully thinking through what I was doing, I leaned forward. For the first time in a long time, I felt alive. I thought about how Jason had executed that poor girl in the car, about his smug grin while driving the swather, and about how heartlessly he'd just pinned me down and groped me to the point where I couldn't breathe. I thought about what he was about to do to me, if he'd been able to. I would have killed him if I could have. But even more than I wanted Jason dead, I wanted him to fall ill and suffer horribly, like Bryce and Morgan had. I wanted his superiors in the Home Guard to recognize his symptoms, execute him on the spot, and put his body on display. I didn't know if Morgan's blood would still be contagious or not, but I hoped it would be. I didn't see why it wouldn't.

With a quick jab, I shoved the blood-smeared knitting needle into Jason's ass.

It was hard to get the needle to go all the way in at first, but I gave it another furious push. I jammed it in deep inside, maybe tearing his intestines. I twisted it. Then I jammed it in even farther.

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