By CLARE LONDON (25 page)

“He told me t’ get rid o’ trouble,” Baz went on. The blade stayed put, but it had loosened from my throat so I could take a quick swallow. Baz’s mouth was trembling a little, some saliva trailing out of one side. “Told me the man from the social was goin’ t’ the cops. They’d put me away. Din’ want that, did I?”

“He wasn’t from the social, Baz. Stewart wasn’t from the government at all. He just wanted to help us. Who told you he was going to put you away? Peck? Did Peck tell you Stewart had to go?” I was shocked to find how emotionally difficult it was to say Stewart’s name. His face flashed through my mind in various settings—frowning at me, laughing, playing football, lying dead on his back on the cold ground. He’d be thrilled if I went the same way as he did, wouldn’t he? Really thrilled that I’d learned so well from the experience… not.

Baz shuddered but his hand on the knife never wavered. “He told me if I did it, things’d be okay. He’s goin’ t’ look after me, Max. Goin’ t’ sort it all out, everythin’ I need. But people want t’ stop him. They want it all f’ th’selves.”

“That’s not true, Baz.” I knew this was probably a hopeless cause, but I had to try to talk him round. “Peck’s not telling you the truth. Yes, you need some help, but he’s not the man to give it. He’s just using you, Baz.”

Baz was either too high on drugs or just didn’t understand what I was saying. “Mr. Peck talks f’ me, that’s what he says. No one else gives a fuck. If I help him wiv’ his problems, he’ll protec’ me—gimme a proper job. Wiv’ him.”

I heard an indrawn breath in the hallway. The shadow by the kitchen door seemed to shift. Was Seve trying to creep up on us? “Baz, just give me the knife.”

Baz frowned. For the first time, I saw his doped gaze waver. I’d often been in charge of keeping him in order. Baz always wanted to know where he stood, what to do, and where he fit in, even if he didn’t always follow guidance. I was hoping old habits died hard. I moved my weight onto the balls of my feet. I might have to dodge suddenly, and my reflexes weren’t what they used to be.

“Nah, Max,” Baz said slowly. I could imagine the rusty cogs of his mind grinding around. “Not happenin’.”

I surreptitiously placed my palms flat against the wall behind me. Maybe I could surprise him—launch myself at him. “Let’s go and find Peck.” I just needed another inch or so to maneuver out from under the blade. “I’ll explain it all to him. He’ll be really pleased with you, you know.”

Then his head snapped up like it was on a spring. He grunted and tightened his grip on the knife. My precious inch of potential escape was lost; the gap between me and the blade narrowed. I froze. So—luckily—did he. He slid it along my jaw line and up to my cheek. It felt cold and hot on my skin, all at the same time. Just an illusion, I guessed. I wasn’t really thinking clearly.

Baz chewed at his lower lip. It looked chapped and sore. “Dun’ be s’ fuckin’ stupid, Max.” His voice had deepened. He was no longer whining—he sounded older even than me. “You dun’ tell me what t’ do anymore, do y’? He does. And I do wha’ I’m told, and so I’ll be okay. That’s wha’ you oughtta do ’s well. Then I wouldn’ have t’ be here, would I?”

I missed the logic of this, but I wasn’t about to argue with him. At the corner of my vision, I saw a blurred movement in the kitchen doorway, and I tried desperately not to let the sudden awareness show in my face. Seve was strong and fast. If he could catch Baz’s hand, twist the knife away… dammit, we were two strong adults, we could—

It didn’t happen that way, because although Seve was fast, Baz was faster. Baz had slipped the blade across and away from my cheek and barreled into Seve before I could gasp a warning. Before I even felt the cold metal leaving my warm skin; before I registered the long thin slice on my face that was already starting to ooze a drop of warm blood. Somehow Baz had heard Seve approaching.

The speed of Baz’s reaction ambushed Seve and knocked him off-balance. It looked like he’d been reaching for Baz, trying to grab Baz’s arms, but now he stumbled and fell against me. He was naked apart from his sweats, and his arms flailed as he tried to right himself. We both crashed back against the kitchen counter. I clumsily banged my leg on the edge of the metal vegetable rack, and I saw Seve thud against the door of the fridge. It bounced open, spilling a sliver of light across the room for a second before it slammed back shut.

Baz followed us across the room but he moved jerkily. He darted forward, the serrated knife in his hand flashed dully, and Seve cried out in pain. In the dim light I saw blood welling on his arm, shining black drops. Then Baz gave me another surprisingly strong push and Seve and I ended up almost in each other’s arms, jammed against the edge of the counter between the fridge and the waist-high wine rack.

Baz had the large knife aimed back at my throat. He wasn’t touching me anymore, but he had a knife in each hand and was well within stabbing range. His eyes were shining and he had to cover us both, but he knew he had the advantage. He was still moving erratically, but he never once strayed close enough for us to grab at him first. Native cunning, I assumed.

“Stupid, stupid!” he hissed. “Look at y’ both, no clothes, no knife, big ’n clumsy an’ stupid. You can’t catch me! Max knows that, dun’ he? I can do my job an’ be away before y’ know it.”

“I caught you once,” I snapped back. “Not so fast then, were you?” Beside me, I felt Seve tense.

Baz blinked hard as if trying to assimilate the memory of me hitting him. “You weren’ meant t’ be there. Jus’ the do-gooder. It was goin’ t’ be real quick. I like a knife, y’see. It’s clean ’n quiet, an’ you can get real close.”

I glanced briefly at Seve, sure my desperation showed on my face. He had a hand over his cut arm, trying to stem the blood. I wanted to apologize; I wanted to protect him from this. Not again beat through my veins in the rhythm of my heartbeat. It can’t happen again.

Baz caught my look. He stared between us curiously. “You both faggots, then?”

Seve tensed again, but I touched his shoulder, trying to calm him. It had never been more than a casual insult from Baz—I’m not sure he knew anything about gay men, though he knew that’s what I was. “Faggot” was just a noun in his very limited vocabulary. It was what Peck often called me, so that’s what Baz used.

“Yes,” Seve said, his voice startling me. He wouldn’t catch my eye. “We are. What about you?”

It was my turn to tense up. “Seve—”

Baz sniggered. “No way.”

Seve smiled as if unperturbed, still looking straight at Baz. “Aren’t you just a little curious? Wouldn’t you like to see what it is we do? What Max does?”

Where the hell was he going with this? Baz had never shown any sexual interest in anyone, as far as I knew.

Baz tipped his head to the side. “What the fuck y’ mean? I’m not puttin’ the knife down, y’know. Still got my job t’ do.”

Seve shrugged. I was so close to him I could feel his skin and the shiver that ran through him. “So have a bit of fun before you kill us both. Give me one last chance to touch him. He feels really good. And you can watch. Would you like that?”

Baz had an unhealthy devotion to Peck, of course. He’d always seemed to like me too. But how could Seve know if that was what turned him on? This was a strange strategy of Seve’s, and I didn’t think I was reassured by it. Not reassured at all.

“You’re a fuckin’ pervert,” Baz said conversationally. He flexed his wrist so that the large knife caught a glimmer of light from outside. “Y’ like that snuff stuff ’n all?”

“Maybe,” Seve replied. His voice was low, calm, and almost seductive. “We can talk about that another time. But Max is gorgeous, isn’t he? Got a great body… you can see that, can’t you?” Still that soft, lulling tone. “You can keep hold of the knives. We won’t be any trouble. Just give me one last touch.”

Baz stared at him like he was genuinely disgusted, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes too. “Guess if he takes it up th’ arse, he deserves everythin’ he gets, eh?”

“Guess so,” Seve said. Very, very softly.

And Baz seemed to relax—only slightly, but enough for the knife to dip down from pointing at my throat. He leaned back against the kitchen table opposite us, still only a few feet away. “Come on, then. Do it.”

“What?” I suppose I hadn’t thought through what might happen next.

“Drop your jeans,” Seve murmured in my ear. He tugged me sideways to stand in front of him, his hand holding me around the waist, both of us facing Baz. “Show him what you’ve got to offer.”

Baz was flushed and his eyes blazed, scary companions to the knife blades. I was suddenly afraid that we’d pushed him further along the wrong path. I twisted my head to shoot a look at Seve, trying to say without words, What the fuck are you doing? He glanced at me with a steady gaze and I was none the wiser. So I turned back to face the front and, with fumbling fingers, I slid my jeans down my legs and stepped out of them so I was naked again. The air in the kitchen was cool on my skin.

Baz sniggered again. “Not much goin’ on there, Mr. Pervert. He looks pretty fuckin’ small.”

“So would you, Baz, if you were waiting for some lunatic to cut your throat!” I snapped back. Seve pressed my arm as if in warning, but Baz didn’t seem to care about my anger.

“Just do somethin’. Gonna see if it’s fun f’ me or not.”

Seve leaned forward against my back, his breath on my neck. I felt pretty bloody vulnerable. I assumed he had some kind of plan. Though if it involved us actually having sex, he was going to be way out of luck. Like Baz so succinctly put it, I was totally shriveled. And any other orifice was tightly clenched as well. Fear does that to a man, you know.

Baz let himself down slowly onto one of the kitchen chairs. It skittered on the tiled floor and one of its legs settled on my discarded jeans. Guess he was getting a ringside seat: the condemned man has his last grope. Bizarre. His grip on the long knife was as good as ever, and his eyes were animal bright. I had no reason to believe he wouldn’t move as fast as before, if and when he needed, and I didn’t want that knife any nearer either of us. He was surprisingly strong too. Maybe between us, we could have taken him, but not without someone getting cut. And I’d seen the effects of that once, and once too often.

“Look, Baz, why don’t we—”

“Y’ talk shit!” Baz’s voice had risen again. “That’s all y’ ever did, Max. Talk ’n smoke ’n tell me what I din’ do. No more talkin’ anymore, okay?” He turned his gaze to Seve. “Show me.”

I felt Seve’s hand on my buttocks. He caressed me soothingly. Was this going to be the last time he touched me like this?

“You feel good, Max.” His voice was soft, maybe not only for Baz’s benefit. “Lean back. Let me touch you.”

I did what I was told. My mind was whirling. Seve held my back against him so I had to look at Baz, at his blinking, putrid, suddenly lewd little eyes. I had to look at the glint of the blade in his hand, listen to his ragged wheezing. If I weren’t so petrified, I’d have thrown up in his lap. Seve tugged me closer, our bodies blocking Baz’s view of the counter behind us. I cursed Seve’s minimalist taste in furniture because I couldn’t see anything around us I could use as a weapon.

Seve gave a soft groan behind me. I was shocked to feel his dick swelled inside his sweats. How could he get aroused with a wavering blade held inches from his body and the threat of possible death? He hitched down his waistband and rubbed his cock up between the cheeks of my arse. We were both damp with sweat, but thank God he didn’t try to push inside. I didn’t fancy being dry-fucked just before I was murdered. But it seemed he didn’t have that in mind, anyway. He moaned quietly and gave a few thrusts of his hips, as if he were moving inside me. It was an act. But to what point?

“Is he good, then?” came Baz’s reedy little voice. “Dun’ look like he’s enjoyin’ it.”

“He’s very good,” Seve said. There was a strained edge to his voice. “And of course he’s enjoying it. Aren’t you, Max?” He slid a hand down my belly to my groin and circled my dick with his palm. He started to stroke it. Baz followed the movement, apparently fascinated. Seve nuzzled into the crook of my neck and whispered to me, “Give him a show, for fuck’s sake. Then when I give you the sign, duck down.”

“Huh?” I grunted and tried to turn it into a moan of pleasure. Seve continued his pantomime, and I thrust back toward him, twisting an expression onto my face as if I was being well and truly fucked.

“I like you naked,” he murmured in my ear. “No clothes between us.”

Baz leaned forward in his chair to hear better. His expression was an odd mixture of repulsion and prurience. The serrated knife lay in his lap, and his grip on the other had eased as well. The chair creaked underneath him.

“Right?” Seve whispered to me.

I nodded. I understood now.

“Can’t see much,” Baz whined. “That all y’ fuckin’ do?” He gazed at my cock, nestled in Seve’s fist—at my thrusting hips, as Seve rolled his behind me. Baz was just that little bit entranced. Just that little bit distracted.

One of Seve’s fingernails pressed sharply into my hip, and I took it as my signal. I leaned forward, pulled swiftly out of Seve’s loosening grip, and dropped to my knees. Baz snarled, his instinctive suspicion awakening. No more sordid entertainment for him; he was all business, jerking up the blade and aiming it straight at my neck. He was less than a foot away from me and I was a kneeling, naked target. He couldn’t miss. I imagined I could already feel the slice across my nerve endings, feel the shock of mortal pain.

And then my mind settled, a chill running through my whole body. No clothes between us, Seve had said. I scrabbled for my discarded jeans and yanked them toward me, wrenching them out from under the leg of the kitchen chair—another example of Seve’s fashionable but ridiculously flimsy furniture. The chair tilted awkwardly, and with a shout of anger, Baz began to topple back. At the same time, Seve stepped forward in front of me, swung something out from behind his back, and brought it down on Baz’s head, hard. I didn’t know what it was until I heard the smash of glass and smelled the sudden rush of alcohol. One of the wine bottles from the rack behind him!