By CLARE LONDON (19 page)

“Max?”

I nodded to him. I couldn’t trust words.

“Don’t let it get to you again. You’re building something for yourself here and now. I know life can be shit, but you can turn it around. You already have!”

After the night I’d told them about my time in London, Jack and Louis had never really quizzed me further. They’d never pushed me for details, never judged me. Just accepted it. After their initial suspicion, they’d never harassed me about Seve either. They were the good guys. “Okay,” I said. The voice that came from my mouth was strange and echoed in the kitchen. “Sure. As if I’d want to lose myself back to that now, eh?”

As if….

IT HAD been just a week since I’d nearly left the flat. Things had settled back well between the three of us, and I’d finally convinced myself that the guys genuinely didn’t despise me for my aberrant life over the last couple of years. I mean, I despised myself, but that was another matter.

And I hadn’t seen Severino Nuñez since I left his flat in Sussex Square a week ago. I hadn’t deliberately avoided going out, but I’d taken on some late shifts at the site to make up for the time I lost when I was off injured, plus Seve had said he was going to see his mother—I didn’t know how far away she lived, or if he was back yet. Besides, I had plenty of things to think about on my own.

It was also Friday and Louis’s birthday, always an excuse for a big celebration. Jack had a party planned for Saturday night, but tonight they’d invited the usual gang around for drinks. The evening went well, but my heart wasn’t in it. I spent most of the time in the kitchen, dishing out drinks and keeping Bryan plied with food. Even the Vs didn’t venture to tease me like they usually did. Must have been something in my expression.

I made my excuses relatively early and went up to my room, but I couldn’t sleep. I listened as Bryan trotted back and forth to the kitchen, asking in an overloud voice where the cheese was. Then Harry stood in the hallway, belched really loudly, laughed, and left with a slam of the door. The Vs were singing as they left shortly after him. It sounded like selections from ABBA, but they hadn’t quite mastered the harmonies. Last of all, there was a lot of clattering of crockery in the kitchen, then sniggering and stumbling into the wall as Jack and Louis made their way to bed.

They were the good guys, hadn’t I always said? I didn’t begrudge them a single second of their blissful, lust-filled love, and I hoped the rest of the immediate neighbors didn’t either, because a couple of Louis’s yells had a fine resonance that could probably be heard miles away. But when the thumping of their bed finally ceased and I was still restless, I got up and went downstairs to make a hot drink.

I sat in the semidarkness of the living room and watched my DVD of The Lavender Hill Mob on low sound and in all its black-and-white glory—always irresistible, whatever my mood—and I thanked whatever God there might be for my friends and their easy, supportive friendship, without which I’d have been lost. When I finished the drink and the end credits started to roll, I started to feel drowsy again… and, well, I couldn’t help myself. I slid a warm hand into my sleep shorts and fondled my dick. To help me sleep, I reasoned. But if I were honest, it was to soothe the vision of Seve Nuñez that disturbed my every waking thought. It was affecting my sleep as well. Seven days since I’d last seen him. Seven nights….

I shut my eyes, seeing him in my mind, laid out in his bed beside me that morning—the naked, sleep-warmed skin, the dips and peaks of his back and buttocks. The supple movement of his body as the muscles bunched and lifted him up to lean over me. The wicked glint in his eye. The moist sheen on his lips as they nipped at my mouth, and the harsh knee between my thighs, pushing them apart. The smell of him—his cologne, his hair, his sweat, his flesh….

I started to pump myself a little harder. I ached from deep inside. I didn’t know an ache could be so fucking deep. His vision smiled at me, eyes alight with desire. I imagined I could feel his soft dark hair on my face, and my free hand curled instinctively into a shape to grip his shoulder. His thighs were pressed on mine, the hairs on his legs tickling my balls. His voice murmured to me and his tongue licked seductively at my neck. I felt a twinge from the tooth marks in my shoulder, a souvenir of our last time together. I was panting and my hand flew up and down my cock. The agony cried for relief.

I licked the fingers of my free hand and slid it down under my arse, probing for my entrance. It felt hot and oversensitive as I slid a finger in. I teased as I stroked my cock, and I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer. Seve—or his hallucination—was grinning at my desperation, relishing the fact he was responsible for my collapse. Seve’s voice hissed crude words in my ear; Seve’s hands were guiding my hands; Seve’s cock was warm and thick and oozing precome on my thigh, and it was nudging at my hole, demanding to come in—

I came then, with a gulp and a quickly swallowed sob. My body arched up off the couch and the come pumped out of me and over my hand. My climax was so intense that the TV screen blurred in front of me and tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes. My limbs shook and I sank back down on the cushions. For several minutes I couldn’t hear anything over the deafening hammering of my heart.

I was exhausted and physically sated for the moment. I didn’t want to think about it any further. I mopped most of the mess off me with some of the paper napkins that were still scattered on the table. Then I pulled one of the throws off the armchair over me and slid into a few hours of oblivious sleep.

THE next morning, I was eating a bowl of cereal in the kitchen when Jack sidled in, looking tired and with his hair all over the place. His pajama bottoms were twisted awkwardly at one side and hung low on the hip, a strip of his dark skin peeking over the top. He yawned a greeting to me, hitched up his waistband, and groaned.

I grinned at him. “Hangover?”

He ignored me pointedly, which confirmed it. “You’ve remembered tonight’s party?” he said.

“What about it?”

“Just wanted to check you’re still coming. I mean, with it being at Compulsion.”

“Of course I am,” I replied. I concentrated on keeping my expression steady. “Did Louis get the dance contract?”

Jack’s eyes brightened. “Yes. Great, isn’t it? He’s still keen on his acting, but this means he can earn some money here in Brighton in between TV bookings. He wants to see the guys at the club tonight, share the good news.”

I moved along the counter and put my empty bowl in the sink. “So do you want a coffee, or is that one of those redundant questions?” I turned back, the coffee jar in my hand, to find him peering at me.

“You stayed on the couch last night, Max. Are you having trouble sleeping again?”

I’d forgotten to put the throw back in its place, obviously. “I’m fine. You’re the one looks like something the cat dragged in.”

He blushed and we laughed, though it made him wince. “Okay,” he said. “Just wanted to check. If Seve’s there tonight….”

“That’s fine too,” I said. I was proud of the way my voice sounded almost normal. “You taking Louis breakfast in bed?”

We bustled quietly about the kitchen, fixing orange juice, coffee, lightly browned toast, and plenty of honey for the birthday boy’s favorite breakfast. I was fascinated and amused at Jack’s devotion—I hadn’t celebrated my birthday in any way for years.

Jack reached across the front of me to grab a spoon from the kitchen drawer. “So did you find anything useful at the Jubilee Library?”

“I… what?”

Jack smirked, no other word for it. “We often use the library, and I sent a research student down there yesterday. Suzie’s a local girl, and she told me her friend Will who works there couldn’t stop talking about the fit bloke who’d been in to browse through the newspaper section. Will—and Suzie—gave a very detailed description.”

“Can’t keep a secret from you, can I?” I didn’t know if I was annoyed at being caught out or reassured that Jack had my back.

“It’s only a visit to the library,” Jack said. “Though I think Will is angling for something more.”

I rolled my eyes. I vaguely remembered the man on the desk when I went in—tall, curly blond hair, helpful smile, eyes following me as I searched out newspaper articles over the last year.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Jack was still nosing around, but he was treading carefully too.

“No. Well, I don’t know. I just wanted to read some of the coverage on the Medina Group and London club culture in general. I thought there might be some cross-references between specific clubs and drug busts. Between the Medina Group and the way they’ve been branching out into clubs around the country.”

“And?”

I shrugged. “Nothing much. There were definite accusations against the Medina club in Manchester for drug trade and violence. And alleged stories about London. But there was no coverage on Stewart’s murder, or at least nothing that linked it to the club. The papers reported it as the death of a part-time youth worker, probably killed by one of the addicts who hang around that part of Soho.”

Jack was watching me closely. “And that’s roughly the story.”

I nodded. “Roughly, yeah. But not the whole story.” I sighed. “All the other reports I found just concentrated on the Medina financial results, mostly in import-export businesses.”

“They couldn’t necessarily report any connection even if they suspected it, Max. It’d be libelous unless the management had been charged with something.”

“The police are—or were—interested in investigating the allegations. That’s where the stories were left. You never get the full follow-up on these things in the press, do you?”

Jack made a sympathetic noise, but I think his attention was drifting.

“And, of course, there were plenty of features on Severino Nuñez,” I said wryly. “Rock star charisma, bright graduate, promising businessman, poster boy for gay success. Brighton never had it so good, it seems.” Or he never had Brighton so good.

“Has Seve said anything else about it? About the business in London?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

“Max….”

“I will do it, you know,” I said abruptly.

Jack blinked. “What?”

“I’ll go to the police with what I know. Personally, not anonymously. I owe Stewart that, at least. And not just about Stewart’s murder but about the whole organization.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know about it?”

“More than I ever told anyone.” I poured an orange juice and gulped it back, barely tasting it. “Not everything, of course. But after I got beaten up by Peck the first couple of times, I started to listen in, to keep my eyes open. I reckon I can remember almost all the courier routes, the names on packages, some of the regular visitors to the club—but to the office, not the bar.”

“Jesus, Max.” Jack’s eyes were wide now. “You never said.”

“I know. I didn’t want to….” What? I didn’t want them to know how much I’d collaborated in it all? How I’d pushed the memories far to the back of my mind in denial of what a coward I’d been? How much I still was?

There was silence for a long time. Then there came a call from Louis in their bedroom—he was getting hungry. For what, I didn’t want to guess, but hopefully the toast that Jack had in his hand would suffice for the moment. It effectively broke the tension in the kitchen.

“Go,” I said gently. “We can catch up later.”

Jack looked conflicted. “You promise me, right? Don’t do anything rash, Max. I’ve got some friends in the local force—let me introduce you to them. Yes, they’ll be eager for any leads, I’m sure. But at least I know they’ll treat you properly in return.”

I stared at him. “It could open up all kinds of crap.” For me, I meant.

Silence between us. Another wail from Louis in the background.

“It’ll be okay,” Jack said. “You were the victim. You were at risk and they used you. We’ll make sure they understand that.”

My nod was an automatic, physical gesture. Inside, I felt sick. I was in a shitload of trouble, yet I knew things had to change. I had to make things right, as far as I could.

“And what about Seve?” Jack asked gently.

He was giving both me and Seve the benefit of the doubt. “Perhaps I’ll see him tonight at the club. I’ll… yeah, I’ll speak to him first.”

Jack nodded. “Give him a chance to reassure you if he’s not involved.”

“He doesn’t have much to support that, Jack. It’s his family, his business. His choice.”

“So are you,” Jack said with a sudden burst of heat in his tone. “So are you, remember?”

THE club was packed, even for a Saturday night, but we managed to grab a table when a group of partygoers left for another club. Louis looked fantastic in black latex and a scarlet vest, as outrageous as befitted the star of the celebration. Harry, Bob, and Bryan joined us, and other friends came across to wish Louis well, passing him drinks and joining in the gossip. The temperature rose, the crowds at the bar got tighter, and the music volume increased.

“Bloody head won’t fit through the door after tonight,” Jack growled, watching as his boyfriend air-kissed and hugged people, accepting total adulation as his due. Louis’s face shone with pleasure. His hair showed white blond under the fluorescent lighting, especially vivid against his outfit. As he weaved across the floor, his slim, graceful frame danced around his friends like mercury unleashed. The lights flickered on his skin, a multicolored net that was never going to catch him. I knew Jack’s complaint wasn’t serious. Both of us knew they seemed to have found the perfect balance in their relationship; Jack was Louis’s calm support.

That was nothing remotely like me and Seve. I wondered how I’d describe us together, or even if there was an “us.” Sometimes it felt like we were two stags fighting for the same territory. Too evenly matched, and both of us too arrogant in our own way to allow the other much leeway. No future for us, I thought, and not for the first time. I filed the thought away in the mental folder marked “Denial.”

Jack was dragged off by Louis to meet his new acquaintances, some of the dancers he’d be working with on a summer season special. They were all lithe, bright, restless things who made me feel clumsy, though a couple of them gave me more than a polite glance. On my way over to the bar, one of them—a striking young Ghanaian-looking man with fabulous long locks and straight muscled shoulders—broke away from Louis’s chatter and took a step toward me, smiling.