Page 100 of Sling’s Awakening

What in the world is going on?

I don’t have a chance to open the door to see what they want before I watch them bust down the door, letting themselves in.

Fear has me paralyzed in my spot, unable to move or even process a thought.

“Virginia Beach Police Department!” the first officer yells as he enters the building with his gun in the air. “Come out with your hands up!”

My body reacts before my mind can catch up as I put my hands up and walk out of the room into the hallway.

“Freeze! Don’t move!”

I’m violently shaking as I do as I’m told. Tears are pooling at the corner of my eyes as the officer leading the line quickly walks toward me, holstering his gun as he holds my wrist and lowers my arm, placing it behind my back. He does the same with my other one.

Cold metal wraps around my wrists like a bracelet as he slaps a pair of cuffs on. The metal pinches my skin, making me wince as he tightens them.

The shaking has turned into full-body tremors as the officer pushes me forward, leading me to the back door.

Other officers are talking around me as they go in and out of the office and storage room. My system is overloaded. Their voices sound as if someone is talking to me underwater.

The officer who put me in handcuffs is standing in front of me. I know he’s talking because his lips are moving, but I can’t hear anything over the fear pounding in my ears like a drum.

“What?” I wheeze out.

It’s getting harder to breathe.

“Are you Blake Davis?”

“Yes.” I nod slowly as I swallow the vomit that’s crawling up my throat. “Can I ask what this is about?”

“You’re under arrest. You’re being charged with possession of a controlled substance and possession with intent to distribute.”

Possession of a controlled substance.

Possession with intent to distribute.

“What?” I ask, my voice barely audible, the depths of what he had just told me sinking in.

How is this possible?

I haven’t done drugs in at least five years.

Unless you count smoking weed, which I don’t.

This has to be a mistake.

“I think you have the wrong person,” I tell him with pleading eyes. “I’ve never sold drugs in my life.”

The officer looks at me like he’s heard that line a million times. He doesn’t believe me. All he sees is a woman he has detained from a gentleman’s club. He thinks I’m guilty.

“I’m not the one you should be pleading your case to. Save it for the judge.”

The vomit I was swallowing down spills out of my throat and all over the pavement, barely missing the officers shoes.

“Goddamnit,” he curses as he sidesteps out of the way. “Get it out now because I don’t want that in the back of my car.”

Why hasn’t anyone ever told me how hard it is to throw up with your hands behind your back? My abs feel like they’re ripping in half as I empty the contents of my stomach.

Panting as I try to catch my breath, I move so I’m standing up straight again. I can feel tiny chunks of vomit stuck between my teeth, making me gag all over again.