Scared (8 page)

He studied the scenery for a street sign, anything to give him some clue.

Where the fuck are we?

He didn't need to ask the why—this had something to do with what happened last year, didn't it? Even a dense person would know that. Yeah, he'd been waiting for this to happen, but hadn't
really
thought it would.

Why
was
that? The men had been organised back then, gave him a good going over. Meant business. Why had he been so stupid as to think they wouldn't bother coming after him and Russell?

'Cos, so they say, shit like this just doesn't happen, does it?

Of course it did. Just like Sasha being killed, him beaten and drugged, and him being dumped in a grave had happened.

How quickly the mind forgot or dulled reality so a body could cope.

The lights turned green. The big bastard pulled off smoothly and blended into traffic in the next lane. Horns honked, loud and persistent, drivers protesting that the big bastard should have been in the correct lane in the first place. That the bloke had to veer across like that screamed the man was in unfamiliar territory, or his mind was occupied with other things. Either way, the driver was at a disadvantage. Maybe if Toby scooted down to the doors and tried to open them, they could get out, van moving or not, and find help.

Like he's going to have left them unlocked.

Toby sighed. Him and Russell weren't going anywhere except the driver's destination. Maybe once they arrived there would be an opportunity to get the fuck away.

He jerked his shoulder, the one pressing against Russell, gently trying to wake him. The volume of the radio, now blasting about some woman who kept bleeding love, would disguise anything they had to say. They could make a plan.

Or something.

Yeah, running with my hands tied behind my back will be a fucking breeze...

"Russell!” he said, voice low.

Russell snapped his eyes open and glanced from the driver to Toby. He let out a sigh and briefly closed his eyes again. “You all right? Shit, I fell asleep."

"Yeah. I'm fine. Head hurts, but I'm okay.” Toby shot a look at the driver then propped his chin on Russell's shoulder so he could speak with less chance of the big bastard hearing. “I had the thought of trying the door, but these guys are from a fucking big outfit, I reckon. Don't make mistakes often, know what I mean?"

Russell nodded, eyes narrowed at the driver.

"So,” Toby said, “when we get to wherever it is we're going, d'you reckon we can make a run for it?"

"Depends where we're headed and how many blokes are at the other end."

"Fuck.” Toby paused, then, “How did he get hold of you? What happened?"

As Russell explained, Toby listened with anger boiling inside him. These fucking tossers were something else, weren't they? Who the hell did they think they were, flouting the law like that? And as for them snatching Mr Jacob...shit, he was surprised the old duffer hadn't died of shock. His boss being hit didn't sit well with Toby. No need for that kind of thing, was there? An old bloke posed no threat whatsoever. The driver was just being an arsehole. Showing who was in charge. Toby would like to see how in control the man was with a boot in his bollocks. No matter how strong a fella was, their crown jewels being whacked always bent them double—unless they wore steel jockstraps.

Toby raised his eyes at the part in the tale where the road by the post box had been blocked off. They had to have some contacts to be able to get that sort of thing done. Was this some kind of network of criminals then, for fuck's sake? People all over the country helping one another out?

Russell said the main boss’ name was Frost, but Toby had never heard of him.

"If he was one of the blokes who did me over, I wouldn't know it because no names were mentioned. None that I can remember anyway.” Toby scrunched his eyes closed to loosen the tight skin on his cheek.

"Dried blood,” Russell said, nodding. “Thank fuck that gash stopped bleeding. Thought for a minute back there it wouldn't."

"Is it bad?” Toby asked, wanting to touch it. A burst of irritation sparked inside him at being unable to. He stared at Russell's bound wrists and guessed his sported a gaudy yellow cable tie too. Tasty.

If he didn't crack an internal joke or two, he'd break under the pressure.

"It'll leave a scar. Too late for it to be sewn up.” Russell eyed the driver again, who nodded to the beat of a rap song. “He's a right mean son of a bitch. No way we're going to be able to get away from him."

"But there's two of us now."

"Like I just said, it depends on how many are at the other end. Who knows where we're going? Who's to say there isn't an army of nutters waiting for us when we arrive?"

A dark thought hit Toby. “Who's to say we're being taken any place where there
are
people. Might be some warehouse. Torture equipment set up.” His imagination ran riot. “A river close by. Ready for us to be dumped into. Concrete tied to our ankles. Drowning—"

"All right, all right!” Russell said, tone testy and harsh. “I get it. We're fucked.” He sighed again, a bloody great big one, and shook his head slowly. “Never thought it would end like this. Never thought I'd be this young when I karked it either. Oh, I fucking knew this lot were coming. Knew they wouldn't just let us go, but shit, I'd hoped we'd have had a few more years on the run, know what I mean?"

Yeah, Toby did. The same thoughts had been running through his mind as he'd painted the grim picture of their potential destination. The image of concrete blocks around their ankles—man, that was a hard one to get rid of. It sat in his mind like a damn sentinel, refusing to budge no matter how hard he tried to conjure up another vision.

And God, his eyes stung. He really didn't need to be crying right now, but wouldn't anyone when faced with a very short future and the undeniable possibility that torture, or at least some form of pain, was on the cards?

He sniffed, blinked, cleared his throat. “Love you, man."

Russell didn't answer right away. Maybe he couldn't. Maybe, like Toby, a big lump of love had stuck in his throat and he couldn't speak past it.

"Love you too,” Russell managed, staring ahead at the side of the van, eyes watery, Adam's apple bobbing.

Toby gritted his teeth. “This fucking
stinks!
"

"Yep."

"I'm not going down without a fight."

"Me neither."

They sat in silence for a time, the place they'd driven through giving way to ominous countryside. Trees stood starkly in the beam of the headlights, like moss-covered skeletons, arthritic hands clawing the blackness. The road was narrow. If another driver approached from the other way, the big bastard slowed. He veered to the left each time, and branches from hedges scraped the side of the van, sending Toby's mind reeling with the creepy image of long, dirty fingernails scratching, the dead trying to get in at them. It felt like death waited, the air in the van a tangible thing, smothering them, letting them know it would be their turn to die soon.

Shaking off those thoughts, Toby wondered what Russell was thinking. Was he silently cursing Toby, wishing he'd never met him, that he'd had a damn day off back then, had never even dug the grave that held Toby for that short time?

Toby glanced at Russell. “I'm so sorry, man."

"Don't be.” He gave Toby a sidelong glance, a small smile playing about his lips. “Wouldn't change a fucking thing."

Toby longed for a kiss, just a brief brush of the lips would be enough, but he didn't want to risk the driver having something else to hate them for. One glance in his rear view mirror was all it would take. But if this gang, or whatever the hell it was, had been watching them, they'd have already gathered him and Russell were gay.

Toby settled for leaning in to land a kiss on Russell's neck. His lover smelled of fear, and Toby licked the proof of it from his lips—salt from sweat. Would that be the last time he'd ever kiss Russell? Was this journey the only time they had left together? That was a fucking grim thought—he hadn't considered they might be separated once they got to wherever the hell they were going.

A large green road sign edged in white stood up ahead, taking Toby's attention from morbid thoughts. The headlights made the white glow, but he couldn't read the wording yet. From the image on the sign of a road and a roundabout at the top, he hoped they approached civilisation. Well, he did and he didn't. While they travelled, they were relatively safe. Together. But if they headed toward London—Russell had said they were being taken back down south—who knew whether this mob's headquarters—if they even had one—was in the middle of the city?

He nudged Russell. “Road sign coming up."

Russell straightened and looked out the windshield. Toby had to lean across in order to see now, but the words became suddenly clear. They approached London—only a few miles away—and roads to various other surrounding places sprouted off the roundabout image.

"Reckon we're headed for the city. Stands to reason, doesn't it?” Toby mused quietly into Russell's ear, a tinny pop tune overriding his voice.

"Probably. Who fucking knows?” Russell slumped back against the side of the van and stared at the ceiling. “What does it matter where we're bloody going? The result will be the same whether we're in Camden Town, Ladbroke sodding Grove, or someplace else. We're dead, mate. End of story."

Fuck. Russell had given up already. Toby saw it in his eyes, the slump of his shoulders. Well, if he had to be strong enough for both of them, he'd do it. No way would he give up at the first hurdle. They had no idea what lay up ahead, he knew that, but there might be all manner of opportunities presented to them in the near-distant future. Ones where they could try and get away.

Those concrete blocks didn't appeal.

Dying in
any
fashion didn't appeal.

The van going around the roundabout had Toby watching out the windshield again. His shoulders ached from his arms being wedged behind him, and craning his neck added to the pain. But if, as he suspected, the pain was going to get worse later on, and meted out by bullies’ fists and whatever the hell else they chose to use, he could stand it for now.

Streetlamps around the edge of the roundabout gave the sky a strange, muted orange glow and enhanced the blackness beyond. Toby shivered involuntarily and held his breath, waiting to see which road the driver would take. The big bastard ignored the London fork and continued round, slewing onto one of the roads that led elsewhere. Toby's stomach rolled over as yet more countryside whipped past.

The concrete blocks were becoming more of a reality than he would have liked.

We could still be going to some town or other. Somewhere we can shout for help.

He chuckled at the unlikelihood of that. These blokes would have a hideout somewhere. Stood to reason, didn't it?

As though his thoughts had predicted the truth, the van slowed then turned right down a rutted track. Trees, branches bare and knobbly, lined either side, creating a canopy overhead. The headlights picked out the track, tightly packed, dark mud that the rain had barely penetrated. A stripe of grass ran down the middle, the tops brushing the undercarriage as the van trundled on. Ahead, the lights of a building shone out, several yellow squares and a few dots that Toby supposed were garden lamps.

His pulse throbbed in his neck, guts clenching, as his heart thudded dully.

Risking a glance at Russell, he found his lover staring, eyes moist, lips downturned. This was it, wasn't it? Possibly their last moments together.

"Shit,” Toby said, his throat thick with unshed tears. He wouldn't cry. Wouldn't fucking cry yet. Tilting his head, he rested his cheek against Russell's. Cold tears from the other's face wet his own.

"I'm such a weak bastard,” Russell said, the fight gone out of him. “I thought...thought I was stronger than this.” He lifted his hands and dropped them wearily down onto his thighs. “Shit. I'm sorry. Sorry. I need to snap out of this. Need to—"

"It's all right. Tears don't matter, okay? I can sort this. I got us into this mess, and I'll get us out. It was my fault from the start."

"No. You did the right thing. Saving that kid."

"Yeah.” Toby sighed and sat up straight, noting the building had grown in size since he'd last looked out the window. “Looks like we're here."

"Fuck.” Russell turned his head and stared out. “Bastard house in the middle of sodding nowhere. Fan-fucking-tastic."

Toby studied it. Massive place, all cream facade and fake Greek columns standing behind a high, black wrought iron fence. Four Victorian streetlights, two either side of a cream-coloured gravel drive, stood directly outside the house. Wide stone steps led from the end of the driveway up to the black double front doors.

Mansion. Who said crime doesn't pay?

Toby bit back a chuckle. The last thing he needed to be doing right now was drowning in a fit of hysterical laughter. He needed to keep his wits about him if Russell wasn't up to coping with whatever lay behind those doors.

"Blimey,” Toby muttered, awed by the magnificence despite fear nipping at his arsehole.

The van slowed as it neared the gates, and they swung open. Someone had seen them coming, then. The vehicle jostled over the uneven gravel, and the big bastard leaned forward to switch off the radio. Russell shot out his hands and gripped Toby's thigh, squeezing hard, his body shaking.

Shit. Don't give up on me now, man. I'll get us out of this. We'll be all right.

He chanced another glance at his lover, who stared back at him, his face etched with fear. God, if he had the luxury of crying he would. But he didn't.

Neither of them did.

They didn't speak. Just stared, saying everything they needed to with their eyes.

Big Bastard did a U-turn and backed up to the house. He got out of the van. Slammed the door.

Toby rested his forehead to Russell's. Closed his eyes and breathed in his scent. Glued everything about this moment into his memory so he'd never forget.