Chapter Twenty-Two

He had experienced fear before. He’d looked into another’s eyes and seen anger, fury, even hatred, but none of that prepared Matt for what he saw in Clint’s eyes. Nothing.

They were empty. Devoid of any soul.

Blood poured from the wound on Dale’s face. A crimson stain that covered his chin.

“Dale, are you all right?”

Clint tightened his hold around Dale’s neck and moved the knife back toward his face. “Unless you want to say goodbye to these pretty looks, keep your mouth shut until I tell you,” he threatened. “This is a paper cut compared to what I’ll do.”

Dale looked directly into Matt’s eyes, flashing a warning to do what Clint said. He didn’t have to speak. A look said everything.

Matt tried to assess the situation and make rapid sense of what was happening. There was no sense. Clint had his lover by the throat and a knife to his face. He’d already shown what he was capable of. The cut on Dale’s cheek was evidence of that. What the hell was this all about? He was crazed, that much was obvious, but what had brought it on? What did it have to do with them?

There was only one thing he could do. Go along with him. For now.

“We’ll do what you want,” he said, raising his open hands. “Just don’t hurt him.”

Cold eyes regarded him for twenty seconds, thirty—it seemed like hours. What was going on behind those eyes? Impossible to know. There was no emotion. Looking into those blank holes, a question suddenly came into his head—was Clint the Durham Strangler?

He couldn’t be. That was impossible. This was not the strangler’s MO. And yet, he had his arm around Dale’s throat, and the emptiness of those eyes spoke of nothing but madness.

The Durham Strangler?

Matt was more afraid than ever. He had to get that sick bastard away from the man he loved.

Clint inclined his head toward the door. “Back through to the kitchen.”

Matt did what he was told, keeping his hands raised where Clint could see them. Don’t do anything to startle the fucker.

He stepped into the kitchen. Clint followed, arm still around Dale’s throat, knife at his face, a slow shuffling two-step.

“Don’t try anything stupid,” he said. “Or I’ll take one of his eyes out.”

Matt raised his hands higher. “I’m not doing anything, Clint. You know I wouldn’t.” With supreme effort, he kept his voice level and calm. He’d dealt with enough angry dickheads to know the slightest thing could unbalance them. Something as small as a perceived change in tone. He couldn’t afford to do anything that might provoke him.

“Far enough,” he said as Matt drew level with the table. He loosened his hold on Dale’s throat.

Dale sucked in a huge lungful of air. Clint shoved him toward the table.

“Sit,” he barked.

Dale’s eyes met Matt’s again. Keep it together, they were saying. Matt could properly see the cut on Dale’s face—a two-inch wound from the cheekbone down into his beard. At least it looked clean. The amount of blood made it look worse than it was. If they got out of this soon, it should stitch together without much trouble. It was a big ‘if’.

Clint took something from his jacket pocket and threw it on the table toward Matt. Cable ties.

“Bind him to the chair,” Clint said, waving the knife. “Wrists and ankles. And make it tight. Try anything brave and I’ll take that eye. This is the only warning you’ll get.”

Clint and the knife were too close to Dale. Matt couldn’t risk it. Tying him up might be suicide for both of them, but in that moment, he had no other option. He took the cable ties and set about Dale’s first wrist.

“Tight,” Clint barked. “I’m watching. If there’s as much as a millimeter slack, I’m gonna do some cutting.”

Hands shaking, Matt struggled with the fiddly ties, trying to thread them the wrong way before figuring out how they worked. At last he had fixed his lover to the chair by hand and foot.

Had he also signed his death warrant?

Clint gestured with the knife for him to step away before moving in to check the fastenings. Satisfied, he straightened up, finally lowering his weapon.

“Clint,” Matt said, trying to inject a tone of calm reason to his voice. “Why are you doing this? We haven’t done anything against you. Whatever you think is wrong, this is not the answer. Talk to me, please.”

“Fucking, weren’t you?”

“What?”

“You were fucking. You said you would come to the gym tonight but instead you came here to fuck him.”

A fresh wave of horror hit him. The cool manner he’d tried hard to uphold crumpled. “Where’s Conrad? What have you done to him?”

Clint’s face betrayed no emotion. “What I wanted to do to you. I fucked him. Only I didn’t go so easy as I might have done with you. He was useless. Couldn’t even make me come.”

Matt felt the world shrivel around him. His best friend—what hell had he sent him into? No. No. No.

“You bastard,” Dale roared, spitting blood across the table.

Clint struck a blunt fist against the side of Dale’s head. “You’ll get your turn, Yankee, but not until I’m ready. Like I gave it to your friend from work, little Aaron. He was nice. A real sugar butt. He put up a struggle too. I like it when they do that.” He laughed. It was a humorless sound.

“Aaron?”

There it was. Matt’s worst fear confirmed and a nightmare descent to a deeper level of hell. Clint Dexter was the Durham Strangler.

They were dead men.

“Clint,” he said, grasping for any desperate line of hope. “You said you wanted me tonight. Let Dale go and you can have me. I’ll do anything you want.”

“No,” Dale cried.

“That’s not how this works,” Clint said. “You’re not in your courtroom now, big man. I call the shots. No bargaining. No negotiation. This goes my way.”

The calm tone of his voice was terrifying. There was a sickly white pallor to his skin. His face glistened with sweat. Everything about him was at odds. He was clearly out of his mind.

“I will kill you,” Dale said, straining hopelessly at his restraints.

“That sounds like something you would say in one of your movies.” Clint laughed. “Only much less convincing. The only thing you’re going to do tonight is die. Maybe you’ll get a fuck, maybe not. It depends how generous I feel once I’m finished with your boyfriend.”

“Don’t touch him. Don’t you dare.”

“Or what?” Clint said calmly. “You’re tied to a chair, big man. And even if you weren’t, I could break your neck before you laid a finger on me. I’m the real killer, Yankee. You only play at it.”

Matt fought to think rationally. Dale was tied up. He wasn’t. For whatever reason, Clint had decided not to restrain him too. If they were to have any hope of survival, he had to make sure it stayed that way. He could arm up later, right now he had to focus on staying free.

“You,” Clint said, pointing the knife at him. “Strip.”

It made little difference now. He was only wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Better to be naked than chained. He took everything off and stood in front of Clint, defiantly meeting his icy gaze.

“You could have been so much better, without the distraction of this,” Clint shoved Dale’s shoulder. “Missing sessions. Eating garbage. Drinking fucking champagne. You could have been perfect. I could have made you perfect.”

“He is perfect, you asshole.”

Clint delivered a back hander to Dale’s face. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“You’re a psycho!” Dale spat.

Clint hit him again, harder. Dale’s head jerked sideways, spraying blood across Matt’s chest.

“Stop it,” Matt begged. “Please.”

Clint looked straight at him, mouth curling cruelly at the corners. “Seeing how I like you so much, I’m going to afford you a favor. Something I didn’t do for all those other men. Aaron and…Conrad, was it? I’m going to let you know what happens next. I was going to kill you both, but on the way over here, I had a change of plan. Sweet, huh? Once we’re done here, Matt and I are going to take a journey. North. To Scotland. One of the islands, some place we can lie low till all this Durham Strangler shit dies down. Not much for two men to do up there to pass the time, except fuck. We’ll be doing a lot of that.”

“You crazy bastard,” Dale snarled.

Clint smacked him around the head and continued. “Once the heat is off, we’ll take a fishing boat out of the country.” He smiled. “Now, I’m saying we, that’s supposing I haven’t grown tired of you by then. I guess it’s up to you to make sure I don’t.”

“You won’t get one second of pleasure out of me,” Matt said defiantly. He would sacrifice himself to prevent Clint from taking out his twisted desires, but Dale’s survival depended on him pulling through. He couldn’t give up now.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Clint said. “I like a man who fights back. Now I’m going to see how much fight you’ve got in you. Let’s go upstairs.”

Was he kidding? “Upstairs?”

“That’s right. As much as I’d enjoy Dale watching me fuck you right here on this table, I figure what he can’t see will torture him a whole lot more. I reckon he’ll go out of his mind, imaging what we’re doing on his bed. Besides, I’ve wanted you a long time, Matt. I want the first time to be special. Just the two of us.” He laughed again. “Romantic, like the two of you before I arrived.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

Clint stroked the obscene bulge in his pants. “If you’d rather your boyfriend did watch this first time, I could go for that too.”

The pain in Dale’s eyes was too much to bear. With tears burning his eyes, Matt turned toward the hall.

“It’s this way.”

Dale’s howl of rage and frustration tore through the house.

“That’s a nice arse,” Clint said, walking up the stairs behind him. “I knew it would be. I’ve got an eye for these things.”

Naked, Matt felt exposed enough already without Clint’s lecherous eyes on his behind. But modesty was the least of his problems. He was seconds away from going into the bedroom with a serial sex killer. What the fuck could he do now?

“You can walk as slowly as you like,” Clint quipped. “We’ve got all night. Besides, those nice slow steps you’re taking give me an opportunity to admire your ass and think about all the ways I can destroy it. I have a lot of experience in that area.” A low chuckle. “And I’ve been thinking about you and your body for longer than most.”

Every word caused his flesh to crawl, but Matt didn’t show it. He had too much experience, fronting things out in court, to betray his fear to a madman like Clint. Except he was frightened. Terrified.

They reached the turn in the stairs. Ten more steps to the top. Time was running out.

Think, Matt. Come on man, think.

What could he use as a defense up here? He hadn’t set foot in the house until tonight. It wasn’t enough time to get to know the place.

There was an en suite bathroom off from the bedroom. If he was quick enough he could lock himself in there. But then what? There was no phone. No way of raising the alarm. He would be safe, for now at least, but leave Dale to the mercy of Clint and his knife. That was not an option. Clint could do what he wanted to him if it would spare Dale.

Clint had already told them he wasn’t going to kill Matt tonight. Whatever happened, he still had hope of saving Dale. Hope was all he needed.

They entered the bedroom.

“Nice,” Clint said, regarding the rumpled sheets.

Less than an hour before they had been in ecstasy upon that bed. Their own little heaven. Now it was a living hell.

“Is that why you stood me up?” Clint asked. “So you could be with him, in there?”

“Clint,” Matt said, turning to face him, open arms, his expression wide. “I didn’t know you wanted me in that way. How could I? You never gave any indication that you…liked me, until tonight.”

It was a long shot trying to reason with a psycho, as if it were nothing more serious than a co-worker with an inappropriate crush.

Clint’s knuckles whitened around the handle of the knife. Matt took a careful step backward, closer to the bedside cabinet.

“Don’t try stalling me with that crap,” Clint said. “I’m the Durham Strangler, remember. Not one of your no-hope clients. I don’t want to buy you dinner and roses. You’re my fucking dinner.”

In two long steps, Clint covered the room and was upon him. Adrenaline took over.

Clint’s arms came around his torso.

Snake-fast, Matt’s arm went behind his back, his hand gripped the neck of the empty champagne bottle. Whipping back around, he smacked the bottle over the crown of Clint’s head. He heard a sickening thunk and the force caused the bottle to shatter.

Fragments of glass rained over both of them. Matt backed into the cabinet.

Clint staggered. Stunned. His face was blank for a second, until he shook the pieces of glass from his head. His eyes came back into hateful focus.

“Boy, you’re gonna regret that in every way.”

He came at Matt with the force of a crazed bull.

****

Dale attempted to move. The plastic cable ties cut deep and had drawn blood from all four limbs, but there was no give in any of them. Clint had chosen well.

That bastard. Dale’s rage threatened to consume him but he had to keep a lid on it. Blind fury would not get him out of this.

He had to get upstairs. God knows what that sick fuck was doing. He’d heard the broken glass moments before, then a heavy thud. Matt. Poor Matt, what is he doing to you?

He’d never felt so useless. Incompetent. Unable to protect the man he loved. This was the worst feeling in the world.

Try again. Try harder.

Deep breath. Willing his entire body to relax, go soft. Devoid of tension, he tried the wrist straps again. Easing back, using minimal force, he tried to wriggle free. Nothing. It was useless.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

That evil bastard had killed Aaron and all those other men, now he was upstairs with Matt and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Dale let loose a primal scream of anger. Tears and blood ran down his face.

“Be quiet,” the voice was a whisper, close to his ear.

He snapped his head around.

Keeley Rank held a finger to her lips. “Be quiet, for God’s sake.” She tugged at the restraints on his wrist. “Scissors?”

He didn’t know where she had come from, or why she was there, but in that moment she was a gift from heaven.

“Top drawer, left of the sink,” he whispered.

There was another heavy thud from above. The ceiling shook and the contents of the cupboards rattled. Keeley froze, looking upward.

“Get me loose,” Dale urged. “Hurry.”

Carefully, Keeley opened the drawer and located the scissors. She crept back to Dale and snipped the plastic ties. The relief was instant. Dale flexed his fingers to restore the circulation.

“Let’s get out,” Keeley urged, helping him to his feet.

“He’s got Matt upstairs.”

“I’ve already called the police,” she said, taking his elbow and urging him toward the door. “Let them handle this.”

Dale stood firm. “No. He’s insane. The second he hears the sirens he’ll go berserk, like a cornered rat. Matt will be dead.”

“You don’t know that. C’mon, let’s get out. The cops can handle him. They’re the experts.”

He shrugged her away and started opening drawers. What could he use for a weapon? Shit! If he was in the States, he’d have a gun on the property and could blow that fucker’s brains out.

Knives were the only option. And the element of surprise. Clint thought he was still trussed to the chair. If he could get up there undetected, he’d have surprise on his side. It was better than the alternative—nothing.

Dale grabbed a carving knife and a large chopping knife, the biggest two in the block. He’d never had to wield one of these for real but all those horror movies had taught him a thing or two about handling them.

“Dale, don’t do this,” Keeley urged.

“He’ll kill Matt if I don’t.”

“He’ll kill you too,” she said. “Would Matt want that?”

“I don’t mind dying to save him. Go outside,” he said. “Wait for the cops. When they arrive, tell them exactly what’s gone down. Tell them to turn right at the top of the stairs. It’s the bedroom at the front. Tell them not to wait, to come straight up.”

“Fuck,” she said, heading for the back door.

When his mind was set, that was it for Dale. There was no going back. Fear would not put him off.

A loud cry from upstairs. Matt.

Dale took the stairs on the balls of his feet, the light tread of a cat. He was alert for the sound of sirens outside. Nothing yet. The moment Clint heard them coming, it would be over.

Matt let out another cry.

Killing was too good for this bastard, but right now Dale would do what he had to. Matt had suffered enough.

This ended now.

With his back to the wall, he crept along the landing.

Clint’s confidence and lust had done him the biggest favor. So hungry to get to Matt, he’d left the bedroom door open.

They were on the floor beside the bed. Dale edged into the doorway for a better view.

Clint had Matt pinned down. He was on top, pants around his ankles, hairy ass thrusting.

“Let me in, cunt.”

Matt cried in pain.

Finally blinded by rage, Dale surrendered to his violent impulses.

He crossed the room, both knives raised. He brought his right hand down with sudden force. The blade slid over Clint’s shoulder blade before slipping into a space between his rib. Dale came in fast with the second knife, jabbing into the soft tissue of Clint’s waist. The blade went in to the hilt.

Clint reared with a scream, clutching his back. He fell to the side of Matt, writhing in agony. He stared at Dale, a look of question and disbelief on his face, until Dale’s knee impacted, full force, with his nose.

Matt pushed up onto his hands and knees. Dale was there, putting arms around him. He hauled the sheets off the bed to cover him.

As he led him from the room, Dale heard the police sirens distantly on the hill.

The nightmare was over.