Off Limits(49)
“You're a f*cking 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 f*ck 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 f*cking 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 f*cking none other than Miss Teen USA! In fact, from what Tris could tell, Bane was probably f*cking 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 f*cking love-struck that she sent her big-titted bitch friend in her place while she went off somewhere, probably f*cking Bane and draining his balls of everything worthwhile. So, Tris got a little angry.”
“What the f*ck 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 f*cking fun. I figured if anything, prison would have made you more understanding. Instead, I come to find that you're f*cking 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 coffee 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 f*cking own. I tried, Dane. I gave you a place to stay, got you a job, I even took you out to get some *. But you just wouldn't go along with the program. So f*ck 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 f*ck, 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 f*ck-up friend who he'd given a second chance to, the most noble of gestures that would be regretted sorrowfully.