Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) - By Dan Rix Page 0,50

heard the distant toll from the Chamber of Halves, officially announcing his eighteenth birthday.

He listened carefully, his heart pulsing in his throat—and then he heard another sound from the hallway. Footsteps.

Aaron held his breath as the floor outside his door groaned under the weight of an intruder.

The door banged open.

***

Two figures rushed inside. They wore black beanies stretched over their faces.

“Surprise!” yelled one of them. He laughed, flipped on the lights, and yanked off his beanie—Dominic Brees.

The other one laughed too, and Aaron knew the voice—Clive Selavio.

Aaron stood up, adrenaline flooding his veins. “Get out of my house,” he said. “I’m sleeping.”

“Not anymore,” said Dominic. “This is your payback for what happened at the game.”

Clive rushed in from the side and clamped his hand over Aaron’s mouth. “Shhh,” he said, and Aaron could taste his sour breath. “Don’t cry!”

Aaron slapped his arm away, grabbed his throat, and shoved him against the wall. “I said, get out of my house.”

Clive snorted with laughter and squeezed Aaron’s wrist, dipping his fingernails into the open wound. Aaron winced and yanked his hand back. He threw in the weight of his other shoulder. They both fell.

Aaron seized the bedside lamp, snapped the cord free. Eight and a half pounds of hard porcelain. But Dominic caught him from behind. The rugby player’s thick forearm coiled around Aaron’s throat and dragged him backward.

Aaron slammed his foot into Clive’s face and squashed Dominic against the other wall. They toppled over the bedside table, and his choke loosened. Aaron broke free, twisted, and buried his elbow into Dominic’s jaw.

But Clive’s clammy fingers closed around his ankle and yanked him off his feet. He crumpled onto the carpet and his attackers swarmed over him. A knee crunched into his back, and he felt the ice-cold prick of the switchblade poised at his throat.

“Don’t move,” Dominic hissed, his saliva splattering against his ear. Aaron twisted, but the blade pried into his skin, dangerously close to his jugular. He froze.

Dominic panted. “You made a mistake, number eleven, and now you’re paying for it.”

Aaron felt rope uncoil on his back. While Dominic held the knife to his throat, Clive bound his wrists and ankles and yanked the knots tight.

Dominic waved for Clive to switch the light back off. They were still for a moment, and they heard the creaking mattress from his parents’ bedroom.

Of course. They weren’t alone in the house.

“Dad!” Aaron yelled. “Call the police—” But Dominic smashed his head into the floor.

“Shut your trap!” he hissed.

Then they hustled him to his feet and out of his room. Aaron stumbled in front of them, his feet tied, praying he didn’t trip—because Dominic didn’t know just how close the blade was to slicing open his throat.

Outside, moonlight flooded the front yard through a gap in the rainclouds. They had driven the Beamer onto the grass and smashed the flowerpots. Dominic forced Aaron into the back, handed the switchblade off to Clive, and climbed into the driver’s seat.

It felt like a bad dream.

Dominic floored it and popped the clutch, and the Beamer lurched forward. They missed the driveway completely, bounced off the curb. He shoved the stick into second, and for a heartbreaking moment, the screech of stripping gears rattled the car. The smell of burning clutch hissed from the vents.

“Want me to drive?” said Clive.

Dominic snickered. “You can’t drive stick, Selavio.” He checked the rearview mirror, and the car swerved. “His head, you idiot!”

Aaron felt Clive’s slippery fingers drag a pillowcase over his face.

They drove for twenty minutes, and Aaron worked at the knots around his wrists. They were already looser; apparently, Clive was never a boy scout. Even blindfolded, Aaron knew where they were taking him. He could feel the static electricity when they entered Dominic’s gate. He was aware of something else too. A sore spot, an itch. At the back of his skull.

Halfway up the driveway the Beamer pitched to the left, and they bounced along the lawn. Bushes whacked the bumper and scraped the sides. Through the pillowcase, Aaron saw tall, spindly shadows.

They were taking him into a forest.

A second later, he freed his wrists. And he didn’t wait a second longer. In one fluid motion, he tugged the pillowcase off his head, yanked the door handle, and threw himself from the car.

Bad idea.

The car was moving faster than he’d thought. Much faster. His shoulder crashed through tree roots and splinters tore his skin. He tumbled, ate dirt, and collided face first with the trunk of an oak