Chris grinned, and I was starting to feel sick to my stomach, not liking where this was headed.
“Even after Boyd had to move away, the two boys kept up their little game, emailing proof back and forth. Some of the proof ended up on the Internet, of course, but the boys were careful, making sure that their faces or voices were never identifiable in the videos. Some of the games were dangerous, but both of the boys eventually found a prize that they both enjoyed. That was in finding a woman or girl who at first would say no, then with some convincing, whether a little or a lot, would end up on her knees, begging for it. Then . . . well, then it went up a notch.”
“Like how?” I asked, my throat dry and parched as I saw the true Chris. I'd seen him before, of course, but it’d been in firefights—in combat. I thought it was just the side of him that every soldier had. As Shakespeare wrote so much better than I could think of putting it,
In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility,
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage,
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect.
I knew that separation, and I thought that I'd only seen that in Chris and Lloyd in those times. Little did I know that the side I saw in combat was the real man, and the joking, easy-going guys I'd called friends were the false side of their natures. “What did you guys do?”
He seemed to ignore that I knew he was talking about him and Lloyd. “Oh, they started with alcohol, which is after all pretty easy to get their hands on and so effective more often than not. You see, Tris and Boyd were both handsome fellows. A lot of the early women, they didn't need much more than a little encouragement, something to help them let go of their inhibitions.”
“Later on, with some of those women whose morals either refused alcohol or just couldn't be pried by other means, they got their hands on some of the little helpers that are so mislabeled in the media. A vial of this stuff in their drinks, whether it be water, beer, or even, say, orange juice, and the girl was out like a fucking light in about two minutes.”
“Date-rape drugs? Fucking sick,” I said, getting to my feet. “I don’t know if this is just fiction or a true story, but I think I've heard enough, Chris.”
“Oh, we’re just getting to the best part, Dane. It’s just getting good. You see, Tris and Boyd, they reunited when both of them joined the Army, although by then Boyd had picked up a battle buddy. Big, tall, handsome fucker, but dumb as a goddamned stump. Let's call him . . . Bane, why don't we? Anyway, Bane had the potential to be as much a player as Tris and Boyd—he certainly had the tools for it. Bane would have been a great player in the game, except for this little problem of his noble streak that ran bedrock deep in him. Tris and Boyd didn't mind, though. Bane was good in a fight, and like I said, he was as dumb as a rock. But reunited, the two friends were able to take their game to whole new levels. They’d finally reached the nearly penultimate level of their game, which they somewhat mourned, but knew it had been a shitload of fun anyway. You see, Tris and Boyd were both going to try and get a fresh, un-plucked cherry and turn her into a total mind-numbed slut. I mean, straight up ruin the bitch. Tris thought he had the edge. He'd found a total hottie who hadn’t even graduated high school. She was stacked like a goddamned porn star, but as innocent and sweet as a Disney character. Nobody could have topped that, Tris was sure. He sweet-talked her, of course, pretending he was willing to wait for her. After all, this one would’ve sealed a victory. She was just about to give it up to him when the Army came calling, sending the boys to the big sandbox called Iraq. The thought of getting that precious cherry when he was back was what got him through it. Little did he know that Boyd had his own plans.”
“You're a fucking psycho, Chris,” I seethed, still not moving and not really understanding where this was going. Chris was nearly at his point, and his face twisted into a gleeful rage as he kept talking.
“Perhaps. Anyway, this one night, Tris thought he would play a trick on Boyd, so he slipped a quarter-vial of the assistance drug into Boyd's beer, just to knock him out. Maybe fuck with him a bit and make him think he’d shacked up with another man. He didn't realize that doing so would make Boyd drunk off his ass while still leaving him conscious and able to function. Tris found out later that not only had Boyd not gone back to the tent to sleep it off, but had in fact left camp, grabbing some local girl and hauling her back for a little fucking behind some supply tent. Now, you'd think that because the girl was saying no that it wouldn't count, but that didn't matter to the two boys. However, Boyd was stopped by Bane, who actually, get this, shot Boyd dead as a goddamned doornail. Total accident, of course, but Bane still went to jail for five years over it. Tris felt bad about the whole thing, so he decided to help his stupid ass buddy out. After all, Tris had given Boyd the quarter-vial, and Bane hadn't done anything more than defend himself. Anyway, during that time, Tris somewhat lost interest in the game for a while, and Miss Teen USA slipped away. Probably better in the long run, since it would protect him from any connection with the string of adventures the boys had. Little did he know that the girl would end up back in his life.”
“Abby,” I whispered, my fists clenching. Chris slapped his knee and sprang up, full of manic glee.
“Yep, that was her name! See, I just forgot, I guess. You must have heard this story before. Anyway, after Bane gets out, Tris sets him up, gets him a job, all of that. Then one day, he finds out from his uncle in passing that Bane stabs him in the back by fucking none other than Miss Teen USA! In fact, from what Tris could tell, Bane was probably fucking her three ways from Sunday! So Tris invited Abby to a fake party, hoping that he could get a little sugar through the right convincing. If anything, it'd kind of close out the game with a final score. But instead, Abby was so fucking love-struck that she sent her big-titted bitch friend in her place while she went off somewhere, probably fucking Bane and draining his balls of everything worthwhile. So, Tris got a little angry.”
“What the fuck did you do?” I hissed, stepping forward. “And stop with this third person Tris shit.” Chris brought his hands up, his eyes flashing with fire as he got to his feet, smirking as he dropped all the smoke screens and told the bare-faced truth.
“It's what I'm going to do that you should worry about. A vial to the friend, a vial to sweet Abby, and both of them are sleeping it off. When they wake up, they're going to find themselves in my nice, new little play room. Then it's going to be play time—all the time.”
I couldn't resist it anymore. I swung. Unfortunately for me, I forgot the first rule of hand-to-hand combat as I was lost in my anger, which is don't let your emotions get the better of you. I should have kicked out straight, or thrown a jab. Instead, in my anger, I let loose with a huge, looping overhand right that Chris stepped inside of, catching my arm and attempting to judo throw me over his shoulder. I hung on, though, the two of us crashing to the floor in a tangle of bodies, arms and legs as I tried to pummel him. Curses and grunts filled the air.
Chris got a shot into my ribs as we rolled, a tight elbow that drove the wind out of me as I felt something inside me let go. Coughing, I hung on as best I could, trying to avoid the punches he began to rain down on my head and shoulders. While he punched, he was yelling. “Man, I so tried to get you into the game, to have some fucking fun. I figured if anything, prison would have made you more understanding. Instead, I come to find that you're fucking the one that I let get away? You probably even love the stupid stuck up cunt too.”
“Fuck you!” I screamed, slipping my head to the side. Chris's punch, which had been aimed at my nose, slipped by, just clipping my ear before I could push the elbow up and over my head, allowing me to escape out the side. I wanted to try for a choke hold, but Chris was fast, scrambling to his feet and grabbing a small statue from the cof
fee table. He brandished it at me, the dull pewter-like metal gleaming in the afternoon light, suddenly deadly.
“Get out,” Chris said, raising the statue up. I was on one knee, pain flaring through my body as my most likely separated rib sang out inside me. “Get out—you're on your fucking own. I tried, Dane. I gave you a place to stay, got you a job, I even took you out to get some pussy. But you just wouldn't go along with the program. So fuck you. You're on your goddamned own.”
“I'll take this to the cops,” I hissed, backing away slowly. “I'll call the cops, and I’ll find Abby and Shawnie. You won't get away with this.”
Chris laughed, breathless and with a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. “You stupid fuck, you're even dumber than Lloyd. Who's going to believe you? The cops? You're a convicted killer, dipshit. You go to the cops, and you'll be the one arrested. Stalking, sexual assault, murder . . . oh, I'm sure they'd love to find everything. Because I bet if the cops did a rape kit on sweet, sweet Abby's corpse, they'd find your DNA, wouldn't they?”
I could see it in Chris's eyes; he would have a backup plan. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I'd been the fall guy. He knew that if he ever got into a jam, he could use me as a convenient excuse. After all, Chris was the upstanding member of society, from one of the best families that had served his nation honorably. I was just his fuck-up friend who he'd given a second chance to, the most noble of gestures that would be regretted sorrowfully.
“I will stop you,” I gasped, backing away. I grabbed my phone from the counter as I approached the front door, glad that I still had my wallet in my pocket. “I don't know how, but I will.”
“I don’t think so, lover boy. By the time you figure things out, those two will be dead, and I'll be sitting here as free as a fucking bird. Get the fuck out. Next time I see you, I’m calling the cops myself.”
Chris darted forward and shut the door in my face, throwing the lock. I knew from months in the apartment that the door was steel core, and the deadbolt could probably hold back a motivated gorilla if it needed to. I turned and limped as fast as I could toward the elevator, hoping that Chris's bragging had been in haste.
As the elevator descended, I tried to think of someone, something I could use to save Abby and Shawnie. Chris was right, the cops were useless. They'd believe him, and most likely I'd end up arrested. Instead, I had to find someone else. I racked my brain, trying to think. Hank? No, Hank Lake might have been a good man, but Chris was his family. I didn't really know anyone else at work well enough—I didn't even have anyone's phone number.
The bell to the lobby dinged at almost the same time that the answer came to my mind. Daddy. Patrick Rawlings might have wanted to shoot me, but he loved his daughter more than life itself or his dislike of me, warranted or not. If there was anyone in the world that could help me, and had the social influence to get the cops to believe him instead of Chris, it had to be Patrick Rawlings.
Of course, that left me with one major problem. Other than his name, I knew nothing of Patrick Rawlings, or even how to get in contact with him. I left the Mayfair Tower, then turned around. I walked into the concierge area, where the person on duty looked up at me in surprise. After all, I'd been living there for four months now, and other than snatching old newspapers, I'd never said a word to them. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to put as casual a look on my face as I could. Rule number one in a firefight: don't panic. If you panic, you’re dead. “I'm trying to get a home phone number for someone. It's a business emergency, and nobody's at the office. Think you can help me out?”
Chapter 15
Abby
I felt consciousness come back slowly, achingly fighting its way back from the blackness that seemed to be smothering me. My mouth felt like it was lined in cotton, and my pulse pounded in my ears. I swore I could even feel the air resting against my skin, and everything was in pain.
I tried to move my arms to scratch the itch that had developed in my hip, and found that I was restrained somehow. I forced my eyes open, pain chasing away the last of my cobwebs as even the dim light of wherever I was sent stabbing needles through my eyeballs, directly into my brain. I mewled, trying to turn my head away.
“You're awake,” someone said in a near whisper, which still sounded like I was at a rock concert. “I was getting worried.”
I blinked, trying to get my eyes to focus. After a minute, I thought I could see a little bit, and recognized that I was in what looked like a garage, with a bit of dim light filtering through the one window that was in the corner. I guessed that it was nearly sundown, but that was all I knew. There was also a little light coming from what looked like maybe a twenty or forty-watt light bulb suspended from a socket in the middle of the room, but it cast more shadows than anything else.
I looked toward the voice that had spoken, and was shocked to see Shawnie trussed up, her clothes hanging in ripped rags from her body. “Shawnie? What the hell?”
“Don't worry, you look about the same way,” she said softly, her voice dry and raspy. “Although I think I might be a bit more dehydrated.”
“What happened? Where are we?” I asked again, still muddled. I looked up and saw that my hands were chained to a thick eye bolt in the beam that supported the ceiling. While the chains weren't super thick, and I wasn't exactly hung up like a side of beef, there was no way I was breaking that chain. It looked like the sort of chain you might use to hang a kid's swing or something, easily capable of supporting three or four times my body weight. “What the fuck?”
“We were drugged, we're in the lake house garage as best I can tell, and I have no fucking clue,” Shawnie rasped, her voice gaining strength when she paused and forced herself to swallow whatever spit she could work up to lubricate her throat. “You certainly have interesting taste in men.”
“Hey, I wasn't dating him anymore,” I replied, wincing as my brain tried to kick off the rest of its cobwebs. “What happened to you?”
“I arrived at the house at the exact time that you told me,” Shawnie said, rolling her shoulders. She was trussed up like I was, about six or seven feet away from me. I looked at her chains and guessed that if she stretched her arms overhead, she might be able to sit down, but that was it. Her clothes hung in tatters, and I felt a rush of shame as I noticed that I could see her left breast hanging out through a cut in her shirt, and that she was only wearing panties. I looked down and realized with a shock that I looked about the same way, although I was still wearing my shorts.
“When I got here, Chris was surprised as all hell, but he invited me in. He told me that he must have given you the wrong time, as the party wasn't supposed to start for another two hours. He seemed relaxed, and since it was hot as hell, when he offered me a drink, I accepted. Before you ask, no, it wasn't supposed to be alcoholic. I just asked for a glass of Coke. I was about halfway through my second cup when I started getting woozy, and it hit me. I woke up here this afternoon while he was chaining you up. What day is it, anyway?”
I blinked, tears coming to my eyes. “Shawnie, I'm so sorry. I didn't know that I was putting you in danger.”
Shawnie shook her head and tried to wave it off with her fingers. “You didn't know, that's for sure. Can I ask, did you have any suspicion about this guy when you were dating?”
I shook my head, the pain lessening with each second. “No. But we didn't really spend a lot of time together. I mean, he was already in the Army when we started seeing each other. A lot of our courtship was done by phone calls, letters, emails, stuff like that. He was really sweet and charming at the time. He seemed like a normal guy when we were together though.”
“So what day is it?” Shawnie asked, rasping. “I know it has to at least be Sunday, but I figure not Tuesday. I haven't had anything to drink, and while I'm pretty sure I pissed myself while I was out, I can't be sure.”
“It's Sunday,” I answered. I sagged, letting my head fall forward. “Shawnie, what are w
e going to do?”
She shook her head. “I don't know. Like I said, I've only been awake a bit longer than you. He must have dosed me a lot more. What brought you here?”
“I tried to text you last night, see how the party went. When I called Chris, he said that you were at the party, but that he didn't know who you'd left with. Where is your car, anyway?”
“I don't know,” she said. Shawnie didn't drive her car often, it was a third-hand used thing that had a barely-working air conditioner, but it was all she had. “I drove it over here, but I heard Chris start up a car after he chained you up, driving off before he came back. I guess that was your Camaro?”
“Even drugged, I don't think you could confuse a beater Honda and a Camaro,” I said with a mirthless chuckle. “I’m guessing he drove my car off to the same place that he took yours. Considering the area, that could be anywhere.”
“It couldn't have been too far, he was gone only twenty minutes or so,” Shawnie said. “I mean, I guessed it was twenty minutes. I can't see my watch very well. When he came back, he taunted me a bit, then left.”
“What did he say?” I asked, chilled at the idea.
Shawnie shook her head, not wanting to relive the memory. Still, the information was important, she thought, and she swallowed thickly before continuing. “He didn't give a lot of details, but basically, he plans to rape us both and then kill us.”
Relentless: A Bad Boy Romance (Bertoli Crime Family #1) Page 36
