A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 03

At some point the pace relented and he was conscious that there were only a couple of men with him at any one time. He was painfully thirsty and his hips and thighs ached unbearably. The ring of muscle around his spincter felt so loose that he imagined the slightest movement would empty his guts onto the mattress. Rayne closed his eyes again and kept them closed. It had to stop, surely. Johnno would never let them fuck him to death. Would he?

In a moment of lucidity, Damon was back on top of him now, humping him with great vigour and absolutely no finesse as he sprawled on his back with his knees against his chest. Rayne let the young man's thrusting sex drive little cries from his parched mouth and turned his head, looking blankly across the mattress, trying to focus on anything but this painful humiliation. Ant was watching him he realised wonderingly. There was sorrow and no little anger in the older man's quiet face. He said something to someone else but Rayne did not have the energy to move his head in order to locate that person. The boy closed his eyes. As Damon collapsed onto him and flooded him with oppressive heat, Ant moved forward decisively.

A TIME FOR ACTION:

"This stops now," Ant said, putting himself between Rayne and a determined muscle queen.

"I've got the money," the queen protested, waving a wad of crumpled notes at John who was watching the scene with cruel amusement playing about his lips. "He said if we could afford him we could do him. That's fifty quid that says his bum's mine for the next fifteen minutes."

He slapped the money into Ant's hands. Ant threw it back at him. "Party's over!" he shouted, startling the few remaining die-hards. "You've been tormenting him for four and half hours. Let him rest."

He was fuming privately because Johnno had extended the pre-paid period from two hours to three after some of the men complained that they hadn't got a poke thanks to Damon's prevaricating in the locker room. When the three hours expired, Johnno invited the remaining punters to pay him for individual sex acts with Rayne. Seven men had fucked him since then, at fifty pounds a pop. Another five paid half that for a blow-job whilst the boy was getting buggered. Ant's schoolboy mathematics tallied that up to four hundred and seventy five; adding the original fee of fifteen hundred, plus the eight hundred and fifty he had raised this morning made two thousand eight hundred and twenty five pounds. They were still six hundred and seventy five quid short.

He related this to Rayne in the showers as he helped the boy to get cleaned up. To his profound disquiet, the lad would not meet his eyes. He kept his head down as he rubbed the soap bubbles all over his skinny body, shuddering continuously and refusing to let anyone else touch him. He was bleeding a little from between his legs. Ant gave him space but did not let him get out of sight. Tonight had been horrible and exciting and confusing in equal measures. For a while he had been convinced that Rayne was enjoying himself. Now he was less sure.

"Get my coat!" Rayne was towelling his bruised, beaten body furiously. He pulled the bath sheet around himself like a shield as Ant glanced up at him. "Look at somethin' else, you fucker! Go and get my fuckin' coat!"

Ant wanted to take him back to the boat and he argued more than once with Johnno about this as they went down in the lift. In his eyes, they had already paid a substantial part of the pimp's debt. John was less than convinced.

"I know what you bastards are like," the lanky Yorkshireman cursed as they waited outside for a taxi.

Rayne was shivering in his insubstantial outfit, even wrapped in the long coat. He took no part in the argument, just leaned in the doorway staring out at the darkened Soho street.

"He's worked his nuts off for you tonight. I told you, I'll give you the rest of the fucking money on Monday. Just let him go, will you." Ant held his arms out, keeping himself between John and the shivering boy in the doorway.

For a little while Johnno seemed to deliberate. He lit a roll up and contemplated it as Ant bristled at him.

"Way I see it," he exhaled at last, in a cloud of cannabis smoke; "this is a business arrangement, yeah?"

"In your eyes maybe." Ant glared at him.

"Raymondo works for 'me'," John said impassively. "And he 'owes' me. If you were running a business, Mr Sugar Daddy, and one of your employees was taking the piss, you'd want some recompense, yeah?"

"This isn't a business… you're taking advantage of him," Ant growled defensively.

"I didn't 'have' to take him in off the streets," Johnno countered, shaking his head at the other man. "He didn't have a penny to his fuckin' name. I took pity on him. I gave him somewhere to kip and a way to pay me back. How is that takin' advantage? He didn't 'have' to stay."

Ant swallowed his anger for a moment. He did not have a quick response to that.

"I'll get you the money, if that's all this is about," he reiterated at last.

Johnno shook his head again. "Uh-huh. That's not all… Like I said, this is business. There's the little matter of interest to consider."

"What?" Ant stared at him, not quite believing his ears.

It was Rayne who cleared the matter up for him. In a quiet voice, without looking back at them, Rayne Wilde said; "You promised him the money today. If he doesn't get it today, we pay interest."

Ant half turned, staring from Pimp to Prostitute and back. "You two are winding me up, yeah?"

"I wish," Rayne answered him in a voice that was little more than a breath of air.

MILE END:

Rayne was withdrawn and sullen in the taxi, all the way back to the house in Mile End and went straight up to his room once they got there, locking the door behind him. Johnno seemed undisturbed and poured himself a shot of whisky from a stash in one of the boxes in the back room.

"You're a heartless bastard," Ant told him bravely as he slumped in a moth eaten armchair by the window, staring into his dirty glass speculatively.

"I've gotta make a living," John corrected him, raising his glass with a crooked grin.

"Out of the suffering of others!"

"Oh spare me!" Rabid John shook his head in disgust, gesturing towards Ant with his glass. "I know all about people like you Mr Bloody Do-Good. If these kids could get their arses into gear don't you think they would have done by now? In the meantime, I make sure that they've got a roof over their heads and they get fed and watered. And if I take a little cut to keep myself in order then nobody complains. I'm not living the high life here, mate!"

"Cut the crap… how much money are we talking about here?" Ant wanted to know.

"Peanuts, mate." John threw back his whisky and grinned more broadly. "If he didn't jack up most of what he earns, we wouldn't be in this pretty mess now. I 'know' what he's like, Mr Sugar Daddy. 'You' wanna figure him out before you decide to take him on board." He laughed to himself quietly. "On board! Get it, Cap'n Birds Eye?"

"Shut up!" Ant slumped back in his seat a little further. "He can sort himself out. You're not helping him."

"I'm giving him a means to an end," John rose and filled his glass again then returned to the chair and subsided into it with a sigh. "Which is all anyone can hope for at the end of the day."

"How much interest?" Ant demanded.

John shrugged his bony shoulders once.

"Five hundred."

"You're joking?"

"A day." Their eyes met briefly. John said; "I'll be a gentleman. I'll let you off today, as there's not much left of it."

"Tomorrow's Sunday," Ant pointed out.

"And…?"

"The banks aren't open on a Sunday!"

"People still want to shag," Johnno answered with a grin. "You're forgetting your primary asset here!"

"I'm not interested in using him the way you do!" Ant glared at him. "If I promise you the money on Monday…"

"Your promise ain't gonna feed us, is it?" John waved an airy hand in a circle that might have just meant himself or the house or the whole of Mile End.

"He's in no condition to earn you money." Ant felt the anxiety rise in his chest as he thought of Rayne's misery tonight in the showers. "I'll get you the rest of your cash on Monday and then you leave us alone. Okay?"

"Twelve hundred," Johnno said dispassionately. "You bring me twelve hundred quid on Monday morning, before midday and you get the bitch to yourself. End of deal."

"Six seventy five!" Ant raged at him, leaping to his feet, wanting to kill. "We owe… He owes you six hundred and seventy five pounds! What the fuck…?"

He stopped because the point of Johnno's knife was directly in his face. The Yorkshire Pimp might look laid back but he was fast.

"Monday morning… Six seven five plus five interest, less a day 'cause I'm a good person and tomorrow is the Lord's day, rounded up in the name of easy finance… makes twelve big ones. Sorry mate, but that's the deal on the table. Take it or… bugger off back to your boat. I don't care which." John tipped the glass in his direction but did not lower the weapon. "But bear in mind, if you're still here on Monday afternoon and the money isn't…" He pulled the blade across his throat in a wordless warning, then rose to his feet, shunting Ant aside as he sauntered out to the hall and back up the stairs to the room where Rayne was closeted.

Ant followed, determined not to give in. As he reached the topmost landing, John could be heard banging on the bedroom door.

"Let me in you little slut! If I have to break this fuckin' door down I'll rip your fuckin' throat out!"

Ant went for him, fury overcoming common sense as he barrelled into the tall, skinny drug-fuelled manipulator on the landing. They ricocheted off the doorframe and rolled across the hall floor back towards the top of the stairs. "You bastard!" Ant cursed; "leave him alone!"

As he was thrown onto his back, John pulled the vicious looking knife out of his coat sleeve again, waving it in his face. Ant felt the blood run cold in his veins and then a door crashed open to his left and the voice of an angel screamed; "Get off him! John, get off him… I swear, I'll do whatever you want. Just leave him be! Let him go home!"

Ant turned his head to the side, swallowing up the vision of Rayne, dressed in his ripped jeans and gauzy black shirt again, his beautiful face leached of colour. He did not look at Ant even once. His lime green gaze was riveted on Rabid John. "I promise…" he said now. "Anything… just let him go home."

John rose slowly to his feet, transfixed, like a snake charmed by some exotic piper. Ant clawed at him, trying ineffectually to keep him away from the boy.

"Rayne!" he groaned, as Rabid John moved slowly back down the hall towards the younger man. "No! You don't have to do this!"

Now those luminous green eyes met his, briefly and sadly. The look in that gaze was solemn and unforgettable.

"Go home, Ant." Rayne Wilde said huskily. "Go home now, while you can. Forget about me. I won't ever forget you did this for me."

And then John was pushing him back into the bedroom and the door slammed shut between them. As Ant rose to his feet, on the verge of trying the door, he became aware of several hostile pairs of eyes observing him from the stairs and the landing below. Some of the watchers were holding knives.

He raised his hands and backed away, understanding when he was beaten. Dead, he was of no use to anyone. They let him slip between them, down the stairs and out into the night. Ant kept walking, conscious all the while of predatory glances from the darkness as he trudged the deserted streets. When morning came he was still walking, with no idea of his location or of his ultimate destination.

END OF PART THREE

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