He pursed his lips. I leaned involuntarily toward them. He looked like he’d been making decisions as well. “What happened this morning is my problem, Max.”

  “What?”

  “I feel the same way for you—that I do not want you responsible for something that is not to do with you.”

  “But we both—”

  He made a sharp tut noise that silenced me. “This man came to my flat to threaten me because of my family’s business. My family—my problem. So you must not be involved with it.”

  “I can’t do that!”

  He continued regardless. “Give me a few hours before you call the police. Just give me the rest of the day to arrange things.”

  There was that phrase again—arrange. “What about the body?”

  “It’ll be found,” he said. “Just not here.”

  “And Peck?”

  “I said I’ll arrange things. Mama has many friends still here.” His eyes met mine, and the dark chasms were hiding both fear and decision. “You will not be incriminated, Max, not from anything that happened here. I hope that I will not be either. But I cannot afford to be mixed up in it at the moment. I must keep Mama safe. Peck can do too much damage, and with my uncle unchecked, our entire business is vulnerable. My uncle is a shrewd and clever man—I am afraid we will all take our turn as the scapegoat. I need to be away from here to try and salvage what I can. We must act immediately—to put an end to the threat hanging over all of us.” His pupils widened. “Over you too, Max.”

  A chill spread slowly across my body. “Is it your turn to run, Seve?”

  His eyes flashed. “I will do what I have to. I must leave as soon as possible. I haven’t initiated this, but if I can help put things right, whatever it takes, I will. Many of my family will. We’re not all in it for the money, Max.”

  I held up a hand in apology, though I’d never said or meant that. I wondered if he’d have a job and the expensive flat and car or a family business at all when he came back. Didn’t they freeze assets when businesses were under investigation? Was that as important to Seve as being pursued by Peck and his death wish?

  Or perhaps he wasn’t coming back at all.

  Fuck.

  “They’ll call you in. They may arrest you.”

  “The police? On what charge?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so, even if and when I provide the information they need. I am not involved at a high enough level in the business, you see. I’ll be just a whistleblower: a pawn in their eyes.” And from the frown on his face, in his eyes too. “They will want my uncle and his network, which Mama and I will give them. And they still want Stewart’s murderer. You’ll make sure they have that as well.”

  “Even if it costs me.”

  “I think they will see you as a hero, Max, not a villain. But I do not know for certain. I don’t wish that trouble on you. If I could help….”

  I nodded. I knew. But this was for me alone to work out.

  “And if they do come after me… well, Mama has her own network on the continent. I won’t be easy to find.”

  The chill washed over me again. “If they can’t find you, Seve, neither will I. Will I?”

  He stared at me. “No, you won’t.”

  The ache inside me was like a wound.

  “But you misunderstand, Max.” He stepped forward, and although I tensed, I let him take hold of me again. “I assumed… I cannot leave you here if you think Peck is still looking for you.”

  “Hey. I’ll be okay. Once he finds Baz has gone, he’ll think twice. And I’ll stick close to the guys, no one will get close to me if I don’t want them to. And the gang at the site are pretty useful as bodyguards too.” I wasn’t sure if I was joking or not, to be honest, but Seve looked stricken.

  “No, Max. I mean… come and join me as soon as you can. I want you to come with me to Spain.”

  People describe some of the defining moments of their lives as the hardest thing they’ve ever faced, don’t they? The most painful decision they’ve ever made; the most heart-wrenching choice they’ve ever taken. It’s just shit, really, isn’t it? To be in that position.

  “No, Seve.”

  His hands, tight on me. His knee brushing mine. The whole smell of him, the remembered taste. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do. I must stay here.”

  “Explain this to me,” he said in a clipped tone. His accent had become more pronounced with his emotion. “What do you really mean? That it will be some time before you can come? The wait is not important.”

  It seemed very easy now to explain. To put into words the way that I was going to be now. “It’s my promise, Seve, you see. My promise to myself and to Stewart.”

  “He is dead, Max.”

  I dismissed that with a shake of my head. “I’m still following his advice, Seve. I’m going to accept the past and then move on, but properly this time. I’ll accept the great friends that I have—I’ll treasure them. I’ll let them help me with all those issues, all my baggage. I’ll accept….” I met his eyes. “Accept new relationships, if they come along.” I’d wanted to live up to what Stewart wanted—what he thought I was capable of. What he said I deserved. But I’d been taking the line of least resistance for too long now: pitching below standard, doing only enough to get by. Trying not to be noticed. But I’d dragged the past around with me regardless. I hadn’t seen how anyone could ever forget it. I couldn’t seem to forget it myself.

  “I’m going to make this change wholeheartedly.” My voice was jarringly brittle in the quiet room. “I’m going to make my own choices and ask myself exactly what I want, and I’ll live it properly. Set the slate clean. Start again with some more realistic goals. And they’ll be mine and they’ll be honest. I’ll build up some respect for myself at last.”

  He stood like a statue. Only the hitch of his breath and the pulse in his throat showed me that he was listening to every word.

  “It’s… a lot of it is due to you, Seve, you know? Meeting you—finding you.” And that’s what was making this so bad. So fucking bad. “I want this new me, Seve. I like it! But this is my place now, and I have to stay here to do things properly—to start growing up. Even though I know what this means to… us.”

  The air in the room was tight with tension. Dust motes spun in the ray of sun through the window. I heard a motorbike pass outside; a church bell tolled slowly in the background. When Seve spoke, the sound rippled around me like I was in some kind of deprivation tank; I could barely make out coherent words. I hadn’t realised how tightly I was holding onto my senses.

  “I won’t lie to you anymore, Max.”

  “Sure, I know.”

  He was trying to tell me something again, with his eyes. I could only see misery, and it was depressing me beyond anything else. “So I’ll stay here with you.”

  “No!” My voice had risen, which startled us both. “That’s not going to work either, is it? There’s your mother. The business. What you need to do.”

  Our eyes must have reflected the same anguish, the same realisation. It was stalemate for the moment.

  “No, of course not,” he whispered.

  “Good.” I sounded shaky, even on the single word.

  “But… if you had asked….”

  I sighed. “Yeah.”

  He took a deep breath as if it pained him. “When everything has been concluded, I will come back here.”

  I swallowed hard and moved away from him. His hands gripped more tightly for a second, hanging onto my arms. Then he let me loose. “That’s great, Seve. If that’s what you want. But don’t do it for me.” He winced as if I’d hit him. “I don’t want us to go separate ways,” I said. “But I need to get my own head straight. I think… it’s better if I have some time on my own.” There’d been another death, another crime. Seve and I just had too much baggage. It was heavy, and it was complex, and if we didn’t move on, it was going to bury us both. This was the best way to come clean. To start afresh.

  At that moment, I was totally sure of it.

  Seve made a strange, soft whimpering sound that I’d never heard from him before. He moved suddenly, pressing up against me again, clumsily as if his limbs were no longer under his control. I thought I should probably run—really fast, and in the opposite direction—but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. He clasped me to him, shifting his body against me, and his hand brushed against my cheek.

  “I must go, Seve.”

  “Of course.” His voice was deep and rough, and it washed over me like a too-hot shower on a cold day. Pure, unadulterated, painful pleasure. “I must go too. I need to make some calls, then pack a bag and order a cab to Gatwick. Just… a little more time?”

  He kissed me again then. He reached an arm around my back, and I folded into him like melted chocolate. His mouth was firm and demanding, and I was happy to surrender to it. We were warm, and the taste of him was poignantly sweet. I wrapped my arms around his neck and traced the pattern of his cropped hair at the nape, trying to commit it to memory with my fingertips. He rested his hand on my head, wrapping strands of my hair around his fingers and tugging almost playfully, directing my mouth against his whenever it tried to shift away elsewhere. Our tongues were very fierce and very hungry. I slid my hand up underneath his shirt. He felt rich and exotic, and the flesh was smooth under my touch. I ran my fingers around to his back and then down to his waist. He drew in a breath and pressed his body closer to mine. I had to wriggle to rest my swelling cock against the side of his rather than full on.

  “Yes?” he murmured. His hips moved very slightly, but he knew I’d realise what they were asking.

  I moved back, adjusting myself to the side again. “No.”

  He smiled sadly, not offended nor surprised. “Sure.” He did his own investigation, his own memory game. He ran his lips down my neck until I thought I had no more blood left in my body except the amount that was racing to my groin area. He traced the profile of my face and ran his hands down my sides and hips. He would have run them around to my arse and up my inner thighs if I hadn’t stopped him. A man can only stand so much sensory ecstasy.

  “I’ll miss this. Touching you, Max.”

  “Arguing with me,” I whispered. Lame fucking joke.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “That too.”

  Neither of us mentioned the maybe never again option, but I’m sure we both thought it. He placed a single finger on my mouth and ran it gently from one side to the other. When it lingered there a little longer, I slipped my tongue out to moisten my lips, and I kissed the tip of it. He shuddered. And then he left the room. I heard him striding up the hallway toward the bedroom.

  Shaken, my eyes stinging, I stuffed my wallet and possessions into my pockets and let myself out of the flat.

  Chapter 24

  Life goes on, as they say. Three months later a lot of things had changed—and a lot of them had stayed the same. I was still living with Jack and Louis and doing more than my fair share of washing up. It was as if I thought I had to build up my credit status, though they never said anything like that. I was still working at the construction site, but I was looking into a change of career. More of that later.

  I couldn’t remember much of my exit from Seve’s building that day, or the walk back up the promenade, or how I decided eventually which café to stop in. I couldn’t have said what was driving me right then—my anger, my determination, my fear… or my heartache. But as soon as I’d settled with a large latte, I pulled out my phone. It was time to turn into Mr Honest Citizen.

  The relief was immense when Jack answered. I would have been happy to talk to either of them at the flat, but Jack was… something else. I’d been hoping he hadn’t yet left for work.

  “Max? Are you okay?” Thank God for his practical streak.

  “No. But I’m not hurt. Jack….”

  “Yes?”

  “You know you said you had friends in the police who’d listen to me. Who’d treat me properly?”

  He drew in a sharp breath. He’d known how things were. “You want me to give them your number? When do you—?”

  “Any time is okay. Thanks. And Jack?”

  “Yes?”

  I tried not to sound too pathetic. “Are you working this morning? Have you got time for a coffee?”

  He gave a soft chuckle. “That’d be good. Tell me where you are and I’ll be there as soon as I can make it.”

  He arrived half an hour later. He’d taken the morning off anyway—Louis had an audition at the London TV studio later in the day and had begged a lift to the station. I’d been sitting in the café, silently, my coffee growing cold, my fingers touching the soft wool of Seve’s sweater every now and then. I was glad he hadn’t asked for it back, not least because it was probably the only thing reassuring the waitress I wasn’t a tramp settling in to stink out the café for the day. Jack sat down opposite me and ordered a green tea for himself. As it arrived at our table, his eyes had flickered over my face and widened.

  “Yes,” he said. “I can see. About the not-okay thing.”

  “I’ll be fine. Did you get a chance to call your friends?”

  He lifted his cup, his mouth hidden by the rim and the steam. “When you’re ready, Max.”

  “I’m ready now.”

  Jack’s expression had said that personally, he didn’t think I could be any further away from ready, but he’d kindly refrained from saying it. And he’d driven me straight to the local police station. Thank God again, he also waited until I was done, sitting quietly in an outside office on an uncomfortable plastic chair. And when he thought they’d had enough of me and he knew they weren’t going to lock me up, he walked straight to the desk to sign up as my guarantor and took me home.

  I had no regrets about the whole thing, you know.

  Just a huge fucking pain in my chest where I used to have something that pumped blood around my body.

  I told the police lots of things, of course. I gave them details about Baz—as much as I’d known when we were both in London—and a witness statement about the attack on Stewart. I could see the policeman making notes to call a counterpart in London, trying to hide his enthusiasm at receiving a decent lead on a cold case. I also gave them information about Peck’s drugs business and the various rackets he’d been running around the London club, including attacks on his couriers like Baz and me, and a few other gruesome rumours I’d heard on the street. I didn’t hold back confirming Alvaro Medina’s involvement in it all, although that was received with more grim determination than delight. It wouldn’t be an easy thing, taking on a prominent businessman. But I had no doubt they would. In fact, as I was escorted out of the interview room, I saw extra activity in the office and a detective requesting a search warrant over the phone.

  They were reasonably decent to me, though they didn’t appreciate the fact I’d kept this information to myself for so many months. I had to tell them I’d worked for Peck—there was no other way I could have known about the deals otherwise—but they listened to me when I explained I’d been clean for months and I’d been trying to get out of the whole business even before Stewart was killed.

  They asked if I thought I was in any personal danger from informing on the organisation. I thought about it for a moment, wondering why it didn’t seem as big a deal now, not like the fear I’d felt when I left Stewart’s body on the pavement or even when Peck had cornered me in the backyard at Compulsion. No, I said. I’d be fine. I didn’t elucidate on that.

  They explained they’d consider charging me for the courier business—for dealing by association. I could go home for the time being under Jack’s supervision, but they’d let me know if and when they took the case forward. They offered me legal representation, though it wasn’t as if I could deny it was true. But a woman came to talk to me, explaining there would be mitigating factors. She smiled encouragingly at me, and talked about bail conditions and ongoing counselling. I wasn’t thinking very clearly at the end of it all, but she spoke briefly to Jack on my behalf and passed me a few contact numbers. And rather surprisingly, I said I’d follow them up. Talking to someone else about it all seemed suddenly like a very good idea.

  I didn’t tell anyone anything about the previous night at Seve’s flat or the work I believed he was doing to cover that up. I wouldn’t forget it, but I found I could reconcile filing that away in Seve’s world—at least if it kept him safe.

  I just wasn’t sure if I’d ever know one way or another.

  They found Baz’s body a couple of days later. Jack’s friend in the police generously kept us posted as much as he could. The body was rolled in a plastic tarpaulin from a nearby building site and wedged down between two rubbish bins behind a local takeaway restaurant. There was no evidence of where he might have actually died. Rats and foxes rifled around all the bins and there’d been rain during those nights, making forensic investigation that much more difficult—to say nothing of the rumpus over Health and Safety issues for the unlucky restaurant. However, there was still enough left to give DNA samples, and the last I heard, Baz was being matched to two other knife attacks around Soho and several robberies in Brighton. And they were still checking. Baz didn’t have any money on him, but there were some stolen credit cards in his pocket, a few items of jewellery, and a red cigarette lighter with an Arsenal crest. I knew this because the police had phoned me directly just to check if I knew any of the names on the cards or owners of the jewellery. I didn’t, but I could identify the lighter as Stewart’s. There were plenty of those souvenir lighters in circulation, of course, but one of the London kids had scraped their initials on Stewart’s at one time. I was able to describe it very clearly, as it was the one I’d borrowed from him–the one that had been my pocket for so many months. Along with my witness statement, it was vital physical evidence tying Baz to the murder.