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  Sometimes, you just had to give in and sleep.

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  Chapter Thirteen

  Frost woke, the early morning light searing his retinas. He'd forgotten to close the damn curtains again last night. He'd left Stephen in his room, the boy well used and hating Frost a little more. No sign of love in the young man's eyes, but that was okay. It would come. Frost had a feeling about it.

  He had a lot to do today, preparing for the night ahead. Everyone knew the drill, had their specific tasks to perform, but he'd make sure his men were reminded all the same. It didn't do to solely rely on their loyalty and the memories of previous auction nights. One slip and they'd all be fucked.

  Flinging the quilt back, he padded to his en-suite and switched the shower on. Instant heat billowed out of the stall along with a cloud of grey steam. He smiled at what money could bring, what Parker's death and his own determination had brought. Riches. Never having to worry about where his next meal was coming from. Never having to walk the streets with his gaze glued to the ground in search of stray pennies. That the boys he re-homed were helped in the process was the icing on the cake.

  He stepped into the shower, letting the water play over his body for a bit. Just to stand like this for a few moments before his busy day began always made him feel good. Gave him time to reflect and be grateful for what he'd achieved. Some would say God had a hand in it, but Frost had stopped believing in Him long ago. Around the time his mother issued her first request. How could a so-called good god allow things like that to happen?

  Frost ousted thoughts of the fact he had done the same things to boys himself. After all, they'd agreed, hadn't they, to have him test them? He had signatures. Witnesses that they'd nodded and said yes, yes they wanted the life he offered.

  All sorted then. No guilt needed here.

  He reached for the shampoo and washed his hair, closing his eyes so the lather didn't get into them. Last thing he needed was his eyes to look red-rimmed as though he was less than alert. The punters expected him to be on the ball; after all, he knew their identities, their addresses, every damn thing about them. If they thought he wasn't up to the job, they might not return to him time and again.

  And they did, though where the boys they'd previously bought ended up he didn't know. Didn't care. Couldn't. When the lads started looking older, the punters tired of them, didn't get their jollies in quite the same way as they had before. Frost received a phone call, let the customer know when the next auction would be, and that was that.

  Fucking excellent business. Good old Parker.

  Frost rinsed the shampoo from his hair and reached for the shower gel. He soaped up, going through today's inventory. Once washed, he stepped out of the shower and dried off, the luxurious feel of his expensive towel heaven on his skin.

  Not as heaven as Stephen's mouth.

  No, not as heaven as that.

  His cock hardened as he thought of the man, who looked so much younger than his age. He might be eighteen, but he appeared around fifteen. How long would it be before Stephen aged?

  It doesn't matter. I'm keeping him anyway. I want...

  What did he want?

  A life partner. He laughed, drying his armpits. Yeah, I'm going soft as I age.

  He needed someone in place to hand the business down to. Once tonight was over, he'd talk to Stephen, let him know what the future held if he toed the line. It was surprising what the dangling carrot of money did to a person. Stephen would see sense, no doubt about that.

  Back in his bedroom, Frost selected a grey suit, white shirt, and red tie. He hung them on the handle of his wardrobe door and turned to make the bed. He had a thing about doing it himself. The woman who came once a week to clean—when the house was empty of everyone but one man guarding the front door—he instructed her to leave his bed alone. No one tucked the sheets as tightly as he did. No one smoothed the quilt and plumped his pillows in quite the same way.

  Satisfied his bed looked as he wanted it, he took some grey socks from his chest of drawers and a thong of the same colour. He enjoyed the way the strip of fabric chafed his arsehole when he walked. Reminded him of a lover's finger.

  Dressing, making sure his suit hung just so, he left his bedroom and paused outside Stephen's door. Soft snores sounded, and he smiled that the young man had succumbed to sleep. Once they had established a pattern and Stephen accepted his life was here, everything would slot into place. Frost would get the sense of well-being he craved, and Stephen would be cherished like no other man alive.

  He wanted to open the door, peek at the man who stood to inherit his fortune. Frost lifted his arm and clasped the handle, a shiver of desire rippling over his skin. He closed his eyes and imagined Stephen in bed, legs possibly sprawled on top of the covers, one hand flung over his forehead. Frost saw every line and curve of Stephen's body, the dip just below his ribcage, the thatch at the juncture of his thighs. Cock growing harder, he rubbed himself through the fabric of his trousers. The man on the other side of the door had the ability to make Frost come in his pants without ever touching him. That meant something, didn't it? Stephen was the one for him.

  He opened his eyes and curled his fingers tighter around the handle. Turned it.

  No, he couldn't allow for distractions. Not today. Tonight, once the auction had finished and the punters and boys were gone, was a different matter. The week off he allowed his men, the lull between the sale and the start of rounding up ten more boys, would be spent showing Stephen how wonderful life could be. They'd make love all week, and maybe, by the end of it, Stephen might start looking at Frost with the adoration he so wanted.

  Frost let the handle go and leaned toward the jamb. He sniffed. Stephen's scent reached him along with the fuggy smell of sleep, a room where the windows remained locked. Frost had air conditioning and a system that filtered dirty air out and allowed fresh air in. It would be folly to have the windows open in this house.

  The aromas tantalised him, almost had him reaching for the handle again, and he rubbed his cock harder, wishing Stephen's hand there instead. His balls throbbed, and the tip of his cock ached with the need to slide inside his lover's arse. A click to Frost's left brought him into the here and now, and he snatched his hand away from his erection and walked along the landing. Jonathan came out of his room, suited and booted for the day ahead, and Frost nodded good morning, heading for the opposite landing.

  Taking the door to the corridor, he made his way to the office, ready to do his morning check. Although he trusted his employees, Frost had a thing about rituals. It didn't hurt to always be on the ball. Once inside the office, he stood still and sniffed. Did he detect Stephen's scent in here? Or was it because that beautiful aroma still lingered in his nostrils?

  He cast his gaze around the room, making sure it was as he had left it the previous morning. There had been no need for anyone to come in here since then, what with everyone out and about doing various jobs. Unease crept up his spine, a prickling sensation that brought on an involuntary shiver.

  Someone had been in here without his permission.

  Tilting his head, he studied the room some more. Something was off, but he couldn't place it. He walked toward the nearest desk, nodding as though to confirm the suspicions swirling through his mind. He would find out what was wrong, no question. It would just take a minute, that was all.

  Frost booted up the computer, pleased with his foresight in having them all linked. If anyone used one, he would know. To the outsider, one who didn't know he was able to access a programme that showed every time someone logged on and what they did, the computer appeared as it should.

  Frost knew better. An icon on the lower toolbar shouted the fact one of the computers had been used since his check yesterday morning. It appeared an innocuous thing, just like a little red-and-yellow football, much like those that indicated firewalls or some downloaded programme or other.

  It only came on wh
en someone used the computer after Frost set the alarm if he knew the office wouldn't be needed.

  Interesting.

  He hoped to find that someone had just browsed the Internet during some downtime, or that they'd fancied a game of solitaire before bed.

  However, his gut told him otherwise.

  Clicking the football icon, he waited for the window to open and reveal the secrets it harboured.

  Frost stared at the information, incensed beyond measure. Anger boiled inside him at the audacity of whoever had breached the punters’ files. Year's worth of information, going right back to Parker's days.

  A fucking mole in my house. Who the hell is it

  Croft immediately came to mind, him being the newest employee.

  No, these files were accessed in the daytime when Croft wasn't here. When only Gerry and Dave were here minding Stephen.

  A blinding pain speared Frost's head.

  Stephen?

  Surely not. He was just an average young man. And what about Gerry and Dave's report? Stephen had slept most of the day, only rising to make them some food, going back to his room just as the other employees started arriving home.

  Either Gerry or Dave, then, had printed out thousands of pages, using every damn computer in the room.

  Fucking wankers. Fucking bastard wankers!

  Seeing that one of them—or even both, working together—had tried to erase their history angered him further. A spiral of fear wended through him, weakening his knees and making him feel like throwing up.

  What had they done with the information? Was it now in the hands of the police? Shit, he'd have to warn the punters, get rid of the damn kids. So much to do in so little time.

  Closing the window, Frost opened Internet Explorer and then his email account. Attaching the files, he sent them to James Klein, the man who ran the Spanish end of his business. He sighed. Everything would still be on the hard drive, but the information would be useless to anyone who tried to read it by the time he'd finished. He clicked the encrypt icon and imagined all those names and addresses changing into symbols. If the police got hold of these files now, it would take a fucking genius to work out what they held. Thankfully, whoever had used the computer hadn't sent any files via email.

  He erased his history, shut the computer down, and reached into the desk drawer for a set of keys. He'd never had to lock the office before, but now it seemed he had to. Until the culprit was caught, that door would keep everyone out.

  His face burned, the heat of rage creating the need for him to scratch. Frost left the room, locking the door with a jerky flick of his wrist, and stormed down the corridor to the other landing. Once there, he took in a steadying breath and lunged toward Gerry's bedroom door. The room was empty. He tried Dave's room and found it the same way, so sped down the stairs, searching out his two employees with murder on his mind.

  They sat with the others at the breakfast bar, plates of bacon and eggs in front of them. The steam of tea or coffee spiralled from their cups, and Frost resisted the urge to pick them up and dash the hot liquid in their faces.

  “Which one of you two went into my office yesterday?” he demanded, chest tightening, his heart thrumming an alarmingly unstable beat.

  Gerry and Dave turned in their seats to look at him, faces a picture of confusion. They glanced at one another, some unspoken query bristling between them, then Gerry nodded.

  Dave spoke up. “Neither of us. We were playing cards in the living room for most of the day—sorry, boss, know that's not allowed. Like we said, Stephen was asleep.” He frowned slightly, head cocking a bit. “Come to think of it, there was a noise up there at one point. You remember that, Gerry?” He stared at his friend.

  Gerry palmed his chin. “Fuck me, yeah. Like someone squealed. I went up there to check it out, but no one was there. Stephen was still asleep.”

  Frost's mind worked overtime. Either they were lying, or someone else had been in the house. Fucked off that the two men hadn't been manning the doors as he'd instructed, he said, “So someone got in. If you had been doing your fucking jobs...!” He spun away from them, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. “Christ! You have no fucking idea what I just found. What could happen to all of us if... Shit.”

  Frost left the kitchen, feeling the shocked stares of his men on his back. His feet skidded on the tile, and he stormed upstairs, hand gripping the banister rail to aid his haste. Rounding the newel post, he lumbered toward Stephen's door, smashing it open so the handle bashed into the wall. A dull tinkle of broken plaster showered the wooden floor.

  Stephen sprang up in bed, his hair mussed, eyes wide. The rosy hue of sleep drained from his cheeks, leaving him white, purple bags under his eyes standing out starkly. Even his lips paled above a quivering chin.

  Frost stared at him, not wanting to believe this beautiful man had deceived him, but Stephen's expression said it all. The man clearly wasn't used to lying, hiding his emotions, and they played out now, eyes flicking left to right, fingers whittling the quilt.

  Why did it have to be you? I wanted... I had such good plans for us.

  He put a stop to the musings of his heart. His mind had to take control now. Gerry and Dave had been relaxed, normal—no way could it have been them. Frost had an inbuilt bullshit detector, one that had stood him in good stead over the years, and he smelled the stink of manure clear and strong.

  And if it wasn't Stephen, then I need to find out who the fuck broke in and retrieved the information without Gerry and Dave knowing.

  It wasn't possible, he knew that deep down, but his heart wanted another scenario. God, how his heart wanted that.

  Focus. The heart can be broken and mended. And it's not doing that in a prison cell.

  “What the fuck were you doing in my office yesterday?” Frost's temples throbbed with the pressure of his shout.

  Stephen's mouth opened and closed several times, no sound emerging, and Frost's anger grew to a higher level. No matter how much he'd wanted to share his life with this man, he wasn't about to let the little shit ruin everything he'd worked for. If Frost's fast-beating heart was anything to go by, he'd have a fucking heart attack in a minute, and he wasn't having that either.

  “Well?” he roared. “Cat got your bastard tongue?”

  Stephen betrayed himself with a quick glance at the chest of drawers. Frost pounced toward them, yanking open each drawer to reveal only piles of clothes. The last one proved heavy to open, and he bent at the waist, ripping the clothes out and tossing them over his shoulders.

  Stacks of paper filled the wooden space.

  Murder filled Frost's mind.

  “Get out of the fucking bed!” he shouted, eyes wide, a headache forming at the back of his skull.

  Stephen sat in shock.

  Frost saw red. “Disobey me, you little shit, and you'll know all about it. Get out!”

  He grabbed Stephen's arm and dragged him from the bed. Marched him naked to the stairs, breaths coming out of him in harsh bursts. Stephen started crying, his attempts to pull away thwarted by Frost gripping him harder. Giving Stephen a shake at the top of the stairs, Frost held back the urge to throw the man down them. Instead, he guided him to the foyer, fighting every step of the way to keep Stephen from unbalancing him. In the kitchen, Frost propelled Stephen toward Jonathan, who had turned in his seat at the breakfast bar to see what the commotion was.

  “Something wrong, boss?” Jonathan asked, genuine concern on his face. He lowered his cup to the bar and balled his fists in his lap.

  “Too fucking right there's something wrong.” Frost snorted out a breath through his nostrils.

  “Please,” Stephen sobbed, staring around at all the men, who eyed him like he was shit on their shoes. “Please, I didn't mean... I just wanted... I thought—”

  Frost sucked in a deep breath and said through clenched teeth, “Shut the fuck up, you little cunt!” He dug his fingers deeper into his flesh, hoping he caused as much pain as he was feeling
right now.

  Stephen cried out, bringing his free hand up to prise Frost's fingers from his arm. Frost dug deeper and stared into Stephen's eyes. The man closed his mouth, snot dribbling from his nose, and barked out a harsh sob.

  Why did you do it, eh? Now look what you've made me do.

  “What needs doing, boss?” Jonathan stood from his seat and brushed toast crumbs from his suit.

  “You'll need to get changed,” Frost said, eyeing Jonathan up and down. He turned to Kevin. “And you. This one needs taking to the forest.”

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  Chapter Fourteen

  Stephen was shunted along the white corridor by one of Frost's men, his feet scuffing on the carpet. His mind whirled. How had Frost found out? Stephen had covered his tracks, he was certain of it. Everything he'd done on those computers had been erased. As he was dragged toward the mahogany door at the end, he tried to think if he'd left anything out of place in the office. Maybe the computers hadn't been what alerted Frost to him being there yesterday.

  He thought of the tissue he'd used to wipe his fingerprints away but remembered he'd used it to clean the office door handle as he'd left. That tissue was now in the sewers—he'd flushed it down the toilet when he'd used the bathroom.

  Maybe he'd mumbled in his sleep? He recalled, after Frost had used him last night, falling asleep with that awful man holding him in a bear's embrace. Tight and unforgiving, a hug of ownership. Despite trying to stay awake until Frost left the bed, Stephen had given up the fight and welcomed oblivion. What if he'd been so tired he had mumbled about what he'd done?

  No, Frost would have woken him, surely. From the anger the man had displayed just now, there was no way he'd be able to hold that kind of rage in if he knew what Stephen had done before today.

  Unless Redhead and Stocky did know what he'd been doing and told Frost this morning. He didn't believe that. They'd have reported back to Frost before bed last night, wouldn't they?