Page 3 of Killer Clone

He stepped back toward the door. Maybe they could head to a café or something. Or a club. Talk about the possibility of Monty31 moving in with him.

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Do you want to go?—”

A noise came from behind him. A foot step, a crinkle of plastic. The undeniable presence of someone else in the room.

He turned. “What?—”

The world went dark, hot, and suffocating as plastic sealed over his face, pulled tight against his mouth and nose.

He gasped, and the bag sucked in against his lips, choking the breath from him.

Hands grabbed his wrists, wrenching them behind his back. A knee dug into his spine, forcing him forward. Someone else was here.

Panic exploded inside him.

More bullying. Even here. Even now.

Patrick thrashed, trying to shake them off, but his shoes scraped uselessly against the concrete.

“Get off! Get?—”

His voice collapsed into nothing, the plastic swallowing the sound. He gagged, his breath bouncing back hot and wet against his own skin.

Plastic stuck to his forehead, to his lips. The taste of old coke hit his tongue. He sucked in through his nose, but every inhale made the bag press tighter against his face.

His shirt ripped.

The sharp slap of winter air burned against his exposed back.

Patrick whimpered, the sound lost in the heat trapped around his mouth. His struggles weakened, his movements turning sluggish.

He couldn’t breathe.

His limbs tingled, numbing with lack of oxygen. A bitter, metallic taste filled his mouth as his teeth clamped down on the inside of his cheek.

His body sagged, the fight draining out of him.

Just when he thought he would surely die, the bag was ripped away.

Air rushed into his lungs, cold and sharp as glass. Patrick gasped, blinking through a haze of dizziness. The plasticcrumpled to the floor beside him, but his relief lasted less than a second.

Because Monty31 was there.

Right in front of him.

Grinning.

His eyes were alight, his cheeks flushed with giddy excitement. Like this was the best night of his life.

“Man,” he laughed, tying a rope around Patrick’s ankles, “this is gonna be great.”

Patrick tried to get away, but the second set of hands cinched the knot tight.

A sharp yank, and he was hauled upside down.

The rush of blood to his head was instant, his vision blurring at the edges.

Patrick tried to speak, but his words fell apart in his throat. His friend. The only person who’d ever really talked to him, who’d ever cared?—