Read Online Wrong Chance by E. L. Myrieckes - Free Book Online

sense tells me you know exactly why.” Chance tugged Yancee from the trunk and let his body hit the gravel with a thud. “Time to get your comeuppance.”
    â€œAahg!” Yancee howled in pain, hoping someone would hear him.
    â€œIt’s only us, dude. Scream like a pregnant bitch if you wanna.” Then: “Now you understand why I chose to zap you with the venom of a Blue-ringed oct.” Chance started dragging Yancee across the gravel. “You’re completely paralyzed and fully conscious. You’re gonna love this part, dude: the beauty about this contradiction is you can feel all the hell I’m about to put you through. Well…up until the point your breathing stops.”
    Now, in typical Chance fashion, Yancee realized that Chance wore thread-bare jeans, scuffed Vans sneakers, and a bleach-splattered Nirvana T-shirt. After Yancee endured the punishment of a flight of concrete stairs, the dragging was over. He wasn’t sure of how far Chance dragged him—ten, fifteen feet maybe—but judgingfrom the burning sensation of his chest and face, it was farther than a hop and a skip.
    Yancee lay face down—skin on fire—against a cold floor, another contradiction. He was still clueless as to where he was, and he couldn’t get the sight of Chance’s bald head out his mind. All he knew about his whereabouts was he was indoors and the place smelled like it had been bottled up for years.
    Chance kicked him onto his back and showed him a large surgical scalpel. “Dude, I’m not horsing around.” His voice echoed throughout the building.
    That meant the place was definitely big and probably empty, Yancee assumed. “Chance, man, what the fuck?” His eyes darted back and forth, taking in as much of his surroundings as his limited field of vision would allow. From the architecture and stained-glass windows, he thought he was in a church. Only he couldn’t locate a reference or likeness of Jesus Christ. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a choir of crickets, the rustling of trees bringing up the background, and traffic, of all things. Then he felt a faint draft push across his face.
    Chance didn’t waste any more time. He jabbed the scalpel into Yancee’s thigh and twisted the blade to get a good flow going.
    Yancee screamed.
    â€œNice comeback.” Then: “Been thinking about it for the last six months. Dude, you knew about Cashmaire all along.”
    Click.
    Now everything fell into place. Chance must’ve known about what they had done or he was fishing for answers. Yancee’s guilt catapulted him back to 1999 when Leon had shown him an article written in a medical journal. Yancee could still see the evil smirk Leon had on his face as Yancee had read the article.
    Yancee was jerked back to the here-and-now when he saw the shiny blade lunging toward him again. First everything went from 88 rpm down to 3 rpm, and then his surroundings went mute. In slow motion he studied the deliberateness of the asymmetrical-shaped blade, the audacity of its precision point. He anticipated the inevitable pain it would cause but couldn’t flinch or brace himself to soften the impact. Primal fear instructed him to survive, instructed his body to take flight or fight, instructed his hands to reach up and stop the dangerous blade from hitting its mark.
    Nothing happened, though.
    His brain transmitted, but his body didn’t receive the messages. During the slow motion, he examined Chance’s face: anger and vengeance had replaced easygoing and laid-back. Chance had to know, but how? Who had broken their pact of silence?
    Then the blade sliced into his flesh; a guttural scream leapt from his mouth at 100 rpm.
    â€œIf I’m right, you got some huge gonads screwing around with my life.” Chance twisted the scalpel. “Dude, you’re leaking plenty good.”
    Yancee lay there in pain, motionless. He knew he was bleeding