“If you say so.”
Kevin gave Dillon a glance. The fag wasn’t buying it. He could see that. The running back’s eyes burned. It really made him want to smile, maybe just start laughing at both of them. This was just too much, man! Randy was going for it hook, line, and sinker, and Dillon was still ready to kill. What he had planned next was really gonna throw them for a loop!
He stepped behind Randy and crouched. Down the hall, he heard Toby coughing and the bathroom faucets running. He’d have to apologize to Toby later. The guy hadn’t been expecting it. He’d signed on for giving Dillon and Randy a world of shit, but he hadn’t signed on for getting his dick sucked by a guy. Didn’t make it any less funny, but he had to admit it was a pretty shitty thing to do.
He dug his fingers into the shitty knot Toby had tied and began to pull it loose. A moment later, the ropes slackened. He stepped away from Randy’s chair, pulling the bonds with him.
At first Randy just sat there, staring at his own lap and shaking. Kevin wiped a hand over his face to conceal his smile.
“It’s cool, Randy,” he said. “Get up.”
Randy threw a glance at Dillon, then stood, hanging his head. He looked good and pathetic.
“Will you untie Dillon, now?”
“In a second, Randy. I don’t want him loose until he knows this is over and we’re all cool, and that’s not gonna happen until I know for a fact that you won’t tell anybody about this.”
“I won’t.”
“That’s a great thing to say, but does it really mean dick in the long run?”
Randy looked up, and Kevin saw the little piece of shit was crying again.
“We won’t tell anybody, Kevin! I fucking swear!”
He held his hands up, surrendering. “Okay! I believe you! Chill out, little guy.”
Randy shuffled in place. “Sorry.”
Kevin noticed Toby return from the hall. He crossed to the dining nook and sat down at the table, rested his head in his hands.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” Kevin said. “I think we all want this to be over with.”
Randy nodded. No such luck with Dillon.
“We’re gonna leave you untied, okay? Slug and Toby and me will go outside and drive away. Once we’re out of here, you can untie Dillon whenever you want. He knows where the nearest house is. He can lead you there, and you’ll be able to get help. Just tell them this was a prank or something.”
“Right,” Randy said.
“And don’t mention any of us. As far as you’re concerned, it was just a bunch of guys in masks, okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
He held out his hand.
“Shake on it?”
Randy looked up, doubt clouding his hopeful eyes.
“Seriously. Shake on it, and it’s a done deal.”
Randy turned to Dillon. Dillon shook his head, holding the kid’s eyes the entire time. When Randy looked back, Kevin saw the doubt had grown stronger.
“C’mon, Randy! What other choice do you have? You want to sit here all night? You think we’re just going to play boardgames or some shit? I’ve got better things to do. This is the deal. Are you going to take it or not?”
Randy breathed deeply. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. Kevin could almost see the gears turning in that cranium of his.
Jesus Christ, this was gonna be funny!
After what seemed like an hour, Randy nodded.
“Fine.”
“Good,” he replied. “Shake.”
Randy crossed the distance between them, no more than ten feet, in a few steps, his hand coming out to meet Kevin’s.
And Kevin punched the piece of shit right in the face.
His aim was amazing, his fist ramming right into the swelling under Randy’s eye. Randy crumpled in a heap, letting out a cry of surprise and pain. Kevin heard Dillon howl behind the duct tape that covered his mouth, but he didn’t care. He let out a celebratory whoop. He got the little faggot! He got him good!
Randy writhed on the floor, and Kevin kicked him in the ass like he was trying to put one through the uprights. The runt shrieked and curled into a ball.
“This isn’t near over, you little fuck!” He reached down and grabbed at Randy. Randy slapped at his hands, trying anything to escape, so he planted a fist in the bitch’s kidney. The little bastard stopped struggling.
“It’s over when I fucking-well decide it is!”
He heard Slug cheer him on, heard Dillon make hateful animal noises through his gag. He heard Toby yell something from the table, but he couldn’t make out the words. Blood coursed through his head, drowning out all but the most basic sounds.
The blood surged through his dick, too, and he wanted to use it.
“You keep an eye on Dillon,” he told Slug. “I’ve got one more lesson I want to teach this faggot piece of shit!”
When he grabbed Randy’s jeans and yanked them down, Randy screamed. Screamed like a goddamn girl. He slapped the punk across the back of the head, and the sound echoed through the cabin.
“Shut up, Randy! You shut up, or I’ll fucking kill you!”
Randy’s scream collapsed to a blubbering cry as Kevin tore at the boy’s briefs, ripping them away in one brutal motion.
“Here’s where you learn your fucking place, Randy!”
He grabbed a fistful of Randy’s hair and pushed the fag’s face to the cabin’s floor.
“Don’t move, okay? This’ll be over before you know it.”
He heard other noises, other voices, but they mixed together in his ears, creating a muddied drone. All he could comprehend was Randy crying, ass sticking up in the air. And his hard-on. He was damn sure aware of that.
Holding Randy to the ground, he fumbled with his own pants. It seemed to take forever, his fingers groping at his zipper only to slip off in their excitement, but he finally managed to open his pants and expose his dick to the air. The chill alone almost made him come.
Man, he couldn’t wait.
Kevin spit into his palm and lubed himself up before ramming his cock into the Randy’s anus. The little fuck screamed, and the screams just continued, climbing higher and higher as he pumped in and out.
He was surprised. He hadn’t thought it would feel good, only disgusting and wrong. It didn’t feel half-bad, though. Jesus Christ, it felt pretty fucking good.
And it was exactly what Randy Martin had coming to him.
Randy started to push himself up from the floor. Kevin punched him in the back of the head, and the little prick crumpled once more. He hit the boy twice more for good measure, then smiled up at Dillon.
The traitor’s eyes burned, barely human in their rage. Tears and snot ran down his crimson face. The noises the running back made were unrecognizable—a muffled, guttural roar of anger and hatred.
“You like that, man?” he asked as he pumped away. “Or are you pissed that I got here first? I’m popping your girlfriend’s cherry, man! What do you think about that, you filthy piece of shit?”
Dillon lurched forward, scooting the chair across the wooden floor with an audible scraping sound. Slug moved quickly, yanking back on Dillon’s hair and reaching over to plant a fist in his gut. Air and snot shot out of Dillon’s nose, but he kept coming. The chair hopped forward once more. Slug hammered his fist into Dillon’s breadbasket again, a third time. He balled both hands into one massive weapon, raised them over his head, and rammed them home. Dillon’s breath exploded out of him, and his head hung limp, his eyes drunk with pain.
“Make him watch!” Kevin told Slug between thrusts. Slug grabbed Dillon’s head in both hands and aimed it at the spectacle on the floor.
Randy had stopped screaming, instead wheezing beneath Kevin’s body.
“Starting to like it, aren’t ya?” he asked. “Thought you would. All the girls want what I got.”
Randy didn’t answer, just grit his teeth and hissed through them.
He turned to Dillon aga
in. “He loves it, Dillon! Look at him! He fucking loves it!”
Dillon’s shriek filled the cabin, the world. The running back’s body shuddered with frenzied sobs.
Kevin shot him a smile.
“Y’know what, Dillon? I liked you, man. I really fucking did. We’ve been best friends since I don’t know how long. We had a bond, man. Best friends. Teammates. You can’t fuck with that, dammit! Not for a second.
“That changed when I saw you with this little shit. Changed from top to bottom and everywhere in between. I can’t go back to before then, no way. You know why?”
Dillon didn’t move, he couldn’t with Slug’s hands clamped down on him like a vice. His eyes bulged, and that was good enough for Kevin.
“Because of four schools, Dillon. Because of four fucking schools.”
Kevin doubled his grip on Randy’s hair. He kept perfect, horrible rhythm.
“I only got invited to three, man. I only got three offers, and I’m every fucking bit the player you are. And I was cool with that at first, too. Shit, man, I was happy for you!
“But then I saw you with him, and I couldn’t take it. Dillon Campbell might be better than me. Dillon’s a hell of a ball player, one of the best I’ve ever seen. Not a faggot, though. No way some queer’s better than me.”
He pulled back Randy’s head and smashed it into the floor. A wet, pulpy sound rang out as the boy’s nose shattered.
Dillon wailed, straining against Slug’s grip.
“You hear me?” Kevin asked. He jerked back Randy’s head and bashed it down again. Something cracked.
“Hear me?”
He battered Randy’s face against the floor to punctuate each word.
“No! Queer! Is! Better! Than! Me!”
He held Randy’s head to the ground and began to pummel it with his fist. His hand struck flesh and bone again and again, and he didn’t even notice when Randy’s body began to jerk and spasm beneath him. He couldn’t. The blood roared through his own skull and his body shook, drowning out everything else. He didn’t notice anything until he shot a load up Randy’s ass and backed away from the faggot’s now limp body, collapsing against the nearby wall.
“Not better’n me,” he said through harsh breaths. “No fuckin’ way.”
Slowly, his breathing returned to normal. The blood that raced through his head slowed to a dull pulse, and his hearing returned. He heard Dillon go ballistic behind his gag, and he heard Toby yell “What the fuck?” over and over again, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply and smiled to himself. He felt good, relaxed. He felt a little sick, sure, and he figured he would probably feel ashamed for a long time. Not because he had raped that little Martin nobody, but because it had been one of the best nuts of his life.
Kevin opened his eyes when he heard Toby’s frantic footsteps. Toby raced around the couch, his face whiter than a goal line and his eyes straining with terror, and crouched beside Randy. Randy lay still on the wooden floor, his arms and legs splayed. A small pool of blood surrounded his head.
Shit, Kevin thought. I fucked him up pretty good! Must’ve worn him out, too. Either that or he’s playing possum.
Toby grabbed the boy’s wrist. Dillon had quieted, and Slug watched from behind him.
“What’s the matter, Toby?” Slug asked. “Hopin’ he’ll jerk you off?” Slug laughed, and Kevin couldn’t help but join him.
“Fuck off,” Toby said between breaths. He dropped Randy’s arm to the floor and checked his neck, searching for something. Panic registering acorss his face, he checked one side and then the other. When Toby squeezed his eyes shut and pounded both fists against the floor, Slug stopped laughing.
Kevin quieted to a chuckle.
“What’s up, man?”
“Shut the fuck up, Kevin!” Toby replied. “He’s dead, okay? He’s fucking dead!”
Kevin climbed to his feet and crossed the floor to stand beside Toby, zipping his fly up along the way. “Bullshit,” he said, looking down at Randy in disgust. “The little puke’s scared is all, trying to play dead so we don’t fuck him up some more.” He nudged Randy with his toe.
“Get up, pussy.”
Randy’s body rolled with Kevin’s foot, then fell still again.
“There isn’t a pulse,” Toby said. “He’s dead.”
“Like you know how to find a fucking pulse!” Slug replied.
“Eat shit, man!”
A keening wail split the air, making all three boys jump. It was Dillon, eyes squeezed shut and head bowed, screaming like it was the end of the world. Tears ran down his cheeks, and his body shivered. There was no rage in his cry, only an overwhelming sorrow.
Kevin watched him, waiting for him to shut up. It took several minutes, but Dillon finally settled at a whimper, not looking up.
“Get him out of here,” Kevin said.
“Where?” Slug asked.
“One of the bedrooms.”
Toby took a step forward. “Kevin—”
“Do it now.”
Toby nodded and joined Slug. Together, they dragged the chair across the floor, taking Dillon down the hall. Their teammate didn’t move, didn’t protest or try to fight them off. Pussy.
Once they left the room, Kevin stooped next to Randy and turned him over. His body was limp. Kevin couldn’t be sure, but it felt as though it might already be cooling.
A red ruin looked up at him from what had recently been Randy Martin’s face. Nothing remained but pulp and cracked bone and broken teeth. There was no horror in that disaster, no wide-open eyes staring even in death. There was certainly no expression of peace. He had destroyed Randy Martin, had taken everything the boy had been and smashed it to pulp.
He didn’t know how to feel about that.
He stood when Toby and Slug returned. They stared at him, waiting for instruction.
“You check his ropes?”
“Yeah,” Slug said. “They’re holding. Locked him in with that padlock we put on the door, too. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Good.”
Toby swallowed. The sound echoed through the silent room. “What now?”
Kevin glanced at what was left of Randy’s body. His emotions were still jumbled, confused, but he had begun to think.
“Bury him,” he said. “I’m going to take a shower.”
Dillon refused to open his eyes. He knew he should, knew he needed to get his bearings and look for a way out of this mess. Still, he wouldn’t do it. No way. He might see Randy again, might see his lover’s unmoving body and the red puddle that surrounded his head. He might see Toby searching for a pulse, the panic in his eyes as he failed to find it.
The way Randy’s body had barely moved with Kevin’s toe.
Randy was dead, gone. It was true, no way around it. But maybe if Dillon kept his eyes shut long enough, it would all go away. Maybe things would change. Maybe Toby was in the living room right now, giving Randy the CPR that would bring him back to life. Maybe Kevin would be satisfied, or scared. They might clean up Randy, apologize their fucking guts out. Then they would untie Dillon and drive them both back into town. They would beg them not to tell anyone, and Dillon and Randy would agree, thankful for the whole ordeal to be over.
That’s all he wanted, for this to be over.
So he kept his eyes shut.
But the sounds still came.
He heard voices from behind the door and down the hall, voices that didn’t sound angry or frightened, but confused, maybe concerned. There was a single loud exchange, no more than six words that Dillon couldn’t understand, and then the voices returned to normal. They continued for a moment, and then a set of footsteps sounded along the hall.
A door opened and closed, not the door to his current location, but one across the hall. He thought it might have been the bathroom, and the sound of running water confirmed his suspicions. A moment later, the noise morphed into the hiss of the shower.
Maybe they were cleaning
Randy.
Dillon clenched his hands into fists. He had to stop kidding himself. He had to get real, and fast.
But maybe?
More voices cut through the shower’s noise. These seemed angry. They weren’t yelling, though, only sniping at each other as if they were afraid of being heard.
So it was Kevin in the shower, either cleaning Randy up or cleaning himself.
Then the other sound appeared, the sound that broke Dillon’s heart.
The barely audible sound of something dragged across the floor.
Randy.
Dead. Had to be.
Dillon’s body tightened, muscles bulging. The chords in his neck strained, and his lips curled back from his teeth in a grimace of pain, sadness, and anger. He tried to scream, but his throat would no longer work. He had broken something inside it.
He thought back to months earlier, sitting in his car on some lonesome stretch of gravel road off of Mulvaney Ridge, Randy asking him what was wrong.
“If they ever find out,” he had said, “I’m dead.”
“Dead?” Randy had asked. The humor in his voice peeked through.
“You know what I mean. My life, over.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. I’ll be done at Ramsey. My scholarships will probably disappear, too. Nobody wants a queer as their running back.”
“Is that what we are?”
“Maybe.”
Randy had looked him in the eye, holding him. Amazing. Randy Martin, the brainy kid that spent most of his time slinking down the halls of the High School, doing anything in his power to avoid attention, had made him feel small with that look. He had tried to turn away, but found he couldn’t.
And then Randy had leaned in.
And they had kissed.
Their first kiss, after three months of being stuck together, forced into a coupling because he couldn’t keep his idiot head on straight and pass algebra. Three months of talking, hanging out and slowly realizing there was something else there, something powerful and new. It had all led up to that kiss. It felt electrifying, and when he had kissed Randy back it was with a passion he had never known.
Just Like Hell Page 3
