Seve made a sharp tsk noise. “I don’t want to own you, Max. For God’s sake, isn’t there a middle ground? I don’t know how to say it… I’ve never said….”

  And I didn’t want to hear—not at that moment. There was something else attracting my attention. The sound of a door lock being cracked open was unmistakable. To me, that is, who’d broken into a few deserted buildings in my time as a squatter. But I’d never entered an occupied one. I sat up in the bed.

  “Max?”

  I put a hand to Seve’s mouth, warning him to be silent. He understood immediately and nodded. I listened for a few seconds more and couldn’t hear anything. But that didn’t mean things were okay.

  “Stay here,” I whispered. I slid off the side of the bed, groping for my jeans. I didn’t want to face a burglar—or any other threat—stark naked.

  Seve mouthed, “What is it?”

  There was a sudden rattle from the kitchen, as if someone had knocked over a crockery mug on the counter.

  “Stay here!” I couldn’t get enough urgency into a whisper without alerting the intruder. “Call 999. There’s someone else in the flat.” From the hopeless way Seve cast his eyes around the room, I realised he didn’t have a phone or a mobile nearby. And where was my mobile? On the table beside the empty water bottle and the other contents of my jeans pocket, in the living room where we’d sat and made out earlier tonight. I’d never been to Boy Scouts, but I should have been better prepared for any trouble.

  Go and take a look, Max. I moved as quietly as possible to the bedroom door and peered into the hallway. The lights were off, and it took me a moment to get my bearings in the dark. There was no sight or sound of movement from the kitchen, but the door was wide open. I was sure we’d closed it behind us on our way to the bathroom and bed. A dim light from inside the room lit the doorway. It was probably from the streetlights outside, filtering through the kitchen blind. I took a few more steps down the hall.

  An alien aroma seeped into my nostrils—not the remnants of whatever Seve had eaten for supper or the scent of soap and water from the shower. This was much less appetising. It made me gag, like the fetid smell of rotting vegetables or very stale body odor. Or maybe both laced together. I was alarmed by the instinctive memories it conjured up: the smells of damp pavement, metal, and blood—the gut-churning feelings of misery and pain. I inched myself around the kitchen door frame, starting to sneak into the room.

  There was a sudden draft of cold air and the door slammed into me, knocking me off-balance and forward into the room. I saw a shadow moving in front of the cupboards; a glint of metal. I knew I had to get away, but my shoulder was throbbing again, and everything I did seemed to be in slow motion. While I was still processing the shock, small strong hands shoved me against the wall, and I found myself trapped there, recoiling from a ten-inch open blade at my throat.

  Staring into the mad dilated eyes of a kid I knew only too well.

  Chapter 21

  I stood totally still. My heart was beating fiercely and I could feel my legs start to shake. When I swallowed reflexively, the edge of the blade nicked my earlobe. A small trail of warm blood ran down my neck, tickling my skin.

  My captor stared up at me. I’d always been half a foot taller than him.

  “Baz,” I whispered. I couldn’t get anything stronger out of my mouth at that moment. “Baz, don’t do this.”

  “Max?” Baz’s squeaky voice was familiar but also new: a strange, reedy twist of its natural state. Drugs, I reckoned. Some bastard had tweaked him up to the eyeballs. His pupils looked way too large and there was sweat on his top lip, but his hand was steady. I didn’t know whether that was good or bad luck for me. I’d never known Baz’s age, and everyone called him a kid because he was short and skinny, but the sly look in his eyes tonight suggested he was older than I’d thought and with far more experience than an ordinary youth would ever have. His face was grubby and he wore dark clothes, including pull-on black boots. No belt, no laces. When I’d known him, we barely trusted him out on his own—it looked like that was still the case. He stank of sweat and the cloying damp-leaf smell of weed. His hair stuck up on one side of his head like he’d slept awkwardly on it, and there was a motley selection of bruises and scars on the forearm pressed against my scapula. I remembered how I’d punched him when he killed Stewart. I wished—for the millionth time in my life—that I’d done a hell of a lot more damage.

  “Yeah, Baz. It’s me. Look… can you take this fucking knife away? Way too sharp for shaving, right?”

  He didn’t laugh or move. Me and my pathetic jokes, but I was having enough trouble just talking. And now I saw he had another blade in his other hand. It was shorter, but serrated like a hunting knife. He held it out to the side, and I knew that he had the doorway covered—my only exit. Baz may have been a real pothead and sometimes barely able to piss without help, but his control of weapons was impressively robust.

  “Can’t do that, Max.” He peered up at me. “I’ve gotta job t’ do. Goin’ t’ be paid an’ everythin’. He asked f’ me, specially.”

  It had to be Peck he was talking about. Baz’s speech pattern had been weird ever since he’d been beaten up, though I could always understand it. And his twisted hero worship of Peck still seemed to be in place. “Sure, Baz, I understand.” I tried to sound like I did. “But it doesn’t have to be like this, does it? I’m just on a friendly visit here and then I’m off home. In fact, I’m on my way right now. Why don’t you come with me? We can get an early breakfast at the café, or I’ve got beer and bacon sandwiches back at my place. We’ll chat about the old days in London. Whatever you like.”

  I knew it wasn’t working. Baz had always operated on another planet. His eyes remained fixed on my face, his arm holding me hostage to his knife. He didn’t look like a guy to be distracted, not even by an old mate.

  “I din’ know you’d be there, Max. Y’know. That night.”

  “What?” I thought I heard a rustling noise in the hallway outside, but I’d told Seve to stay put. I don’t know why I ever imagined he’d take any bloody notice.

  “In town.” Baz’s voice had a wheeze behind it. “That night. Wiv’ the do-gooder bloke. Din’ know you’d be there.”

  Shit. I really didn’t want to think about that night again. Not now, and not when I was under threat of getting my throat cut. This was obviously a favourite weapon of Baz’s. I tried to muster up a reassuring smile, I really did. It just wasn’t happening naturally at that moment. “Sure, I understand.” I didn’t know whether to be pleased about Baz’s need to chat to me. On the one hand, it might give me time to think up some escape strategy. On the other hand, it might just put off the evil hour. I was afraid that I’d disgrace myself—that I’d cry in the face of death, or piss myself.

  I remembered the sight of the blade going into Stewart. It had been so fast, so unexpected—I’d no memory of any fear at the time. Just anger and a consuming flood of horror, like immersion in a freezing bath, like the world suddenly snapped into negative. Now I wanted to shake my head, to clear the paralysis that shock can bring. I didn’t dare actually do it.

  “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 around. “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 barrelled 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 apologise; 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 shrivelled. 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.”