Like an ad for the RAM 2500.
“You know, it’s funny,” Tommy observed as they walked toward Rustanov’s ride. “I’ve been wanting to see inside your truck since freshman year. Ironic, ain’t it, that this is when I finally get to?—”
Tommy cut off when Rustanov shoved him without warning. A tough jolt of a push that sent him stumbling sideways.
Which maybe would have been fine if not for the hole Tommy failed to notice while he was looking up at the sky for the first time in nearly a month.
He found out the tough, descending way that there was nothing beneath his feet when he fell with a shriek. That cut off when he landed so hard his right leg gave out with a sickening crack.
Pain. If not for the drugs he’d been given, still sloshing warm in his system, no doubt he would have done more than just scream. He would have passed out.
But the drugs kept him conscious as he tried to figure out what was going on. Where was he?
His heart stopped when the unmistakable feel of cold dirt under his hands answered his question.
This wasn’t just a hole in the ground.
It was a deep, dark grave.
As if to confirm his guess, warm liquid splashed down on him. Had he been worried about how he smelled? No need to concern himself about that humiliation any longer. The acrid stench of kerosene completely canceled out the scent of his own urine.
When the splashing stopped, a gasoline-soaked Tommy flipped over.
I trust these things you are promising me are true.
Rustanov’s response to his problem suddenly took on a new translation when Tommy found Rustanov standing above his grave with what looked like one of those homemade bottle fires. What did they call them?
Oh yeah,Tommy remembered with weary acceptance.Molotov cocktails.
Joke was on him. Tommy could only laugh as he watched Rustanov light the thing.
The fire cast the Russian player’s sharp face in flickering shadows.
Right before he dropped the bottle into Tommy’s grave. Without a second of hesitation.
Does Lydia Carrington know?Tommy wondered as he watched the bottle sail toward him.Does she know just how far her boyfriend will go? That he is a complete and total monster?
That was the last coherent thought he got to have before he was consumed by fire.
Then there was only pain, so much pain. Enough to make him grateful when his life was finally extinguished by a cold, black death.
YOM
Yom’s mindwas preoccupied as he put on his skates. But not because of the male he’d immolated just a few hours ago. He’d spared not a single thought for that unworthyublyudoksince walking away to leave Stepan to backfill the grave once Hanson stopped screaming.
His mind was occupied with thoughts of Lydia. She’d technically been no different since the Valentine’s Day hiccup.
Technically.
She’d thanked him for his belated gifts. And she continued to not pull away when he took hold of her hand.
Their dinners were filled with a cheery recounting of her days, which involved classes, student work, volunteer hours, and lots of checking in on her friends, Trish and Merry.
She’d helped him study for his Statistics midterm and even teased him when he passed. “It was the teddy bear that totally made the difference, wasn’t it?”
The answer to that question was partially.
He’d ended up taking the small stuffed animal with him to the test and setting it beside the computer he’d been assigned for the midterm exam. This, of course, he knew, didn’t truly matter. His path was already carved in the wake of his Uncle Nikolai—who’d happily helped him knock out Hanson and his father, then string them both up in chains while chatting with him about what position he’d play when he joined the Indiana Polar.
