Chapter 87: Toby’s Rage
The guy leaned his shoulder against the wall, keeping his voice low, as if Toby might still be listening somewhere in the dark.
“Toby’s… complicated,” he started. “You probably already figured that out.”
Oliver didn’t reply. He waited.
The guy swallowed hard. “After class, he usually hangs out at this bar near campus. It’s called The Lantern. Cheap beer, bad lighting, full of students pretending to be deep. He goes there almost every night. Weekends too. Always alone, unless he’s dragging someone new along to impress.”
Oliver’s eyes stayed on him, still and assessing. “And his family?”
The guy let out a short laugh. “They don’t care. His parents throw money at him and think that’s parenting. They don’t call, don’t visit. His dad’s some businessman, and I’m pretty sure he barely knows what Toby studies. His mom’s worse, the kind of woman who thinks buying you a car means love.”
Oliver tilted his head slightly. “So, he’s on his own. That tracks.”
“Yeah,” the guy said, rubbing his hands together. “He’s been changing majors since freshman year. Can’t stick with anything. Psychology, then business, then communications. I think he’s in sociology now—or maybe he dropped out again.”
“Tell me something,” Oliver said. “Is this the first time he’s gone off the rails over a girl? Or has he pulled this kind of stunt before—taking out whoever he thinks is competition?”
The kid stood uneasily. “There was a girl. His ex. They dated for, I don’t know, a year? She broke it off after he… hit her.”
Oliver’s tone stayed even. “Did he get charged?”
“Yeah. At first. But the case didn’t last. Her family settled. Rumor was that Toby’s parents paid them off. He walked away without even a suspension.”
Oliver’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture tightened. “And no one called him out on it?”
The guy shook his head. “You know how it is. People talk, then forget. He made himself the victim, said she lied. Most people believed him.”
Oliver studied him for a moment. “You ever see him around that girl again?”
“No. After that, he just started drinking more. Always at The Lantern, or that diner across from it. Same pattern—new faces, same stories.”
Oliver’s voice dropped lower. “What about friends? Does he talk to the bartenders, or the regulars?”
The guy was silent for a moment, like he was thinking underneath the mask. “Not really. He knows people there, but no one knows him. He flirts with the waitresses, buys drinks for random guys. He’s friendly when he needs to be. But once you stop being useful, he’s done with you.”
Oliver leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady. “And you’re sure that’s all?”
“That’s everything I know, I swear.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve told you everything I know about Toby. You have to promise you don’t drag me back into whatever he’s started, you won’t come after me afterward.”
Oliver glanced at the closed door behind the masked guy. “Where’s the other one—the guy with the bat?”
“Gone. After we left you, he and Toby got into it. Started yelling in the parking lot. He said he wanted no part of it, that Toby was nuts. I don’t think any of us realized how far he’d take this.”
“So he’s out,” Oliver said.
“Yeah. We all are.” The guy’s voice wavered. “Whatever Toby’s planning next, it’s on him. Not us.”
Oliver watched him for a moment, then said quietly, “Then you can start by letting me go.”
The guy hesitated, then gave a quick nod. “Right. Yeah.”
He moved closer, hands shaking as he reached for the knots. His eyes kept flicking between Oliver’s wrists and the door, like he expected Toby to walk in any second. The rope was coarse, biting into Oliver’s skin, but it started to loosen under the man’s fumbling fingers.
“Almost there,” he whispered, breath uneven. “Just a little more and you can—”
But then the door swung open.
Toby stood in the doorway. “What the fuck are you doing, Luke?”
The masked guy, Luke, froze, hands still gripping the rope. “Toby—”
Toby stepped forward, voice rising. “You stupid idiot. You think I wouldn’t come back?”
Luke straightened up, jaw tight. “I’m done, man. You’ve lost it.”
“Done?” Toby barked. “You’re not done until I say you are.”
“You tied up a guy, you beat him, and now you’re talking about going after some girl. You’re fucking insane!”
Toby laughed. “Insane? You helped me do it. You’re in this as much as I am. You and fucking Greg.”
“Greg tried to back out, too,” Luke said, his voice shaking. “And you beat him for it. You fucking broke his nose.”
Toby’s expression changed. “Greg was weak. Just like you.”
Luke stepped toward him, fists clenched.
“You followed me here.” Toby spat. “You tied the knot yourself.”
“I’m untying it now,” Luke shot back.
That did it. Toby lunged at him, and they crashed against the wall. Luke grunted as Toby shoved him hard into the table, but he pushed back, catching Toby’s arm and landing a wild punch to his jaw.
While they fought, Oliver twisted his hands, feeling the last knot start to give way. His wrists burned, but the rope was loosening with each pull.
Toby slammed Luke against the wall again, shouting something too low to catch. Luke hit back, wild and desperate, trying to hold his ground. The struggle knocked Luke’s head sideways; the edge of his mask caught on Toby’s sleeve and tore loose. The black fabric peeled down, half-twisting before dropping to the floor.
For the first time, Oliver saw his face — young, flushed, the kind of face you’d expect to see in a campus hallway, not here. Sweat matted his hair to his forehead, his eyes wide with panic.
Quickly, Oliver bent forward, teeth gritted, pulling harder now, the chair creaking beneath him.
The rope started to give.
And then…Toby swung hard, his fist connecting squarely with Luke’s face. Luke stumbled back, clutching his jaw, before Toby shoved him again—hard enough that his body hit the wall with a thud.
“You think you can cross me?” Toby barked, his voice breaking between fury and breathlessness.
Luke tried to speak, but Toby was already turning, his attention locking on Oliver.
Oliver barely had time to brace before Toby’s shoes slammed into his ribs. The chair rocked, the air leaving his lungs in one sharp burst. Another kick came, harder, catching his leg against the wood. The chair tipped and went over, crashing against the concrete.
Toby was on him in seconds.
“You piece of shit!” he shouted, every word punctuated by another kick. “You think you’re better than me?! You think you can fucking have Del that easily?”
Oliver curled as much as the ropes allowed, his breath ragged, each blow landing heavy against his side, his shoulder, his arm. He could hear the other guy shouting—something like stop—but Toby didn’t stop. He kept kicking, wild and breathless.
Oliver coughed blood, the air thin in his lungs. His head spun, but his eyes stayed open, fixed on Toby’s face above him.