Maybe caused by the various bumps on the road or maybe caused by the sheer amount of troubling dreamless thoughts that rattled in his head, but whatever the cause, Martin woke up. He was now cuffed to the inside railing of the stolen van. The cuffs undoubtingly provided by Glass from his security belt.
Martin’s eyes went from Fredrick, who sat across from him, to Eris, who sat passage up front, to Raptor, who drove on absent mindedly, completely unmoved by the back stabbing taking place. Maybe I chose too right a criminal, Martin thought, not amused by his own inappropriate sarcasm. He settled for staring at Glass disgustedly, letting his now unmasked face do the talking.
“You would of done the same thing Marty,” Glass said fighting the deep unnerving sourness of the actions done.
Martin answered with a cold and slow shake of the head, not giving his old partner’s justification the taste of worded defeat. Eris turned and faced the constricted man, her face also unmasked letting her blonde loose-curled hair swing down below her. Martin felt sorrowful as he, even now knowing of her post plotting against him, took in her jostling breasts while they made small movements with the van’s lane adjustments.
“Every good plan needs a fall guy, honey,” she gave him a playful wink accompanied by a near sinister chuckle.
“Oh, you can’t leave it there,” Rap said from up front, looking over at the woman, “tell him how you were screwing the pig back there also! Ha.” Martin’s heart pumped rage and he began to kick wildly at Glass. He even connected a few solid times before Glass could restrain him.
“Eris get the tape, I have an idea,” he humphed out while struggling with Martin’s legs.
Eris fumbled shortly with the glove compartment, then flipped around and slid out of her seat. She half-stood in the van’s middle, trying to balance evenly as she tore free a long strip of tape. There was a slight metal-on-metal sliding sound then several rapid gushing spurts with a find hard crunch. Eris fell forward, landing half on Glass and half on Martin. Martin panicky squirmed under the unexpected gore—a thick black knife sticking up from her back.
“Damn it Rap,” Glass slugged the corpse off him and the now still Martin, “we were going to wait for the motel for that.” Suddenly a squealing stole through the van’s insides. The sound ricocheted off the sheet metal walls, it was wholly deafening. There was a subsequent smashing on the driver’s side and the van flipped violently, beginning its seemingly endless roll down the road. Ragdoll bodies flew about inside, smacking all the interior sides, lone one: who was still chained as prisoner.