Strapped to the ceiling by his wrists, feet dangling a few inches from the floor, there was little Sam could do to escape the blows being rained on his torso, and lower body. Twisting his body in a vain attempt to lessen the force of the next hits, Sam could only take himself away in his mind. God, he wished Gene was here… then these bastards'd have a problem.

Suddenly though the beating stopped, and Sam raised his head to find out what was going on; only to lower it again very quickly, barely suppressing a whimper as the smaller of the two men who had been hitting it – both with weapons and their fists – advanced toward his prone body with the flick knife.

'Stay still now little boy,' the man's voice is cold, like his eyes, and Sam feels himself shudder, as the blade comes into contact with his ribs.

Gene collapsed into the lone armchair in the front room of his house. He had been forced to send his men home at around 11.30pm, still with no leads on Myres' whereabouts, and it didn't sit well. He wanted nothing more than to pour himself several large whiskeys, get drunk enough to forget his DI had been kidnapped, then fall into bed and sleep until Sam was found, but he stopped himself. Firstly, his being hungover would not help in the search for Sam, and second, in a weird way Gene didn't want to indulge in any way… not to drink, or even make himself too comfortable, when he knew Sammy was out there, probably in pain. Gene knew it was illogical but it just didn't sit right.

He couldn't stop playing the images in his head of Antonio's victims – the sick fuck was Gene's first mass murderer – and praying that his Sam was not going through the same thing.

Damnit! He had thought it again. HIS Sam. But hell… right now Gene Hunt didn't care. He was such a div… worse than Chris… if only he had not tried to deny his feeling for his DI, and gone and checked on Sam sooner, none of this might have happened, and now he might never get the chance to tell the younger man how he feels. It was too much and soon, the DCI fell into a shallow fitful slumber.

The slam of his letter box woke Gene a few hours later, just as the first hints of dawn were creeping into the sky over Manchester, and Gene couldn't help but wonder as he went to fetch the post if Sam could see the sun from where he was. He doubted it. One particular piece of mail caught his eye addressed only 'Bent Scumbag' Gene knew instantly who it was from and his heart leapt into his, mouth.

Ripping open the envelope, the organ sank again, as Gene's last meal rushed up to take it's place in reaction to the images taken by camera that had fallen out of the package. A note fell with them

'Maybe next time you will be a bit better mannered when I choose to contact you. As long as you follow instructions your DI will be returned to you, with no further injury. Take your car to The Fox's Tail… it's only 3 blocks from your nick, and maybe we'll see about making some… shall we say arrangement?

Your friend

Antonio Myres'

Even as Gene's blood began to boil, he was pulling on his old coat and heading out the front door… Sam would not be hurt again because of him.