Padraig had stared out of the window for the whole of the journey, trying desperately to remember places. He'd been particularly careful to note place names since they got off the main road/

He'd hoped to be able to see Ste when they got out. Maybe there could be a moment when Granddad held neither of them, and they could make a run for it together. Or maybe, together, they could over power him, maybe force him into the boot, see how he like it.

But it hadn't worked like that. Granddad had hold of his arm the second the car came to a halt, and pulled him out on the driver's side, making Paddy climb over the gear stick. Then he'd pulled him into a shitty little cottage.

It was in the middle of bloody nowhere. They' passed through a tiny village about ten minutes before, but from here, all you could see were fields. Paddy went over the route from the village again and again in his head, desperate to remember it.

Granddad dragged him upstairs and into a tiny bedroom. He took a key from the inside lock, and held it in his hand as he ordered Paddy to sit on the bed.

"I don't want to hear a peep from you tonight," Granddad growled. "We start your lessons in the morning. Until then, you stay in here, you shut up, and you get some sleep, do you understand me?"

Sleep? It was only like 5 in the afternoon, but Paddy nodded anyway.

"Good," said Granddad, then strode out of the bedroom, slamming and locking the door, leaving Paddy alone with time to look around.


Ste realised he must have dozed off in the boot when he noticed that he hadn't heard the engine stop. It was silent now, though. In fact, Ste had to strain to hear anything except the pitter patter of the rain tapping on the metal above him. He felt about himself in the darkness, searching for anything that might help him escape. The bags around him seemed to be filled with nothing but clothes and the odd soap or shampoo. Nothing dangers, nothing that could help him escape. The sharpest thing he could find was a small pack of disposable razors. He took one and slid it into his jeans pocket. After a moment's thought, he took another, and put it inside his underwear. It felt ridiculous there. It couldn't do much more than scratch someone's skin, but it was better than nothing.

It felt like an age, as he lay there curled up and cramped in the darkness. He needed to straighten his legs and move about. Thoughts kept occurring to him, like was Brady going to leave him in the boot forever? Was it to kill him slowly or to keep him from escaping? His stomach reminded him it had been a while since he'd eaten or had anything to drink. Just a glass of water would have felt like paradise at that moment, with his mouth tasting like dry car.

When the boot was finally opened, the light burnt his eyes. He covered his face without thinking, even as his arm was being tugged up and out. He landed clumsily on the ground in a heap with a groan, as his cramping legs refused to work quickly or well enough.

"Shut up, boy and get inside now," hissed Brady in a hushed voice, tugging on his arm again. Blinking furiously Ste looked around for a clue as to where they were.

Though the light had seemed so bright after all that time in the boot, Ste realised it was late in the afternoon. With the angry rain clouds it was not even very light. They were stood, (well, Ste was sprawled) in the middle of an empty looking field amongst empty looking fields. The grass was a beautiful, pure green, but right in front of them was an old, decrepit looking cottage. It wasn't that it was ruined. It just looked like its previous owner had not looked after it. And Ste doubted it had electricity or heating.

"Where's Paddy?" Ste asked.

"Inside, now get moving," Brady growled.

He did as he was told, forcing his legs to do as they were told. Brady pushed him in, and slammed the door behind them. They were straight in the main room of the house. Against one wall was a flight of stairs, on another an old fashioned fireplace, and at the back, a door that Ste assumed led to some sort of kitchen. There was a window to the side of the door, and a few chairs and a table filled up the centre of the room, and there was little other space. Brady shoved him towards one of those chairs, and then told him to sit.

Ste stood indignantly. "Where's Paddy? You said he was in 'ere."

Brady didn't need to answer. The banging noise and a loud teenage voice swearing that came from upstairs did, for him.

"I told you to sit," the old man said instead, and Ste decided it was probably better than a fight, and sat.

There was another bang from upstairs, presumably from Paddy's escape attempts. Ste hoped he'd succeed, but didn't like his odds.

"We're miles from the nearest village, and I ain't telling you the way," Brady sneered, "you could walk thirty miles and find nothing out here, and I don't fancy your chances with no food or water."

Thirty miles? Had they crossed the border? Ste wasn't great at geography, but he didn't think there was that much countryside in Northern Ireland.

Brady wasn't done, though, "If I see you take a step out of that door, that lad up there pays for it. Do I make myself clear?"

"He's your Grandson, not mine," Ste replied disgusted.

"Bit late to start pretending you don't care now, isn't it?" Brady retorted, "You got into a car with me for him." He strolled in a curve around the room until he was stood behind Ste, who was fighting back his own need to flee, sitting rigidly. "Don't you want to know why I brought you here?" he asked, resting his hands on Ste's shoulders, and letting them explore.

A series of bangs stopped Ste's retort in his throat. He looked up, worriedly, as if hoping to check Paddy hadn't hurt himself by seeing him through the floor, which failed of course.

Brady's hands retreated.

"If you move an inch from that chair while I'm upstairs, I'll break a leg, do you hear?"

Ste nodded glumly, knowing there was no way he could abandon Paddy.

Brady stamped to the stairs, and disappeared up them, but Ste didn't watch him go. He'd noticed something. Brady's jacket lay on the chair just feet from Ste's. The jacket he'd seen the phones disappear into just hours earlier. He glanced at the stairs, but could hear shouting from the top. He dived for the pockets, found one of the phones and tore back to his seat, hoping the jacket looked untouched.

The shouting upstairs had stopped, and footsteps were returning. No time to call yet. He shoved the phone into his sock and tugged his jeans back down to hide the bump as best he could.

Brady reappeared, face like thunder. Ste stared at him.

"Is he alright?" he asked, when Brady offered no information.

"Course," mumbled Brady, staring back at him, "he just need a little reminder of the house rules."

Ste sneered, "What, do you think you're supernanny now? You've kidnapped him; of course he wants to get out."

"He's my grandson."

"Yeah, you keep saying that, don't ye? But I've never laid a finger in anger on either of my kids and I never would."

Brady scoffed, "And when they're leeching off the state or sat in a prison cell, we'll know who to blame, won't we?"

Ste was gobsmacked. How dare this bastard say that about Leah and Lucas when he'd so nearly turned Brendan into an emotionally crippled, violent, psychopath? "Did you ever hit Cheryl?" he asked, suddenly needing to know.

Brady looked almost as shocked as Ste had been, "Of course not, I'd never hit a woman."

"But you'd hit a kid? Have you got any idea how mental you are?" Ste snapped.

"That's enough now, Steven, or I'll have to gag you," Brady snapped back, "and I've got other plans for your mouth tonight." Brady was travelling again, back around the room and behind Ste's chair. Ste felt those hands on him again, and shivered. The first one caressed his neck, then the next made its way down his T-shirt, both of them soft and almost worshipful in their touch.

The first time Brady had tried this, he'd called it a punishment. It was an act of hatred and violence, to assert his own power. Last time, Brady hadn't seemed to know what he wanted, demanding submission and a fight all at once. This was probably weirder still. It almost wasn't even about power and winning. He just seemed to be enjoying Ste's body.

"Stand up," the old man ordered, voice husky and intense, and Ste obeyed. He heard Brady kick the chair away and felt the hands move to his abdomen.

At least Paddy wasn't watching, he supposed.

The hands delved inside his jeans, and suddenly he felt a mouth on his neck.

He remembered the razor far too late, at the moment that Brady found it. The old man shoved his hands unceremoniously inside Ste's pants and pulled it out, laughing derisively at the sight. "What were you planning to do? Shave me to death? You know, the 'tashe isn't actually a source of power."

"It was all I could find," Ste mumbled, both embarrassed, and finding it ridiculous that Brady found that one, and not the one in his pocket.

Maybe not for long though, and he needed to call Brendan. The phone felt enormous in his sock, at this rate Brady would have found it in seconds. Maybe Paddy would make another escape attempt, and Brady would take long enough dealing with that for Ste to get through to Brendan. Or maybe, he thought, as Brady threw the razor away carelessly over his shoulder, and the hands returned to his waist, maybe, if he fought now, threw Brady off him, hit him, maybe he'd lock him up all alone in the boot for a bit. Or maybe in that cupboard under the stairs. That had a lock on it and was big enough for him to fit. He just needed to be alone!

No sounds were coming from Paddy. He hoped Brady hadn't knocked him out or something.

He made a fist, ready to throw a punch.

His sock started vibrating, then emitted a familiar ring tone. Brady's hands suddenly weren't so soft and gentle.

Great timing Brendan, he thought.

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