Compulsion, p.16
Compulsion, page 16
“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 libellous 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?”
Chapter 17
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’ 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 multicoloured 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’ 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’ chatter and took a step toward me, smiling.
“Max.”
From behind me—Seve’s voice. It was just a word, but in the low, sexy timbre that reverberated through my nerve endings, it was a statement in itself. What did he want? To ask where I’d been, why I hadn’t been to the club for a week? Why I hadn’t been to his flat? Though he must know I wouldn’t venture there without invitation. I wouldn’t want that dark look of his turned on me except in play, would I? I wondered if he knew I’d been looking into news stories about the Medina family’s business, that Jack had been asking his friends in the police about the London club.
I didn’t know whether to be welcoming, wary, or just turn tail and run for the door. I felt I’d been in that position for months, and not just with Seve. It was like being haunted. With a sick tug in my gut, I realised I’d never be free of my previous mistakes. All I’d done by running away was to bring the memories and the stigma back with me to Brighton. They seeped through my mind like rich red wine staining a white cloth. I was damaged goods, a mess. Meeting Seve had just been an additional—and cruel—coincidence.
The dancer was still looking at me, but my expression must have changed, because he frowned, then shrugged and turned away to rejoin his group of friends. I turned too, but in the other direction, pretty sure I was prepared for the physical impact of seeing Seve again.
More fool me.
I gazed into his face and my heartbeat hit the roof almost instantly. His eyes were wide and bright and he looked delighted to see me. His teeth gleamed white from the lights in the bar area, and he wore the same gold shirt that I’d first seen him in, with the silver chain around his neck. His skin looked flushed and healthy, and everything about him exuded confidence, control, and sexual charisma. He shone out from everyone else—there was no other way to describe it.
“Hi, Seve.”
It sounded totally inadequate, but he gave the usual nod of his head in reply. His smile was tight, as if pleasure was trying to bubble out of him and he was reining it back in. I felt an answering excitement. Things changed every time I saw him: my feelings deepened in an alarming way. I didn’t dare examine whether it was for good or bad, and perhaps it was the same for him.
“It’s Louis’ birthday,” I said. There I was, stating the obvious, my tongue temporarily disconnected from wit. “We’re celebrating.”
“I can see.” Seve moved along the bar toward me, revellers scattering around him like the parting of a human sea. I braced a hand on the counter, not sure what I was trying to steel myself against. He didn’t touch me, but his smile grew as he reached my side. “The duty manager has already arranged things with your friend Mr Wallis. We’ll make it a night to remember for his dancer.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s part of my job,” he said dismissively. He didn’t seem to have any other questions, like I’d expected. He stared at my lips as I spoke. I fought an irresistible desire to moisten them with a lick or two.
“I’ll get you a drink,” he said and raised a hand to call for one of the bar staff.
“Not for me,” I said quickly. “I’m not drinking at the moment.” I didn’t add, since this morning, actually. I’d toasted Louis’ birthday at home last night with a beer—Bryan’s cocktail recipes inevitably led to both headache and indigestion—but after that, I’d called a halt. Things had to change, I reminded myself. Considering all the habits I might slip back into, drink was the first and easiest to address.
Seve raised an eyebrow. “Water, then?”
“Sure.”
A passing female bartender reached for my glass, then caught sight of Seve beside me. She fumbled the glass and nearly dropped it. He snapped his fingers sharply and she looked at me, wide-eyed.
“Sorry, sir.”
“Get the water,” Seve said very softly. His tone was icy, and she scurried off.
“No need for that,” I said. “Just because you’re in charge doesn’t mean you have to be some kind of bully.”
He blinked at me. Staff matters were obviously already far from his mind. “I missed you, Max.”
“It’s only been a few days.” Seven! Seven! my body protested.
The chilled water arrived, a bottle for each of us. I watched as Seve was more polite in his thanks to the bartender this time. He pulled over two stools so that we could sit together at the bar, and although the music was loud, we were in the farthest spot from the speakers and could more or less hear each other talk. People pushed past us now and then, but the dance set had moved into the heavy numbers and flashing lights, and most of the clubgoers were out on the floor. Human voices yelled and laughed above the techno beat, which throbbed up through our seats. Sweat made the dancers’ hair damp and their bare torsos glisten. People pressed and clung and caressed—they were all having a bloody good time. I wasn’t sure if I were included in that.
Seve nudged my knee with his, regaining my attention. A shiver ran through my body as if a thread of electricity ran between us. “Will you come back with me to the flat, Max?”
“Now?”
“Yes, of course.”
“No,” I said. Of course? “I’m here with Louis and Jack. I’m not leaving right now.”
Surprisingly, Seve nodded agreement. “You’ll sit with me for the moment?”
“I… yes. Sure.”
He cracked open the top of his bottle and took a large gulp. I watched the gentle throb of his throat and had to shift on my seat to ease my hardness.
“It’s a good night,” I said. “Plenty of business. The takings will be high.”
Seve stared at me as if I wasn’t the only one who thought I was spouting nonsense. “Yes, I think so. We’re doing well. Where do you work, Max?”
How bizarre! It was arse about face, as they say. We’d been closer than two bugs in a rug, we’d fucked and argued and fucked again. Now we were talking as if it were a first date. We stared at each other for a moment, as if it had suddenly struck both of us at the same time. Then I grinned and he smiled back. The tension eased.
“I want to know about you,” he said. “Not just what makes you moan. Not just how hard you like to be touched.”
How could a room get so much hotter so quickly? “I work on the construction site around the back of Preston Park. They’re building new homes and business premises. I’m not trained as a builder, but I’m a fast learner, and I do as many shifts as they offer. I’m hoping they’ll take me on permanently at the end of this project.” Seve was still looking expectantly at me. “Okay, other stuff. I was born here in Brighton, and have been in the care system since I was orphaned at age seven. I don’t talk much about it, but it worked okay. Nowadays I’m staying at Jack and Louis’ flat in Kemptown, in their attic room.” I glanced at Seve: he was concentrating on me very carefully. “I can drive but I’ve never been able to afford a car. I take size eleven shoes and have an awkwardly high instep. I like old black-and-white movies, both comedy and drama. I listen to rock music but I’m not a great fan of live gigs. I’m a crap cook, I can play very basic guitar, and I can assemble flatpack furniture like a professional. I hate mayonnaise and pineapple juice, and my favourite pizza topping is pepperoni. When I was very young, I fell out of a tree at the children’s home and scarred the back of my thigh—”
“I’ve seen it,” Seve interrupted. His eyes were even brighter.
I laughed. Despite the noise and the weird situation, I felt more relaxed with him than ever before. “Your turn.”
“Me?” He looked startled. “You know about me.”
“No, I don’t.”
He looked genuinely disturbed. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Pretend I’m a journalist,” I said, not without some bitterness. “Pretend it’s for a gossip mag.”
He frowned. “I do not tell them everything, Max. Only what they want to hear. Only about the club.” When I didn’t reply, he shrugged. For a brief moment, the music’s volume dipped and the beat shifted to something slower. His voice was perfectly clear. “I don’t know what to say to you.”
I decided to go easy on him. “Tell me some fun things, like I did. I know where you live, I know what you do. What films do you watch, what music do you like? You know the kind of stuff I mean. Best sport, dream car, fantasy holiday, favourite T-shirt.”
This time he laughed. “I don’t think I’ve had the same kind of fun as you have, Max.”
“You’ve travelled, though? Seems to me your accent isn’t just London or Spain.”
He nodded. “I was born in Madrid, where my father worked as an engineer. But he was American, so we travelled between the USA and Europe for most of my life. He was in much demand for international projects. I expect I have picked up many speech patterns over the years.”
“Must have been exciting.”
He made a strange grimace. “Not as much as you think. I have been to many schools, transferred to and from several colleges. Friends aren’t….” He cleared his throat, and perhaps not just because the music was throbbing in our eardrums again. “It’s difficult to maintain friendships when there’s so little continuity. I learned to adapt to wherever I was. When Papa died, we returned permanently to Europe and Mama introduced me to the family business.”
I found myself gripping my bottle of water more tightly. “And you’ve been there ever since.”
He didn’t answer directly, but he seemed to be entering into the spirit of the conversation. “Yes. It has shaped the whole of my adult life, I suppose you’d say. I have little leisure time outside the club. I buy my clothes from designer catalogues and my daily living needs are provided for me, including my car and my flat.” Suddenly, the reflection in his eyes sparked with something like resentment. “I used to swim a great deal, I was in the top team at one college. I used to read a lot of science fiction. I enjoyed making my own tapas dishes.” It was all in the past tense. “And amazing though it may seem, I also like pepperoni best.”
A laugh burst out of me. When he snaked a hand behind my neck, I leaned forward into the kiss. His skin felt warm and his cheeks were very flushed. We didn’t speak at all for a few long, languid moments. Goose pimples ran up my spine and my jeans got tighter around my crotch, but there was also something else at play—something more relaxed, more sensual. It felt like we were taking our time for a change. When we finally broke apart, it wasn’t because of the bartender’s raised eyebrows or the wolf whistle in my ear from further along the bar. It was because we chose to.
“I’ve been to see Mama,” Seve said slowly. His head was still forward, his breath against my ear. “I have told her of the concerns about my uncle and our clubs. She assured me he has nothing to do with gangs and the drug trade.” He made the idea sound as unlikely as interplanetary travel. “He’s just a businessman. You must take my word for that.”
I must, must I? It was a cruel and unpleasant reminder that Seve and I had far more between us than a foot of bar counter. I wanted to believe him, I really did. Was it possible that I was wrong? That he wasn’t that naïve? That he wasn’t blinded—or not so blinded—by family loyalty?
I wanted to believe—didn’t I say that? But it was a world I’d been burrowed into for a long time, and I knew who and what had been involved. There was nothing I could see that would stop it happening here. I stared back at Seve. I thought I was so sharp, but now I’d never felt duller. I didn’t know where the hell I was going with this. With us.
Seve’s tone was firm. “Step away from it, Max. You came to see me like I came to see you. That’s what matters. But we can’t talk properly here. Let’s leave.” He slid a hand up my thigh and squeezed none too gently.
Yes, of course I wanted to leave with him, go somewhere with him. I had eyes only for him. My mouth opened in reply. “No,” I said. “It’s Louis’ night and I’m here as his friend and guest. Maybe we can get together later.” Oh, how cool I thought I sounded. So bloody laid-back. Seve smiled like he was imagining me laid back, and his hand tightened on my leg. My dick strained inside my jeans. I had to find a looser, more comfortable pair.
