OK, I know the last chapter was shorter then the others but PLEASE review and let me know what you think… I NEED feedback! PLEASE!
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Frank was grabbed by his right arm and hauled to his feet. "Come on," the man hissed.

"Congratulations on your purchase, Mr. Johnson," replied the other man as first man wrote him a check. "We do not do refunds. You will simply have to resale your merchandise to a different place."

"I know your policy, Sam," Johnson snapped. He hauled Frank to his feet and dragged him out to a dark black sedan.

He shoved Frank roughly into the back of the sedan. Frank winced as the man twisted his arm.

"When we get to our destination," he said, starting the car, "I will tell you what work I have for you."

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Joe lay on the floor, damp from the rain that was leaked from the ceiling and miserable. How could he be sick at a time like this? He wondered. He sat up when he saw someone coming.

"This is Joe Hardy," the man said.

"Tom, we all know that's Joe Hardy. He looks sick."

"He is sick," Tom said.

"Then why are you trying to sale him?"

"I'm not fronting the costs until the gets better."

"I bid ten grand," the man said.

Tom sighed. "Fine. Take it. I don't want to be accountable for his death."

The man smiled and wrote the check, then opened the door and went into the room. "Come on, Joseph Hardy," he said.

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Fenton shook his head. "I don't believe it. My sons are missing and the secretary of the US is asking me to take a case? Un believable," he said to Sam Radley.

Sam shook his head. "Look, Fenton, I don't want to believe it any more then you do, but –" he was interrupted from his thoughts when the telephone rang.

"Hello?" Fenton asked. "Yes? Yes? Which one? Joe? Okay. OK! I'll be right there," he said excitedly. "Oh. Oh. I see. Hospital? Ok. I'm coming." He hung up the cellular phone. "Come on. Let's go. Laura, they found Joe!"

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Frank was roughly dragged out and escorted to a room. "This is your bedroom," the man said. "Attempts to escape are futile. There's nothing you can do and you'll never be able to escape. The window is barred; if you touch it you'll get shocked. The door will be bolted and guarded at all times. I'll be back." He slammed the door shut.

Frank looked around his prison. It was dusk outside, and raining. There were thousand of trees outside. Somewhere in the jungle or tree forests? He shook his head.

Dusk in the rain. He hated that combination. Joe, are you okay? Are you sick? Hurting? Has Dad found you yet? Does dad even care?

He sighed as the man came back in with a laptop and about fifteen reports. "This won't be what I normally have you do, but until I can have you supervised, you'll need to do this."

The reports were shoved in Frank's face. "These are my workers," he explained, "the ones who took bribes. I need them filed for black mail."

"I don't wanna work for you," Frank whispered.

"What the hell did you just say?" the man roared, slamming Frank into the wall. "You will do what I ask when I ask. You will always call me sir!" he shouted, slapping Frank's mouth.

Frank winced as the blood trickled down from his mouth. "Ok," he said, sinking down to the floor.

"OK? OK? JUST OK?"

"Yes, sir!" Frank said, holding up his hands in surrender.

"You should've said it the first time," the man growled, slamming his fist into Frank's face. His world went black.

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Joe shook his head sleepily as he woke up. "Where am I?" He muttered groggily.

"In a hospital, you're alright," his buyer said. "I'm Detective Sam Watson."

"I thought the last two people who went in undercover died," Joe mused.

"They did, I went in undercover without anyone's knowledge."

"Oh," Joe said.

"Also, the last two went in undercover as slaves. I went undercover as a buyer."

"I see…" Joe said. He winced. "I feel sick," he said.

"I understand. When I presumably 'bought' you, you had a fever of 105 degrees, and they had given you almost no water or food."

"Speaking of food, I'm hungry."

The man sighed. "The nurses won't let you have any food right now," he said. "They don't think that you can hold it down."

Suddenly, the door opened. "Dad! Mom!" Joe said.

"Hey," Fenton said, hugging his son. "Are you ok?" he asked.

"No, they still have Frank!" Joe said. "I don't know if…"

"Joe," Fenton said, looking at Laura, "Frank was sold."

"Oh my god…" Joe muttered.

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Frank winced as he woke up, blinking rapidly in the sunlight. "Ow," he muttered, wincing. "What's going on?" he asked himself. Then he saw the laptop computer and the reports. Oh, yeah. I have to type up all of those reports, he thought to himself. He frowned as he sighed and got up. He glanced at the door, testing it.

The man was right. It was bolted shut, probably with a dead bolt. Frank sighed and felt in his pockets. Yes, they'd taken everything. He sighed and shook his head. He knew he needed to get started on his reports.

Suddenly the door open and Johnson came back into the room. "Here," he said. He slammed the reports and computer on the desk. "Do them. NOW!" he ordered.

Frank hastily got up and went to work. He looked at the first report and knew the man looked familiar.

These guys are criminals who are taking bribes to work for this man, he thought, typing up the report. Great. Just… great.

He eyed the bars. He sighed. He'd never get out of here. Never.

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Joe shook his head and struggled to get up. "WE HAVE TO FIND HIM!" Joe shouted. "Come on, Dad!"

"No, Joe. YOU have to REST. You're staying the night in the hospital and I have this say-so. You're injured, you're sick, and I don't want you helping on the case!"

"Why not? He's my brother!"

Sam sighed. "Joe, they're after teenagers. The only reason why they sold you to me is because they thought you were a buyer."

Fenton's cell phone rang and he looked at the number. "Laura?"

"Yes?" she asked, trilling her hair nervously.

"What do we tell the press?"

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Frank continued to type reports, he'd only gotten two done when the man came back in. "Are you done yet?" he said.

Frank shook his head. "No sir," he said.

"Well then hurry up," the man said. "If you don't finish them within three hours you won't eat tonight." He smiled. "I wonder…" he let his voice trail off. Frank knew better then to interrupt.

"I wonder… what would your dad think if he knew I had his son, eh? What would he think?"

Frank nervously tapped his hands on the desk. The man was clearly unstable. He didn't know what to do.

"Do you know who I really am, Frank?" the man asked, leaning in Frank's face.

Frank shook his head. He was scared to speak. The man looked more familiar, but… He'd said his name was Johnson…

"I'm not Johnson. That's just my face name. My real name is Jeffery White."

Frank paled in terror. Now that he noticed it the man did have a look to his face that was sort of Islamic.

He was being held captive by an international terrorist!

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OK that's all for now but PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! I NEED FEEDBACK!

Was the last chapter really that unpleasant?