They hid in the closet, huddled together as the sounds of breaking glass and gunfire exploded above them. Tray moved closer to Josh and grasped his shirt with thin fingers. Josh wrapped an arm around him, trying to sooth his fears.

What was going on up there? Was someone finally here to rescue them or had one of his clients been dissatisfied with his offerings?

Please let it be someone here to rescue us. Please let it be someone to finally get them out of this hell hole they'd been trapped in for months.

Mitch jiggled the door handle, but it wouldn't open. They were locked in, forced to hide in the dirty, dark closet while the man who'd kidnapped them fought off whoever had barged in.

"What if they don't kill him?" Tray whispered. "You should stop, Mitch. God knows what he'll do to us if he hears it."

"Stop! FBI," someone shouted from upstairs and Tray almost laughed out loud in relief.

Even though Tray couldn't see him, he could sense Josh's smile as he tilted his head up to the noise above them. "It's all right, Tray. Let him make as much noise as he wants. We've been found, it's time that son of a bitch got what he deserved," Josh said as his arm tightened around Tray.

Josh was usually the quiet one. That was probably the most Tray had heard him say at one time since they'd been here. Josh was so different from the other boys the monster had taken. He was tall with wide shoulders like a football player. He was stocky and strong. At first he'd put up a fight, but over time that fight had diminished; just like it had in all of them.

Josh was always Tray's protector, taking the beatings that would otherwise go to Tray. Mitch was the angry one, the one constantly plotting his escape. Tray just wanted to go home, forget the monster ever existed. He'd forced them to do things that would haunt Tray for a long time. Probably all of them.

The sounds above them grew louder. Tray put his hands over his ears as the angry shouts turned to gunfire. Then suddenly, silence. The three of them listened, their breathing the only sound in the darkness. Was it over? Had they gotten him?

"Somebody get that son of a bitch," a man snapped.

Footsteps shook the floor above as the three of them waited in tense silence. What was happening? Had they gotten him?

"We've got a dead body," he heard one of the officers say.

Tray's heart sank. He knew who they were talking about. One of the other boys that had been here longer than them had killed himself and apparently the kidnapper hadn't yet disposed of the body.

If only the boy had waited one more day, if only he'd been strong enough. Tray didn't even know his name. He'd been kept separate from them, alone, unable to talk to anyone. At least they had each other. That boy had had no one.

Footsteps came down the stairs and Tray stiffened. It was more than one, so he knew it couldn't be the man who'd kidnapped them, but still the sound filled his heart with fear.

"We're here!" Mitch shouted as he pounded against the door with his palm. "We're here!"

Someone threw the door open and light flooded the small space of the closet. Tray squinted his eyes closed against the light shining in their faces.

"It's all right boys," the man said as he lowered the flashlight.

Tray opened his eyes and stared into the concerned face of a male police officer. The cool wind of the basement hit his bare chest, and he shivered, cowering close to Josh for warmth. Even though the policeman stood just a few feet away; his savior, his freedom within his grasp, it took Tray a second to realize the truth.

"Can I go home now? Is he dead?" Tray asked.

The officer swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, son. He's dead."

Tray took a deep, shaking breath and pushed away from Josh. He followed Mitch as he hesitantly stepped from the closet. Tray didn't miss the way his gaze strayed to the steps, as though he expected the monster to jump out at any moment.

Josh stood as well, but had to duck his head to keep from hitting the rod just above them. Hangers clanged against the back wall, and he grabbed them out of habit to keep them silent.

"It's okay, Josh," Tray said. "He's dead now."

Josh smiled slightly at Tray and let the hangers go, allowing them to bang against the wall, allowing them to make as much noise as they wanted. Tray smiled back and moved so that Josh could step into the room. He had no idea how long they'd been there; how long that man had kept them hidden. He'd stopped counting at three months.

"How long have you boys been here?" the officer asked.

"We don't know, but we were taken about the same time," Mitch replied.

"Do you remember the date you were taken?"

"Yes." Mitch said. "It's a date I'll never forget. July seventh."

The officer nodded and touched his arm. Mitch jerked it away and rubbed at it, watching the officer warily. The officer seemed to understand and took a step back, his eyes full of sympathy. "Then you've been here almost nine months."

"Nine months," Josh whispered.

"Let's get you boys to the hospital and get you checked out, then we can call your parents."

The officer waved his hand toward the stairs but was careful not to touch any of them. Tray was grateful. The thought of another adult male touching him made his stomach churn.

There would be no more of that, thank God. No more violations, no more doing things that made him sick to his stomach. He wasn't stupid. He knew why he'd been chosen. He was taken for the same reason the others had been.

He believed them to be homosexual.

Tray knew he was. He'd known even before this, but Josh fought it. Josh refused to accept, primarily because of his father and his blind prejudice against gays. Mitch... He glanced over his shoulder at Mitch. Him he wasn't sure about.

None of it really mattered anyway. The nightmare was finally over.

Chapter One

Mitch Connelly checked his bullet proof vest one final time and tightened the grip on his gun as they prepared to enter the house. Nine months of investigation, and they finally had him. Another child molester would be off the streets thanks to the hard work of his FBI teammates.

His heart rate increased as the tension built. This was what he lived for; this was what he'd spent his whole adult life working toward--taking down every last one of these sick sons of bitches.

"We're ready," his partner said into his ear piece.

Mitch adjusted it slightly. "Then let's do it. Three, two... now."

He and his team rushed toward the run-down house. There wasn't anything special about it, nothing to draw attention. It looked like every other house on the inner city block, but that's why the pedophile had chosen it. No one in this neighborhood paid attention to their neighbors. Don't get involved; words to live by here, and this monster took full advantage of that, keeping young boys hidden in his home, prostituting them out to anyone who would pay to abuse them.

Mitch's fingers tightened around the trigger as he fought hard to keep from screaming. These raids always brought back memories of those months in captivity when he was sixteen. He thought often of Josh and Tray, knowing if he hadn't had them with him at the time, he'd have gone insane.

Two of the officers kicked down the door and rushed inside, shouting as they went. "FBI!"

They went from room to room, checking closets and under beds. The house appeared to be empty.

Damn.

"All clear," he snarled.

With a tired sigh, he dragged his hand through his hair. It looked as though he'd been gone for a while. They'd been so close. The snitch so sure the man would be here today. Where the hell was he?

"Check the basement," Mitch ordered.

A pang of familiarity clenched his stomach. Something about this place, about the things in it, seemed familiar to him. He shook his head, forcing the thoughts aside.

Get a grip. It's just bad memories, that's all. Nothing more.

"Mitch!" his partner called from the basement. "You better get down here."

Mitch found the stairs but stopped a fourth of the way down. The smell of the dank basement hit him in the face, forcing him to stop. He knew that smell. It was the same smell he'd been forced to live with while in his own hell.

All basements smell this way. You're being ridiculous.

Forcing himself to move on, he bounded down the rest of the stairs, mentally preparing himself for what he might find.

"You need to check this out," his partner said as he studied a large bulletin board hanging on the wall.

As he walked past a small dresser, he spotted a white t-shirt lying on top. The blood stains had long dried, but the image would forever be engraved in his mind. How old was the boy it belonged to? Was he still alive?

He put on a rubber glove and gingerly picked up the shirt. He handed it to one of the CSI team now combing the basement. "Have forensics type this. See if they can find a match with one of the parents of the missing boys. See if we can get his identity."

The officer nodded and placed it into a bag. Mitch continued on to his partner.

"What is it?" Mitch asked as he stood next to him and stared at the board.

It was a collage of pictures; some older, some recent. One in particular caught his attention, and he stared at it in shock. He reached out, pulling it from the board.

"What the hell?" he mumbled as he stared at a picture of himself.

He glanced back at the board, studying each of them. There were several of him taken over the last fifteen years or so. There were also pictures of Josh and Tray. He swallowed as trepidation worked its way up his spine.

"What the hell is this guy doing with pictures of you?" his partner asked.

Mitch looked helplessly at Steven, wondering the same thing. He turned to really look at the room; something he hadn't done earlier for fear of the memories it would bring back. Now that he really looked, he began to see the similarities.

The single cots, the handcuffs, the variety of sexual toys littering the floor that were used more for punishment than pleasure. There had been no pleasure found here; only pain, humiliation, and shame.

Even the erotic pictures on the wall and the cameras set up in the corners were the same.

"Oh, my God," Mitch sighed.

"Mitch," Steven called, but he couldn't answer. He could only stare in shock as fear made him feel sick to his stomach.

"He's not dead."