_____
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!
_____
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.
![Kerrick, by Loony Lucifer](Kerrick.png)
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.
![Yassen, by Loony Lucifer](Yassen.png)
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.
![Shadow, by Loony Lucifer](Shadow.png)
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. ![Branding, by Loony Lucifer](Branding.png)
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. ![Alex/Yassen, by Loony Lucifer](Noncon.png)
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
COMMENT
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