Scared (21 page)

"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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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.

"For tonight,” Frost said, “you'll just observe the culmination of months’ worth of hard graft. This is what you'll be helping us achieve again in six months.” He lifted one arm, encompassing the room. “Watch and learn what hard work and determination can do. Of course, you won't be allowed to leave the house for a good while yet—got to earn my trust—but I've got a good feeling about you two.” He nodded, patting them on their shoulders before lacing his hands again. “Reckon you could become the next Jonathan and Kevin. My two top men, by the way. Yes,” he nodded again, as though trying to convince himself he spoke the truth, “you'll do nicely. Get paid too."

He laughed uproariously, and Toby managed to stop the “Fuck you!” on his tongue and the frown from forming on his brow.

"So, what do you reckon to that, lads?” Frost eyed them, clearly expecting nothing but their agreement.

"Doesn't much look like we have a choice, does it?” Russell said, his tone surly, hands still shaking.

Frost widened his eyes and rocked on his feet. “That's right, my old son, you don't.” He looked at Toby. “Russell's a bright one, isn't he? And what about you? What's your take on this?"

"Better than fucking dying,” Toby said, forcing a jovial, conspirator's laugh.

"Excellent. Fucking
knew
I'd read you two right.” Frost looked pleased with himself—too pleased.

Disturbing.

"Right,” Frost said. “In a short while, the punters will be shown into this room. You'll observe from the back here, beside the door. You'll understand what this is all about very soon. Any questions, save them for later. All you need to do is watch and shut the fuck up. Absorb.” He led them to their places. “Mike here will keep you company for the time being. I'll be back shortly.” Frost nodded and left the room via a door to the right of the mirror.

He's going to check on the kids, I'll bet. Or meet the punters. This is so fucking nasty I can't stand it. The way I feel now, I don't know how Croft managed to act the way he has for so long.

Toby glanced at Russell, who stood to his left, and gave a supportive smile. Mike loomed in the corner, eyes facing forward, but Toby knew that man watched them. Jesus he was a big bloke, all muscle and brawn. He tried to recall if Mike had been down in the basement with him last year but couldn't remember seeing him then. His blond hair, shaved at the sides and back and cropped short on top, looked as if he'd styled it for a casual night out at the pub. His suit moulded to his form, his body giving more weight to the term ‘built like a brick shithouse'.

Fuck being on the end of
his
fist.

Toby stared forward, but noted in his peripheral vision another man coming through the doorway Frost had disappeared through. He shifted his gaze so it appeared he was looking above the man's head at the door lintel. If the man glanced his way, he wouldn't think he was being studied. Mind you, he might. The bloke stood nearly as tall as the damn doorframe, and Toby wondered why Frost had employed him and Toby. They were dwarfs compared to Frost's other men.

The bloke crossed his arms over his barrel chest and stood with legs apart. He meant business. No bastard was getting past
him
without a fight. A sharp knock startled Toby from his study, and the huge man turned to open the door behind him. A parade of suited men came in, of various ages and nationalities. Ranging from the mid-thirties to sixties, from white to black to Asian, the men each took a seat. From where Toby stood, he could just about make out ten pairs of legs, all in assorted poses. Crossed at the knee. Crossed at the ankle. One ankle balanced on a knee. Wide open and relaxed.

Jesus, it's like they're here for a fucking jolly get together. No nerves in any of them.

Conversation started up between them, their excitement at purchasing a new toy a tangible thing. Toby heard Russell swallow beside him, and he knew his lover either held back his anger or battled fear—fear that this kind of shit went on all over the world, and they hadn't had a clue about it until now. All right, they knew it existed, the news saw to that, but it wasn't something you
dwelt
on, was it? There was too much shit on this planet for one person to think about it all the time, to actively do something to stop it all, and the average human left the catching of these sick nonces to the professionals.

Toby blinked, the sudden sting of tears shocking him. He wasn't a hard bastard by any means, he had emotions as much as the next person, but he hadn't wanted to show his empathy in this room. For all he knew, Frost could have asked Mike and the other big bloke to watch for Toby's and Russell's reactions, to see if they were likely to become a liability. People who needed to be offed.