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Title: Trapped
Author: annephoenix
Artist: loony_lucifer
Characters/pairing: Alex/Yassen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~22,000
Summary: Yassen Gregorovich is never quite sure what to make of little Alex, especially when the boy always seems to turn up in the most inopportune places. Yassen has saved him in the past, but this time he might not have that option ...
Warning(s): Child abuse, kidnapping, non-con, paedophilia
Author's Notes: Many thanks to melusinahp and kennahijja for beta reading.

For hpstrangelove ... because we love you!


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Trapped

Prologue

The boy in room 407 screamed again. Weaker this time, but still not giving up even though by now he had to know he didn't stand a chance. He wouldn't be getting out of that room. Not alive, anyway, having signed his own death sentence by fighting back day after day after day, never learning, never understanding or seeing the pattern: good boys came home at the end of the day, but bad boys who didn't, wouldn't do as they were told – they disappeared.

So the boy in room 407 had brought this on himself, really, Yassen reflected. He just wished the kid would hurry up and die so that he could get on with his job. His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Lee Kerrick, who'd been drafted in to help maintain a smooth operation. Kerrick was a typical London gangster who'd spent more of his life inside of prison than out. In fact, he’d only recently been released – on probation, of course, as if that meant anything these days – from his most recent stay at Holloway.

It was a necessary precaution to let men like Kerrick in on the job; after all, it would complicate things if the boss were to be accused of trying to nudge in on a well-established criminal network. Good relations with the mobsters of London were vital.

“Mr Gregorovich, sir,” Kerrick started, pausing for a moment to listen as the boy in room 407 screamed again, more of a hoarse cry for mercy at this point. “I was just contacted by one of my police informants. Apparently SOCA has linked kiddie disappearances to our Metro advert. They’re planning on sending someone in.”

Predictable. And nothing to be overly concerned about, in Yassen's opinion. “Well it was only a matter of time. We have to stay one step ahead. Did your informant hear of any infiltration?”

“Doubt it, sir. They’d need … well, they’d need a child to play the part, wouldn’t they? Can’t really imagine they'd want to take that kind of risk …” said the man who'd once walked into a Tottenham Court Road Starbucks and shot a SOCA agent right between the eyes in the middle of the morning rush. He should know about risk.

Yassen smiled despite himself. Behind the door, screams had turned into wheezes had turned into what sounded like flailing limbs, before suddenly all sounds were cut off. The silence felt golden after so much noise. “Mr Kerrick, never underestimate the pressure of needing results. Sending children into dangerous undercover situations? It wouldn't be the first time. I’ll let the boss know – she can decide what to.”

“Yes, sir. Also wanted to know how many kiddies you think we’ll be needing this month? If SOCA has found the advert, then I don't wanna risk picking up any of the boys on the Metro list.”

Yassen nodded. It was probably a wise move, even if it somewhat messed up the schedule. “I’m not sure of the exact numbers, but assume it will be around one or two per week, as usual. Check with the Accountant.”

It would have been impossible to miss the expression of concern that crossed Kerrick's face, but the burly gangster hid it quickly. “Of course, sir. Not a problem. I think we might have to start recruiting outside of London as well, which brings some logistic problems.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to solve them, Mr Kerrick.”

For a moment it looked like Kerrick was going to say something more – ask for more money, no doubt – but then he nodded. “Of course. There’s always a way.”

“And that’s why we employ you, Mr Kerrick,” Yassen reminded the gangster.

It wasn't subtle, but then Yassen didn't feel the need to be subtle. He wanted everyone involved in this operation to understand the stakes. There was no space for weakness here. As if to emphasise the point, the door of room 407 opened, swinging forcefully and banging into the wall behind. A very man tall – taller even than Yassen – stepped through the doorway. His face was thin and pale, but his eyes were as hard as diamonds. This was the Accountant, though Yassen had known him under other handles when their paths had crossed in previous ventures. He'd handled administrative duties for Scorpia many times. There was a comfort in his presence here: it reassured Yassen that such a sensitive job would be well managed.

“Ah, Yassen. Sorry to have made you wait. We’re done in here.” He looked down at his hands, turning them over to inspect the splatters of blood on his skin. “The client is about to leave. Good that you’re here as well, Mr Kerrick. Could you ensure our client is not being followed? He said he felt like he was being watched lately. Probably just nerves, but better safe than sorry. He’s a good man, good client.”

Good man. Not the words most people would use to describe a paedophile who'd just killed a child, but Kerrick looked thankful for having been given a more practical job. He wasn't as chatty as the Accountant, not as comfortable with the finer details of the operation. He nodded a farewell to Yassen and hurried down the corridor to tail the client. He quite openly avoided looking into room 407 as he passed it.

Like Yassen, the Accountant was quick to pick up on the weakness and his eyes followed the retreating figure for a while longer than necessary. “Can he be trusted?” he wanted to know as soon as Kerrick was definitely out of earshot.

“The boss trusts him” was the only answer Yassen needed to give. Shadow's word was final.

He followed the Accountant into the room – the door they used was discretely camouflaged from the inside of the wall, melding almost seamlessly with the magnolia-painted walls. This door was used only by agents of the operation. The clients always used the front entrance, which led through plush, carpeted corridors. It maintained the illusion of cleanliness and acceptability.

Clients didn't need to see behind the scenes. They didn't need to be exposed to the whitewashed walls and the small holding cells where boys huddled fearfully as they could do nothing but wait to be selected, just like they didn't need to see the farm with its training facilities ... or the factory where the evidence of their crimes were boiled down into nothingness. Just a website and a legitimate hotel with modified, sound proofed walls and reinforced steel doors to some of the rooms.

The Accountant had watched the murder in room 407. He liked to be present for the coup de grace when a client allowed it. Officially, it was to keep an eye on things and make sure none of the boys might reverse the situation or escape, but in reality it was because he filmed the murders. Such videos were worth a fortune on the internet these days. It was just a sideline earning, but it wasn't negligible.

Today's boy looked like he must have been about fifteen years old. Dark hair, handsome features, if perhaps a bit on the podgy side. There was a little blood, but nothing too terrible or gory. It looked like most of it had come from the boy’s broken nose and lips. There was a ring of bruises around his neck and one didn't need to be a pathologist to know that the life had been squeezed out of this child with bare hands.

The Accountant shook his head impatiently. “Where are the bloody cleaners? I have another client booked for this room in three hours.”

Yassen checked his own watch and shrugged, not showing his irritation at yet more waiting. He turned away from the young victim. The blood was rapidly congealing and the sight was getting distasteful. Yassen had no problem with death or torture, but neither did he revel in it like some of the people on this operation, especially when it was so crude.

“Where did this one come from?” he asked, nodding towards the corpse.

The Accountant was a bit like a living database; he knew all the boys and their personal histories. True to form, he didn't miss a beat. “He called our helpline. You know, the one for children from broken homes. Parents recently divorced, not coping well, friends not reliable. Name was Tom something or other.”

Yassen knew all about broken homes. "Shame," he murmured before turning back to the Accountant. "I can't hang around here all day. We don't need to wait for the cleaners. They know their job and we still need to do a full review of our security here. This has become even more important now."

The Accountant pulled a face and glared at his watch again, as if that could somehow make time move a bit more slowly. Time was holy to this man – strict management of resources, including conceptual resources such as clockwork precision of the schedule – were what had enabled the huge success of this operation. And he liked to supervise everything personally.

Swearing at the still absent cleaners, the Accountant led the way back through the camouflaged door into the white corridor. The area was silent and peaceful now. Yassen knew that two other rooms were in use at that moment, but luckily for the boys in question, it didn't seem like violent death was on their menu today. Hopefully, they would be good boys.


***
Part 1


Yassen had barely had time to finish his security briefing with the Accountant – all they needed at the hotel was a few more hidden cameras to cover a small blind spot in the foyer, where genuine guests and clients co-mingled before being directed into different sections of the building – when his mobile phone rang.

It was Kerrick. He'd followed the client as directed and after a few blocks had realised that a young man on a courier moped seemed to be keeping suspiciously close to the man's car. Kerrick had kept his distance, watching without intervening. The client was heading towards Croydon and the moped had always stayed one or two cars behind. Finally, Kerrick's suspicions were confirmed when the client pulled in at a petrol station. The moped followed and the courier had filled up his tank, then pushed the bike to the slipway and waited for the client's car to drive past before following again. The courier had been so focussed on his prey that it had been all too easy for Kerrick to run him – discretely, he hastened to add – off the road at the next traffic light and easier still for his men to drag both the courier and his moped into their white transit.

Yassen wasted no time. He left the Accountant in charge of ordering the new security additions and headed to the factory. It irked him to have to make the journey now, as it meant he would need to come back later to inspect the cleaners' work after they got rid of today's body. In fact, the detour messed up his entire evening, but flexibility was a requirement of Yassen's job, and so it wasn't long before he reached his destination and was greeted by Kerrick just outside the stone building.

"Thanks for coming so quickly. We got the guy's helmet off and fuck me if it's not just some kid. Says he's just a courier making a delivery to East Croydon. Now I don't know what to think. I could swear he was following our client."

Yassen frowned. He followed Kerrick, wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant albeit familiar smell of bleach and entrails that assaulted him as soon as he stepped into the factory. They called it the factory, but it was actually an old abattoir. Like the hotel in London, the factory still operated as a genuine business, providing an excellent cover for the operation. The abattoir was the most perfect location to dispose of corpses in a way that would ensure they would never be found, let alone identified. Vats of offal were incinerated every day ... No one ever noticed the odd fragment of human bone.

Smiling a little at the flawlessness of it all, Yassen joined the circle of men standing around a diminutive figure on the concrete floor. Yassen recognised him immediately, of course, and that wiped the smile right off his face.

"Get up," Kerrick snapped, kicking at the prone form. The boy grunted and Yassen watched his limbs twitch as though he was preparing his movements before being able to actually make them. He was obviously in pain, but couldn't have been too badly injured for he rolled onto his hands and knees and slowly, very slowly, pushed himself to his feet.

Alex Rider glared up at them through a sweat-soaked fringe. His face was bloodied and his lip swollen. He looked exhausted and had obviously been subdued by force. When his brown eyes fell on Yassen, he froze for a moment before an almost hysterical snort of laughter escaped him. "Oh, fuck."

Kerrick nodded approvingly. "Still just a courier, eh?" he mocked, emboldened by the boy's response. All the men laughed, but none of them had realised that Alex had eyes only for Yassen ... and Yassen himself was similarly mesmerised. Just over a year had passed since he had last seen Alex, but the boy hadn't changed much. Maybe he'd grown a little, filled out. His expression was the same; not just defiant, but challenging, accusatory.

Finally, Yassen broke their eye contact. He turned his attention back to the gangster. "You did well, Mr Kerrick. This boy is definitely not just a courier. He could have compromised our entire operation."

"I hardly think so," Kerrick scoffed, even though he looked pleased with the praise. "He's only a child. You don't think really he might be working for SOCA, do you?"

Yassen pursed his lips thoughtfully. It was a good question, but only one of many. "Why are you here?" he asked of Alex.

If Kerrick had heard the slight inflection on the word you, then he didn't react to it. Alex heard it, though, and his lips twisted into a bloody smile. "Just looking for my friend. He's gone missing."

Yassen held his gaze for a moment, then nodded curtly, momentarily satisfied. Of course, it remained possible that MI6 had sent Alex to spy on Shadow's operation, but rash actions without backup spoke volumes. Kerrick, however, laughed at Alex's words. "How did you find the hotel, kid? How did you know where to look?"

Alex didn't answer and his defiant expression told Yassen he wasn't going to. Not without persuasion, anyway. "What do you think we should do with him?" he asked Kerrick, practically willing the London gangster to take the decision out of his hands.

"Accountant always needs more boys," Kerrick mused thoughtfully. "Unless you think it might be safer to get rid of him here and now?"

Yassen knew Alex's mind had to be whirring, taking in as much information as he could. The boy was clever; too clever. If he got away then the whole operation would be over. There were only two options; they could either use the boy or kill him right away. Yassen couldn't imagine Alex going down quietly if they decided to train him up ... so it would be a mercy, really ...

Yassen pulled out his gun.

The Grach felt heavier than usual, perhaps weighted down by the guilt of what he was about to do. He watched Kerrick turn back to his men; knew he'd give them a chance to walk out before it happened. The rape and murder of children wasn't everyone's cup of tea; not even in the underworld.

"It's for the best," Yassen said out loud, though he wasn't sure if he was speaking to Kerrick, Alex, or to himself.

Kerrick shrugged. "Seems like a waste. Pretty boy. Good money. They're hard to get, you know."

Alex visibly shuddered, but his lips stayed set in their grim smile. "Where's Tom?" he demanded, fists clenching, ready to insist.

"Is that another infiltrator? Probably dead," Kerrick answered easily, casually, and before anyone could move, Alex had thrown himself onto the gangster, bowling him over with his momentum and smashing the back of his head into the concrete floor. Kerrick's surprised cry was cut short as he was winded. But Kerrick outweighed Alex by about one hundred pounds and moreover, he wasn't alone. Immediately one of his men grabbed Alex's arm, swinging him round with such force that he stumbled to his knees. The man held him there as he waited for Kerrick to get back to his feet.

"Kill the little bastard," Kerrick ordered when he'd finally regained his composure. There was a breathless moment of stillness until Yassen realised that was his cue and closed the distance between them. Yassen took aim and looked down at Alex, waiting for the boy to start begging, but was surprised to find that anger was replacing terror in the boy's expression. His fists clenched by his sides, he glared up at Yassen, as though daring him to say, or do, something.

This, more than anything, irritated Yassen. The boy should be scared. He should be terrified, crying for his life.

"Head or heart?" he asked Kerrick, watching Alex's pulse dance up and down his throat. It jumped visibly at Yassen's words and Yassen felt a rush of pleasure. That was more like it.

"Does it matter?" Kerrick retorted. It seemed as though his moment of fury had passed and he was back to his usual self – efficient, but keen not to get his own hands dirty. Having given his order, he now seemed to be distancing himself from the execution.

"Well yes," Yassen continued, speaking slowly and thoughtfully. He pressed the muzzle of the gun against Alex's chest and could feel the thrum of his heartbeat carry an erratic tattoo through the metal to his hand. "It matters in terms of—"

"Will you shut up and get it over with?" Alex suddenly interrupted, his voice taut with fear. Yassen cocked his head thoughtfully, studying the boy in front of him. "Of course," he granted as he shifted his aim to Alex's forehead. It would be quicker that way.

The man holding the boy stepped back and averted his gaze. Yassen, on the other hand, locked eyes with Alex once more. At last the boy looked properly scared, but he was holding it together remarkably well. He hadn't wet himself and there were no tears, no pleas for mercy. God, the child looked so familiar, and not just from their previous encounter. No. The familiarity ran deeper than that, reaching out and raking at Yassen's conscience.

"So make your decision," Yassen asked again, unable to stop himself from stalling, but this time addressing Alex directly. "So what will it be? Head or heart?"

In the background, he could hear Kerrick laughing and whispering something about a sick bastard, but his focus remained entirely on Alex. What would the boy do? Yassen had once been in this exact position himself ... and he was not proud of how badly he'd lost control.

After a few tense seconds, during which Alex's mouth seemed to move without words, he managed to pant: "Fuck off."

And then it was like Alex could take no more. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists into tight balls. He seemed to be counting ... counting the last seconds of his life.

Yassen's finger tightened against the trigger, enough to engage the security with a resounding click that echoed around the factory ... but then, for the second time in his life, Yassen Gregorovich found himself unable to pull the trigger.

Until a moment ago, he'd felt confident that he would pass his own test. Mock the boy before death, but thereby also save him from a worse fate. Kill him, cleanly, swiftly. But looking down at Alex waiting to die now brought back a rush of unwanted emotions. He knew he should pull the trigger, get it over with, as Alex had said. But it was like some invisible force was holding back his finger. He couldn't do it. Couldn't kill Hunter's only son in cold blood.

He also couldn't let the boy go, and he absolutely couldn't let the Accountant include Alex in the operation itself. Which left only one, very distasteful, option. Yassen felt a surge of rage rush through his body. He clenched his teeth.

Better than death.

Acting quickly before he could change his mind, Yassen drew back his gun and smashed it forcefully into Alex's temple. Alex did not even have time to register what had happened before he crumpled to the side, unconscious.

"There's something he's not telling us," Yassen explained before Kerrick could ask what was going on. "And he interests me. I would like to keep him. For myself."

Kerrick looked surprised, and maybe a little disgusted. "Really? I hadn't pegged you as the type. All that choice back at the meat farm and you take a liking to this little bastard?"

Yassen shrugged. "Mostly, it's not my thing," he acknowledged. "But this one interests me. And not just because he hit you," he added with a small smile. The rage was ebbing away and his heart rate, which had accelerated, was returning to normal.

Kerrick pulled a face but knew better than to question Yassen's decisions. "Better get him back to the farm, then. No point in staying here. Though if you wanted to make some money on the side without the Accountant knowing, I wouldn't say anything, if you know what I mean."

Kerrick rarely spoke this informally with Yassen, but it was like he suddenly seemed more at ease. Yassen hoped it wasn't because of his failure to kill Alex Rider. He did not need people like Kerrick doubting his abilities, even if he was the first to admit that there was a lot to doubt right now.

"Thanks," Yassen said, "but I will inform the boss of this myself. Perhaps if your men would be so kind?" He gestured towards the unconscious boy. "Put him in the assessment area. And please don't damage him any more than you already have – he won't be able to tell us what he knows if he can't talk. Consider him my property from now on."

Kerrick relayed the order and a well-built black man stepped forward and hoisted Alex over his shoulder as though he were a ragdoll. His head bounced against the guy's back as he was carried away. Once Kerrick and his men had left the area, Yassen made his way to the back of the building where a row of offices was tucked away in a dimly lit corridor. He knocked on the glass plate of the head office before letting himself in.

Predictably, Shadow was sitting by the computer terminal, but looked up when Yassen entered the office. "I didn't hear a gunshot."

It was a statement and Yassen acknowledged it with a curt nod. Shadow always knew everything that was going on. "I found the boy ... intriguing. He says he was looking for his missing friend. Maybe someone else – possibly SOCA, according to one of Kerrick's informants – sent him or maybe that's the truth. If it is, then it's admirable that he traced the Childline number to the hotel and I would suggest that our esteemed friend," he nodded towards the wall to indicate the computer genius that worked on the other side of it, "be more attentive to such detail in the future. Be that as it may, but I would like to keep the boy for myself after he tells us what he knows."

Shadow looked as surprised as Kerrick had, and Yassen felt a jolt of irritation at being forced into this situation by the combined force of Alex's stupidity and his own weakness.

"I can't see why that would be a problem," Shadow said softly. "Though I confess I was unaware that you had such inclinations."

"I don't, as a general rule. But in my line of work, one learns to take an interest where it appears to be merited. So far, he has not said anything, though of course Kerrick's methods of interrogation are anything but subtle."

Shadow smiled at that statement. She was obviously in agreement with his criticism. "That's what I pay you for, my friend. Perhaps I shall try to meet this boy that intrigues you at some point. Will he be staying at the farm?"

Yassen nodded. "It seems prudent. The security is in place there."

"Good, then it is settled." Shadow adjusted her glasses and turned back to the computer terminal.

Their conversations were never very long, but Yassen always got the sense that Shadow enjoyed his company. It couldn't be easy heading an operation of this scale and Shadow was remarkably good at holding everything together. Yassen's salary always arrived on time and he had no complaints about any of the local gangsters recruited for various phases of the operation. The farm was always clean and well maintained, the boys were healthy and as far as possible treated decently. The hotel rooms were meticulously cleaned and disinfected after every use. Most importantly the clients were happy – they felt safe ... and paid huge sums for the privilege.

"Should I have a word with ..." Yassen nodded towards the wall again – he had no idea what the computer guy was called. Shadow didn't even look up, but dismissed Yassen, both his question and the man himself, with a gesture. In a way, Yassen was relieved to be able to hurry past the tech office without speaking to the guy. He wanted to get back to the farm as quickly as possible.

He drove quickly and reached the farm only about ten minutes after Kerrick's convoy. Once parked, he sat in his car for a few moments, trying to work out what the hell he was going to do. A part of him wanted to storm in, grab Alex, drag him outside and shoot him. He wondered if he'd just made a terrible mistake; if he'd made things worse for Alex ... and for himself.

The confusion made him angry, especially as another part of him was keenly aware that the very notion of executing Alex like that was ridiculous when he'd already shown his inability to pull the trigger. When he killed Alex, it would have to be in the heat of a fight ... if at all. That realisation made him feel weak and jaded. Sighing deeply, he got out of his car.

"Thank god you've arrived, Mr Gregorovich." One of Kerrick's men said as soon as Yassen had set foot on the main holding area of the farm. The farm was an old agricultural development on the outskirts of London. It had been rebuilt to be like a modern prison inside – clean, clinical, whitewashed walls and stainless steel doors with bars in them.

Tired faces, some more fearful than others, looked through the bars as Yassen walked alongside the man, who explained what had happened: "He woke up in the van and freaked out. Demanded to know where you were – called you a Russian bastard – and where we were taking him. Manny had to knock him out again—"

"I specifically said he was not to be damaged," Yassen interrupted with a flash of anger.

The man looked down. "It gets worse," he finally admitted, hurrying his step towards the far end of the corridor, beyond which they would find the set of special cells in which new arrivals were assessed and briefed behind soundproofed walls. "We got him out of the van and he started screaming and lashing out. He ... he smashed Manny's nose, so Manny tried to hit him back, but..."

Yassen smiled grimly as the man trailed off. Alex would have fought like a wildcat. Of all people, Alex Rider had to know that being kidnapped by his enemies could never lead to good things. He would have been willing to risk his life to escape. That thought made Yassen halt sharply. "He hasn't got away, has he?"

The man shook his head. "He might have if it had just been Manny, but with all of us there he didn't stand a chance."

Yassen lengthened his stride, a strange knot driving him faster towards the steel door at the end of the corridor. If they had killed Alex... He frowned. Then what? Then a thorn in his side would have been removed; then the boy would finally have got what he deserved. So why did Yassen feel vaguely nauseous at the thought? Wasting not a moment, he pressed his keycard against the reader.

There were two assessment cells in this area – one for containment and one for actual procedures. The former was little more than a cage bolted to the brickwork. The latter was more private and contained, among other things, equipment designed to test the boys' limits and abilities. It was into this one that Alex had been thrown. He lay tightly curled up on his side, his head buried in his arms, his knees drawn up to his stomach.

Lee Kerrick hovered nervously near the door of the room like a guard who thought he was about to be jumped at any moment. There was a bruise blossoming on the side of his face. He looked relieved to see Yassen. "You weren't wrong," he said, nodding towards the boy on the floor. "The kid is interesting, all right. No way he's just a kid looking for a missing friend. Still hasn't given up. Well, he has now, but five minutes ago I thought I was in the wrong operation. Thought I'd gone to a fighting club or something by mistake. Look, I'm sorry we had to hurt him, but I couldn't let him get away with that."

Yassen stepped past Kerrick, ignoring his whinging excuses. He looked down at Alex and watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest with a strange flutter of relief. Alex's face looked the same as it had in the factory, bruised and a little bloody, but nothing worse than that. The way he was holding himself, however, evidenced that his body had taken a serious beating since then. There was a little hitch in his breath that seemed to rattle painfully all the way down to his lungs.

Yassen crouched down and tried to push Alex onto his back with one hand. Alex resisted the pressure, curling up more tightly and moaning without opening his eyes.

"You brought this on yourself," Yassen whispered. He believed his words. The boy didn't know when to give up and while he'd undoubtedly been hurt many times, he had to start respecting his own mortality a bit more.

Alex's eyes snapped open at Yassen's familiar voice. It looked like he was trying to think of something to say, but then a shudder ran through him and he averted his gaze without speaking.

"Does it hurt when you breathe?" Yassen wanted to know. Alex didn't respond verbally, but his gaze rose to meet Yassen's and his eyes were clear and unclouded. While there was a lot of pain in his expression, Yassen had seen enough death to know that Alex was not that badly injured. He stood up and turned to Kerrick.

"He's fine," he announced. "Take him to the cage. Get him a warm blanket, a few bottles of water and some Co-codamol. Do not open the cage for any reason and do not fall for any theatrics – I do not want this one to escape. Just make sure he is comfortable, and by that I mean not dead, and unless he starts throwing up blood and needs an emergency doctor, do not touch him until I return."

He left without another look at Alex, still torn between an unpleasant yearning sensation and anger. He would have to deal with this whole mess later, but before then, he needed to return to the hotel to finish his work with the Accountant. And while Yassen never slept much, he very much wanted to grab four or five hours of shuteye before having to make any big decisions.

***

Part 2


The Accountant didn't have to say anything for Yassen to know that he was dying to talk about Alex. Shadow must have informed him of Yassen's decision to keep the boy for himself; after all Alex would have to be integrated into the system, even if it was on a private basis, he'd still need clothes, food, water ... All these things would have to be provided and accounted for. It took the Accountant the better part of an hour, however, to gather up the courage to actually ask: "So why didn't you kill the boy?"

Yassen shrugged as if it didn't matter, even though it mattered more than anything else mattered in his life. "He reminded me of ... someone. Angry, brave ... or maybe stupid," he mused, not letting his mind go where it so desperately wanted to be.

"In all my years, I've never seen you hesitate, Yassen."

"Nor shall you," Yassen assured him. His reputation preceded him, but even so it was important to continuously remind his employers and colleagues exactly why they hired him to oversee the security of their operations.

"Do we know how he found the hotel? How did he know to follow our client?"

"Not yet. Mr Kerrick's crude methods served only to beat the boy into unconsciousness. We know he was looking for his friend, Tom."

The Accountant's thin lips spread into a cruel grin. "Tom from yesterday? Bad timing, then. A day earlier and he would have been able to say goodbye. I assume you will be finding out how, exactly, he tracked down the hotel?"

"Oh yes," Yassen promised. "I will find out everything he knows."

Specifically, he thought to himself, he would have to find out whether Alex had gone to the hotel under his own steam or whether MI6 had sent him. It seemed unlikely that MI6 would be interested in Shadow's operation, especially as SOCA were allegedly already hot on their heels, but ... well, it wouldn't be the first time MI6 had let another agency use Alex Rider. "I can't help but wonder if the boy is part of the SOCA sting Kerrick's informant heard of?" he said out loud.

The Accountant laughed. "You think they would send in an actual child? Bit destructive, no?"

Yassen allowed himself a brief smile. Destructive was a good word. "It's just that he seemed very unfazed by what he saw at the factory." He didn't mention MI6.

Their conversation continued during the drive back to the factory. A quick glance at the office area revealed that Shadow had left for the night. The computer guy's light was still on, but the Accountant obviously shared Yassen's feelings about the man, for he didn't suggest going into the office to say goodnight. Everything was as it should be – no traces of the day's activities remained and the offal vats were empty and disinfected, ready for a six in the morning start the next day when the trailers of cattle would begin to roll through the gates. It was only a small abattoir, local, specialised, dispatching between ninety and one-hundred and twenty head of cattle each day ... perfect.

Yassen drove back to the farm, dropping off the Accountant en route. He was feeling increasingly tired from the long day and welcomed the silence. The farm was blissfully quiet at night. Kerrick and his men had long gone home and only night-time security remained, discretely patrolling the grounds.

It was funny to Yassen that for all the posturing, the operation was really nothing more than a money making project. A get-rich-quick scam. Two years – that was the business plan. Two years of very high risk and very high profit ... and then they would all disappear into the night. Much richer than they'd been before.

That was the theory, anyway. Maybe Kerrick would keep a smaller version going to maintain control of the newly established London market, but Yassen's gut feeling was that the gangster would want as little as possible to do with the stock. When it was over, the surviving boys would probably all have to be eliminated.

One year down, one to go.

Treading softly, Yassen let himself into the main part of the farm, where the boys were kept. Most were sleeping, but some watched him walk by with fearful eyes that glinted in the dark, reflecting the dim corridor lights. He ignored them, making his way to the far room and Alex's cage.

He was not surprised to find the boy awake and flicked on the light in order to see him properly. His face was dirty and the blood had hardened into rusty stains, blackening the puffy, bruised skin. His hair was matted and tangled and he still lay in an awkward position, hugging himself.

"I should have killed you," Yassen murmured through the bars of the cage.

"Why didn't you?" Alex's voice sounded raw.

Yassen didn't answer the question. Instead he said: "There are still things I need to know."

"I'm not scared of you."

Alex turned away, wincing at the movement. Yassen knew he must have taken several bruising blows to the chest and stomach area, but if there had been any internal bleeding they would probably have known about it by now. They both knew Alex's words were a lie. Of course the boy was scared. He'd be stupid not to be scared and Alex Rider was anything but stupid. Yassen gave orders to the night watchman that Alex should be given more painkillers in the morning, then he headed to his own quarters, a short walk across the farmyard.

He slept fitfully that night. It was hot and stuffy in the room and it made him feel a bit claustrophobic. Worse, every time he closed his eyes, he could see Hunter watching him from the shadows.

Hunter was not smiling like he normally did in Yassen's dreams; he looked sad.

"What's the matter?" Yassen asked. His voice sounded so young, and when he looked down at himself he was surprised to find a teenage boy instead of a grown man. Hunter put a hand on the child's shoulder. It felt comforting and Yassen wanted nothing more than to lean into the touch and savour its soothing presence. "Yassen, my son, my friend..."

Yassen woke up with a gasp. The words had sounded so real, but of course he was alone in his room. He was an adult, a terrorist, an assassin. He shouldn't be the one having nightmares. He kicked the covers off the bed and glanced at the clock, disappointed that it was only two in the morning.

"What should I do, Hunter?" he whispered into the darkness, shocked at the painful jolt in his chest when there was no response. So many times he'd killed innocent victims. Not just from a distance through his sniper rifle, but up close. He'd watched them beg for their lives, had sneered as they desperately tried to save themselves and then cut short their tearful cries with a bullet or a knife. Last year he'd started feeling old and washed out, but then his near death experience had brought back the rush of the game and here he was, stronger and more ruthless than ever.

Only ...

"What should I do?" he asked again, ashamed by the despair in his voice.

"Keep him safe," a voice in his head answered. "Whatever the cost."

He slept a little better after that and woke up three hours later feeling refreshed and alert, Hunter's plea still ringing in his mind. No, not his plea. His orders. He ate a small breakfast and went for a run under the rising sun before making his way to Alex's cage. The boy didn't seem to have moved much since the previous night, though the night watchman said that he'd crawled over to use the toilet about an hour ago.

"You awake?" Yassen breathed. It took a few moments for Alex to stir, and when he did it was with the same discomfort as the night before. Yassen unlocked the cage door and ordered the guard to return to his patrol. He wanted to be alone with his young enemy.

He surveyed Alex in silence for a while before making his decision. "Stand up."

It was a struggle and Yassen would have been lying if he'd said he didn't enjoy watching the boy's well deserved pain, but finally Alex was standing before him, eyes blazing as brightly as they had on the first day they'd met.

"What do you want?" he wanted to know, but Yassen was not fooled by the outward bravura. His lips twitched. "I need you to understand what's going to happen here, little Alex. I am going to ask you some questions and you will provide the answers."

"And then?"

And then ... Yassen felt tendrils of resentment crawl through him, but he managed to subdue them. There was no point in letting anger control him now. Not yet. "And then I will have to show my employers and colleagues why I decided to keep you."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think goes on here, Alex?"

The boy shifted uncomfortably and Yassen had to wonder what could be going through his mind. He helped to focus Alex's train of thought. "My organisation provides a service for wealthy men, and sometimes women."

Alex paled.

"I see you're starting to understa—"

"Where's Tom?"

If Alex didn't already look like standing was an effort. Yassen might have hit him. "Dead. Raped and killed. Is that what you wanted to hear? And that's what will happen to you unless you obey me from now on."

The crudeness of Yassen's words seems to steal Alex's fight. He stared at Yassen in horror, shaking his head against news that had to be worse than anything he could have imagined.

"Good," Yassen praised mockingly. "And from now on I will ask the questions. But first, let's go somewhere more comfortable."

He didn't feel particularly joyful at the prospect of torturing Alex, although there was a part of him that still wanted to see how far he could push the boy; however, it was crucial that Alex hand over his information. He made Alex follow him out of the cage. But he didn't head for the assessment area. Not yet. He wanted somewhere more private for this conversation and elected the small bedroom used by the guards during their night shift break.

"Sit," he ordered, gesturing at a chair. Alex had paled during the walk, but he seemed much improved overall. Either his morning painkillers had taken effect or the short walk had kick-started his circulation.

"You understand we can do this the easy way o—"

"Or the hard way?" Alex interrupted with a sneer. "How cliché."

Yassen didn't even realise he'd lashed out until his hand smacked into Alex's face. A yelp of protest escaped Alex's lips as his head was flung to one side. Yassen's hand burnt from the impact, but already Alex was turning back with a glower that showed more resistance than alarm.

"You will stop that," Yassen ordered. How dare Alex act like they were playing games? Using the momentum of his fury, he grabbed Alex's stupid, floppy hair and yanked his head back. The boy's fear was delicious and Yassen could see his pulse thrumming along the side of his delicate neck. He felt a shiver run through his lower spine and he wanted to—

No.

He released his grip and let Alex slump forward where he sat. Took a deep breath. "Who sent you?"

Alex still seemed to have no real notion of the danger he was in. His voice was defiant when he said: "No one sent me. I sent myself."

Yassen believed him, but he had to be sure. "How did you find us?"

A scornful expression crossed Alex's face, rendered grotesque by yesterday's bruises and the blossoming red mark. "You were easy to find. I followed a man from the hotel. Was simple enough."

"How did you know who to follow?" Yassen asked irritably. He felt his hand twitching– he wanted to strike Alex again, maybe to loosen his tongue. Alex seemed to read his mind for he sighed deeply, his scorn dissipating as quickly as it had surfaced. "MI6 weren't interested when Tom disappeared. They didn't think it had anything to do with me. They said he'd probably run away, 'cause of his family and all. But they were wrong; it was to do with me, wasn't it?"

The arrogance of youth never failed to astound Yassen and he couldn't stop a small laugh from escaping his lips. "Actually, Alex Rider, it has nothing to do with you at all. In fact, if I'd known Tom was your friend I'd have made sure he was left alone, as I would have guessed that you would not be too far behind."

It wasn't what Alex had expected to hear and he looked thoughtful for a moment, his mind clearly not yet letting him think about what happened to his friend. "I won't tell you."

"Why not? You have nothing to lose, little Alex."

Alex snorted at the diminutive. He rolled his shoulders back as though to relieve the tension ... or brace himself for an argument. "Maybe MI6 will take an interest when they notice I'm gone."

"If they notice," Yassen corrected. He reached out for Alex and curled a single strand of blond fringe around his finger, using the simple hold to pull his head back. Alex shrank away, but could not get far. Yassen leant over him and hissed: "Trust me. You have nothing to lose."

Alex jerked away, goosepimples rising on the exposed skin of his neck, and for a moment he shivered as though there was a coldness inside trying to break free. Then he finally started talking, maybe accepting that Yassen was right, that there was no reason for him to protect this secret now.

"A friend of mine from MI6 got me some phone records. Tom called a Childline number the day he disappeared. The call was made from his home phone and the police said it showed he wasn't happy and was planning to run away. But I did a reverse trace and found all calls made to that Childline number. One occurred a few hours after Tom's first call and was made from a public booth. My friend tapped into the metropolitan CCTV system and sure enough, there was Tom. After that, it was a question of following him through the CCTV system – he went into that hotel, but he never came out, so a few days ago I started watching the place. The same guy kept turning up for a few hours and leaving again, so I decided to follow him ..."

He trailed off, not needing to finish his story. He'd followed and been captured by Kerrick's men and dragged to the factory. Yassen nodded thoughtfully – while it seemed that Alex had not actually managed to trace the physical location of the Childline number, as they'd originally feared, he'd still exposed a huge hole in their security. Shadow would have to be informed as soon as possible. They'd also need to watch out for MI6; if someone made the connection between the favours Alex had asked for and his disappearance...

"You understand what you've walked into?"

Alex pulled a face. "Yeah, I do now. Fucking sickos."

Yassen didn't deny it. "I told my employers that I wanted you for myself. Do you understand what this means? What I have to do?"

Alex's rebellious expression wavered for a split second, but Yassen continued undeterred: "It's up to you whether you cooperate or not, but I think it will help your education if you watch one of the more experienced boys having a training session."

Alex looked disgusted. "I don't want to watch that," he snapped.

And I hate you for making me do it, Yassen wanted to respond. His resentment had crept back and was now rising sharply at the realisation that he would not be able to put off the inevitable for much longer. His mouth felt dry as he called for one of the guards. As well as a guard, Geoff was also one of the 'trainers'. In Yassen's mind, that meant he was a perverted bastard who enjoyed letting out his sexual frustrations on young boys ... making him perfect for preparing the stock for clients.

"Bring one of the compliant ones," he whispered to Geoff, taking care so that Alex could not overhear his words. "Ben would be good for this. I want my boy to learn something, not be traumatised for life." As if such a thing were even possible.

Geoff smiled cruelly and left the room, returning moments later with a naked, dark haired boy in tow. The boy – Benjamin Nicholls, Yassen remembered – was a little older than Alex, maybe sixteen years old, and he had an excellent understanding of the rules. Ben would not give Alex any ideas of rebellion. He would demonstrate how to submit and obey. And hopefully Alex would learn by observation.

Following Geoff's lead, they made their way to the assessment room. There, Yassen pushed Alex into a chair and stood behind him, hands on Alex's shoulders as a reminder not to move, not to get involved. Ben was led to the wooden horse and without being told what to do he bent over it so that Yassen and Alex could watch him from the side. The position looked awkward, but Ben didn't say anything. He simply shifted his hips until he found some semblance of comfort and then turned his head away to face the wall, resting his cheek on the wood.

"I want you to cry for me," Geoff hissed and without warning, he landed an open-handed smack on Ben's backside. Ben let out a surprised yelp and Yassen could feel the tension stirring in Alex's shoulders. He knew the boy wanted to jump up, so he dug his fingers even more tightly into the muscles until Alex settled again.

The second blow fell a little lower and Ben gasped loudly. Geoff moaned. It was obvious that he was already getting aroused, and Yassen almost rolled his eyes at his predictability. Leaning down, he smacked Ben's balls where they hung between his open thighs. This time Ben screamed and Yassen felt Alex tense up again. He let his hands drift closer to Alex's neck, caressing the soft skin covering the nerve endings at the join of the neck.

"Don't even think about it, he whispered in a rough voice. It was almost as though he could read Alex's mind and he could feel the boy's outrage and desire to do something.

After that, the smacks came fast and furious, landing on every part of Ben's buttocks and thighs until the entire area was red and Ben was screaming for a reprieve. Geoff was breathing heavily – he'd already started stroking himself through his trousers and now he yanked them down to his ankles in one desperate move. Pulling aside the cheeks of Ben's arse with his fingers, Geoff hastily slapped some jelly onto his cock before driving into the boy. A long wail escaped Ben, though Yassen knew the boy had been well used and was quite loose in there. The screaming and wailing was almost part of the act by now. Almost.

Geoff thrust in and out, withdrawing almost fully before ramming back into the boy with a grunt. His hands gripped the horse on either side of Ben's bent body, giving him additional purchase to fuck the boy as deeply as he pleased. He leaned back and Yassen could see his lips parted in ecstasy. Sweat poured down his face. Predictable. Obvious.Yassen felt a strong twinge of disgust at the sight, but he was careful not to let it show.

Suddenly, Geoff looked aside and gasped. "Someone take his mouth. Anyone!"

It was like he'd lost himself inside his fantasy, and for a moment Yassen wondered if anyone would respond and if, in fact, Geoff would even notice, or if it was all just part of the show. But then one of the younger guards did step in. Yassen didn't know his name and didn't care. He'd seen him offer to help before; after all the boys didn't train themselves and some of the clients had busy tastes.

The guard twisted Ben's dark hair in his fists and within moments he'd pushed his cock into his mouth. They reached a fluent rhythm, Geoff and the guard, practically rocking Ben and the wooden horse between them. Ben was still grunting but he made no move to protest, knowing that his survival prospects would be higher if he continued to cooperate. And finally, finally, Geoff's arousal peaked with a loud cry. He came hard, thrusting himself forwards and staying like that for a while, braced by his grip on the wooden horse. The guard at Ben's mouth responded in kind; Yassen watched his face, red and sweaty, freeze as he came, and then white gloop was dripping from Ben's lips as he struggled to swallow it in his uncomfortable position.

Taking their time, the two men withdrew from their young victim. Geoff slapped Ben's arse again and easily pressed a finger into his wet hole. "What could we fit in there, I wonder," he panted almost breathlessly, peering at his own knuckle with fascination. Ben's head hung lifelessly. It didn't look like he could even feel the probing in his arse. His senses were dulled by abuse.

"Next time," Yassen interrupted Geoff's explorations. "For now, I have a new boy to break in."

Alex surged out of his seat but Yassen had been prepared for such an attempt from the very beginning. He slammed Alex back down, pinching his shoulder harshly. "I only want him softened up. And then I will want some privacy."

Geoff stared at Alex hungrily, turning back to Ben only for the time it took him to say: "Get out of here. Take a shower. The Accountant has a client scheduled for you tonight." He nodded to the young guard, who still looked very flushed, to make sure that Ben would be accompanied back to his cell and then started prowling around Alex.

Alex felt as coiled as a spring under Yassen's grip. Given half a chance, the boy would probably leap up and fight for all he was worth. But that was not an option Yassen was going to allow him to take.

"Is this the one you're keeping for yourself?" Geoff asked, studying Alex's face with interest.

"It is. And I insist that his first experience be with me."

Geoff looked a little disappointed, but not too much. Firstly, he'd already had his fun, and then it was likely that pain and torture were as much of a turn-on for this man as the sex itself. In truth, Yassen wanted Geoff to weaken Alex's resolve just enough to make his own job easier. Alex needed to understand that his only chance of surviving this situation was to do as he was told, and Yassen worried ... Sorry, Hunter ... that he would be too weak to help Alex if it all went horribly wrong.

"Is he being marked?" Geoff wanted to know.

Yassen hadn't considered it. Had forgotten that the boys were all branded when they arrived. Finally letting go of Alex's shoulders, he moved around to look at the boy from the front. Alex looked as defiant as ever, even though his eyes betrayed the horror of what he had just been forced to watch. It was the defiance that did it. "Yes," Yassen decided. "Let's do that first."

"What do you mean, marked?" Alex finally broke his silence.

Yassen didn't bother giving him an answer. Instead he grabbed Alex's arm and propelled him towards the horse, still wet from Geoff's ejaculate. While Ben had not been tied down, Yassen knew that Alex would have to be. Ignoring the pained gasp of the boy as he was slammed into the wood, Yassen deftly kicked his ankles into shackles, effectively spreading his legs and restraining him with a simple click. Before Alex could so much as cry out in complaint, Yassen had forced him to bend over the top of the horse and fastened his wrists in a similar manner. He stepped back just in time to narrowly avoid being headbutted by Alex's sudden struggle.

The boy yanked at the shackles, as though to test their strength, and writhed as far as his awkward position permitted. Yassen watched dispassionately, waiting for Alex to calm down before stepping close again. He managed to unbuckle Alex's belt in record speed and pulled down his filthy jeans, leaving him in only his underwear. Alex's legs were bruised from his capture, but if anything, Yassen appreciated the blotched colouring. He once again waited for Alex to cease his struggles, only vaguely registering the string of curses that seemed to be coming from the boy's mouth. And then just as quickly, Alex stilled. No, he froze. It was like all his senses had suddenly become attuned to working out what was going to happen next. No energy to waste on panicking.

Running his eyes over Alex's body, lingering on the exposed skin and impressive bruises, Yassen considered an unmarked patch of skin just under his left hip. Behind him he could hear the whirr of the electric branding iron heating up. He traced the hip lightly, running his fingernails across the area and imagining the finished look. He felt a wave of dissatisfaction. Wanting to explore further, he tugged at Alex's t-shirt, surprised that Alex remained completely still and silent, and pulled it over the curve of the horse and over Alex's shoulders to expose his back. Here too there was livid bruising from yesterday, but there were also large areas of untouched skin. The sharp jut of Alex's shoulder blade was particularly appealing and Yassen trailed his finger over the protruding bone, smiling slightly when Alex startled.

"Shhhhh," Yassen soothed, placing his palm against the cold skin as he settled on a particular patch of smooth, unmarked skin, just to the left of Alex's shoulder blade. Perfect. He turned to Geoff, who was already holding the hot iron, and pointed out the area.

"Shhhhh," he said again, crouching down in front of Alex so that their heads were level. Alex's t-shirt hung from his shoulders, draping around his face like a dirty white curtain. Even in this awkward position, he managed to glare at Yassen with impressive ferocity.

"What are you doing?" he growled.

Yassen shook his head dismissively. He was watching Geoff come back with the ready iron. Then he gripped Alex's head between his hands.

"Don't touch m—"

Alex gasped. His back arched and his pupils contracted as for a moment the breath seemed to have been robbed from his lungs. Geoff had rested the branding iron against the skin by his shoulder blade. When it was pushed deeper into the skin, Alex screamed. He screamed louder than Yassen had ever heard, piercing, painful, endless, like an animal that didn't understand why it was in pain. Yassen never let go of his head and didn't look away from his face where tears were leaking readily from his eyes. And although the iron was only in contact with Alex's skin for three seconds at the very most, Yassen knew they had to feel like the longest three seconds in Alex's life. He leaned forwards to allow Alex's head to drop onto his shoulder and held him there.

The burnt skin blistered instantly and Yassen knew it would take many weeks to be fully healed, leaving a raised scar that would last a lifetime. He could feel tears soaking through his shirt as he waited for Geoff to dress the wound.

Without realising, Yassen found himself stroking the back of Alex's head, mesmerised by the erratic rise and fall of the boy's back. The skin twitched occasionally as though bracing itself for another unexpected assault. Yassen caught himself about to make some kind of soothing noise and shook his head, letting go of Alex and stepping away. His eyes met Geoff's and he nodded curtly. "Take the switch and use it until he tells you the passcode to call the bank."

It was a cryptic remark and Geoff's brow furrowed with confusion, but Yassen had no intention of clarifying. He needed Alex's resistance broken and he needed to be sure that the boy wasn't acting or pretending. He knew Alex suffered from enough misplaced honour that he would only give up the MI6 passcode under extreme duress.

With a last look at Alex, Yassen made his way out of the training area. He didn't want to watch this, though he decided to stay near enough to listen in on the torture. Alex was stoic. This had impressed him in the past and was probably a genetic trait if John and Ian were anything to go by. Stretched out over the horse, Alex had no way of shrinking away from the whistle of the switch or protecting himself from the cracking lash across his back. But where most boys would have screamed or maybe even burst into tears, Alex gasped and then fell silent again. Geoff's cruel promise of more elicited no audible reaction either, and Yassen felt a flash of irrational pride for the boy.

Another whistle followed by another crack. Yassen almost winced at the sound – he knew that type of strike would be leaving deep welts, maybe even drawing blood. But it was necessary, for Alex's own good, to keep Alex safe.

Again, and this time it was followed by a strangled sob. The sound of it made Yassen change his mind. He didn't want to be in earshot, after all. Geoff would come to find him when he was done. Geoff knew how to follow orders, no matter how psychotic he liked people to think he was.

It took another twenty minutes. Yassen estimated that had to be approximately fifteen lashes with the switch. The room smelled of sweat and blood and lingering, cold sex. Alex was hanging limply, sweat-soaked, but he lifted his head a little when Yassen approached. "I told him," he whispered in a low tone. "Are you happy? You have the numbers you wanted!" He sounded so disappointed with himself, like he should somehow be stronger than everyone else; than grown men, even.

Yassen shrugged. "I have no need for any passcodes."

A spasm of something – pain, fear, resignation – crossed Alex's face and Yassen was fascinated by the way the emotion seemed to crawl across the boy's entire body, making small muscles jump. He picked up the switch Geoff had cast aside and trailed it down Alex's back, intrigued by the line of tension that followed its wake. He'd never known someone to carry their every emotion so openly on their face.

"Please," Alex blurted out, not needing to finish his sentence, Please, no more.

Yassen smiled, although he felt no real pleasure. Satisfaction, maybe. He released Alex from the shackles and watched as the boy slowly, carefully moved to straighten up, wincing as the fresh welts on his back were stretched. His wrists and ankles were red, but not bleeding.

"Come," Yassen ordered, putting down the switch. He wanted to finish this in the privacy of the guard's room he'd used for his initial interrogation. And he wanted to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. Thankfully, Alex followed without a fuss. Once the door was closed, Yassen didn't waste a second. He pushed Alex onto the bed, though he was not surprised when Alex jumped straight back up to face him.

"Don't do this!"

Ah. The resistance was back. Yassen remained impassive. He watched terror and anger fighting for dominion on Alex's face. "You walked into this situation, little Alex," he said coldly, as though that explained or justified anything. "You should be thanking me for giving you a chance to live, against my better judgment."

Alex stilled for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed hatefully. "I'll never thank you for anything," he rasped, managing to make the words sound like a threat despite his situation.

Yassen didn't rise to it. He needed to get started here before he couldn't do it at all. Satisfy the waggling tongues and hopefully give him a few days to decide what the future held for the two of them.

"Would it be easier if I restrained you?"

It was a fair question, in Yassen's mind, and one that gave Alex quite a lot of power. But the question was answered by Alex lunging forwards towards the door and almost landing a punch in Yassen's gut on his way. "Stupid boy!" Yassen snapped, grabbing Alex's wrists so tightly he was pretty sure he could hear bones crunching against each other. He held him tightly, digging his fingers harshly into Alex's wrists, removing any potential for the boy to break free, and drew some cable tie from his pocket.

Despite Alex's vocal protest, he had no trouble securing the yellow plastic around his wrists, pulling it tighter than he had to just to make a point. Then he threw the boy back onto the bed, following to drag his arms up high above his head and clip the bonds into a hook on the wall. Alex thrashed for a moment. He flipped onto his back, contorting his arms painfully in the process. He yanked wildly at the new bonds, arching his back and kicking out at Yassen with bare feet, like there was still a hope of him fighting this off.

And then all of a sudden a hitched moan tore itself from his throat and he sagged where he lay, an awkward pile of exhausted limbs, grimy wet hair plastering his face. He seemed to have given up ... only to renew his struggles when Yassen started pulling off his boxers, which until now had not been touched. His writhing just made undressing him easier. Once they were off, Yassen paused for a while to study the slender, naked body beneath him. The new bruises mingled with older wounds, telling the world that this child was not normal; this child was destined for things other than homework and sleepovers.

"Don't touch me," Alex said hoarsely as Yassen pressed a finger into a livid bruise over his ribs, but it sounded weaker than before. Perhaps the realisation of inevitability was finally taking hold. Either that or the pain was clouding his mind.

"It will be better if you cooperate," Yassen recommended, using both hands to twist Alex around so that he could examine his back. He ignored the gasp of pain that was wrenched from the boy and examined the healthy skin marred by the sharp red lines of the whipping, toned muscles, firm buttocks ... The white dressing on his shoulder had stained a little, blood already oozing out from the wound underneath.

"Would you rather I handed you back to Geoff to finish this?" Yassen snapped. "Because it's going to happen, one way or another."

The threat stilled Alex. At last. Although Yassen had to wonder at the fact that the boy would obviously rather be violated by him, Yassen, than by a stranger. It either showed extreme stupidity or deplorably misplaced trust. Yassen wasn't quite sure, and he didn't want to think about it. Not now. Instead, he focussed on the palette of colours on Alex's skin. The welts from the switch looked like they had been inflamed by the struggle and one across his lower back was particularly red, as if it was about to start welling blood at any moment.

There could be no more stalling. He grabbed the jelly from the side table and slicked his fingers. Without warning, he pushed a single finger into Alex's arse. Alex yelped, more in surprise than in pain, and tried to twist to look at what Yassen was doing.

"Don't," Yassen warned, and Alex seemed to understand, for he turned back to bury his head in his arms. Yassen stayed as he was for a while, allowing Alex's body to adapt to the new sensation. Then he carefully inserted a second finger, feeling the skin stretch against his knuckles. Alex didn't make a noise this time, but Yassen could feel his heart thudding erratically, could see his back hitching as he fought off tears of despair. A trickle of blood finally broke free from the lowest welt and ran down between Alex's bum cheeks.

"Please," Alex whispered and for the first time he sounded not just scared but resigned. Like he knew his plea was for nothing, but he no longer had the dignity to hold it in. And Yassen didn't quite understand it himself, but he suddenly felt almost breathless, like someone was squeezing his heart in an invisible vice. And then he felt nothing but fury. His heart broke free of its invisible hold and pounded against his chest; his eyes no longer saw Alex Rider as Hunter's son, but as an enemy that needed to be destroyed.

Yassen wriggled out of his trousers and boxers and stroked himself to a quick erection. He didn't need a sexual motivation to do this. He had done this before; rape as a weapon ... total control, total subjugation. He'd even enjoyed it ... though he knew he wouldn't be enjoying it now.

Sorry, Hunter.

***

Part 3

Yassen loathed the tightness. He loathed the way Alex's head seemed to have collapsed onto his stretched arms. He could see a dribble of red blood running down one of the pale arms, trailing to his shoulder blade like a little river and he knew Alex was biting himself, tearing at his own flesh just to make himself stay quiet, whatever the cost. Stupid child, playing with danger like other kids played with footballs, Yassen thought with a flash of resentment that brought with it the bitter taste of bile. And then he thrust deeply into the boy, determined to rip a scream from his throat.

He focused on the physical sensations, closing his eyes and letting the biological stimulation of his rutting wash over him. He closed his eyes and let his fingers grip tightly to support him, no doubt leaving little rows of red marks in soft skin. The room was too hot, too stuffy ... almost claustrophobic. It reminded him of Columbia and the sweaty, grimy hut in which he'd once spent three terrible weeks. His fingers spasmed at the memory and the body underneath him cried out in equal measures of pain and shame.

The smell of sweat permeated Yassen's nostrils; his own but also the other's. The other ... Alex. Yassen opened his eyes and looked down at the sheen of sweat that now covered the boy's – Alex's – back, mixing with blood like some grotesque palette. The tightness around Yassen's cock had decreased – he'd used more than enough lubricant. Too much, in a way, since there was practically no friction at all. Alex's body was already adapting. He angled his hips and moved faster; in, out, his cock seeking out the pressure it needed even though it would never be enough. His erection was wilting, even as Yassen forced his mind away from the stuffy room – he tried to think of Clarissa, the blond assassin he'd shared a few nights with last year. Clarissa would laugh at him now. She had blue eyes, blond hair, blond hair ... brown eyes ...

A strangled cry filled the room and it was with a jolt that Yassen realised it had been his own. He straightened his back and withdrew from Alex, stepping back as though to distance himself from the boy. Then he cleaned himself up with a wet wipe before pulling his clothes back into place – there wasn't much to clean, thankfully. He didn't want to look down at Alex; at what he'd just done. He hadn't really hurt the boy, not physically, though he wasn't so stupid to think Alex hadn't been hurt in other ways.

With the switchknife from his pocket, he cut through the cable tie around Alex's wrists. Now there was a little blood marring his wrists, but not too much: Alex had been too weak to put up much of a struggle.

Instead of curling away, Alex surprised him by rolling onto his side and facing Yassen. His face was wet with tears and the bite mark on his upper arm was impressive, but he opened his eyes to stare at Yassen with an expression that seemed both fearful and thoughtful.

"Why did you save my life on that plane?" he asked.

It was the last thing Yassen expected and brought back a flood of emotions he'd managed to push aside since his very narrow brush with death. "I didn't know Cray was going to shoot me," he responded wryly. He'd relived that moment so many times. Too many times.

"You thought he was going to shoot me?"

Yassen shrugged. "Yes. I hoped ... I thought ... it might be easier if you were dead."

"But you don't want to kill me yourself?"

"Obviously not."

"Then you're a coward."

The words struck harder than Yassen would have thought possible, perhaps because they were true, or perhaps because no one normally dared speak to him like that and especially not a beaten child with more injuries than a Thai boxer...

He didn't want to think about what Alex had just said, just as he didn't want to think about that day on the plane. He called Geoff and ordered him to make sure Alex would be placed in a more comfortable cell and would be left unmolested to have a hot shower. Then he headed off for a shower of his own.

Yassen left the farm that evening, needing to get away from his claustrophobic little room and the memory of what he had done. There was also the small matter of unsatisfactory sex making him ache from the inside out. He drove for a long time, heading into London from the south and then trawling the streets of Streatham until he found what he was looking for.

It turned out that he was looking for a petite brunette, young but not too young. She got into his car easily enough and directed him to a dark residential street. She smelled of cheap perfume and cigarettes, but Yassen knew she would be able to provide the kind of effortless release he needed. He sat back in the dark car, reclining in the driver's seat and looking out of the front windscreen while she deftly unzipped his slacks and pulled both them and his underwear down just far enough to expose him. As she took him into her mouth, he imagined himself far away, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander home, to Moscow. Girls were cheap over there – less overheads, probably. And they were more competitive, too, desperate for any client. This one sucked like a robot, making distasteful slurping noises as she bobbed up and down on his cock.

Despite himself, Yassen's mind went back to Alex. He could allow himself to think of it now, with his cock in a consenting mouth. The way the boy had sunk his teeth into his own arm, the way his eyes had been screwed so tightly shut that no tear could escape, even though his face was already wet with them. He wondered if Alex would be crying himself to sleep tonight ... or if Alex would never sleep again.

The whore's long hair tickled the top of Yassen's thighs, sending a shiver down his spine. He could feel the pulsing need in his cock. Without any sound, he allowed himself this small release, letting his back arch as he ejaculated in two pulses. He didn't watch as she turned aside and spat into a tissue. Just tidied himself up and drove her back to where he'd picked her up. He watched her return to the street to wait for the next needy bastard. He'd paid her well, knowing that her pimp would probably take most of it anyway. For a fleeting moment, Yassen wondered if he truly believed that a consenting sexual interaction made everything that had happened okay. But at least he felt less angry.

***

The next day was just as exhausting for Yassen. He mostly needed to deal with a south London gang that suddenly seemed to think Shadow's operation was muscling in on their territory. They had known of the operation for a while, but they'd probably only just realised how much money was being made. Yassen went with Kerrick to put their minds at rest.

After that encounter, the gang members were grateful not to have been put to rest, full stop.

He also needed to run the usual checks and errands, and since the SOCA scare Kerrick wanted extra security covering his men during the abduction of a new boy. He ended up not even thinking of Alex until he fell into bed eighteen hours after he'd left him in that little room. He knew he would have been told if Alex had died or done anything stupid, but even so he felt a restless gnawing in his gut. He wanted to see Alex, not to make sure he was okay – no, Yassen would never be so sentimental – but to make sure he was ... still Alex.

He knew that if he closed his eyes, he'd fall asleep. He'd think of Hunter, dream of Alex and wake feeling even sicker than he felt now. Yassen sighed and dragged himself out from underneath the warm covers. He made his way across the silent farm to the main building. The night guard did not seem surprised to see him and murmured a quiet greeting as he passed.

It took Yassen a while to find Alex's cell. That was, he assumed the third cell from the end of the corridor had to be Alex's, since it was the only one that didn't contain a prisoner and Alex hadn't been in any of the others.

For a moment Yassen stood stock still, barely even breathing as he looked at the empty cell. He felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He was absolutely certain that he would have been told if anything had happened to Alex. And since the night guard did not appear to have been disturbed this evening, only one possible solution remained: Alex had recently escaped and was hiding somewhere in this building.

Pulling out his Grach, Yassen reached out to flick on all the lights. In the cells, boys awoke up with a start and blinked into the sudden light. The night guard rushed in, handgun out. He froze when he saw Yassen and his gun. Paled when he noticed the empty cell.

"I didn't see or hear anything!" he hissed in a low voice, but Yassen was not interested in his defensiveness. "Where could a boy hide in this building?" was all he wanted to know.

The guard winced and held up two fingers. At Yassen's confused stare he explained: "There were no empty cells after the new ones arrived today, so we put your boy in with Ben."

Yassen swore and followed the guard. Together they checked every room of the building, ready to shoot on sight if Alex should suddenly launch out of some nook or cranny and attack. But neither Alex nor Ben were anywhere to be found, and finally the security man had to make the decision to raise the alarm. It would be his neck on the line if he'd let the boys escape, but Yassen had more pressing worries. Namely, finding Alex before anyone else did.

Since they had already checked the whole house, Yassen turned his attention to the immediate surroundings – it was not unthinkable that Alex had somehow slipped out into the night. The boy had pulled several impressive Houdini stunts over the time Yassen had known him, including one from within the very belly of Scorpia headquarters. But this time, Yassen had the advantage of knowing the lay of the land. It didn't take him long to decide which direction he would have taken if he were in Alex's position.

Treading quietly, he made his way through the darkness towards a large disused hay barn. Even as a child, Yassen had had the ability to move soundlessly – the night had always been his friend, never his enemy.

And he knew Alex too well. The silence was almost absolute, but Yassen's keen senses could pick up the sound of fear; the thudding of beating hearts. It was more of a gut feeling than an actual sensory experience that led him around the barn; but there they were, pressed against the wood side by side, slightly highlighted by the moonlight.

Yassen moved closer, completely undetected, until he was close enough to hear them speak in low whispers.

"We should go back." That was Ben's voice, weak, shaky, full of regret at having been drawn into Alex's mad plan.

Alex shook his head adamantly. "I'd rather die."

"They will kill us if they find us."

"Not if I kill them first."

Alex's voice dripped with venom and Yassen entertained the brief fantasy of simply letting them walk away. It was a silly notion, really. They wouldn't know about the electrified perimeter fence. They had no real chance of getting out now that the alarm had been raised, and if anyone else found them ...

Yassen raised his Grach, angling it so that the moonlight glinted off it for a split second. Alex instantly whirled around, always ready to face his enemies, but Yassen tutted. "Dying is not an option, little Alex. Not yet."

A strange keening noise escaped Ben and he stumbled backwards against the side of the barn. Alex gave Yassen a level stare and it was almost as if he was appraising him. He wondered if Alex was still thinking the same words as before: coward, coward, coward ...

He was.

Yassen could see it in his eyes.

But Yassen refused to be made to feel like this by a child. He took aim and without even pausing to think about it, he shot Ben straight in the head. There was no adrenaline in this type of kill, not like during a well-planned, fine-tuned hit. This was crude, quick, effortless. Ben didn't even have the time to look surprised. He slid down the bloody wall, his body still warm, his blood still flowing freely, but definitely dead.

Alex flinched at the shot, but did not look at his fallen companion. Yassen felt a strange twist in his gut. It was unfamiliar and unpleasant. The look in Alex's eyes was almost ... disappointed. Was Alex so blasé that he was no longer affected by death?

Yassen did not have the time to ask, for a group of security guards finally arrived, alerted by the gunshot. Nothing much was said about the dead boy on the floor, though Yassen overheard something about the Accountant and the cleaners being called. He sighed as Alex was led away and took a moment to compose his thoughts before following.

It took less than twenty minutes for Shadow to arrive. She couldn't care less that Ben had been killed and was more concerned with the child that had almost outwitted her operation not once but twice. Her hunger for retribution felt too close for comfort.

"What shall we do with him?" she asked Yassen, once she was satisfied that she knew exactly what had gone on there that night.

As Yassen wondered what the hell he was going to do, Alex took the decision out of his hands by addressing Shadow directly. "He won't kill me, you know." Alex was staring not at Shadow, but straight at Yassen.

"What are you tal—"

"He's a coward," Alex said again before Shadow could finish her sentence. His eyes still hadn't left Yassen, like he was trying to draw some kind of reaction from him. It was a challenge Yassen could not, would not not rise to.

Shadow turned her attention to Yassen, her gaze questioning, and it was this that made him pointedly release the magazine from his gun and let it fall to the floor. Then he turned on his heels. "He is my weakness," he acknowledged, feeling a flash of anger at the words. Anger at their truth. Then an odd flash of pain as he said: "Do with him as you will."

He headed for the small guards' room with a purposeful stride, doing his best to ignore the strange churning feeling in his gut. What he'd just done was the Scorpia equivalent of rolling onto his back and exposing his belly for the kill. But he'd done it graciously and hopefully that would count for a lot. It wasn't like he'd had a choice. He let himself sink into a chair and stared into a dusty mirror on the wall.

The last few days of sleeplessness had taken their toll on him and he was grateful that his reflection was blurred and smudged by grime. He didn't want to see the greying hair, the lines of worry...

A gunshot ripped through the compound and all at once the churning in Yassen's gut stopped. The moment after gunfire always felt serene, like for a few, precious seconds, nothing else would dare to interrupt the strange silence. For Yassen, it felt like something warm had started caressing him from the inside and it took him a moment of recognise the feeling as relief. Whatever they had don— Whatever he had done to Alex, it was over now.

Guilt was not an emotion that Yassen was particularly familiar with. He had felt it a few times early in his career, when the desperate pleas of a victim for some reason had managed to find his heartstrings and tug. He'd felt it for a split second before pulling the trigger of the handheld automatic that had showered Ian's car with bullets ... and he felt it now, thinking of Alex, brave little Alex, lying in a pool of blood, dying ... dead.

People – colleagues, employers, mentors – often assumed that Yassen's cold nature stemmed from some kind of childhood trauma; they liked to think that the death of his father had started an emotional meltdown that had then been sealed by the loss of his mother.

People were wrong.

Yassen had always been different. He'd always had a strange obsession with violence and death. Once, when Yassen had been about seven years old, a boy in his class had got severely beaten by older kids. Yassen had wanted to see every bruise; hear every detail of the pain felt by the boy. He's been amazed by all the colours bruises could be and then bitterly disappointed when it had turned out that the family cat, which had had white fur, and should therefore in young Yassen's imagination have been a perfect canvas, had not displayed a similar pattern of colours after he'd beat it.

And then he remembered the day he'd received the news of his father's terrible death. While his mother had seemed to shatter from the inside out, unable to cope with the reality of what had happened, Yassen had felt spellbound by the details, taking a detached, scientific interest in the chemical that had ended his father's life. He'd wanted to know how it worked. A few months later, when his mother had fallen ill, Yassen had gone through the motions, playing the part of the dutiful son ... but a part of him had secretly hoped she might die, not because he'd particularly wanted her to be dead, but because she'd been starting to irritate him with her incessant grief, and besides, he was fascinated by the process of death. She did die and he'd watched it happen, like in slow motion, and it was wonderful, thrilling, arousing. He'd been Alex's age, then.

"Mr Gregorovich!"

The sound of his name brought him out of his thoughts. He drew himself together and shook off the memories. Maybe he'd been wrong to get back into the business. Maybe he really was getting too old for all this, reminiscing about the past like an old man. He made his way back to the assessment area.

Shadow was waiting for him, a curious expression dancing on her thin lips. Yassen recognised it instantly as hunger. She gestured towards the floor, where Yassen could see blood and pale limbs and Alex still on his knees, supported by two of Kerrick's men. He was clutching his right hand with his left to stem flowing blood, biting his lip firmly to prevent even a single whimper from escaping. His eyes seemed unfocussed, unseeing, lost in a haze of pain.

The relief that flooded through Yassen was unacceptable, but he couldn't control it. He watched breathlessly as Shadow strode up to Alex and started stroking his wet hair with mock affection. The boy had enough presence of mind to flinch away. His breathing was ragged, wheezy.

"I feel like we've been here before, only three days ago. It's a nice pet, Mr Gregorovich. You ask for so little, I thought I would allow you your puppy. Although I'm not sure I can allow you to keep him for yourself. Perhaps he can be used to replace that boy you killed." She laughed coldly and then addressed Alex: "Will you be a good puppy? No more running away or I'll have to punish you more seriously. And if you're really bad, I'll have to have you put down." She emphasised her words with a small tug on Alex's hair and nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. I'll have Geoff break you in properly tomorrow."

Yassen felt a strange twist of possessiveness at her words. He looked down at Alex, clutching his shot hand and forcing himself to be as quiet as he could. Alex had changed in the last few days, that much was certain. But he was not ruined; not destroyed. Yassen had made sure of that as best he could and now Shadow was going to ruin everything.

"Alex," he said sharply and pain-filled eyes turned to look at him. "Let's go. Come on." To Shadow he assured: "I will make sure he doesn't give Geoff any trouble tomorrow."

He didn't take Alex back to his cell. Instead, he clamped his fingers around his upper arm and marched him back out into the darkness. It was more for support than control. The boy wasn't going to make a run for it. He staggered a little and let himself lean against Yassen.

"What are you going to do with me?" Alex whispered once they were alone. For the first time, there was a waver in his voice. He was slouched, his steps groggy as he placed one foot after the other, trying to keep up with Yassen.

"I should punish you."

And he knew he should. He'd known this for a long time now. Just as he'd known he wouldn't.

"I'll die here," Alex said simply.

"It's possible," Yassen mused. Abruptly, he let go of Alex and the boy stumbled to the side, obviously dizzy and confused by the pain from his shot hand. Yassen ignored him. He walked towards his parked car, wondering whether Alex would be able to follow on his own steam.

When he reached the door, Alex was right behind him. "Get in." Yassen gestured towards his car. Alex looked hesitant, hope, fear and pain warring in his expression as though he didn't quite dare to let himself believe what he wanted to believe. Slowly, he lowered himself into the passenger side and sank into the seat.

"What happens now?" he whispered when they pulled out of the farm. His voice had weakened, but Yassen wasn't too worried. He knew Alex could survive on hope alone. He did not reply for a while as he concentrated on driving. He could almost feel Alex deflating beside him. Then he sighed deeply. "Now, I take you home."

"I'll go to the police," Alex panted and although his voice was so quiet it could hardly be heard above the purr of the engine, it was like all his fear had evaporated, leaving only the efficiency of the teenage spy that was so valuable to MI6. If Yassen had ever needed any proof that Alex was indeed his father's son, this was it. For the first time in ... forever his lips twitched in a genuine smile. A chuckle escaped him. "You do that," he agreed amicably.

Alex flinched as though hit. "I mean it!" he insisted through gritted teeth, obviously thinking Yassen was mocking him.

"Good," Yassen replied.

And he meant it, too. He'd already been paid for most of this job and he could, albeit with regret, afford to forfeit the rest of his fee. Shadow and her operation were nothing to him. He could disappear into the night and that would be that. "Good," he repeated more softly, chancing a glance to his left. Alex was huddled in the passenger seat, leaking blood everywhere.

Perhaps it was for the best this way. Yassen knew it would take the boy a long time to recover from what had happened to him, but he also knew that Alex would recover, a possibility that would have been destroyed by Geoff's attentions in the morning. And for whatever reason, Yassen couldn't let that happen. Fate had as good as given Alex to him, still breathing, still fighting. And now he could be Yassen's forever, branded and broken in.

"Alex," he called for the boy's attention, just one last time. "The man you followed ... when all this started? That's the man who killed Tom."

He heard Alex's breathing catch for a moment, then a strangely choked: "Thank you."


The End
September 2010


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