Read Scared for Free Online Page B

anywhere without reassuring her as to whether he'd be late and when he'd be back. She fretted. Always had.
    "I'm not asking where you're going just to be nosey, but because something might happen to you. At least then I can give the police some idea of your last known whereabouts."
    Had she sensed this coming? Had she? Did she have some premonition that a sick bastard and his cronies would take him off the street and bundle him into a car, the milk carton trashed underfoot, white fluid bleeding onto the path?
    Jesus.
    She would have called the police. She would have kept on at them until they listened. That despite him being an adult, him not coming home just wasn't like him.
    She'd be crying. Wouldn't have slept.
    Just like him.
    Stephen's eyes itched. How long could he keep sleep at bay, though? How long before exhaustion took hold and didn't let go?
    Nausea had him retching. As did Frost's clammy arm across his belly.
    Easing away slowly, Stephen managed to make it to the other side of the bed without waking Frost. Quietly, he padded toward the en-suite bathroom, his arsehole so damn sore that a fresh round of tears warmed his eyes.
    He hadn't cried like this since he was a kid. When he'd trapped his finger between the door and the frame, and his mum had held it under a stream of cold water then kissed it better.
    In the bathroom, he reached inside an opaque-glass shower stall and set the water to hot. He climbed inside, not caring that he stood on a beautiful black marble tray, that matching tiles were on the back wall. The water burned, but he needed the heat to erase Frost's touch from his skin. He cleaned his arse as much as he was able, wincing as his soaped finger slid inside.
    God that hurt.
    He didn't think he'd ever get that part of Frost out of him.
    When will he tire of me? When?
    This was only the second day. Was it only yesterday teatime he'd been taken?
    Sliding down the glass stall, Stephen sat in the mercifully cool tray and used a whole bottle of shower gel, continually cleaning his skin and washing the suds away. He watched the lather disappear down the plughole and wished his emotions could vanish as easily. Steam filled the stall, the tangy, pleasant scent of the shower gel heady and strong.
    Yet he could still smell Frost.
    His phone. Frost had taken it away. Said he'd burn the damn thing so the police wouldn't be able to track it. Stephen imagined his mum ringing it every five minutes. Imagined her crushed expression as the phone clicked onto voicemail.
    He hated Frost for what he'd put her through.
    Then the thought came that she wouldn't have the milk for her beloved cups of tea. That his little brother, Todd, wouldn't have had any for his cereal this morning. There was no one else to go out and buy it for them. Dad, well, he'd left them years ago, and they didn't mix much with the neighbours. Mum wouldn't want to leave the house in case she missed Stephen when he came back. Todd was too young to go out alone, and besides, even if he was older, Mum wouldn't let him now.
    What would they do without him?
    "The milk's on the path, Mum. They smashed it up. I'm so sorry."
    Tears spilled, as hot as the damn shower water. A sob tore from Stephen's throat and out through his mouth.
    The sound echoed.
    What had happened after Frost slipped a black muslin sack over his head in the car? He couldn't quite remember. So far, his memories had been disjointed, coming back out of sync, the last not bearing any relation to the next. He concentrated to remember them in order.
    "They gave me something, Mum. Drugs. Something."
    A drink. They'd taken him from the car after a long journey. His legs had gone to sleep, pins and needles making it painful to walk. Stephen was steered across what felt like grass. Something springy anyway. It was cold, a feisty breeze blowing through his T-shirt. What was underfoot had changed to a harder surface. Concrete maybe. The air changed. Became warmer. Smelled of furniture polish and