Rider Fic: Quietly into the Night (NC-17) Part 2/3
Quietly into the Night (NC-17) by loony_lucifer
Characters/Pairing(s): Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider, OMCs
Summary: On a mission gone wrong, Alex is thrown into a world in which he is prey in a sea of predators and solely dependent upon a certain Russian assassin.
Warning(s): Slash, Alex is 14, sex with a minor, mature and uncomfortable themes (which involve sex with minors), violence, and content which some readers may find strongly disturbing.
Word Count: ~22,500 (Split into 3 parts for LJ constraints.)
Written for hpstrangelove through spy_fest.
Fic contains illustrations.
When Alex awoke, he found himself lying much more comfortably than he had when he’d fallen asleep. Much higher off the ground, too. His body felt like dead weight, and when he opened his eyes, he at first didn’t register where he was .
There was more light in the room than there had been when he’d fallen asleep, but the sun hadn’t yet risen. The first thing Alex noticed was that the living room they’d been staying in was much larger than he’d originally thought. With a high ceiling and great wooden beams supporting it on all sides, it reminded him more of a lodge of some sort than a villa. They were perhaps just high enough into the mountains for the weather to get very cold in the winter months. The house was expensively furnished. That was clear enough, even though Alex wouldn’t be able to name the make or era of the furniture. The cushion of the sofa was under him. Yassen must have placed him there sometime during the night.
What had woken him, however, was Dylan making noise on the other side of the room. He was pulling on a new pair of heavy boots and lacing them up. Alex remembered what he’d learned about the man last night and prefered to stay still. Dylan had changed clothes since last night, out of the collared shirt and slacks he’d been wearing yesterday and into warmer clothes. When Yassen entered the room, Alex sat up stiffly. The Russian looked the same as he had last night, not bothering to change out of the dark combat trousers and shirt he wore.
“Look who’s up,” said Dylan conversationally.
Alex didn’t respond. It seemed that Dylan was the only one of them who was going out of his way to pretend that Alex wasn’t anything but their prisoner, and now he had to wonder at his motives for that.
Yassen came over to his side and removed the handcuffs, placing them in his back pocket once more. He gave Alex a shirt. It was black with long sleeves, and probably meant for a grown man by the size of it. “Change. We’ll be hiking again,” Yassen said simply, and then returned to gathering the few things taken out last night back into the bag.
Hiking again. Alex momentarily forgot Dylan and instead thought about just how much he did not want to be hiking again. His legs were sore and he was certain his feet would be too once he put them back on the ground. Complaining to Yassen was probably a moot point though, so he swung his legs over the couch and, aware of Dylan’s gaze, changed into the new shirt. It was warmer, and indeed, too big for him.
Pictures inside a glass cabinet caught his eye. There were family photographs spread out among various antiques. Alex wondered if this villa was in fact somebody’s home. He hadn’t thought about it last night. He’d been wary, sure, of entering a house, especially one so large, he didn’t know. Scorpia could have had its base of operations for this mission in there for all he knew, but now he wondered if this house had any affiliation to Scorpia whatsoever. There were a man, a woman, and two girls in the photographs. All seemed happy and fairly normal looking. Alex wondered if they were a cover, or if Yassen had really taken over an unsuspecting family’s home for the night. Or worse. A dead body for each face in the photograph flitted through his mind.
“Time to go, Alex.” Yassen caught him off guard, grabbing his upper arm. Alex winced as he was hauled to his feet. It was the same place Yassen had gripped yesterday when dragging him through the woods, and today it was badly bruised. Though Yassen noticed, he didn’t seem to care. “Do not make me carry you.”
Alex struggled to keep up as they exited the villa. Overall, they hadn’t left much of a mark on the place by spending the night. If someone did live there, they might never suspect that it had provided a brief shelter for a fugitive, an assassin, and a young boy on the run.
They continued north, and luckily the sun rose very quickly while they were in the mountains. Eventually they reached a small dirt road, overgrown with brush and trees, but definitely a road. There was a little car parked just off its side, hidden under the trees. It had Swiss plates, and that was when Alex realised that they had to have passed into Switzerland. He stared dumbfounded for a moment.
He almost forgot that Yassen was leading him until he received yet another harsh pull on his arm. It had been continuous the entire way. Yassen wanted to keep a fast pace and Alex and Dylan could barely keep up.
Once again, Dylan sat in the backseat while Alex was placed in the front with Yassen. He assumed that the Russian or one of his coworkers had planted the car there for them to find before the operation began. Just like the last car. He wondered how many times they were going to do this. Every time they changed their method of locomotion was a step further away from the likelihood of Alex being found and rescued.
They drove in silence, Alex resting his head against the window and wearily watching the terrain go by. He’d never been to Switzerland before, but after all the places he had been to, it made little difference to him. He was only mildly interested in the majestic scenery they passed. He was tired, and sore. While he was grateful to finally be off his feet, there was little room in the car to stretch properly, and the few hours of sleep he’d had were a far cry from restful. Yassen seemed unaffected, but Alex would have been startled if he’d been otherwise, and Dylan seemed to have either slept soundly or maybe he was simply too optimistic about his escape to be overly tired.
Occasionally, Alex would glance at Yassen out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t tell if the assassin noticed he was doing it or not, but he couldn’t help himself. Yassen was a mystery to Alex. Sure, their roles in the situation were obvious, if unplanned, but he could never tell what the man was thinking. That bothered Alex most of all. Yassen was cold, and distant, untouchable, and Alex’s life more or less rested in his hands. He found himself weighing the possibilities of Yassen and Dylan killing him, or worse, if there was such a thing, but just like last night he couldn’t work out what his life was worth to them. He knew that Scorpia wanted him dead. Did he have any leverage at all? He didn’t think so. All he had was his father’s once upon a time friendship, if apparently a very strong friendship, with the killer.
Then there was Dylan. Alex couldn’t make sense of Dylan. He couldn’t get a read on the man’s character at all. He seemed happy, personable, if overly friendly, and all Alex had to go on was what Yassen had told him, which by all reasonable assumptions should make Dylan as far from honestly personable and friendly as a human can get. Dylan should be a creep. Alex thought back to the trial. He could remember Eli; could see the boy clearly in his mind. Their eyes had met briefly just before the commotion had started. The dark haired boy had stood there without expression, like he’d tuned everything out, just as the bomb had gone off. Alex couldn’t tell if he’d been frightened or not.
They drove for hours trying to avoid the heavily trafficked roads, but it was difficult with the traffic regulations. Alex found out that whoever had left them the car had stashed a cooler of food in the backseat, and so they wouldn’t be stopping for provisions any time soon. Instead, Dylan made them sandwiches. In spite of everything, Alex was starving. Maybe the food even improved his mood, but only a little.
They didn’t stop for anything. Yassen ate while driving with one hand, and Alex found himself transfixed by the sight of it. The simple human act of the assassin eating was like a mimicry of something a normal person would do. Yassen knew he was watching but said nothing to him.
When they had finished eating, Alex curled back in his seat and started looking out of the window again. There was no conversation, no radio, and sometimes, in Alex’s case, no idea what direction they were heading in. Overall, he surmised that they were continuing north. They’d made their way through extreme mountains, which Alex knew to be the Alps, then over rolling hills, and now were getting into a mountainous area once more. Clouds rolled in and eventually the day turned murkier and murkier. Alex’s mood followed.
They were approaching the German border. He could tell by the occasional sign. He had to wonder if they were going to be forced to cross it by foot, like they had hiked into Switzerland, or whether that alternate route via the villa had been an extra precaution due to the Italian police searching for them. Would the Swiss and German police be looking out for them? He glanced at Yassen, and wasn’t able to decide.
“Look out of your window, Alex,” Yassen said quietly, never taking his gaze away from the road ahead.
His eyes dropped. He felt like he’d just been scolded for something very harshly, though in context he really hadn’t been. He said nothing and turned back to the window. He'd be able to see the Russian’s reflection in it if he looked up just a bit, but decided not to. Yassen would probably know.
In the backseat, Dylan hummed lightly to an off-key tune.
-
When they reached the German border, Alex assumed that the plan was to drive right on through the checkpoint just like any other traveller. If the police were looking for Dylan however, border control might be in effect and though his spirits weren’t rising per se, he could feel the beginnings of an adrenaline rush in his veins. Allowing him to come in contact with anyone else would be a huge risk, but Yassen hadn't planned for him being with them. This might be his chance.
Unfortunately, Alex did not anticipate Yassen’s backup plan.
When they were two miles of the crossing, they took a detour onto a small dirt road and once out of sight of the motorway Yassen pulled over. Dylan and Alex watched him as he got out of the car and went to the boot, opening it and rummaging around.
“Alex.”
Alex heard clearly, and a new sense of unease filtered into his veins along with the adrenaline. He glanced at Dylan, who looked like he really didn’t want anything to do with what was about to happen next. Whatever it was, Alex didn’t think the man knew, because when their eyes met, Alex couldn't have sworn Dylan looked just as nervous as Alex felt.
Alex got out of the car, not bothering to close the door behind him, and went to where Yassen was waiting for him by the boot. A long length of rope rested in his hands. Alex’s heart sank at the sight of it. He stepped backward.
“Don’t,” Yassen said quickly, before Alex could continue. It effectively stopped him. “If you run, I will catch you. And then I will hurt you, and you will be in the same position regardless.”
Alex began shaking his head. “No. No….”
“Shhh…” The sound was soothing, and Yassen closed the distance between them. “Do as I say and you will not be harmed.” He took hold of Alex’s wrist and began to wind the rope around it, then the other. It was knotted and then wound around Alex’s back, over his neck…. His breath hitched at that part, and Yassen paused, his hands resting at Alex’s collarbone. “I’m going to put you in the boot until we've crossed the border.” He had to look down while standing this close to Alex. “If you make any sound or otherwise attract attention to yourself, I will be forced to harm you, and many people will die. Do you understand?”
Alex swallowed and nodded.
Yassen must have taken that to be good enough, because he continued tying the rope, then led Alex to the boot of the car. He climbed in awkwardly, and Yassen tied the rest of the rope around his knees and ankles. When he was finished, Alex could barely move an inch. He stared up at the man, trying to will down the fear surfacing at what was about to happen. Yassen did not seem concerned for him, tied up and squeezed into a small space. Worse, there was a thick role of tape in the boot, and Yassen wrapped a strip of it around Alex’s mouth, over the back of his neck, and around again several times. Alex was beginning to get angry. Claustrophobia seeped into his stomach. Yassen must have noticed Alex glaring by the time he’d finished.
“Remember what I said.” With that, he shut the boot and Alex’s world went dark. Muffled voices came from the front of the car, and soon the world was moving underneath him. Rolling roughly over the dirt road until they were back on track toward Germany. Fear began to take over again.
The world inside the cramped boot of the little Swiss car was pitch black until Alex’s eyes adjusted. Then he could only slightly make out shapes and the dimensions of the space. They bumped along for about ten minutes and then slowed down. Alex knew they had to have reached the border crossing. They must have been in a line of cars waiting to go through, judging from the way the car moved would drive a little bit then stopped for a few moments before moving on again. Eventually Alex heard muffled voices from the outside. Yassen and Dylan, he couldn’t tell which, were talking to someone.
He tried to twist around, but could barely move. He tried rocking his body back and forth, seeing if that would help. It didn’t. He rolled onto his back, hands trapped uncomfortably underneath him, when something sharp jabbed into his arm. He hissed and pulled away at first, thinking that he might have injured himself more than he had. Then he moved back, feeling for what had cut him. A piece of the cloth in the back of the boot had been ripped at some point in this car’s life, and a metal piece of the undercarriage was sticking up. Alex’s heart leapt.
Quickly, he repositioned himself and squirmed further back into the dark, searching awkwardly for the piece with his hands trapped behind him. When he found it, he almost cut his fingers. He set the rope that held his hands together around it and began sawing. It was tricky and he was cutting himself whenever the metal went too far, but in a short time his wrists were free. He didn’t wait. He reached for the knots around his neck and back, but he couldn’t undo them. He pried his arms mostly free of the restraint and left the rest of his torso in favour of his feet. There he used the jagged edge again. It took forever, but apparently forever wasn’t long enough for them to have crossed the border. In reality, Alex estimated that only about five minutes had passed, but he was caught in that horrible moment of a glimmer of hope sprung from utter hopelessness.
He crouched in the small space, unsure how to proceed further. He couldn’t open the boot from the inside. He couldn’t make noise to alert anyone outside, Dylan would likely be the first to hear it if he was still in the backseat, and would quickly inform Yassen or attempt to cover it up. Alex felt around for inspiration. Besides the tape, which he struggled to pull off his face, there was nothing else in the boot with him. He felt the mounds indented at either side, each with a tire resting underneath. He felt along the roof. He found panelling that covered the tail lights. He froze. Then he began to move again, hurriedly this time, ripping at that panelling until he found plastic pegs that he could pry free in order to remove it. Once it was off, or mostly off, all that remained were the light bulbs and coloured plastic that he easily kicked through. Daylight poured into the boot, and though the hole he had made was far too small for him to fit through, he felt like he was already up and running. He looked out and could see a line of cars behind theirs and the side of a stand at the edge of the road. Their car began pulling away before he was ready, but Alex reached an arm through the tail light and began frantically waving .
It took a few seconds, a minute maybe, but it felt much longer in Alex’s heightened state of mind before he heard voices. They were loud and there were several of them coming from behind the car He knew then that his signal had worked. Someone had seen him. Someone was coming for him. They were in a public place, and that was the best Alex could hope for.
Their car took off. Yassen gunned the gas so suddenly that Alex was thrown forward into the wall of the boot, almost twisting his arm badly. He cried out. Pieces of the taillight were cutting into his skin and he couldn’t stop it. He could feel blood trickling down his arm, but he kept it out, still waving, heart racing.
Their car was picking up speed and then suddenly turning. Alex was thrown the other way, and once again broken plastic ripped into his skin. He made a pained screech and tears formed in the corners of his eyes. It felt like having an animal tearing at his flesh and he had to fight back the pain.
They drove erratically for a moment and then raced on at a steady pace. Finally, Alex brought his hand in and cradled it to his chest. They’d seen him; that was what counted. He curled himself around the bloody arm -it hurt like hell - but once again was tossed back down when the car took a spinning turn. He had only been able to get to his knees in the small space, but after that he remained curled up on his side, hoping that he wouldn’t be thrown the next time.
Tyres squealed. The car careened again and hit something hard, might’ve been a curb, but drove on and over it. After one long spin that made Alex’s gut clench terribly, they came to a stop. Doors slammed outside. Voices sounded. Shouts. Then suddenly, gunfire.
After the first spray of bullets, shots sounded endlessly around them. Alex ducked his head in fear. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t hide, and if Dylan and Yassen were using the car as a barricade, bullets were going to be slamming into it for sure. He heard himself cry out whenever they sounded too loud or too close. He looked out of the hole he’d made, but couldn't see much but the lower half of a second car behind them. He swallowed hard. The car had the logo of the border police on its door . He could just make out a pair of legs behind its bumper. There were men crouched behind it, taking shots at the front portion of Alex’s car. Yassen and Dylan must have been doing the same, and they must have been better armed too, because when a spray of bullets landed in the border car, its metal body all but peeled away.
There was a scream and the sound of a body dropping. More shouting in German. Then silence. It stretched out over everything. The scene outside had become absolutely still. Somewhere in the other car, a radio buzzed. Someone groaned. It was so soft.
Heavy footfalls, clad in boots that Alex recognized as Yassen’s, entered his sight. Yassen’s legs made their way to the German car and its former passengers. Alex breathed quietly as he watched, not knowing what to expect. Yassen stepped over one body, avoided a long spatter of blood along the ground, and stopped behind the car where a second body lay. Even when he pressed his face closer to the hole in the boot Alex couldn’t see anything but the part of that body on the ground. The other car was blocking Yassen’s body, but Alex could see his boots on the ground beside the man lying there. Another small groan sounded softly, and then a single gunshot broke the silence, making Alex’s whole body jump just like the figure lying at Yassen’s feet upon the impact of that bullet. Everything went quiet after that.
Yassen stalked back toward their car. Realising his attention was on the boot, Alex shrank back into the deepest part, suddenly frightened. The door flew up and light flooded in around him. He had no chance to get his bearings as Yassen, furious, took hold of him by the cloth of his shirt and hauled him out of the boot. He gave a short cry and was thrown to the ground, hard.
He could see now that they were in an alley, surrounded on all four sides by brick buildings. Alex couoldn't see the road they’d been on before nor which direction they had come from. He crawled on his knees through the gravel, away from Yassen until one of those heavy boots landed on the small of his back, driving him down into the dirt. Some kind of startled cry escaped his throat and his fingers clawed at the ground ahead of him. He could have been free. Rescue had been on its way. And now they were dead and he was caught out.
The weight lifted off his back and he was dragged up to standing height. Suddenly Yassen’s hand was in his hair, pulling so hard his eyes watered, and his mouth was pressed to Alex’s temple.
“You remember what I told you?” Yassen asked, coarsely. “Do you?”
Alex had to catch his breath. “Yes.”
His arms were twisted behind him and he was thrown back into the car. Yassen hurried in after him and cuffed Alex’s wrists around the passenger arm rest. Dylan was already in the backseat. He didn’t look very good. They tore out of the alley as fast as possible.
Yassen didn’t take them out onto any of the main roads again, which in their current area, was fairly difficult and slow going. Dylan hadn’t been hurt in the crossfire, but he now held a haunted look in the set of his eyes and his skin had gone pallid all over. Yassen just looked angry, and was as silent as ever. Alex couldn't see any of the guns he now knew they had, but the duffel bag had moved to the seat beside Dylan in the back. There was a delayed threat hanging in the air as they drove. To Yassen and Dylan, the threat was in the authorities on their trail. To Alex, it was all in the man next to him, whose hands gripped white on the wheel and whose focus was fixed out the windshield.
They continued like that for most of the day, hugging the French border and only stopping for gas. By nightfall, they were a good way north in Germany.
They would have been much further had they not had to spend so much time avoiding well-trafficked areas. Alex had stopped wishing he could see more of the country as he had with Italy and Switzerland. By now all he wanted was the trip to end.
They pulled into a guest house outside a small village about an hour after Dylan fell asleep. He was awoken again only when Yassen shut off the engine.
Alex had seen the Inn from the road, but Dylan seemed confused at first, as Yassen parked the car far down a dark side-road. Besides the police most likely being on the lookout for them, there were also now bullet holes complimenting the paint. Dylan followed them, still without conversation, when Yassen uncuffed Alex from the door and led them back to the house.
Alex walked with his head down. He’d settled back into a quiet state of dread. His arm had stopped bleeding long ago, but the sleeve of his shirt was torn and much of the blood had seeped through. At least it was black.
They sent Dylan in to enquire about getting a room for the night. Yassen wouldn’t allow Alex into the presence of a house manager, and he also refused to leave him alone outside. Dylan wasn’t gone long. After he'd come back out and confirmed that they could stay overnight, Yassen sent him back in alone.
“Get some sleep,” he said, “I will return later.”
The look on Dylan’s face as they left him was unreadable, almost like he was worried, almost like he didn’t want to know, and most curious of all…almost like he was angry.
Yassen re-cuffed Alex and walked him back to the car. Other than the inn, Alex didn’t think there was another house for miles. His anxiety had reached a peak long before they'd reached the vehicle.
He was made to walk in front of Yassen, but he doubted that he'd have been able to gauge the man’s thoughts, even if he could have seen his face. But Alex was still caught by surprise when he was pushed to the ground. He landed badly, scraping his arms and the palms of his hands on the dirt where he fell, but he turned over and tried to back up. Yassen didn't seem concerned with him for now. He had unlocked the car and was digging around inside it. He came out with a lighter, a pack of cigarettes, and a gun.
Alex thought about pleading for his life then, but he didn't know what to say. He felt trapped, frozen on the ground in the knowledge that if he ran, Yassen would shoot him in the leg. Or maybe right in his back and be done with him.
Yassen came back to Alex and crouched down in front of him, knees bent, resting on his feet. Calmly, he laid the gun between them, and then lit a cigarette. Alex could have gone for the gun if he were so inclined. He felt the temptation, but he didn’t move.
Yassen’s cigarette glowed bright red in the darkness. The air was chilly and his breath and the smoke combined to rise up into the air in a white mist. Alex could have likened him to a dragon then, waiting, with fire-breath controlled, for his moment to attack. His gaze was about as malevolent as one.
“So Alex,” he said. “What did I say I would do if you tried to escape?”
“No,” Alex whispered. His heart was pounding so loud that it was probably giving him away.
“I made you a promise Alex. I’m going to keep it.” He took the cigarette from his mouth after a long pull. He looked so relaxed, like he was somehow consuming serenity from every drag.
Alex shifted away when Yassen reached for him, but he was caught by the hair and pulled into Yassen’s grip. One of the man’s hands wrapped around his throat.
“No…” Alex whispered again, quickly before his breath had a chance to be cut off. His body went stiff and he struggled for a brief moment before he managed to regain control of himself. He thought about screaming. There was no way anyone would hear him out here.
“Shhh.” Yassen’s voice was almost tender. Alex had never thought of him as an assassin more acutely than he did in that moment. “Every man or woman employed under Scorpia is trained to torture,” he continued. “You know this, Alex.”
Alex took a breath and then ground his teeth together, wanting to respond but not wanting to give Yassen the satisfaction. He was up on his knees, back impossibly straight, arms dangling uselessly in the cuffs. If Yassen wanted to feel the satisfaction of control over Alex then he certainly wasn’t in a position to prevent that. The hand around his neck tightened.
“We are also trained to withstand certain amounts of torture,” Yassen went on while Alex felt the air slowly stop flowing into his lungs. Fists clenched, he waited, trying not to fight, not to cry out, not to struggle. “I am aware that MI6 has never seen fit to train you in this manner.” Yassen’s words were barely a whisper. “That is unfortunate.”
Now he really couldn’t breathe. Yassen’s hand was far too tight. It hurt, felt like he was crushing Alex’s windpipe. He screwed his eyes shut, fighting the need to gasp for air. His body tried to jerk out of Yassen’s grip; Alex couldn’t help it. What composure he had fell away as he began fighting for real. Yassen gripped him tighter, pulling an arm around Alex’s middle. The restraint only made Alex's instinct to resist stronger. As he thrashed, Yassen tipped him backward onto the cold ground.
The assassin loomed over Alex. The hand at his throat was feeling more like a knife now, cutting air out of him. Yassen must have known how frightening being in a hold like that had to be, for anyone much less a boy, barely a teenager. Alex’s back was on the ground and he couldn't stop himself from jerking around wildly, Yassen above him, crouching between his knees. Alex did everything he could to kick the man away, but he couldn’t get any leverage, couldn’t pry even a knee between himself and the killer. He was full out panicking by the time Yassen let him go. Alex fell back against the dirt instantly, bound hands going straight to his throat and he found that he couldn’t speak. He could barely remember how to breathe on his own. The sounds that came out of his mouth were pitiful, broken rasps.
Smoke curled into his nose and he coughed. If he had thought that his throat hurt before, coughing made it a hundred times worse. Yassen had found his cigarette again. He sat looking down at Alex, legs still splayed out on either side of the assassin. He hadn’t moved away when he’d let go, and Alex knew that was a bad sign.
“Please…stop.” Alex tried to speak; it came out more like a croak.
“Alex….” Yassen carded a hand through his hair. “You will try to escape again without good enough incentive. I know you.”
He flicked ash to the ground, and Alex caught a glimpse of the gun lying just behind Yassen’s boots before his attention shot back to the cigarette in Yassen’s hand, because Yassen was suddenly leaning down over Alex, and hovering the glowing end over his stomach, trailing slowly up his midsection.
“Please….” Alex’s voice came out in a terrible whine. “I won’t….” He’d stopped thinking of Yassen as the man he’d met atop Sayle’s tower, the man who’d known his father, the man who’d saved his life, several times. Right now all he could think was how to get out of this situation, how to convince Yassen to let him go. Alex grasped for words that would sway him, but there was nothing he could think of. Talking about John Rider would be transparent, and Alex was still too stubborn to plead with his father’s memory.
He trembled when Yassen bent closer. “I am sorry, Alex.” His name rolled off of Yassen’s tongue as though it were a word he could savour. “But this is something you need to learn.”
Yassen took hold of one of Alex’s wrists, just below the cuff. Alex tried to pull back to himself immediately, but Yassen was too strong. He held tight and brought the inside of the arm to his lips. Alex gasped in surprise when Yassen opened his mouth and sucked at the top of his forearm. Something foreign coiled in his stomach and he was too high on anxiety and adrenaline to make sense of the feeling. With one final lick, Yassen pulled back and drove the cigarette into Alex’s arm. Alex screamed before he even knew what was happening. It was searing hot where Yassen’s mouth had been a moment before, burning into him.
Alex's scream trailed off into a whimper and he pulled his arms back to himself, his whole body rocking. A fiery red circle stood out on his skin, and it burned.
Their gazes met. Alex stared up at the assassin in confusion; he was shaking, his stomach was doing flip-flops, and his eyes were watery from the pain.
Yassen ran his tongue over his bottom lip. When he reached for the gun, Alex devolved back into panic mode.
“I didn’t think you would last very long,” Yassen observed, affirming his assumption. “I would say that over half the people I’ve killed in my life did not deserve to die,” he continued, holding Alex still underneath him with his weight and a grip in Alex’s hair. “You do not think you deserve to die, do you?”
The heavy pistol was situated under Alex’s jaw, digging in sharply, forcing his face up to look at Yassen. His pulse was racing, his mind had gone blank; he stared into Yassen’s eyes, and it was then that the lizard part of Alex’s brain took over.
“Yaa… Yassen,” Alex heard himself speaking. “Help me.” His voice had come down a notch, with a throaty quality to it. “Please help me.” His eyelids lowered until he could only see the man through heavy lashes. He licked his lips, long and slow. He didn’t know what he was saying. It was imperative that he appeal to Yassen somehow, any way that he could. “I need you.”
His hands reached out and twisted themselves into Yassen’s shirt. Alex leaned into him as far as he could with Yassen still holding him by the hair, and when that wasn’t far enough he tried pulling Yassen down to him. “Need you to help me…pleaseplease, help me…needyou….”
A small part of Alex was surprised at himself, but most of him was in far too much danger to care. Only one thing mattered: that Yassen decide not to kill him. Alex’s body was determining for him exactly how to accomplish that. He was rising up, lifting himself off the ground, rubbing against Yassen, searching for that bit of strange intimacy he’d seen in the man earlier.
And it was working. Yassen had stopped what he was doing. His head cocked almost imperceptibly to one side while Alex pleaded. His grip loosened.
One message broadcast clearly in Alex’s mind: ‘My life is in your hands. Please don’t destroy it.’
Yassen allowed it when Alex pulled him down, so close their torsos were pressed together. Alex wanted him to feel his heartbeat, wanted Yassen to sympathize, literally. He couldn’t think straight.
He heard the gun fall, deposited onto the dirt somewhere above Alex’s head, and then Yassen’s hands were back in his hair, both of them this time, and the man was looking down at him with an actual, real expression.
“You’re so much like your father,” Yassen said softly, “and so very not.” His mouth was on Alex’s neck then, and Alex’s pulse raced under it. One hand petted softly at his hair, and the other ran down his abdomen, both surprisingly gentle after what they’d been doing only moments ago. Alex’s mind reeled.
To his further surprise, he was calming down. His heartrate was slowing, and he didn’t want to move away. Yassen’s hands, and his mouth on Alex’s skin, were soothing. Strange. But soothing.
Suddenly hesitant, Alex reached up to touch the man over him. He wondered whether Yassen would allow it, Alex’s fingers gliding over his neck, if it would be okay to touch him. Alex wasn’t reprimanded when he did it, but Yassen did pause, and then let go of him. Alex watched him sit back while he remained splayed out on the ground, too dazed, surprised, and sore to move yet. He got the impression that Yassen might have been a little surprised himself when he climbed to his feet, and then helped Alex up. Unexpectedly catching a glimpse, he could see that the man’s trousers had become too tight, which made his cheeks colour. Whatever he had done, his situation had completely reversed itself since they had arrived out there.
Without a word to Alex, Yassen picked up his gun and slipped it under the belt in the back of his trousers. He led the way back to the guest house in silence. The long walk was surreal, at best.
That night, Alex learned Dylan played the piano beautifully. They entered the guest house looking quite beaten and a bit dazed to encounter a melodic tune drifting through the air, winning over the few guests who had stayed up late to mingle. He could see Dylan at the house piano in a corner across from the lounge. Most of the guests seemed to be enjoying it, but Yassen disregarded him altogether and took Alex to their room.
They didn’t speak of what had happened, nor had almost happened, for the rest of the night.
Next Part
Characters/Pairing(s): Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider, OMCs
Summary: On a mission gone wrong, Alex is thrown into a world in which he is prey in a sea of predators and solely dependent upon a certain Russian assassin.
Warning(s): Slash, Alex is 14, sex with a minor, mature and uncomfortable themes (which involve sex with minors), violence, and content which some readers may find strongly disturbing.
Word Count: ~22,500 (Split into 3 parts for LJ constraints.)
Written for hpstrangelove through spy_fest.
Fic contains illustrations.
When Alex awoke, he found himself lying much more comfortably than he had when he’d fallen asleep. Much higher off the ground, too. His body felt like dead weight, and when he opened his eyes, he at first didn’t register where he was .
There was more light in the room than there had been when he’d fallen asleep, but the sun hadn’t yet risen. The first thing Alex noticed was that the living room they’d been staying in was much larger than he’d originally thought. With a high ceiling and great wooden beams supporting it on all sides, it reminded him more of a lodge of some sort than a villa. They were perhaps just high enough into the mountains for the weather to get very cold in the winter months. The house was expensively furnished. That was clear enough, even though Alex wouldn’t be able to name the make or era of the furniture. The cushion of the sofa was under him. Yassen must have placed him there sometime during the night.
What had woken him, however, was Dylan making noise on the other side of the room. He was pulling on a new pair of heavy boots and lacing them up. Alex remembered what he’d learned about the man last night and prefered to stay still. Dylan had changed clothes since last night, out of the collared shirt and slacks he’d been wearing yesterday and into warmer clothes. When Yassen entered the room, Alex sat up stiffly. The Russian looked the same as he had last night, not bothering to change out of the dark combat trousers and shirt he wore.
“Look who’s up,” said Dylan conversationally.
Alex didn’t respond. It seemed that Dylan was the only one of them who was going out of his way to pretend that Alex wasn’t anything but their prisoner, and now he had to wonder at his motives for that.
Yassen came over to his side and removed the handcuffs, placing them in his back pocket once more. He gave Alex a shirt. It was black with long sleeves, and probably meant for a grown man by the size of it. “Change. We’ll be hiking again,” Yassen said simply, and then returned to gathering the few things taken out last night back into the bag.
Hiking again. Alex momentarily forgot Dylan and instead thought about just how much he did not want to be hiking again. His legs were sore and he was certain his feet would be too once he put them back on the ground. Complaining to Yassen was probably a moot point though, so he swung his legs over the couch and, aware of Dylan’s gaze, changed into the new shirt. It was warmer, and indeed, too big for him.
Pictures inside a glass cabinet caught his eye. There were family photographs spread out among various antiques. Alex wondered if this villa was in fact somebody’s home. He hadn’t thought about it last night. He’d been wary, sure, of entering a house, especially one so large, he didn’t know. Scorpia could have had its base of operations for this mission in there for all he knew, but now he wondered if this house had any affiliation to Scorpia whatsoever. There were a man, a woman, and two girls in the photographs. All seemed happy and fairly normal looking. Alex wondered if they were a cover, or if Yassen had really taken over an unsuspecting family’s home for the night. Or worse. A dead body for each face in the photograph flitted through his mind.
“Time to go, Alex.” Yassen caught him off guard, grabbing his upper arm. Alex winced as he was hauled to his feet. It was the same place Yassen had gripped yesterday when dragging him through the woods, and today it was badly bruised. Though Yassen noticed, he didn’t seem to care. “Do not make me carry you.”
Alex struggled to keep up as they exited the villa. Overall, they hadn’t left much of a mark on the place by spending the night. If someone did live there, they might never suspect that it had provided a brief shelter for a fugitive, an assassin, and a young boy on the run.
They continued north, and luckily the sun rose very quickly while they were in the mountains. Eventually they reached a small dirt road, overgrown with brush and trees, but definitely a road. There was a little car parked just off its side, hidden under the trees. It had Swiss plates, and that was when Alex realised that they had to have passed into Switzerland. He stared dumbfounded for a moment.
He almost forgot that Yassen was leading him until he received yet another harsh pull on his arm. It had been continuous the entire way. Yassen wanted to keep a fast pace and Alex and Dylan could barely keep up.
Once again, Dylan sat in the backseat while Alex was placed in the front with Yassen. He assumed that the Russian or one of his coworkers had planted the car there for them to find before the operation began. Just like the last car. He wondered how many times they were going to do this. Every time they changed their method of locomotion was a step further away from the likelihood of Alex being found and rescued.
They drove in silence, Alex resting his head against the window and wearily watching the terrain go by. He’d never been to Switzerland before, but after all the places he had been to, it made little difference to him. He was only mildly interested in the majestic scenery they passed. He was tired, and sore. While he was grateful to finally be off his feet, there was little room in the car to stretch properly, and the few hours of sleep he’d had were a far cry from restful. Yassen seemed unaffected, but Alex would have been startled if he’d been otherwise, and Dylan seemed to have either slept soundly or maybe he was simply too optimistic about his escape to be overly tired.
Occasionally, Alex would glance at Yassen out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t tell if the assassin noticed he was doing it or not, but he couldn’t help himself. Yassen was a mystery to Alex. Sure, their roles in the situation were obvious, if unplanned, but he could never tell what the man was thinking. That bothered Alex most of all. Yassen was cold, and distant, untouchable, and Alex’s life more or less rested in his hands. He found himself weighing the possibilities of Yassen and Dylan killing him, or worse, if there was such a thing, but just like last night he couldn’t work out what his life was worth to them. He knew that Scorpia wanted him dead. Did he have any leverage at all? He didn’t think so. All he had was his father’s once upon a time friendship, if apparently a very strong friendship, with the killer.
Then there was Dylan. Alex couldn’t make sense of Dylan. He couldn’t get a read on the man’s character at all. He seemed happy, personable, if overly friendly, and all Alex had to go on was what Yassen had told him, which by all reasonable assumptions should make Dylan as far from honestly personable and friendly as a human can get. Dylan should be a creep. Alex thought back to the trial. He could remember Eli; could see the boy clearly in his mind. Their eyes had met briefly just before the commotion had started. The dark haired boy had stood there without expression, like he’d tuned everything out, just as the bomb had gone off. Alex couldn’t tell if he’d been frightened or not.
They drove for hours trying to avoid the heavily trafficked roads, but it was difficult with the traffic regulations. Alex found out that whoever had left them the car had stashed a cooler of food in the backseat, and so they wouldn’t be stopping for provisions any time soon. Instead, Dylan made them sandwiches. In spite of everything, Alex was starving. Maybe the food even improved his mood, but only a little.
They didn’t stop for anything. Yassen ate while driving with one hand, and Alex found himself transfixed by the sight of it. The simple human act of the assassin eating was like a mimicry of something a normal person would do. Yassen knew he was watching but said nothing to him.
When they had finished eating, Alex curled back in his seat and started looking out of the window again. There was no conversation, no radio, and sometimes, in Alex’s case, no idea what direction they were heading in. Overall, he surmised that they were continuing north. They’d made their way through extreme mountains, which Alex knew to be the Alps, then over rolling hills, and now were getting into a mountainous area once more. Clouds rolled in and eventually the day turned murkier and murkier. Alex’s mood followed.
They were approaching the German border. He could tell by the occasional sign. He had to wonder if they were going to be forced to cross it by foot, like they had hiked into Switzerland, or whether that alternate route via the villa had been an extra precaution due to the Italian police searching for them. Would the Swiss and German police be looking out for them? He glanced at Yassen, and wasn’t able to decide.
“Look out of your window, Alex,” Yassen said quietly, never taking his gaze away from the road ahead.
His eyes dropped. He felt like he’d just been scolded for something very harshly, though in context he really hadn’t been. He said nothing and turned back to the window. He'd be able to see the Russian’s reflection in it if he looked up just a bit, but decided not to. Yassen would probably know.
In the backseat, Dylan hummed lightly to an off-key tune.
-
When they reached the German border, Alex assumed that the plan was to drive right on through the checkpoint just like any other traveller. If the police were looking for Dylan however, border control might be in effect and though his spirits weren’t rising per se, he could feel the beginnings of an adrenaline rush in his veins. Allowing him to come in contact with anyone else would be a huge risk, but Yassen hadn't planned for him being with them. This might be his chance.
Unfortunately, Alex did not anticipate Yassen’s backup plan.
When they were two miles of the crossing, they took a detour onto a small dirt road and once out of sight of the motorway Yassen pulled over. Dylan and Alex watched him as he got out of the car and went to the boot, opening it and rummaging around.
“Alex.”
Alex heard clearly, and a new sense of unease filtered into his veins along with the adrenaline. He glanced at Dylan, who looked like he really didn’t want anything to do with what was about to happen next. Whatever it was, Alex didn’t think the man knew, because when their eyes met, Alex couldn't have sworn Dylan looked just as nervous as Alex felt.
Alex got out of the car, not bothering to close the door behind him, and went to where Yassen was waiting for him by the boot. A long length of rope rested in his hands. Alex’s heart sank at the sight of it. He stepped backward.
“Don’t,” Yassen said quickly, before Alex could continue. It effectively stopped him. “If you run, I will catch you. And then I will hurt you, and you will be in the same position regardless.”
Alex began shaking his head. “No. No….”
“Shhh…” The sound was soothing, and Yassen closed the distance between them. “Do as I say and you will not be harmed.” He took hold of Alex’s wrist and began to wind the rope around it, then the other. It was knotted and then wound around Alex’s back, over his neck…. His breath hitched at that part, and Yassen paused, his hands resting at Alex’s collarbone. “I’m going to put you in the boot until we've crossed the border.” He had to look down while standing this close to Alex. “If you make any sound or otherwise attract attention to yourself, I will be forced to harm you, and many people will die. Do you understand?”
Alex swallowed and nodded.
Yassen must have taken that to be good enough, because he continued tying the rope, then led Alex to the boot of the car. He climbed in awkwardly, and Yassen tied the rest of the rope around his knees and ankles. When he was finished, Alex could barely move an inch. He stared up at the man, trying to will down the fear surfacing at what was about to happen. Yassen did not seem concerned for him, tied up and squeezed into a small space. Worse, there was a thick role of tape in the boot, and Yassen wrapped a strip of it around Alex’s mouth, over the back of his neck, and around again several times. Alex was beginning to get angry. Claustrophobia seeped into his stomach. Yassen must have noticed Alex glaring by the time he’d finished.
“Remember what I said.” With that, he shut the boot and Alex’s world went dark. Muffled voices came from the front of the car, and soon the world was moving underneath him. Rolling roughly over the dirt road until they were back on track toward Germany. Fear began to take over again.
The world inside the cramped boot of the little Swiss car was pitch black until Alex’s eyes adjusted. Then he could only slightly make out shapes and the dimensions of the space. They bumped along for about ten minutes and then slowed down. Alex knew they had to have reached the border crossing. They must have been in a line of cars waiting to go through, judging from the way the car moved would drive a little bit then stopped for a few moments before moving on again. Eventually Alex heard muffled voices from the outside. Yassen and Dylan, he couldn’t tell which, were talking to someone.
He tried to twist around, but could barely move. He tried rocking his body back and forth, seeing if that would help. It didn’t. He rolled onto his back, hands trapped uncomfortably underneath him, when something sharp jabbed into his arm. He hissed and pulled away at first, thinking that he might have injured himself more than he had. Then he moved back, feeling for what had cut him. A piece of the cloth in the back of the boot had been ripped at some point in this car’s life, and a metal piece of the undercarriage was sticking up. Alex’s heart leapt.
Quickly, he repositioned himself and squirmed further back into the dark, searching awkwardly for the piece with his hands trapped behind him. When he found it, he almost cut his fingers. He set the rope that held his hands together around it and began sawing. It was tricky and he was cutting himself whenever the metal went too far, but in a short time his wrists were free. He didn’t wait. He reached for the knots around his neck and back, but he couldn’t undo them. He pried his arms mostly free of the restraint and left the rest of his torso in favour of his feet. There he used the jagged edge again. It took forever, but apparently forever wasn’t long enough for them to have crossed the border. In reality, Alex estimated that only about five minutes had passed, but he was caught in that horrible moment of a glimmer of hope sprung from utter hopelessness.
He crouched in the small space, unsure how to proceed further. He couldn’t open the boot from the inside. He couldn’t make noise to alert anyone outside, Dylan would likely be the first to hear it if he was still in the backseat, and would quickly inform Yassen or attempt to cover it up. Alex felt around for inspiration. Besides the tape, which he struggled to pull off his face, there was nothing else in the boot with him. He felt the mounds indented at either side, each with a tire resting underneath. He felt along the roof. He found panelling that covered the tail lights. He froze. Then he began to move again, hurriedly this time, ripping at that panelling until he found plastic pegs that he could pry free in order to remove it. Once it was off, or mostly off, all that remained were the light bulbs and coloured plastic that he easily kicked through. Daylight poured into the boot, and though the hole he had made was far too small for him to fit through, he felt like he was already up and running. He looked out and could see a line of cars behind theirs and the side of a stand at the edge of the road. Their car began pulling away before he was ready, but Alex reached an arm through the tail light and began frantically waving .
It took a few seconds, a minute maybe, but it felt much longer in Alex’s heightened state of mind before he heard voices. They were loud and there were several of them coming from behind the car He knew then that his signal had worked. Someone had seen him. Someone was coming for him. They were in a public place, and that was the best Alex could hope for.
Their car took off. Yassen gunned the gas so suddenly that Alex was thrown forward into the wall of the boot, almost twisting his arm badly. He cried out. Pieces of the taillight were cutting into his skin and he couldn’t stop it. He could feel blood trickling down his arm, but he kept it out, still waving, heart racing.
Their car was picking up speed and then suddenly turning. Alex was thrown the other way, and once again broken plastic ripped into his skin. He made a pained screech and tears formed in the corners of his eyes. It felt like having an animal tearing at his flesh and he had to fight back the pain.
They drove erratically for a moment and then raced on at a steady pace. Finally, Alex brought his hand in and cradled it to his chest. They’d seen him; that was what counted. He curled himself around the bloody arm -it hurt like hell - but once again was tossed back down when the car took a spinning turn. He had only been able to get to his knees in the small space, but after that he remained curled up on his side, hoping that he wouldn’t be thrown the next time.
Tyres squealed. The car careened again and hit something hard, might’ve been a curb, but drove on and over it. After one long spin that made Alex’s gut clench terribly, they came to a stop. Doors slammed outside. Voices sounded. Shouts. Then suddenly, gunfire.
After the first spray of bullets, shots sounded endlessly around them. Alex ducked his head in fear. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t hide, and if Dylan and Yassen were using the car as a barricade, bullets were going to be slamming into it for sure. He heard himself cry out whenever they sounded too loud or too close. He looked out of the hole he’d made, but couldn't see much but the lower half of a second car behind them. He swallowed hard. The car had the logo of the border police on its door . He could just make out a pair of legs behind its bumper. There were men crouched behind it, taking shots at the front portion of Alex’s car. Yassen and Dylan must have been doing the same, and they must have been better armed too, because when a spray of bullets landed in the border car, its metal body all but peeled away.
There was a scream and the sound of a body dropping. More shouting in German. Then silence. It stretched out over everything. The scene outside had become absolutely still. Somewhere in the other car, a radio buzzed. Someone groaned. It was so soft.
Heavy footfalls, clad in boots that Alex recognized as Yassen’s, entered his sight. Yassen’s legs made their way to the German car and its former passengers. Alex breathed quietly as he watched, not knowing what to expect. Yassen stepped over one body, avoided a long spatter of blood along the ground, and stopped behind the car where a second body lay. Even when he pressed his face closer to the hole in the boot Alex couldn’t see anything but the part of that body on the ground. The other car was blocking Yassen’s body, but Alex could see his boots on the ground beside the man lying there. Another small groan sounded softly, and then a single gunshot broke the silence, making Alex’s whole body jump just like the figure lying at Yassen’s feet upon the impact of that bullet. Everything went quiet after that.
Yassen stalked back toward their car. Realising his attention was on the boot, Alex shrank back into the deepest part, suddenly frightened. The door flew up and light flooded in around him. He had no chance to get his bearings as Yassen, furious, took hold of him by the cloth of his shirt and hauled him out of the boot. He gave a short cry and was thrown to the ground, hard.
He could see now that they were in an alley, surrounded on all four sides by brick buildings. Alex couoldn't see the road they’d been on before nor which direction they had come from. He crawled on his knees through the gravel, away from Yassen until one of those heavy boots landed on the small of his back, driving him down into the dirt. Some kind of startled cry escaped his throat and his fingers clawed at the ground ahead of him. He could have been free. Rescue had been on its way. And now they were dead and he was caught out.
The weight lifted off his back and he was dragged up to standing height. Suddenly Yassen’s hand was in his hair, pulling so hard his eyes watered, and his mouth was pressed to Alex’s temple.
“You remember what I told you?” Yassen asked, coarsely. “Do you?”
Alex had to catch his breath. “Yes.”
His arms were twisted behind him and he was thrown back into the car. Yassen hurried in after him and cuffed Alex’s wrists around the passenger arm rest. Dylan was already in the backseat. He didn’t look very good. They tore out of the alley as fast as possible.
Yassen didn’t take them out onto any of the main roads again, which in their current area, was fairly difficult and slow going. Dylan hadn’t been hurt in the crossfire, but he now held a haunted look in the set of his eyes and his skin had gone pallid all over. Yassen just looked angry, and was as silent as ever. Alex couldn't see any of the guns he now knew they had, but the duffel bag had moved to the seat beside Dylan in the back. There was a delayed threat hanging in the air as they drove. To Yassen and Dylan, the threat was in the authorities on their trail. To Alex, it was all in the man next to him, whose hands gripped white on the wheel and whose focus was fixed out the windshield.
They continued like that for most of the day, hugging the French border and only stopping for gas. By nightfall, they were a good way north in Germany.
They would have been much further had they not had to spend so much time avoiding well-trafficked areas. Alex had stopped wishing he could see more of the country as he had with Italy and Switzerland. By now all he wanted was the trip to end.
They pulled into a guest house outside a small village about an hour after Dylan fell asleep. He was awoken again only when Yassen shut off the engine.
Alex had seen the Inn from the road, but Dylan seemed confused at first, as Yassen parked the car far down a dark side-road. Besides the police most likely being on the lookout for them, there were also now bullet holes complimenting the paint. Dylan followed them, still without conversation, when Yassen uncuffed Alex from the door and led them back to the house.
Alex walked with his head down. He’d settled back into a quiet state of dread. His arm had stopped bleeding long ago, but the sleeve of his shirt was torn and much of the blood had seeped through. At least it was black.
They sent Dylan in to enquire about getting a room for the night. Yassen wouldn’t allow Alex into the presence of a house manager, and he also refused to leave him alone outside. Dylan wasn’t gone long. After he'd come back out and confirmed that they could stay overnight, Yassen sent him back in alone.
“Get some sleep,” he said, “I will return later.”
The look on Dylan’s face as they left him was unreadable, almost like he was worried, almost like he didn’t want to know, and most curious of all…almost like he was angry.
Yassen re-cuffed Alex and walked him back to the car. Other than the inn, Alex didn’t think there was another house for miles. His anxiety had reached a peak long before they'd reached the vehicle.
He was made to walk in front of Yassen, but he doubted that he'd have been able to gauge the man’s thoughts, even if he could have seen his face. But Alex was still caught by surprise when he was pushed to the ground. He landed badly, scraping his arms and the palms of his hands on the dirt where he fell, but he turned over and tried to back up. Yassen didn't seem concerned with him for now. He had unlocked the car and was digging around inside it. He came out with a lighter, a pack of cigarettes, and a gun.
Alex thought about pleading for his life then, but he didn't know what to say. He felt trapped, frozen on the ground in the knowledge that if he ran, Yassen would shoot him in the leg. Or maybe right in his back and be done with him.
Yassen came back to Alex and crouched down in front of him, knees bent, resting on his feet. Calmly, he laid the gun between them, and then lit a cigarette. Alex could have gone for the gun if he were so inclined. He felt the temptation, but he didn’t move.
Yassen’s cigarette glowed bright red in the darkness. The air was chilly and his breath and the smoke combined to rise up into the air in a white mist. Alex could have likened him to a dragon then, waiting, with fire-breath controlled, for his moment to attack. His gaze was about as malevolent as one.
“So Alex,” he said. “What did I say I would do if you tried to escape?”
“No,” Alex whispered. His heart was pounding so loud that it was probably giving him away.
“I made you a promise Alex. I’m going to keep it.” He took the cigarette from his mouth after a long pull. He looked so relaxed, like he was somehow consuming serenity from every drag.
Alex shifted away when Yassen reached for him, but he was caught by the hair and pulled into Yassen’s grip. One of the man’s hands wrapped around his throat.
“No…” Alex whispered again, quickly before his breath had a chance to be cut off. His body went stiff and he struggled for a brief moment before he managed to regain control of himself. He thought about screaming. There was no way anyone would hear him out here.
“Shhh.” Yassen’s voice was almost tender. Alex had never thought of him as an assassin more acutely than he did in that moment. “Every man or woman employed under Scorpia is trained to torture,” he continued. “You know this, Alex.”
Alex took a breath and then ground his teeth together, wanting to respond but not wanting to give Yassen the satisfaction. He was up on his knees, back impossibly straight, arms dangling uselessly in the cuffs. If Yassen wanted to feel the satisfaction of control over Alex then he certainly wasn’t in a position to prevent that. The hand around his neck tightened.
“We are also trained to withstand certain amounts of torture,” Yassen went on while Alex felt the air slowly stop flowing into his lungs. Fists clenched, he waited, trying not to fight, not to cry out, not to struggle. “I am aware that MI6 has never seen fit to train you in this manner.” Yassen’s words were barely a whisper. “That is unfortunate.”
Now he really couldn’t breathe. Yassen’s hand was far too tight. It hurt, felt like he was crushing Alex’s windpipe. He screwed his eyes shut, fighting the need to gasp for air. His body tried to jerk out of Yassen’s grip; Alex couldn’t help it. What composure he had fell away as he began fighting for real. Yassen gripped him tighter, pulling an arm around Alex’s middle. The restraint only made Alex's instinct to resist stronger. As he thrashed, Yassen tipped him backward onto the cold ground.
The assassin loomed over Alex. The hand at his throat was feeling more like a knife now, cutting air out of him. Yassen must have known how frightening being in a hold like that had to be, for anyone much less a boy, barely a teenager. Alex’s back was on the ground and he couldn't stop himself from jerking around wildly, Yassen above him, crouching between his knees. Alex did everything he could to kick the man away, but he couldn’t get any leverage, couldn’t pry even a knee between himself and the killer. He was full out panicking by the time Yassen let him go. Alex fell back against the dirt instantly, bound hands going straight to his throat and he found that he couldn’t speak. He could barely remember how to breathe on his own. The sounds that came out of his mouth were pitiful, broken rasps.
Smoke curled into his nose and he coughed. If he had thought that his throat hurt before, coughing made it a hundred times worse. Yassen had found his cigarette again. He sat looking down at Alex, legs still splayed out on either side of the assassin. He hadn’t moved away when he’d let go, and Alex knew that was a bad sign.
“Please…stop.” Alex tried to speak; it came out more like a croak.
“Alex….” Yassen carded a hand through his hair. “You will try to escape again without good enough incentive. I know you.”
He flicked ash to the ground, and Alex caught a glimpse of the gun lying just behind Yassen’s boots before his attention shot back to the cigarette in Yassen’s hand, because Yassen was suddenly leaning down over Alex, and hovering the glowing end over his stomach, trailing slowly up his midsection.
“Please….” Alex’s voice came out in a terrible whine. “I won’t….” He’d stopped thinking of Yassen as the man he’d met atop Sayle’s tower, the man who’d known his father, the man who’d saved his life, several times. Right now all he could think was how to get out of this situation, how to convince Yassen to let him go. Alex grasped for words that would sway him, but there was nothing he could think of. Talking about John Rider would be transparent, and Alex was still too stubborn to plead with his father’s memory.
He trembled when Yassen bent closer. “I am sorry, Alex.” His name rolled off of Yassen’s tongue as though it were a word he could savour. “But this is something you need to learn.”
Yassen took hold of one of Alex’s wrists, just below the cuff. Alex tried to pull back to himself immediately, but Yassen was too strong. He held tight and brought the inside of the arm to his lips. Alex gasped in surprise when Yassen opened his mouth and sucked at the top of his forearm. Something foreign coiled in his stomach and he was too high on anxiety and adrenaline to make sense of the feeling. With one final lick, Yassen pulled back and drove the cigarette into Alex’s arm. Alex screamed before he even knew what was happening. It was searing hot where Yassen’s mouth had been a moment before, burning into him.
Alex's scream trailed off into a whimper and he pulled his arms back to himself, his whole body rocking. A fiery red circle stood out on his skin, and it burned.
Their gazes met. Alex stared up at the assassin in confusion; he was shaking, his stomach was doing flip-flops, and his eyes were watery from the pain.
Yassen ran his tongue over his bottom lip. When he reached for the gun, Alex devolved back into panic mode.
“I didn’t think you would last very long,” Yassen observed, affirming his assumption. “I would say that over half the people I’ve killed in my life did not deserve to die,” he continued, holding Alex still underneath him with his weight and a grip in Alex’s hair. “You do not think you deserve to die, do you?”
The heavy pistol was situated under Alex’s jaw, digging in sharply, forcing his face up to look at Yassen. His pulse was racing, his mind had gone blank; he stared into Yassen’s eyes, and it was then that the lizard part of Alex’s brain took over.
“Yaa… Yassen,” Alex heard himself speaking. “Help me.” His voice had come down a notch, with a throaty quality to it. “Please help me.” His eyelids lowered until he could only see the man through heavy lashes. He licked his lips, long and slow. He didn’t know what he was saying. It was imperative that he appeal to Yassen somehow, any way that he could. “I need you.”
His hands reached out and twisted themselves into Yassen’s shirt. Alex leaned into him as far as he could with Yassen still holding him by the hair, and when that wasn’t far enough he tried pulling Yassen down to him. “Need you to help me…pleaseplease, help me…needyou….”
A small part of Alex was surprised at himself, but most of him was in far too much danger to care. Only one thing mattered: that Yassen decide not to kill him. Alex’s body was determining for him exactly how to accomplish that. He was rising up, lifting himself off the ground, rubbing against Yassen, searching for that bit of strange intimacy he’d seen in the man earlier.
And it was working. Yassen had stopped what he was doing. His head cocked almost imperceptibly to one side while Alex pleaded. His grip loosened.
One message broadcast clearly in Alex’s mind: ‘My life is in your hands. Please don’t destroy it.’
Yassen allowed it when Alex pulled him down, so close their torsos were pressed together. Alex wanted him to feel his heartbeat, wanted Yassen to sympathize, literally. He couldn’t think straight.
He heard the gun fall, deposited onto the dirt somewhere above Alex’s head, and then Yassen’s hands were back in his hair, both of them this time, and the man was looking down at him with an actual, real expression.
“You’re so much like your father,” Yassen said softly, “and so very not.” His mouth was on Alex’s neck then, and Alex’s pulse raced under it. One hand petted softly at his hair, and the other ran down his abdomen, both surprisingly gentle after what they’d been doing only moments ago. Alex’s mind reeled.
To his further surprise, he was calming down. His heartrate was slowing, and he didn’t want to move away. Yassen’s hands, and his mouth on Alex’s skin, were soothing. Strange. But soothing.
Suddenly hesitant, Alex reached up to touch the man over him. He wondered whether Yassen would allow it, Alex’s fingers gliding over his neck, if it would be okay to touch him. Alex wasn’t reprimanded when he did it, but Yassen did pause, and then let go of him. Alex watched him sit back while he remained splayed out on the ground, too dazed, surprised, and sore to move yet. He got the impression that Yassen might have been a little surprised himself when he climbed to his feet, and then helped Alex up. Unexpectedly catching a glimpse, he could see that the man’s trousers had become too tight, which made his cheeks colour. Whatever he had done, his situation had completely reversed itself since they had arrived out there.
Without a word to Alex, Yassen picked up his gun and slipped it under the belt in the back of his trousers. He led the way back to the guest house in silence. The long walk was surreal, at best.
That night, Alex learned Dylan played the piano beautifully. They entered the guest house looking quite beaten and a bit dazed to encounter a melodic tune drifting through the air, winning over the few guests who had stayed up late to mingle. He could see Dylan at the house piano in a corner across from the lounge. Most of the guests seemed to be enjoying it, but Yassen disregarded him altogether and took Alex to their room.
They didn’t speak of what had happened, nor had almost happened, for the rest of the night.
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