The Killing Games by Antony J Woodward

Author:Antony J Woodward [Woodward, Antony J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-06-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE:

Chris laid silently watching the boy sleep, perhaps it was a little creepy but Chris didn’t care. He was mesmerised by the rhythmic falling of his chest and the soft clucking sound the boy made. He’d slept fitfully himself, haunted by yet more dreams of his dead mother only this time she was in the grotty workshop when she was torn apart by gunfire.

Now in the early hours of the Sunday morning, he was awake. Awake with the larks.

He had spent a long while considering his actions last night. He had rescued this boy, rescued him from the clutches of danger and why? Because they were boyfriends? Even though no official description or status had been broached…

Chris cared for this boy, and he didn’t know why. Something about the little punk had hooked him. Now laid in his bed with Pierre beside him, he realised that this was quite the wondrous little moment. He longed to touch the boy, to feel his skin beneath his fingertips.

Chris had become smitten, and who’d have thought it.

Why else would he have murdered that hooded stranger so easily? There had been no thought, there had been no plan. There had just been it, the violence and the kill. The rage that made him strangle the stranger to death. Chris had become part of the chaos.

Chaos… that was a fitting word for what his life had become. He thought of the cocaine stashed in the bottom of his wardrobe. It was a symbol of the new Le Bont in his life, the one who might’ve been karma incarnated and was fucking his life up just as he had done to Jason. What goes around comes around, or so it seemed.

“Morning…” Pierre groaned. He winced and squinted, though the bedroom wasn’t particularly light. Chris’ bedroom was a soft grey; with matching black bedroom furniture and a wrought iron double bed. His bedding continued the grey theme with a decadent pattern of white swirls. The window was a door to the little balcony, but Chris had installed long and heavy grey curtains which were drawn nearly all the way across.

“My head…” he groaned, he pressed his palms to his face and rubbed, “OW!” he caught the nasal wound, “What the hell?”

“Shh… take these,” Chris was already prepared, he rolled over and returned with a handful of pills and a glass of water.

“What happened last night?” Pierre’s voice was crackling, he tentatively touched the collection of dried blood and scabs on his nose.

“You got into a little fight with some dickhead…”

Pierre’s expression was one of surprise and alarm.

“I don’t remember…”

“You were spiked,”

“I was?”

“Oh yeah,” Chris agreed with a widening of his eyes. While Chris might’ve been fabricating a story that exonerated Pierre from any knowledge of the true events of the evening, he couldn’t hide the truth that Pierre had been drugged. It had been an eventful taxi ride home, Pierre had talked in a rather nonsensical stream of consciousness till eventually he shut up, before he turned to Chris and told him quite adamantly he wanted to have Chris’ babies.

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