Scared

by Sarah Masters

  “Yeah, it is if you intend serving it.” Frost smiled.

  “What do you mean?” Kevin asked, frowning.

  “Like I said.” Frost grinned. “Klein's been informed. Speed dial warning—the wonders of modern technology. We're not even going to make it to the police station.”

  “Ah.” Jonathan nodded.

  “Thing is, I wanted Croft with us.” Frost picked a speck of fibre off his trousers. “He'll enjoy Spain, I reckon.”

  “Yeah. He could do with getting a tan.” Kevin chuckled.

  Frost sighed. “Let's just hope he gets put in this van with us then, eh?” He took out his phone and selected the message option, punching in the van's registration number. Wrote: Whoever is inside, get them to safety. He pressed SEND then stamped the phone underfoot. Reaching down, he picked it up and worked through the mangled back until he prised out the small SIM card. Popping that into his mouth, he swallowed. All his contact numbers gone. Klein used a disposable and would ditch it the minute he'd finished organising what had to be done. They all used unregistered pay-as-you-go phones.

  Frost smiled smugly. “Your turn.”

  He'd instructed all his men to do this with their phones if they got caught. He imagined them doing so now as Jonathan and Kevin took the backs off theirs and swallowed their SIMs.

  “What about the others who weren't here tonight?” Jonathan asked.

  “What about them? They're not here so don't need to know what's happened.”

  The van door swung open, and a security guard filled the space. In all the commotion, Frost hadn't given a thought to being led outside by security people he'd hired.

  Security people Croft had hired.

  “Fuck!” he growled, eyeing the van ceiling. That little fucking bastard!

  “Out!” said the guard, jerking his head.

  Frost allowed Jonathan and Kevin to leave the van first, giving himself time to work through the panic overtaking him. Croft had betrayed him, probably knew all about Fraser being his brother, and now they were being ushered across the damn grass toward a different van?

  Suddenly, fifteen years didn't seem so funny.

  * * * *

  Later, Croft stood with Darrow, Russell, Toby, and a senior detective in Frost's living room. He gained a warped sense of satisfaction that everyone had traipsed over the white carpet with their shoes on. As the detectives talked, his mind turned to Fraser, who had been taken to the police station, where the doctor would check the boys over and gently question them about their ordeal. The process could take days, or even weeks with counsellors used to dealing with children who had suffered this kind of trauma.

  They would need extensive therapy, but Croft hoped they'd all come through okay. He'd saved them a harsher incarceration while they'd been here and could only hope his kindness had gone some way to easing the psychological damage their ordeal had caused.

  “You won't be going anywhere, will you, Croft?” Darrow said, bringing Croft out of his reverie.

  “Hmm? What was that?” Croft's face burned.

  “As I was telling Chief Inspector Bartram, you're not a threat. Your being here was under duress, and by helping those boys instead of helping Frost, you've proved, at least to us, that you pose no threat to the public. You'll have to be questioned, no doubt about that, but I really don't see you need locking up. There'll be a trial, but I think your cooperation and behaviour toward the boys will hold you in good stead.”

  Relief left Croft weak.

  “Do you have somewhere you can stay?” Darrow asked. “Stupid question. Sorry. Would you like us to set you up some place? It might be advisable to move somewhere further afield. If Russell and Toby's story is anything to go by, Frost has a long reach. Who knows whether he has contacts out there who might try and find you?”

  Croft's stomach lurched. “Yeah. I see what you mean. Fraser...?”

  Darrow smiled. “After he's been initially questioned and given support with experts in the field, we can arrange for him to come to you. Might be a couple of days. Mind you, seeing as Fraser was only here overnight, he probably won't need much medical attention, but he will need counselling to help him understand the abuse he suffered at home wasn't his fault. Can you handle that and everything that goes with it?”

  Croft nodded, unable to say a word, the emotion of the moment too much.

  “He can stay with us, if he likes,” Russell said. “In Wraxford.”

  “Might be too far from Fraser,” Toby said.

  Russell smiled. Shrugged a little. “Yeah, well. The offer's there.”

  * * * *

  The boy sat in a room much like a living room, dressed now in grey, loose tracksuit bottoms and a red T-shirt that was a little too big. He recalled the red coat he'd worn out on the streets, and it brought Pete to mind and the nights they'd slept by the oil drum fire.

  A woman sat opposite him in a matching armchair, clipboard on her lap. She looked kind, light wrinkles around her eyes, her auburn hair hanging in soft waves around her face. Her jeans and baggy sweater made her appear normal, nothing like the counsellor she'd announced herself to be when she'd entered the room.

  He'd expected a stern woman in a suit, hair pulled back so tight it made her look Chinese.

  “How are you, Fraser?” she asked, smiling.

  “All right.” He returned the smile.

  “Would you like to tell me about what happened? You don't have to yet, if it's too painful, but if you want to talk, I'll listen.”

  Her voice was one Fraser had imagined a proper mother's to be, and he warmed to her immediately. Words tumbled out quicker than he had time to form them, and he had to take a deep breath and slow down.

  When he'd finished, the woman smiled at him and nodded.

  “I think you're going to be just fine,” she said, placing the clipboard on a coffee table between the chairs.

  “I reckon so. Now I've found my brother.” He frowned then. “Can you get a message to someone for me?”

  “Of course. Who would that be?”

  “Pete.”

  “Pete who?”

  “I don't know. He just told me his name was Pete.”

  “Is he one of the men from the house?”

  “No. He's an old bloke I met when I left home. He was my friend.”

  “Do you know where I can find him?”

  “Yeah. He sleeps under the bridge down by that disused car park off Moreland Road.”

  She picked up her clipboard and scribbled a few words. “What would you like me to tell him?”

  “Just let him know the van took me, but I'm all right. That the police found me.”

  “Okay.”

  “He said he'd tell the police I'd been taken, see, and even if they didn't listen, I want him to think they did.”

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty

  2 Weeks Later

  Russell sat on the end of their bed in the Wraxford flat and looked around the room. Cardboard boxes filled the available floor space, leaving only a narrow aisle for them to get to the wardrobe, chest of drawers, and bed. They'd been packing for the last fortnight, and he was amazed at the amount of crap they'd accumulated. He supposed people hoarded when they thought they'd settled in one place for the foreseeable future. Though he and Toby had been aware Frost would try and find them, a small part of Russell hadn't believed he would.

  How wrong can a person be?

  Much of their stuff had been taken to charity shops or the dump, leaving only the necessities and a few keepsakes they couldn't bear to part with.

  Their last meeting with Darrow after the intense police questioning gave them much food for thought. It was best they changed their names, Russell knew that deep down, what with some of Frost's men still out there and free. They couldn't run the risk of being hunted down again. If they hid behind an alias, at least their only fear would be, by some cruel twist of fate that didn't bear thinking about, them being reco
gnised by one of them. But it would be hard to get used to being called something else.

  Mind you, if they stayed away from London and Wraxford, maybe they'd be left in peace. Who knew, though, how far Frost's reach was? There'd been talk of a Spanish operation, maybe even one in France, a band of men, all linked in the sordid business of sex trafficking. Russell had trouble comprehending such a massive outfit, and why these perverts wanted kids that way.

  What the fuck's up with them? It's wrong. Just bloody wrong.

  Sighing, he sorted through the last few books in a stack by his feet. He didn't want to part with any of them, but like Toby had said, they weren't necessities, and books could be bought again. The less they had to take with them the better. But it wouldn't be the same. When the book spines were marked with lines where he'd left the book facedown and open on the arm of a chair, the pages folded over in the top corner to mark his place, they became a part of him. A well-loved friend.

  In a fit of acceptance, he picked the pile of books up and placed them all in a box, folding down the lid flaps to hide them, as though if he couldn't see what the box contained, then the books weren't in there.

  Silly to be so attached to things when they'd been through so much, been shown what was really important, but he'd found, since returning home, that it was the little things that mattered now. His ambition, if he ever had any, had deserted him. All he wanted was to live in fucking peace, without fear. Without being scared.

  He stood, smiling at the sound of Toby pottering about in the kitchen making dinner. That man had taken it upon himself to learn to cook well, and Russell wondered if it was them being so hungry after their ordeal, having gone without food for their duration at Frost's, that had prompted Toby to appreciate their meals.

  They appreciated many things now. Still being together was one of them.

  Still being alive was another.

  Russell walked into the kitchen and leaned on the doorjamb. He gritted his teeth at the sharp pain from one of his healing welts. The skin was tight around the affected area. Antibiotics had cleared up any infection before it had the chance to infest his body, but it seemed his muscles and skin had a tough time getting better until the last day or so. It would take a while for the scars to heal, but longer for those in his mind to be something he could deal with without shaking. He kept the memories locked up, unable and unwilling to revisit the past. At least for now. The upcoming trial would bring it all back into sharp focus, but that was a long way off. Once that was over, maybe the pair of them could finally put the past to rest and start again without worrying over every glance or funny look from a stranger.

  He studied Toby, who was unaware he was being watched, iPod headphones jammed in his ears, his head bobbing to a beat that told of him listening to one of his dance tracks. Toby quick-fried some chicken breasts on the hob opposite the door—sealing in the flavour he'd informed Russell earlier—ready for them to be popped in the slow cooker in a spicy curry sauce of his own making.

  Russell smiled, thinking back to the time he'd first fed Toby in his London flat, the curry a microwave effort that had tasted good but not as good as Toby promised his dish would taste.

  The mid-morning sun slanted though the vertical blinds covering the kitchen window, giving Toby's bare back a striped look, the lines of light accentuating his smooth skin, the darker lines making it dull.

  Once again Russell thought about the incidents that had led them to this place—not in too much detail, mind, just the quick dash of a memory that he quickly squashed—to them even being together. What a price they'd paid for it too. But they'd beaten the odds so far, and he had no doubt in his mind that their being together was meant to be. Oh, he knew that sounded fantastical, that fate had a hand in life, pushing you to meet the one you'd spend the rest of your life with, sending tests along the way to see if you could get through them together, but there it was. That's how he felt.

  Toby's black jogging bottoms rode low on his waist, and Russell studied the way his lover's spine curved inward at its base. He liked to rest his hand in there when they hugged, the space making him think it had been created just for him. Their bodies fitted together, every dip and curve, every rise and fall of flesh, and he was so damn lucky his feelings for Toby were reciprocated.

  They got along so well, rarely arguing or disagreeing, and that's how Russell wanted it to stay. He couldn't imagine their relationship turning sour, with black looks and words said to wound, and hoped they never came to that. Surely their experience at Frost's had cemented their bond forever, never to be broken by a conflict of opinions or a fight as to whether they should go out tonight or stay in. Not that they were the type to go out, but he knew what he meant.

  He often thought about shit like this, tossing things around in his head.

  It beat really thinking.

  Toby placed the chicken in the slow cooker dish and grabbed an onion from the vegetable rack. Russell smiled at Toby being oblivious to him being there, enjoying watching his lover as he worked in a world of his own. Maybe Toby using the iPod a lot lately was his way of blocking the crap out. Maybe, if his head was full of music, it left no room for anything else.

  Onion chopped and added to the dish, Toby unscrewed a jar of curry sauce, and Russell nearly laughed out loud.

  So much for him adding the spices and creating the sauce himself.

  A wide smiled curved Russell's mouth, and he had the urge to grab hold of Toby and squeeze him, to press against his body and never let go. As though he finally sensed Russell watching, Toby turned and grinned, then set the cooker on low for the food to cook throughout the day. He yanked the earphones out and switched off his gadget, laying it on top of the microwave.

  “Been there long?” Toby asked, going over to the sink to wash his hands.

  “Long enough to see your homemade sauce didn't quite make it into the pot.”

  Toby chuckled and shrugged, unconcerned at being caught out. “Yeah, well, I decided we may as well use up the jar of sauce. Saves taking it with us.”

  “Any excuse...” God, I love you.

  “No, no. Not an excuse. Just a fact.” Toby dried his hands on a tea towel then threw it at Russell.

  It landed on his head, and he laughed, pulling it off and throwing it back.

  It missed Toby, landing on the worktop.

  “So,” Toby said, walking toward Russell and holding him close, arms resting on his waist. “You finally accepted the books have to go?”

  “Yeah. All boxed up.”

  They hadn't had sex since their ordeal, their muscles and sore skin preventing much intimacy beyond kisses. Even touching or spooning in bed had given them both too much pain. The abstinence had wreaked havoc with Russell, when all he'd wanted to do was express his love in that special way only having sex could, and now his cock betrayed him. It hardened fast, what with Toby's groin pressed so tightly there, and he sucked in a short breath at the intensity of his need. His balls joined the party, tightening then throbbing, wanting attention as much as his cock.

  “Someone's pleased to see me,” Toby said, the skin beside his eyes crinkling with his smile.

  “Yeah, well...it's been a while. Sorry.”

  “Why be sorry? We've always had,” Toby skimmed his hands down Russell's arse, “a healthy sexual appetite.”

  Oh, God. He gets me every time. “Yeah, but we haven't exactly been in a position to—”

  “We'll get into a position all right. You up for that?” Toby tilted his head.

  Toby stared so deeply into his eyes Russell thought he'd lose all sense of where he was. “Yeah, I'm up for that.”

  Russell mimicked Toby, cupping his lover's arse, kneading the taut flesh. It felt so good beneath his palms, but the sudden remembrance of how raw his skin had been cooled his ardour. “Your skin. Sorry, I'm...I don't want to hurt you.”

  “It's nearly better. Just old bruises and pink marks left. Touch me. Feel me.”

  Toby's breath feathered
Russell's cheek as he dipped his head and peppered kisses along the column of Russell's neck. A rash of goose bumps spread out over Russell's skin. Fuck, he'd missed this. Missed their closeness and the sensations that spiralled through his body every time Toby touched him like that, his hands skating over Russell's arse.

  Russell smoothed his hands up and caressed Toby's lower back, either side of his spine. The skin was raised in places now, knobbles from the contusions Frost had inflicted a constant reminder of what they'd been through. Russell hated that they marred his own skin, but Toby didn't seem fazed, was just content to be alive, extra markings or not.

  Raising his hands, Russell traced his palms up his lover's back, rediscovering his body all over again. Memorising each new lump, each new crevice. He brought his hands up further, trailing them over Toby's shoulders and down his arms. Toby's lips and tongue did things Russell had only dreamed about this past fortnight, licking and kissing, his mouth suckling and loving. And shit, it felt good.

  With their hands exploring one another, Russell lowered Toby's jogging bottoms, and Toby stepped out of them, kicking them aside. Russell dipped his head and licked along Toby's collarbone, tasting the skin as if for the first time. He savoured the salty tang, trailing a path to the dip below Toby's Adam's apple, circling his tongue in the hollow. His fingertips brushed over Toby's biceps, the tribal tattoo ruined by an angry, raised red scar. But it didn't matter, he loved Toby just the same—the inside counted for so much more than the outside. The self, the part of his lover that felt and longed and hoped and loved.

  Toby's erection pressed against Russell's, showing his need was just as vibrant. This...this part of their lives had always been so right, the way they knew which buttons to press and what the other liked. Fondling like this, taking the time to just explore and revel in their discoveries had become an important part of the way they had sex. It wasn't just about the fucking, although they did a fair bit of that as well.

  Images of previous fast fucks skittered through Russell's mind, and his longing heightened, his desire pushing up to painful levels. His cock throbbed, ached with the need to be touched. His balls tightened further, the desire to release what they held building with every second. Arsehole clenching, Russell sucked in a breath then let it out, the hot air fanning Toby's neck and cooling as it puffed back over his face.