Scared Read online

  “All right means not dead,” Croft said. “All right means going home.”

  Russell snapped his head forward, staring at Croft like he'd grown two heads. He hadn't heard him say that, had he? Not dead? Going home? “Look, stop fucking with us, mate. I'm too tired for this bullshit.”

  Croft pushed off the wall and strode toward them, face lighting up, animated, as though he had new purpose. “I reckon I can trust you, so—”

  Russell's laugh cut him off. “That's rich! Bloody hell, you're something else, you are.”

  Croft hunkered down before them, hands dangling between his splayed knees. “I know what this looks like, but I'm not what or who you think I am.”

  “And what's that? You're not a fucking nutcase?” Russell asked.

  Toby rested a hand on Russell's knee and waited for Russell to look at him. “Hear the bloke out. We've got nothing to lose at this point. We could be dead either way...” He shrugged.

  Russell turned back to Croft. “Okay. Give us what you've got.”

  As Croft explained what he'd been doing the past six months, admiration for him grew inside Russell, despite telling himself this could all be some elaborate trick. What a turnabout if Croft was telling the truth. He'd gone from distrusting him to admiring him, yet still a frisson of doubt writhed in his belly. This could be one massive mind-fuck, designed to make them let their guard down.

  Once Croft had finished, Toby said, “So, they're trafficking little kids? That's what I interrupted last year? A fucking abduction?”

  “'Fraid so.” Croft put his hands on his knees and pushed himself standing. “Darrow and his men are in place.” He glanced back at the stairs, obviously worried they were being overheard. “Frost's got it into his head you two will want to work for him. Now, this is where you have to play along. When he puts the suggestion to you—and really, if I hadn't told you this shit you'd have no choice but to agree if you wanted to live—try and react like you would have if you didn't know what's going to happen. If he suspects... That's why I never said anything before. I had to play it carefully, make him think I was ‘one of the boys'.” His bottom lip quivered. “And believe me, at times it's been fucking hard.”

  Russell felt sorry for the man. He couldn't imagine doing something like that for six months. And that kid hanging himself—man, that was fucking awful.

  “Right,” Russell said, easing slowly off the mattress. “Shower time, yeah?”

  Standing proved more difficult than he'd thought. His muscles protested at him using them so soon after they'd been damaged, and his skin, taut from the crusted blood around the welts, drew tighter as he took a tentative step. But the promise of going home in a few hours—shit, even going to the police station for questioning would do him nicely—gave Russell the determination to walk over to the shower.

  Two fresh towels with a bottle of shower gel on top had never looked so normal, a signal that the terrible turn his and Toby's lives had taken might be about to take a different direction again—one that led to better things.

  I need to trust Croft. If he's lying, then... Don't think about that. Deal with that if it happens. Just trust him for now.

  He allowed hope to blossom inside him, relishing the warmth it gave his tired and hurting body. His mind became more alert, and he set the shower to warm, knowing anything hotter would have him screaming in pain. Before stepping into the stall, he glanced back at Toby, who nodded. Croft gave a wonky smile, his eyes pleading with Russell to believe him. Returning the grin, feeling better than he had even two minutes ago, he got under the spray.

  The sound of the water, the feel of it on his skin, made Russell's bladder release the piss he'd been holding for so long. Damn lemonade. He didn't give a shit that urine splashed into the tray at his feet, or that Croft might be looking and see it. Nature's call was strong, and if he'd tried to control it, he'd have failed. The expulsion was both sweet and painful. His bladder cramped, sending sharp pains throughout his abdomen, and he almost doubled over in agony. The heat of the water spraying directly onto his belly eased the gripes there, although it brought fresh bursts of pain to his angry welts.

  He reached out to the chair, grabbing the shower gel. Was it wise to wash with soap? It would sting, he knew that, but thought he'd better use it. His cuts needed cleaning before they festered with infection, and besides, he wanted to wash away the stink of fear ingrained in his skin.

  The soap did sting.

  Gritting his teeth, he carefully washed his wounds, the soap bringing on prickles of sharp pain. The lather turned pink as the crusty blood dissolved, and Russell watched the rose-coloured water swish down the drain.

  He lifted his face, opening his mouth to let the sprinkle of water fill it. Though warm, it tasted like a drink from Heaven, easing his arid throat and taking away the fuzz that had coated his tongue. He felt guilty for drinking when Toby sat back there, his throat undoubtedly as dry as a nun's chuff, and told himself to hurry up so his lover could have the same blessed relief he'd had.

  Quickly, he inspected his body, seeing the welts didn't look so bad now they'd been cleaned up. The bruises were another matter. A blue, purple, and bright pink map of the damn world covered his body. The towel against them brought fresh pain, though, and dressing was even worse. Material chafing on raw wounds wasn't something he relished, but if it meant getting out of here, he'd endure it.

  The shirt was a little too big, the suit trousers a little too long, but the jacket was roomy enough that he could move without the fabric rubbing too much. He stepped into the shoes—a tad tight on the toes, but nothing compared to what he'd suffered so far—and felt a million times better; less a prisoner of war, more human.

  As Toby showered, Russell spoke with Croft, who elaborated some more. “Like I said to Toby when you were showering...Frost had someone killed today.”

  “Shit. Who?”

  “Young bloke called Stephen. They'd picked him up thinking he was younger than he was. Turns out he was eighteen, and Frost took a liking to him, if you catch my drift. Thing is, the bloke wasn't into that kind of shit, but...the lemonade, the injections.” Croft shrugged apologetically, as though saying sorry for giving Russell and Toby the drink and drugs. “The kid signed to say he agreed with Frost fucking him.”

  “Jesus. And the boys? Don't tell me Frost—”

  “Yeah, he did.”

  Russell felt sick. Bile painted the back of his tongue, and he swallowed, breathing deeply to combat nausea. “So this Darrow. How come you never got arrested for abducting us if he knew you'd done that? I don't get it.”

  “I wouldn't tell him where this place was until I had to. If he came here before tonight, there was a risk of some of Frost's men getting away. Even Frost himself. I don't know, maybe I should have let Darrow in on everything right from the start, but I wanted the punters caught too, you know?”

  “Yeah, but Frost's got to have information on them somewhere. No way would he not have kept a log of who they are. It's his insurance in case any of them grassed him up.”

  “Yeah, but I heard he's got this hi-tech computer system.” He paused, frowning. “Saying that, Stephen accessed the information. Printed it all out. That's why Frost had him shot.”

  “Makes no sense. If the information was available, Darrow could have caught the punters that way. Look, I'm not saying what you did was wrong, but those kids could have been home with their parents sooner, know what I mean?”

  Croft nodded, his marred brow showing he wrestled with his conscience now. “Yeah, I see what you're saying, but I had my plan in place, didn't want to deviate from it. Reckoned if I did, everything would go wrong. It's done now, and we are where we are. I can't undo the past or fix that mistake now, and the boys...I made sure they were well cared for all the way. If I thought they'd be harmed after Frost initiating them, I would've told Darrow where to come sooner.”

  Russell nodded, realising Croft was justifying his actions while dealing with a shitload of guilt
over his decisions. “Yeah, what's done is done, mate. All we can hope for is everything works out so no innocents get hurt.”

  He glanced over to the shower stall. Toby stepped out and gingerly wrapped a towel around his body. Russell returned his attention to Croft—he couldn't deal with watching Toby in pain when he knew how bad that towel felt as it abraded the skin.

  “Besides,” Croft said. “Frost's been playing a game with me.” He gave Russell a grim look, eyes moist, lips a thin straight line.

  “By doing what?”

  “You know I told you earlier one of the kids hung himself?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, Frost had a replacement kid picked up. Reckon he's testing me, seeing if I'm loyal to him or not.”

  “What d'you mean? What's a new kid got to do with it?”

  “The new kid's my brother.”

  For a moment, it felt like Russell's innards left his body then returned with a forceful rush. What the hell went through Frost's mind? He was damn insane. “Oh, fuck. Jesus Christ.”

  “Yeah, but I've made out I don't know Fraser's here. That's my brother, by the way. And Fraser doesn't know I'm his brother.”

  “How come?” Russell's frown deepened.

  “Because I left home years ago. Remember me telling you that? The kid was only seven back then. I've talked to him about his brother, and fuck...” Croft bit his wobbling lip and took in a deep breath through his nose. “He said he's been looking for me ever since he left home.” His voice broke on the last word. “But that...but that he wouldn't know what I looked like now.”

  Russell rested a hand on Croft's meaty forearm. “Listen, mate. You've done the right thing. Fraser and the other kids are going to be all right now. Who knows, if the police can get the information off Frost's computer, a shitload more kids will be all right too. You've got to believe that. As for Frost playing games with you like that... He's one fucked-up wanker who deserves everything he gets.”

  “Yeah. And the others. Jonathan and Kevin are the worst. They're the ones who abduct the kids and kill people who piss Frost off.”

  All this information was too much for Russell. He blinked, trying to comprehend it all, to process everything and compartmentalise it into boxes in his mind—things he needed to think about now, and things that could wait until later.

  Croft straightened his shoulders, shaking his body out as though erasing all the kinks his confession had brought. Toby limped over, and Croft said, “Listen. I'm fucking sorry for putting you through this, yeah? But I had no choice. I had to get those kids free, and you two going through what you did... Small price to pay.” He smiled sheepishly. “I know you won't feel that way—you're the ones who got the whipping—but those kids...”

  Russell patted Croft's shoulder, the movement pain-filled and heavy. “It's all right. We didn't enjoy it, but fuck, if it means those kids going home, then I'd go through it all again.”

  And he meant every word.

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  * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  Toby had never winced or cringed so much in his life. He'd never been so scared either. What he'd been through the last few hours beat being buried alive hands down. Now, with all that information swirling through his head, he struggled to make sense of it. Yeah, Croft had explained it well enough, but Toby's mind, sluggish from whatever drugs he'd been given and from the lack of food and water, refused to cooperate as it would if he'd been told these things before all...this.

  As Croft led Toby and Russell up the basement stairs—every step weighty and achy—he thought about what lay ahead. This Darrow bloke knew of their existence but not what they looked like. Who was to say they wouldn't get shot, mistaken for one of Frost's men? Mind you, Croft had told them when Darrow and his team would be coming in. Maybe he and Russell could slip away somehow, go somewhere safe until everyone else had been rounded up.

  He felt guilty for his selfish thoughts. He should be working out how he could help the police, not saving his and Russell's arses, but shit, it was a copper's job to deal with situations like this. Toby was just an office worker caught up in Frost's mad world.

  I'm just a bloke who saved a kid last year from being snatched off the damn street and sold to the highest bidder. Just some bloke who dragged Russell into this mess and wished he fucking hadn't.

  He stopped his thoughts wandering in that direction. He and Russell had discussed this. There were to be no recriminations, no regrets. When Toby thought about it, they'd met one another because of Frost. Not that Toby was grateful streams of kids had gone through crap, enabling him to meet the best thing that had ever happened to him. No, he wouldn't wish that life on anyone, but yeah, he'd met Russell, and for that he'd always be thankful.

  Croft unlocked the door at the top of the basement steps and ushered them into the corridor. The light seemed so much brighter here, what with the illumination bouncing off the white walls and doors. His head throbbed, the stronger light exacerbating the incessant ache, and he winced—again.

  “Frost will be in the viewing room. Or maybe the living room,” Croft said, locking the basement door.

  Toby wondered why Croft locked it. Force of habit?

  Croft led the way down the corridor. “I don't know what he's going to say to you, what he expects you to do tonight, if anything, but I suspect he'll ask you to work for him.” He huffed out a breath. “No, he'll tell you you're going to work for him. Just agree. Do whatever it takes to get you through the next couple of hours.” At the end of the corridor, he slid a key into the lock and turned it. Lowering his voice, he said, “From here on out, act like you would if I hadn't let you in on this shit. Don't even look at me if you can help it.” He lifted his arms and plonked his bear-like hands, one on each of their shoulders. “Good luck. And if I don't see you again after tonight...well, have a good one.”

  He faced the door and squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath as if telling himself to get a grip and slip back into being Frost's employee. Swinging the door wide, he allowed Toby and Russell through, locking the door behind them.

  “This way,” he said, taking them through the massive kitchen.

  Toby had been too distraught to take much notice of the room when they'd been brought through here before, but now he looked around, wanting to memorise the layout in case the information proved useful later. Who the hell knew how things would work out? Even police operations were known to go wrong, and he was fucked if he wanted to be in the thick of it if this one did.

  You're a selfish bastard, thinking of yourself like that.

  But it was normal, wasn't it? To feel like this? So long as he and Russell got out of this unscathed—and wasn't that a damn joke, considering the state of their bodies and minds?—and the kids got saved, what did the rest matter? All right, he didn't wish ill on any of the coppers, or Croft for that matter, but the rest of them? Frost and his warped men? They could go fuck themselves as far as Toby was concerned.

  He glanced at Russell, who appeared nervous—as he should do. Even if they weren't privy to all that information, his lover had the air about him one in this situation would have. Pinched features, blanched cheeks, quivering lips. Russell's hands shook, too, and Toby wondered why his own didn't spasm that way. For all Russell's proclamations of not being scared in the past, he was apparently shitting himself right now.

  Toby smiled at him, trying to give reassurance. “It'll be all right,” he whispered. “I promise.”

  Russell nodded, and Toby's attention was taken away from him as they rounded the doorway that led to the foyer. Christ, it hadn't seemed this big last time he saw it. This place was monstrous.

  All bought and paid for by selling little kids.

  Anger surged inside Toby, obliterating any fear that lingered. He hid his ire, though, intent on doing as Croft asked and acting submissive in front of Frost. Following Croft across the foyer, who took them through a door to the right, Toby stared at a massive
two-way mirror that spanned the opposite wall, shocked by the sight of a bright spotlight casting a cone of illumination inside the room beyond. Pitch black surrounded that cone, and a shudder rippled up Toby's spine as he imagined the lads standing there being inspected.

  An empty row of black, easy leather chairs, ten in all, stood before the mirror, ready to hold the arses of perverts and deviants in the guise of respectable businessmen. They even got to bid in comfort. Sickened, Toby almost freaked, wanting to lash out at the man who stood directly behind those chairs, his wide back and height proclaiming him as someone not many would mess with.

  The man turned to face them.

  Frost.

  “Here they are, boss,” Croft said, nodding at Russell and Toby. “Want me to go back to the living room window? Keep an eye out?”

  “Yes, Croft. Good man. Thank you.” Frost stared first at Russell, then at Toby.

  Croft left the room, and Toby felt a sense of loss, like their anchor had been pulled up, leaving them buoyant and vulnerable. The anger inside him wasn't enough to completely obliterate the fear.

  Frost's dark eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head, regarding them in a silent stare that gave Toby the damn creeps. He glanced at Russell, who clenched his jaw and fists, then looked back to Frost.

  “Gentlemen,” Frost said. “I have a proposition for you.”

  Here we go.

  Frost laced his fingers down by his groin. He laughed, the sound strangely normal. But what had Toby expected? Some maniacal jangle that proved this man was insane?

  “Well,” Frost said. “Hardly a proposition. Let me try again. I have an order for you. You're now working for me.”

  He grinned, showing perfect white teeth that set off a succession of memories in Toby's mind. Frost smiling the same way last year as he questioned him in the basement. Frost jabbing that needle into his arm when whatever was in the lemonade hadn't worked. Frost's face growing redder, his queries sounding more desperate when he didn't get the information he wanted.