Trevor smiled. “Depends on whom you’re rooting for.”
26
CHRIS
He opened his eyes to a stabbing pain, like daggers shifting underneath his flesh. He could vaguely tell that he was lying sideways on the cement basement floor. His head... something was wrong with his head. It felt warm and sticky where it rested on the floor. He sniffed and smelled blood.
What happened?
Flashes of lights appeared in his memory, blue and red, blue and red. He had felt a spark of hope when the lights spilled across the living room, but that had been swiftly replaced with terror as he tumbled down the stairs. He wondered if his skull was still intact or whether he was leaking out pieces of brain with the steady flow of blood.
His heart sounded too loud and felt too slow. At least he didn’t have that damn shirt stuck in his mouth anymore, although his hands were still bound behind his back.
“Daniel?”
The voice came from behind him. A hand stroked hisshoulder—the one that didn’t hurt like hell.
“Daniel, are you okay? I’m sure that Trevor didn’t mean for you to fall.”
Chris shut his eyes. Even the dim light felt too bright. A sudden screeching sound from upstairs pierced through his brain like an arrow. Someone was moving the closet.
Maybe it isn’t Trevor?
A shred of hope reignited in his chest, momentarily pushing aside his pain. He squinted at the top of the stairs, waiting for red and blue lights to spill down.
“Is he okay?”
The sound of Trevor’s voice sent his hopes plummeting.
“He’s bleeding from his head,” Andy said.
Trevor hurried down the stairs and crouched next to Chris. “Bring me a towel and a first-aid kit. There’s one in the bathroom.”
As Andy scuttled upstairs, Trevor carefully tilted Chris’s chin. “Open your eyes. Come on, Danny—there’s barely any blood.”
With a sigh, Chris forced his eyes to open, blinking the blurriness away.
“I fucking hate you.”
“I know.” Trevor tore the duct tape from around his wrists. “You’re getting your wound dirty. Lie on your back.”
Chris growled as he shifted to his back. Despite thepain swimming across his body, his bones seemed to be intact. His right shoulder had taken most of the impact, the pain there burning and unrelenting.
“What about your brilliant plan?” Chris asked. “How will you make my bruised corpse look like suicide now?” He chuckled despite the pain. “You’re so fucked, Trevor. Kill me right now if you want, but you better start running.”
“I got the police to leave, didn’t I? Your big brother always lands on his feet.”
Chris was about to say that whoever had sent the police knew where they were, but he couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. He feared bringing anyone else into this madness.
But it’s not just about me.
Jay was still unconscious, his body flooded with drugs.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Trevor tried to sound calm, but Chris detected worry. “We can’t stay here. I’ll need to pack you into my trunk and find somewhere else for us to stay until you heal.”
“Jay?”
“Forget about him. I’ll bury him next to Dima. They can fight in the afterlife.”
