By CLARE LONDON (18 page)

“She’s still a Medina,” I said and wished immediately I hadn’t spoken it aloud.

His eyes had darkened. “No more talking,” he said, and I could feel his breath, coarse on my cheek. As he turned away, his hip brushed against mine. His sweats were tented at the groin. But nothing was going to happen between us, I was sure of that. Not yet.

I retrieved my socks, which were scrunched up in two small piles by the front door. My boots were cold and still slightly damp, but I pulled them on regardless. Seve had followed me into the hallway, his arms held out from his sides as if he weren’t quite sure what to do with them. As I straightened up, he nudged against me and slid a hand back around my waist. I didn’t protest; in fact, I instinctively leaned into him. But when he ran his hand around to the front of my jeans and reached for the button, I flinched.

“Max….”

“No,” I said. “No way.” I laughed shakily. “My damn arse is so sore, I’ll be walking into work like John Wayne. I don’t want to have to explain that to my very lusty, very hetero mates, you know?”

It was another of my weak jokes, but Seve took note. That was another surprise. He lifted his hands off me and leaned in for a kiss instead. I wasn’t going to begrudge him that, was I? It was a long, hard kiss, and his tongue delved deeply into my mouth. I could feel both our hearts hammering against my chest. Then he pulled his mouth away, trailing saliva as a thin silver thread between our lips.

“You taste so good, Max. I’m going to shower now. How about joining me?”

My head swam. What a vision that conjured up! I was mad to refuse him, my dick said. Get back to the flat, my head counseled. Either way, I was a mess of thrill and panic. “I… no, Seve. I’m going.”

He nodded and his cheeks looked pinker than before. “Max, you’ll remember what I said, won’t you?”

“Of course I bloody well will.”

“I mean….” He seemed unsure too. “About me and you. I don’t say that sort of thing every day, that… about meeting you. Wanting you.”

“I know,” I replied. “I understand.” And I thought I did.

“Go, then. It’s fine. I’ll see you again soon.”

I paused at the door. I felt I had to say something else, because I wasn’t sure where I’d last left my confused, anguished thoughts. Somewhere inside the crotch of my jeans, and that wasn’t necessarily the right place at the moment. “Seve, I will find out what’s going on.”

“So will I. Trust me.”

Did I? His smile was tight and the glint in his eyes made my mouth dry. He was very assured, very calm. And so fucking handsome. “You….” This was going to sound bloody ridiculous. “Seve, you will be careful, won’t you?”

He laughed. “You’re being melodramatic again, Max. Of course I will! But can’t you stay longer? Let’s have another coffee.” Let’s go back to bed, came the subtext in the sparkling eyes.

I could feel my traitorous body responding to him again. I mustered up a grin, evaded his outstretched hand before it reached me, and I left the flat. He shut the door quietly behind me.

The lift crawled all the way down to the lobby. I imagined I could smell Seve’s seed in the claustrophobic air of it—a heady, erotic memory. I strode out of the building as confidently as I could and made my way back down onto the promenade. My journey back on the bus wasn’t going to be quite as comfortable as in Seve’s car, but that was a good thing for me at the moment. I sat in a seat at the back for the few stops to Kemptown, just letting my mind empty. The town was filling with shoppers on one side of the road and holiday visitors on the seaward side. Delivery vans and courier bikes dodged around the bus on their way to and from local businesses. I’d withdrawn so far that I nearly missed the stop at the bottom of Jack and Louis’s road but rang the bell at the last minute.

I stood looking up their road toward the flat I’d come to call home in the last six months. And then I started to climb the hill. After all, where the hell else did I have to go?

I HEARD Jack and Louis coming back home just as I was trying to fit a final pair of tennis shoes into my bag. I’d washed, body and hair, and dressed in comfortable T-shirt and sweats. I’d called work, had a longer and more awkward conversation with my boss, and chatted with a couple of the other guys who were in the office. Then I’d packed up my pitiful wardrobe and a couple of personal items. I was sure Jack and Louis would let me come back and pick anything else up later.

The guys were earlier than usual—I’d expected to be gone by the time they both came back to the flat. Louis’s work schedules were erratic unless he was on set, but Jack usually worked a full office-hours day. A glance at the clock told me it was only three in the afternoon. I took a deep breath. No problem. I probably owed them for some food this week, anyway, so it was better I settled up before I went. I wondered where I’d left my wallet, and patted around on the bed to find it.

“Max, what the hell are you doing?”

Fuck. Jack at his most assertive, standing in my doorway. Well, the soon-not-to-be-my-doorway. It’d be their spare room again, like it was before I came back and disturbed their life all over. “Don’t make a fuss, Jack. I’ll pay what housekeeping I owe, then I’m on my way. There’s a room going at the same place as one of the guys at work; I can bed down there for the time being. I’ve taken the rest of the day off to get settled in. Eventually I want to look for my own place, but I can’t afford it yet. If it’s okay with you, I’ll come back and collect anything else at the weekend. Or while you’re at work, if you prefer.”

“No, you bloody well won’t.” He looked shocked.

“Look, please, I know I deserve the abuse, but just let me go quietly—”

“Go?”

Now Louis was in the doorway as well. I’d have to be a damn shadow to get out between the pair of them. They had me trapped. Were they looking for some kind of fight?

“You can’t go anywhere yet!” Louis cried. “The food’s already on the table. And I only buy the sticky BBQ sauce ribs for you, neither of us likes them.”

“For God’s sake!” I flushed deeply. “I’m happy to be thrown out, but don’t expect me to eat a hearty meal before I go. Stick the bloody things in a bag and I’ll take them with me, if you’re that anally retentive to care either way.”

“What’s he talking about?” Louis turned to Jack with genuine surprise on his face. “Thrown out?”

“We’re having a late lunch, Max,” Jack said. He seemed to be struggling to keep his voice steady. “All of us together. Did you forget? I swapped shifts with Martin at work so I could leave early.”

Louis nodded vigorously. “Then we’re all going to watch that new sci-fi film like we promised ourselves. Later on, the Vs are expecting us in town for a drink for their birthday. Or birthdays? I never know who or which is celebrating.” Louis was gabbling, startled and bemused, but with me, not the Vs. “Where are you going?”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Jack said. His quiet, firm voice was back, the one I called his “practice” for his future day in court as an expert witness. He planted himself more squarely in the doorway and frowned at me. “You’re not going anywhere, Max. Well, if you really want to, I’ll listen to the reasons. But we’re not throwing you out. Dammit, why would we do that? You’re our friend. We like you here.”

“Jack certainly does. He watches you in the shower, you know,” Louis grumbled.

“Yes, I told you that, didn’t I?” Despite the tension of the moment, Jack smiled mischievously back at him. “And don’t you just rise to the bait every time.” His fingers reached out and ghosted over Louis’s groin.

“Bastard,” Louis said fondly.

There was unambiguous, comfortably familiar lust in their expressions, and I envied them for their devotion—but they still weren’t getting out of my way. “I lied to you,” I said. I’d steeled myself to leave; I wasn’t sure what was happening here. “You had no idea what shit I’d been up to in London, how I fucked up my life. You don’t need the extra hassle. I need to get out of here and sort things out for myself.”

“Shut the hell up, you stupid arse,” Louis announced cheerfully. “We know who you are—of course we bloody well do—and we say that what’s past is past. You’re no different today than you were then.” He narrowed his eyes, looking me up and down. “Well, a bit taller, and with muscle definition I can’t, unfortunately, compete with.” He ignored Jack’s punch to his arm. “Just come and eat and keep us company through the film. Then if you don’t want to come out with the Vs, you can come back here and put all those damn things back in the cupboard, then take an early night so’s I can drag Jack to bed and screw his provocative little brains out.”

“Not so little, you damn bimbo,” Jack growled in response.

I stood there as they moved away from the door and back down to the living room, laughing and gasping dirty little promises that I doubted would wait to be honored until after the film. One of my tennis shoes was still dangling from my hand. I was more than a little stunned, and not just because I knew I’d probably have to move a few rows away from them in the cinema.

Jack reappeared halfway up the stairs, calling up to me. His expression was serious now. “We meant it, Max. We want you to stay. This is your home now.”

“The things I’ve done—”

“Drop it,” he said firmly but not unkindly. “Move on.”

“The thing about running away when Stewart was killed….”

Jack nodded. “Okay, yes, we’ll deal with that, I promise you. But we’ll talk about the best way first.”

I stared at him. I wasn’t going to cry, you know? “Thanks, Jack. To you and Louis.”

“Your life’s good now. You’re sound. In fact, you always were. We’ve just come different routes, Max. And we’ll watch over each other, okay?”

“…but not in the shower!” came a mournful wail from the living room, and with a rueful grin, Jack turned to go back down.

AFTER I’d demolished the ribs with a—not unsurprisingly—healthy appetite, I took the plates out to the kitchen. Jack followed me while Louis darted off to their bedroom to struggle with the eternally thorny question of what to wear for an afternoon in a darkened cinema. Jack picked out some fruit from the bowl on the table, lingering by the counter as I ran hot water to wash up.

“I asked at work about Stewart,” he said. He looked wary, as if he weren’t sure if it would upset me.

“What do you mean?”

“About his death.”

“His murder, you mean.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t…?” It was an instinctive response, and I flushed with shame.

Jack put his hand on my arm. “It’s okay, I understand. And no, I didn’t let anyone know why I was asking. Never mentioned you.”

“What did you find out?” Jack had a bunch of contacts through work, in the police and occasionally the military too. He respected and looked after his sources, and in return, they sometimes helped him out with information.

“Not much. It’s still an open case. I couldn’t get many details because it’s in the Met’s jurisdiction and the police down here have limited access. They’ve been alerted, though, mainly because of the possible connection between the London club and Compulsion opening up down here. It seems the Met are looking for a young kid someone saw loitering in the vicinity on that night, but no luck in finding him so far.”

Baz…. “Do they know about Peck? Is he implicated?”

Jack shook his head. “No one would tell me any more. I didn’t like to mention his name in case someone asked how I knew him. There was less of a problem mentioning Stewart because the attack had been in the national papers, albeit briefly. They did let slip the Met suspects the attack was connected to their investigation into the drug trade around Soho.”

I felt cold, though the flat was warm enough. “But Stewart was nothing to do with the drug trade.”

“No, I know, Max. And no one said he was. But they think he probably got in the way. Apparently he was talking to the police about the situation with the kids. Perhaps someone reckoned he was meddling.”

Was that what they called it? Saving some kids from tire-track arms and cold, sad little deaths? Meddling? “So maybe not just a mugging.” I kept my voice very low. Was this really news to me? Hadn’t I always suspected it myself?

“No, maybe not.” Jack’s voice was tentative. “You okay?”

“I don’t know.” And wasn’t that the truth. “You say they’re investigating the drug trade?”

“Yes.” Jack bit his lower lip. “Look, I know you think the people in charge of the clubs—”

“The Medina family.”

“Okay, yes, I know you think the Medinas are getting away with it, but the police aren’t stupid. They’ll have a watch on the clubs, and they probably have suspicions where it’s all coming from.”

“But Peck’s still on the loose. No one’s been caught for Stewart’s murder.”

“Max, give them a chance. Perhaps they don’t have enough evidence yet to arrest anyone.”

“You said they were looking into the connection between the clubs—”

“Only a possible connection. You don’t know that the same’s happening here—or that Seve’s involved.”

“I don’t know he’s not.”

Jack’s voice sharpened. “Listen to yourself, Max. You won’t give anyone a chance, not even yourself.”

“You don’t believe me?”

Jack’s hand tightened. “Of course I bloody do! Don’t you dare turn this on me. And I don’t know any different, not for certain. But if you’re that sure you know who’s behind it all….”

He didn’t need to finish that accusation. I was the one who’d turned tail and run away from it all. I was the one who might have evidence that could help settle things, and I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. Sorry for the argument, sorry for the lies, sorry I wasn’t brave enough yet to turn myself in. Sorry for me.

“There’s always Crimestoppers,” Jack said. “You can call in anonymously. Give your information over the phone.”

“I will think about it,” I said. “I promise.”

“It’s for your own peace of mind, Max, not mine.” Jack sighed. “Is the kid they’re after the same one you knew?”

“It sounds like it might be.” Baz had been the most difficult to reach, the one with the least hope. My gang had tried to keep him protected from others and from himself, but who knew where he was now? And why the hell did I care, when he’d killed my friend and mentor? I had a sudden, vivid memory of Stewart, his voice, his smile, his arms full of those bloody files that he had to carry around with him almost all the time, just trying to keep up with his workload. And then the skinny body pushing up against us, the shock blindsiding me, the kid turning toward Stewart. The glint of a knife, the grunt of surprised pain….