Chapter Seventeen #2
It was a sound that would feature in every one of Hilary’s nightmares for years—a horrific animal cry of fury and hurt. Trenton hit the ground, and there was no other sound. The boy was unconscious.
“There,” Axel said, panting a little, but clearly satisfied. “That should do it.”
The other four were subdued. Clearly, they still had a way to go to reach the level of their psychopathic leader. But they were still not far enough away to question the path they’d taken. After a few seconds, one of them mumbled, “Should we gag him now?”
Axel returned to grab Hilary by the back of his shirt, taking a good grip before beginning the next phase of dragging. “Leave it off. This one seems to be enjoying the commentary.”
Hilary couldn’t see through the tears on his face, and knew he ought never to have approached Trenton. If he hadn’t gone up to him at the party. If he hadn’t given him a ride back or let him stay over, then Trenton wouldn’t be—right now he wouldn’t be…
“Aww,” Axel’s grin was demented. “Don’t cry. We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”
They weren’t going to make it out alive.
Maybe the other bullies who had come along didn’t know that, but there was no way to look into the blackness of Axel’s eyes and not know this was the end.
It even had him wondering if maybe Varda had been a victim of it too.
Forced to be with Axel under duress. But he’d seen no signs of that in her.
Just the usual vapid pouting, the tantrums over stupid shit like her costume and her photos.
She wasn’t stupid, so it probably wasn’t ignorance.
What had she loved about this lunatic? Or was the general lunatic aspect the appeal?
Dating someone who would kill for you. Who would drag a guy by his shattered arm and laugh when he screamed just because.
And all to be sent off to some boarding school by your rich dad, or whatever the hell it was that Seth had done as a punishment.
He knew he should have been fighting. Even if it was hopeless.
Even if it would only make things more painful in the end, he should have fought.
Trenton would have fought, and Trenton deserved to have someone fighting for him.
And yet, all Hilary could think of to do—all that he could manage—was to keep Trenton in his line of sight, twisting and squirming in whatever way he could to follow the silent lump of him as he was dragged along by the other four, some part inside of Hilary breaking every time some little bump or lump of gravel jolted the shattered arm.
And he was glad Trenton was unconscious, hoping only that he would stay that way.
He’d splinter if he had to hear another of those screams. There was a strange buzzing in his head and little else, but he was quickly learning for the first time in his almost eighteen years that there were things worse than death, and he was in one of them.
Axel was annoyed at how long the others took to make it inside the warehouse. “You assholes really need to hit the gym.”
The loudest one, a twitchy idiot he thought was maybe Clark? Carter? Something like that. The boy had a bar in his eyebrow and badly dyed hair. “Not our fault he’s such a fat fuck.”
Axel was surveying the space. “Well, you can manage another couple of reps. Drag him to that platform there. He should have a bird’s-eye view.”
If that had registered, Hilary might have asked, A view of WHAT?
And then it would have followed that if Trenton was the audience, then he must be the showpiece—the prima ballerina.
But he was busy with something else, his ears straining.
Had that been a groan, or the creaking of the warehouse? Was Trenton waking?
He was hauled over to the center of the floor and dumped like a bag of waste.
“Get his clothes off.” Axel directed. “But leave the tape. No, get it off the bottom half and redo it. I’ll need better access. Oh, and the gag. That needs to come off too.”
The panic came. The circumstance wasn’t any worse than before. He’d been doomed the moment they’d gotten him into the car, but it felt worse. Being naked and tied up under the hands of five vicious bastards felt infinitely worse than being dragged along, clothed, by the king of the bastards.
Hilary was so frightened he didn’t hear it the first time Trenton called out. But he heard the second. “I said get your hands off him!”
Axel was delighted. “Morning, sleeping beauty.”
“If you touch him—”
Axel clicked his tongue. “So possessive. Not a good look these days, whale boy. But don’t worry. We’re just making him comfortable.
It was freezing in the warehouse. It was something Hilary had noticed before, but now, with all his skin on display, he could see the effects of it better.
His hands and feet were mottled purple, and he was shivering badly enough to hear it in his teeth.
His genitals had practically receded into his body too, and Axel noticed, shoving at his parts with one of those steel-capped boots.
It lacked the force of the previous kick but was still bad enough to send lights sparking across his vision.
When he gasped, Trenton roared out again.
“I’ll hurt you for this! Everything you do to him, I’ll—”
“What? Spit at me? If you wanted to do something, you should have done it when your troubles first started. I gave you plenty of chances, didn’t I?
But you let it all slide. Some boyfriend you are.
Which of you is the man, anyway? I assume this one takes it,” he said with another nudge of the boot.
“His peashooter is too small to function in any real capacity. Then again, can you even see yours over that gut? No wonder you’re both upset.
Really pent up, aren’t you? We could help out with that. ”
“Don’t.” And Trenton wasn’t only threatening. There was fear in his voice. He was ready to beg. “Let him go. I’m the one who tattled, alright? He’d still be dating her if I hadn’t gotten involved, so let him go. You’ll still have me. You can do anything you want to me.”
But Axel laughed. He laughed like he hadn’t been this entertained in ages.
“Who’d want to touch a fat lump like you?
” And with that, he tossed down the sack he’d been carrying over his shoulder.
“At least this one’s sort of pretty, though he’s gotten slimy now.
Someone call a plumber for this leaky bastard. Oh—he’s pissing.”
Hilary didn’t realize that’s what it was, only that it was briefly warm. It was the knife Axel pulled out that caused it. Or maybe the fear in Trenton’s voice. The reality of what was in store for him—of what they were going to do—was properly hitting.
“Trent.” Hilary didn’t mean to say it. He had to keep silent—to keep Trenton from hurting any worse. But it was the only comfort he had. “Trenton.”
“Let him go.” Trenton was begging now, no longer even angry, entirely desperate. “Please just let him go. You can’t return after this. It’ll all be—”
A sound. It was the sound first. Then the pain came, entirely unfamiliar, the foreign thing inside him.
He’d always thought it would feel a little like shitting, only in reverse.
To have something up there. But it wasn’t.
It wasn’t like that at all. And the shout was Trenton’s.
With so little breath, Hilary didn’t think he could have made a sound if he’d wanted to.
“Take it out! Take it out of him—Don’t—DON’T—”
Axel laughed into Trenton’s anguish and shoved the bottle in deeper. “Careful there, Whale. If you distract me, the glass could break, and then we’d really be in a tight spot, wouldn’t we?”
The sounds Trenton was making were like a screaming kind of crying, shattered like his arm was.
The boy cursed at Axel, threats of shredded fury.
With all his flailing, Trenton managed to fall off the platform they were keeping him on, his vain struggle to get closer even when a rescue was impossible.
As if he might take it for him. Or simply have them suffer it together.
Hilary could hear it, Trenton’s breaking.
The good parts of him, the steady parts, all of what made the boy what he was, were coming undone by the things he was being forced to watch.
And then Hilary couldn’t think about that at all.
When the bottle was removed, he never thought it was over—and he was right.
The second intrusion was nothing like it, the feeling impossible.
There was no way it was going to fit inside him.
Cartoonish even to attempt it, the same bat that had broken Trenton’s arm.