Wanting (16 page)

And he was determined to live it.

It was silent around him now—maybe the men had gone off to disrobe and discuss the final plans on how they would kill him, who the fuck knew—but the air held an edge of expectancy. It sizzled around him, menacing, too
there
for his liking. He ignored it and concentrated on a speck of white, twinkling light in the distance, like the spiky pattern of a hand-held sparkler on bonfire night. It grew in width as he stared, and he wondered if it was the heart of his new gift, the energy he needed to tap into in order to see the future or reach out to speak to people like Adam.

“Adam?”

His voice lacked strength, and he knew it hadn’t got through. He projected information to Adam instead, reminding himself of what he’d told the young man. The licence plate. The make and colour of the car. Where it had headed. It struck him then that even though there was meant to still be a police presence at the other barn, there couldn’t have been. It was so close to this one, albeit on the other side of the road and maybe half a mile away, but if Adam had passed on the information Oliver should be hearing sirens about now—or, if the police had decided against audio announcing their presence, at least the
crack-snap-crack
of tyres outside and the hum of car engines.

There was nothing but the sound of his breathing and the beating of his heart.

“Adam!”

In his mind, free and unshackled there, he ran towards the sparkle of light until it was as tall as he was, all serrated, writhing sparks with a circle of intense whiteness at its centre. Heat came off it, not too hot but enough to warm his face, and energy rustled in the air between him and the light. He inhaled it, feeling the burn as it travelled into his lungs, and the heat went to work there too, expanding, growing in strength until his cheeks blazed and he buzzed with other-worldly power. He was as hot as he’d been when finding Thomas Brentworth strung up on that red metal girder.

“Adam! What’s happening? Is anyone on their way?”

He heard the pant of heavy breathing, and it took a second or two for him to realise it wasn’t himself or the men but Adam.

“Yes! Dane’s…following… Got a few hundred feet to… Soon…”

Oliver filled in the blanks, relief scouring through him, relaxing his muscles a bit, smoothing the edge off the pain in his shoulders and neck that had been growing steadily since he’d been taken out of the vehicle. A snap of sound to his left had him tensing again, though, and the full force of the pain came hurtling back, only stronger, with more venom. If he could just get through the next few minutes he’d be saved. Providing Adam had taken the correct turn.

“Can you see the barn, Adam?”

The shuffle of feet sounded.

“Adam!”

Hot breath fanned his cheek, sour-smelling, alcohol-laced. That was a revelation. Neither Adam nor Dane had mentioned the fact that the men had seemed drunk, just that they’d had glazed eyes.

“Adam! Can you see the fucking barn?”
The hairs on the back of Oliver’s neck stood at attention.
“Please say you can fucking hear me, Adam. Can you see—”

“Yes! I see it. Up on a rise. A car—several cars—some light coming through, maybe a doorway?”

Oliver let air out slowly. He couldn’t let them know he was frightened. Somehow he knew they’d thrive on that.

A tug to his T-shirt hem and the sound of material slicing made his stomach roll over, but he held firm, half in this world, half in the other, holding on to that invisible ribbon that bound him to Adam. It could fray at any time. His T-shirt was removed, and the cold steel of scissor blades skirted up his legs as his jeans and boxers were cut away. The cold attacked his skin immediately, and he shivered, conscious of his cock dangling, free for them to inspect.

“Argh!”

That word from Adam was accompanied by the sound of bumps and scuffles, much like listening to someone dropping the phone while you waited for them to pick it up again and resume your conversation.

“Aww, shit, Banks! Fucking hell, no!”

Oliver’s heart raced—what had happened to Adam? Had a man posted outside spotted him? He tried to call out in his mind but being roughly manoeuvred into a kneeling position took all his attention, the sparkle of light growing smaller, flashing less brightly as his focus was shifted to the now. He strove to keep the faint light in his mind—so long as it flickered even a little, if he could still hear Adam it would make him feel less alone.

“My ankle! There’s a fucking ditch all around this place. I didn’t see it—grass is so long. I’m in the fucking ditch!”

Oliver almost asked aloud where Dane was but stopped himself. He thought it instead, pushing the words towards the light, hoping they reached Adam.

“Dane’s coming, Oliver. I see him entering the field from the road now.”

“How long will he be? Did he see you fall? What if he goes down in the ditch?”

“I don’t know if he saw me. He’s… Police shouldn’t be long. I’m…I’m looking over the edge of the ditch and can see headlights. Maybe five minutes away.”

“Five minutes? Shit.”

If the men followed the same pattern Oliver was safe, but if they upped their game, changed their plans, five minutes was plenty enough time to kill someone.

The humming began, and Oliver would never have thought he’d be so pleased to hear it. They were going ahead with their weird ritual, and by the time they finished humming and whipping, then someone stepped forward to suck Oliver’s cock, the police would be here.

They couldn’t arrive soon enough.

* * * *

Adam closed his eyes in an attempt to ignore the pain streaking through his ankle, but it didn’t work. He opened them and leaned his back against the side of the ditch, a head shorter than him. He watched Dane coming closer, growing bigger with each step, but he wasn’t as close as Adam wanted him to be. He needed to get his attention so he didn’t take a tumble into the ditch too. If they both ended up in here, ankles broken—he was sure his was—they ran the risk of Mr Banks being killed.

He hadn’t thought much beyond getting here, finding where Mr Banks had been taken, and now he had a chance to think about it, there wasn’t an awful lot he could have done had he made it to the barn. Yeah, he could have burst inside, interrupted the proceedings, but with so many men as the enemy, Adam didn’t stand a chance against them. They could overpower him easily, add him to their victim list, trussing him up like that poor bastard the other night. The cold band of steel around his torso preceding the harsh yank of it around his neck, pulling, cutting off his air supply, leaving his lungs drowning in air, his arms and legs flapping. Tongue hanging out, blue and swollen, as his body gave up the fight. Dane steaming in to see Adam dead, then becoming dead himself.

What a fucking mess.

Dane was within hearing distance now, and, keeping his voice low, Adam called out a warning about the ditch. Dane slowed, trod carefully, and came to a panting stop in front of Adam, the toes of his shoes close to Adam’s nose. Dane bent over, peering down, hands on knees, his legs slightly bent.

“What the fuck?” Dane asked breathily, bunching his eyes closed and baring his teeth. The pain in his chest from running must have been harsh. “What are you…doing down there?”

“I fucking fell. Think I broke my ankle.” As though hearing him, Adam’s ankle throbbed harder, and a lance of pain ricocheted through the bone then spread into his shin, up his thigh, and attacked his hip. “Oh, Jesus, that hurts. Did you tell the police where we are?” He knew he had, but he needed to make sure, to hear it.

“Yeah, estimated time of arrival”—he stood straight to lift his wrist and click on the light so he could read the time—“about four minutes.”

“Fuck, that might be too long. Will you go?”

“What, over there? In there? In the
barn?
”

“Yes!” Adam frowned. “Or if you can’t, fucking help me out of here so I can go in.”

“It isn’t safe. Us going in there isn’t going to be of any help. Not if—”

“But what if they haven’t got that far yet? What if they’re only doing that ritual shit at the moment? We can’t leave Mr Banks in there, Dane. We can make a noise. Distract them.” Adam paused to wait for an answer. It didn’t come. “Right?”

“I don’t know, Adam. We saw the state of that last bloke they killed. We know what they can do. We shouldn’t just stand by and let that copper be killed, but… It isn’t as cut and dried as that, is it?
We
could get killed as well. I’m shitting myself here. Fucking
shitting
myself! Plus you went all weird back there. You should have
seen
yourself.”

“Fuck that for now. Help me out.” Adam held up one arm, gritting his teeth at a fresh bout of pain in his ankle.

Dane hauled him up, and Adam hopped on his good leg to get a safe distance from the ditch. He gingerly lowered the other foot, grimacing as another sharp-as-hell pain shot from his ankle right up his shin bone, exploding into splintered pinpoints of pain in his knee. He felt sick and held back the desire to retch.

“Fuck. It’s broken. Damn it to fucking hell and back!” He ground his teeth and despite the raging pain, managed to hop-hobble to the track he should have been walking on in the first place. He whimpered, a wedge of hurt lodging in his throat, and took Dane’s offered arm for support.

“We can’t go in there, Adam. We just can’t. You’ll be no good the way you are. One whack from them and you’ll go down like a sack of shit.”

Adam nodded. “I know, but I just… I just wanted to fucking help him, know what I mean? I was left in that alley. No one knew I was there. I was left and I don’t want to leave him!”

Dane pulled him into his embrace. “I know, I know, man, but the police are here now, look. It’s over.”

“Jesus Christ, I hope it is. If he’s dead in there…”

“Then he’s dead.”

Adam blinked.

Dane stared him in the eye. “I sound a right wanker, but it’s you who matters to me, not some bloody copper.
You.
I have to keep you safe, not him, and if me doing that means letting him die, then I’ll fucking do it.”

Adam couldn’t answer. The enormity of what Dane had said was sinking in—how much he cared for him, that he was prepared to let another person
die
to keep him safe. It scared him yet warmed him at the same time.

A caterpillar of cars turned onto the track, stopping halfway to the barn for officers to tumble out, running on silent feet towards them. Langham led the way, and as he drew closer, the panic on his face was stark in the moonlight. He raced past, the other officers close behind, and Adam turned to watch them flood through the barn doorway and disappear inside.

* * * *

Oliver heard the arrival of new people, heralded by shouts of “Get down! Get down on the floor now!”

His legs weakened even though he was kneeling, the humming mercifully gone now, replaced with scuffling feet, yelled protests and police orders. Arms encircled him, and he flinched, panic rising over who had taken hold and dragged him along. What if one of the men had got hold of him with a view to using him as a hostage? What if he got killed anyway, regardless of the police being there?

The scent of Langham filled his nose, and as he registered those arms about him as belonging to him, he recognised the feel of his jacket on his skin, the soft bump of hip against hip.

“It’s all right. I’ve got you. I’m here,” Langham said.

He pressed Oliver’s shoulders until he sat on something cold and hard, then removed the blindfold. Oliver’s first sight was Langham’s face, his anxiety plain to see in the furrowed brow and grimacing mouth. Oliver swallowed to stop himself wailing like a girl and snapped his knees together.

“You all right?” Langham asked, going to work on untying the rope around Oliver’s ankles. “As well as you can be?”

Oliver nodded. “Yeah, just cold.”

“Someone get a damn blanket!” Langham roared, turning to look at the activity behind him.

Oliver stared too, taking in the scene of naked men on their bellies, wrists cuffed behind their backs, faces in the hay, their heads shining from the torch beams, sinister and just plain odd. Of officers hauling some to their feet and marching them outside. The killers were all bald—they looked so damn weird like that—and it reminded Oliver of something.

“Where’s Littleworth?” he asked, scanning the people.

“No idea, why?” Langham freed Oliver’s wrists.

“He’s the one who took me.”

“What the fuck?” Langham’s eyes darted from side to side, his mind clearly working overtime.

“He’s the one who took me outside the station. Put me in his van then dropped me off to the other three in the Golf.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, that sneaky, pissing wanker!” Langham took his police mobile from his pocket and jabbed a few buttons. “Get someone out to Littleworth’s house and yard—now!”

Adam woke on the sofa, wondering what the hell the time was. They’d returned home in the early hours after he’d been seen to at the hospital and they’d given more statements to the police. Sam had been understanding about them not being able to go into work, and seeing as it was another of his barns that had been used for the previous night’s ‘dance’ he had other things on his mind. Adam imagined what it must be like for him to know what had happened on his property and how it might affect the older man in the future. Still, that wasn’t his concern, and so long as they could return to work sooner rather than later, that was one of the main things that mattered now.

The image of knee-high piles of pigs’ shit came to mind, and he felt for Dane having to shift that lot tomorrow. Adam wouldn’t be able to work for a few weeks—not until the cast came off his ankle—but his time off wouldn’t leave them too short of money. Sam had graciously agreed to give sick pay. Adam had felt more than grateful about that. He didn’t look forward to the day when he went in for another X-ray, though. If his bones hadn’t knitted together then he would have an operation in his future. Little metal plates would be inserted, the bones screwed to them. He felt sick at the thought.