When the kiss ended, Dillon had pulled away hesitantly and Randy had gazed into his eyes again.
“So, are you a queer?”
“I think so.”
“And how does it feel?”
“Right.”
But now Randy was dead. Kevin had killed him, and Toby and Slug had let it happen, had helped him.
And now Kevin was relaxed enough to take a fucking shower.
A new fury burned within Dillon. He no longer cared for himself, for his safety. He no longer wanted this to simply be over, to be finished. This wasn’t finished yet. Not by a longshot.
He opened his eyes.
Soap. Water. Steam. They were all Kevin cared about right now. He shoved everything else out of his mind and let it wait on the bathroom floor with his clothes. He could think about it once he was clean, when he didn’t smell so bad or feel so foul.
He closed his eyes and breathed deep, his airway opening wide to the warm, wet air. His lungs expanded, filling with heat. The last of his tension melted away, sliding down the drain with the dirt and sweat and blood that must have been Randy Martin’s. He watched it all swirl away, as if it had never existed at all.
But it did exist, and he would have to deal with it.
No, Kevin told himself. He worked up a thick lather and scrubbed his crotch. His dick was already sore, burning red, but he couldn’t tell if it was from fucking the Martin kid or from all the washing. He could only hope he hadn’t caught some faggot disease from the little bastard.
Once dry, he pulled on his clothes and combed his short hair with his fingers. He wiped the fog from the mirror with one hand and admired himself. He looked good, normal. He was a handsome guy, always had been, and he could see why the girls loved him so much. After all, he had his shit together.
He brushed his teeth. Just thinking about being inside Randy filled his mouth with the taste of bile. He scrubbed his teeth, gums, and tongue rigorously in an attempt to rid his mouth of its presence.
Once he was done—once he felt completely relaxed again—he returned to the living room and sat down on the couch.
He stared at the red stain on the floor.
And he began to think.
Dillon looked straight ahead, his eyes fixed to a spot on the wall, a spot he had picked out.
He strained against his ropes, twisting his wrists within their bonds, working his shoulders and neck and elbows. His muscles ached. His joints burned. The skin on his wrists split and bled, and the pain made him want to scream.
But he never made a sound, no matter how much his body hurt.
Rage was stronger than pain.
Stronger than rope.
By the time Toby and Slug returned from the back yard, ripe and caked with dirt, Kevin had downed his second beer. He had a good, low buzz brewing, making his brain feel light and relaxed. He sat stretched out on the couch, his chin tucked to his chest, his eyes dark spots burrowing into nothing in particular.
“It’s done,” Slug said.
“You do a good job? I don’t want my fuckin’ mom finding him next July Fourth.”
“Yeah. It’s cool.”
“Good.” His voice was flat, cold. His expression did not change. His eyes did not move.
“Ground’s pretty hard. It’s not exactly summer, y’know?”
“It’s November. Get yourselves a beer. We need to talk some stuff out.”
Slug shared a glance with Toby, then grabbed two longnecks out of the fridge. He popped one open and handed the other to Toby.
“Sit down, guys,” Kevin said.
They crossed the room, Toby dragging a chair with him and Slug sitting down in front of the fireplace. Toby eyed the setting blood on the floor. Was that fear in his eyes?
“Think that’ll come up?” Toby asked.
“It will with enough scrubbing. Don’t worry. We’ll get to it before too long.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Bullshit.”
“I swear, man.”
“Right.” He sneered, took a pull off of his beer. “I know you, Toby. You’re fucking scared, okay? And if you’re not, then that just makes you an idiot. We’re in a fucked up situation. We have every reason to be scared. You know that, right?”
Toby nodded. “Guess I do.”
“Me too,” Slug said.
“Good.” He knocked back the last of his beer, set his empty on the coffee table next his first. “We have to decide what to do.”
“Yeah,” Slug said.
“I’ve thought about it real hard.”
Slug and Toby watched him. He looked at each before speaking, making sure he had their un-fucking-divided attention.
“We have to kill Dillon.”
Slug sighed, looked down at the floor.
Toby shook his head.
“C’mon, Kevin. Think about it.”
“Didn’t I already say I’ve thought about it? I said that, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s Dillon, man.”
“So?”
“So, it’s Dillon! You’re talking about killing a guy we’ve been tight with since we were kids!”
He lurched forward. “So what? Didn’t stop us from doing everything we’ve already done! You figure all that shit’s something you do to your best buddy every Saturday night? I don’t fucking think so!”
“Kevin,” Slug said. “Calm down, okay? He’s saying we’ve known Dillon long enough, he might listen to some kind of reason. He might want to make a deal or something.”
He laughed.
“You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re goddamn serious! What kind of deal could he possibly want? Were you even paying attention to everything that happened tonight? Maybe nobody else in the world gave a shit about that little Martin piece of crap, but I think it’s fairly obvious that Dillon did! And we killed him! Do either of you seriously think for a second that Dillon’s just gonna want to make a deal and promise to keep it quiet? How fucking stupid are you?”
“We?” Toby said.
“Huh?”
“You said we killed Randy. When the fuck did we kill him? That was you, man! Don’t try to lay this shit on us! You’re the one who fucked him in the ass and bashed his head into the floor, dammit! I didn’t do that! You did!”
Kevin moved with a speed that defied the slow buzz in his brain. Before Toby had a chance to react, he was off the couch and smashing one of his empties against the table. An instant later, he shoved the jagged edges against Toby’s throat. They pressed against the flesh there, birthing tiny beads of blood on the coward’s skin.
His eyes burned into Toby’s.
“You are in this until the fucking end, Toby! Don’t you ever forget that! You go down just as hard as I do. You got that?”
Toby tried to look past him, so he slapped a hand across the fuck’s face.
“Answer me!”
Toby’s eyes narrowed. His hands curled into fists in his lap.
“Fuck you, Kevin. I didn’t kill anybody.”
Rage surged through his body. He twisted the bottle and slashed the jagged glass across Toby’s throat, and the flesh there opened up like a storm cloud.
Toby jolted backward, arms flailing. His chair tipped, and he toppled to the floor. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. Blood shot from his throat like water from a burst main.
“Toby!” Slug cried. He leaped to his feet and rushed forward.
Kevin spun around, brandishing the bloody dagger of broken glass at arm’s length.
“Don’t even think it.”
“But—”
“He brought it on himself. Don’t you do the same. I’ve got all night to dig holes.”
Slug watched him, nostrils flaring, but Kevin’s gaze never wavered. Slug was trying to act tough, psyche him out, but he wasn’t about to fall for that old bullshit.
“Well?”
Slug sat down.
“Good boy. Now give me your keys. You don’t get to run out on this.”
/> Slug did as he was told. Kevin had expected no other outcome.
He heard a low gurgle and looked down at Toby. The coward lay twisting on the floor, one hand pressed to his throat, trying to stop the torrential flow of blood. His other hand reached out, clawing at the air as if he might somehow pull himself to his feet. His eyes bulged and begged, the whites burning in the dim light of the cabin. He opened his mouth, making a final attempt at crying out, and blood bubbled past his lips and ran down his chin.
Kevin sneered and turned away.
He stepped past Toby, kicking the dying boy’s hand away as it reached for him, and entered the kitchen. There was a radio in there, and Kevin turned it on. He tuned into KVRQ, the closest rock station he could find, and cranked the volume up as loud as it would go. He grabbed a beer out of the fridge and returned with it to the living room. He twisted the cap off as he plopped down on the couch, then leaned back and sipped off of the bottle as he waited for Toby to die.
It took about ten minutes.
Dillon crept away from the cabin and toward the woods that bordered the backyard. The forest was dark and dry, making any hope of a silent escape a futile one. Even the trail would be covered with autumn leaves. That was okay, though. He didn’t plan on escaping.
Maybe that would be the smart thing. A sensible person might make a break for it, cutting through the woods or sprinting down the drive to the county road beyond. An attempt at escape, at finding help and going to the police, was more likely to succeed than the plan that currently swirled in his brain. He’d made his decision, however, and nothing was going to change his mind. He had to finish it himself. Randy deserved some kind of justice, and he owed Kevin and the rest a lesson in both fear and pain.
He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut tight. Slowly, he breathed in the night air, preparing himself. He let his most recent memories wash over him, strengthen him for the coming task.
He remembered Randy’s face.
His eyes.
The terror that shined in them.
He remembered Kevin taunting Randy, hitting him.
Raping him.
Bashing his head into the floor, killing him.
He remembered Slug’s laughter, the feel of the bastard’s fist coming down again and again.
He opened his eyes.
The wooden tool shed stood at the edge of the yard, half hidden in shadows cast by the tall tree and cloudy night. He vaguely remembered the shed. It wasn’t like he’d come out to the cabin in the past to work.
He heard them yelling at each other in the cabin as he crept up to the wooden structure. They must have realized he was missing. He had to move fast now. They’d be out looking for him any minute.
Luckily, somebody had left the door unlocked, the padlock hanging loose from a metal latch, key still jammed inside. He wondered what they might have needed, but his mind answered him before he could complete the thought.
Shovels.
His heart began to ache, but he thrust the emotion aside. He had work to do, and he was running out of time. Careful to be quiet, he opened the shed’s door as quickly as he dared. It was dark inside, and he couldn’t turn on the light without being spotted, so he slipped through the door and waited, pulling it shut behind him and hoping his eyes would adjust before he was found.
Kevin’s voice continued to carry across the yard as the darkness within the shed began to ease into a gray and blue light.
He found the hatchet on the wall to his right, hanging from an aluminum hook. He plucked the tool from its perch and checked its blade. It wasn’t the sharpest, but it would still cut if he swung it hard enough.
And he planned to swing it plenty hard.
He tucked the hatchet into his belt and continued his search. His eyes continued to adjust, and the tools around him became easier to recognize. He grabbed a claw hammer from the wall and stuck it in the back of his jeans. Kevin’s voice had gone silent, but a clattering noise from the kitchen had replaced it.
There wasn’t much time left.
The axe stood in the corner farthest from the door, blade on the floor. Dillon picked it up and hefted its weight. It felt good in his hands, heavy and balanced. The smooth wooden handle cooled his raw skin. He looked at the blade, ran a thumb across it and winced as the pad split. The axe had been sharpened recently, no doubt about it.
It would do fine.
He breathed deep. There would be no going to the police afterward. What he wanted to do could not be considered self-defense. He would not be a hero.
But he would be a survivor.
And he would feel some measure of justice.
Dillon wiped the blood onto his shirt. Vengeance would be enough.
Carefully, he opened the shed door and slipped outside. The light from the cabin burned his eyes. He squinted and crept away from the shed, entering the woods.
He looked upward, searching the darkened treetops. They would do nicely.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Slug raced back into the living room, his breath already coming in panicked bursts.
“He’s gone, man! Dillon’s just gone!”
“I thought you said he was tied up.”
“He was!”
Kevin leaped across the room, grabbing Slug’s collar in both hands and pulling him close.
“So how the fuck did he disappear?”
“I don’t know, goddammit! He was wrapped up like a freakin’ Christmas present last time I checked on him, but now there’s just a chair, a bloody rope and an open window!”
He slammed his fist into Slug’s cheekbone with everything he had. Slug staggered backwards, his hand coming up to rub his face. He looked like he might fall, but somehow kept his feet beneath him.
Kevin looked around the room as he tried to think. How could this happen? How did it get away from him? This was supposed to be so easy, and now it was all fucked up. At what point had the world gone apeshit? Where did he go wrong?
Simple. Slug and Toby.
Slug had tied up Dillon. Slug and Toby had taken him into the bedroom and locked the door. Slug and Toby had been left alone to bury Randy while he took a shower. It was their fuck up, not his. The only mistake he’d made was bringing in those two assholes in the first place. He had thought they should be a part of it because--along with Dillon--the four of them had been a pack that made the team a real force to be reckoned with. Now, he realized he was wrong. When the shit came down, they couldn’t handle their end.
And now he was in a world of hurt. Randy Martin was dead, Toby had forced him to kill again, and now Dillon was loose and heading God-knows-where. He could feel the shit piling up, dragging him down like quicksand sucking at his boots. He had to take care of this. He had to get this situation under control again, and he had to do it fucking fast.
Slug looked up at him with frantic eyes, eyes that were starting to fill with tears. “I don’t know how he got out,” he said. “I swear, man.”
“Well, we better find him.”
“What?”
He lunged toward Slug, and Slug stumbled back a step. Every part of him wanted to knock out the stupid piece of crap, but managed to stop himself short.
“Where do you think he’s going, Slug? You think he’s taking a stroll in the woods? No. He’s trying to get away, and he’s trying to find help. If we want to walk away from this, we can’t let him do that.”
“This is already so fucked up, Kevin. It doesn’t matter if he gets away or not. When Randy and Toby end up missing—”
“It matters. I don’t care how screwed up everything gets, Slug. This shit matters.”
He looked into Slug’s eyes, held them until Slug had to look away, eyeing Toby’s corpse instead.
“Fine.”
“Good,” he said as he stormed past Slug. He entered the kitchen and tore open a drawer. He would have liked to take his time, but Dillon had fucked that right up. Dillon had stolen the last of his patience. Now, he was going to h
ave to do this fast and nasty. He reached into the drawer and retrieved two blades: a butcher knife and a meat cleaver. He returned to Slug and slapped the cleaver into his hand. Slug looked up at him with wet eyes, and Kevin sneered. There were already two holes in the back yard. If Slug fucked this up, he’d simply dig a third.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Dillon looked down on the cabin from his perch within the branches of a massive oak. He’d been forced to hide the axe under a pile of dead leaves--climbing with it had proven impossible--but he still had two of his weapons and the advantage of a hiding spot. He’d heard somewhere that most people don’t bother to look up when searching for something, and he hoped it was true. The old tree didn’t cast enough shadows to conceal him completely.
Kevin led Slug out the cabin’s back door. Toby wasn’t with them, and that was a little strange. Maybe he’d been told to stay behind and wait. It was a wrinkle in his plan, but was it really a bad thing? Handling two people would be easier than three, especially when everything relied on surprise and speed. It was the reason he hadn’t returned to the house in the first place. Out here, he had a chance to catch them one at a time. He wouldn’t have that luxury inside the cabin.
As he watched, keeping his breathing slow and willing every muscle in his body to stay put, Kevin gestured toward the woods with a knife.
“Start looking.” His voice was soft, but audible in the still night.
“Just me?” Slug’s body language expressed fear. Good.
“Yes. I’ve got to check the driveway, numb nuts. That ever occur to you?”
“Shit. Sorry.”
Slug by himself, all alone in the woods below. This was getting easier and easier. If his mind wasn’t crawling with black thoughts, he might have smiled.
“Don’t give me sorry. Just get searching.”
Slug nodded and then moved toward the forest, clicking on a flashlight as Kevin moved around the side of the cabin. The big guy held what looked like a meat cleaver in his other hand, but there wasn’t enough light to be sure. Dillon decided it was best to assume Slug was armed. It wouldn’t matter. He didn’t plan on giving him a chance to use any weapons.
Just Like Hell Page 4
