Captive

         Andrew Waitson lay in the bare bed, his skin pimpeled with goose bumps. He knew he was done for. Jon Green had him in clutches and he wasn't ever going to let him go. Andrew looked up at his wrists, which were tightly bound to the bed frame. He couldn't feel his ankles but he knew they were the same. His mouth was blocked by a gag and dry. He heard the door open and tensed. He'd heard dark tales of what Jon did to people he didn't like and little boys he grabbed off the street. Knowing that Jon was sick in the head and capable of anything didn't calm the young warrior's fears.
         "Just as I left you, bound and helpless. How does it feel, Andrew, to be the prisoner?" Jon muttered, crouching by his head. He gingerly: wrapped a fist around the cloth and pulled it out of the boy's mouth. Andrew spat, his eyes bright with fury.
         "You won't get away with this." The Guard snarled, determined to hide his terror.
         "Oh but, Andrew, I already have. You see the Guard has a traitor in its midst. Would you like to guess who?"
         The answer was practically staring him in the face. Who had ordered him to check out that warehouse? Who kept threatening to tell the Council if Andrew refused to do something? And yet he couldn't (or wouldn't) believe it.
         "Ben." He whispered softly. Jon chuckled and gagged his newest plaything. He ignored the tears rolling down the lad's face as he stripped off his breeches and climbed on top of the younger boy. He ignored the muffled pleas as panic set in. He let the boy thrash around, experimenting with /the ropes holding him in place. Jon was more than prepared fro anything, he'd done this so many times. He didn't care who he was hurting. All he cared for was the pleasure and with that thought he thrust himself into his enemy.

         Andrew sat against the wall, his wrist screaming as he strained the chain. He carefully reached into a small crack in the wall and drew out the sliver of chalk he'd found in his breeches pockets. He didn't even know what it was doing there but he was grateful. He rolled over, onto his knees and looked at the small array of white marks running close the floor. By his calculations he'd been here about three months. He drew another mark and returned the chalk to its hiding place. He heard Jon striding down the hall and threw himself to the edge of the bed, with seconds to spare. For the past ninety days he'd endured every game Jon had to play with barely a word of complaint. He knew what happened when Jon tired of his playthings and tried to plan every day to stay alive. He'd given up hope of being rescued, as Ben had had him captured and would thus be handicapping the search. Angered by the thought of Ben's safety as his own life drew ever shorter he drew back his chalk dust covered right hand into a fist and slammed it into the wall with a cry.

         " For the last time, Carver. You can't afford us because we're not for sale." Jacob Holly snarled glaring at the younger man.
         "What if I can offer you something more than money?" He tried, whining.
         "Like what?"