Page 39 of Compulsion

“I don’t know he’s not.”

Jack’s voice sharpened. “Listen to yourself, Max. You won’t give anyone a chance, not even yourself.”

“You don’t believe me?”

Jack’s hand tightened. “Of course I bloody do! Don’t you dare turn this on me. And I don’t know any different, not for certain. But if you’re that sure you know who’s behind it all….”

He didn’t need to finish that accusation. I was the one who’d turned tail and run away from it all. I was the one who might have evidence that could help settle things, and I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. Sorry for the argument, sorry for the lies, sorry I wasn’t brave enough yet to turn myself in. Sorry for me.

“There’s always Crimestoppers,” Jack said. “You can call in anonymously. Give your information over the phone.”

“I will think about it,” I said. “I promise.”

“It’s for your own peace of mind, Max, not mine.” Jack sighed. “Is the kid they’re after the same one you knew?”

“It sounds like it might be.” Baz had been the most difficult to reach, the one with the least hope. My gang had tried to keep him protected from others and from himself, but who knew where he was now? And why the hell did I care, when he’d killed my friend and mentor? I had a sudden, vivid memory of Stewart, his voice, his smile, his arms full of those bloody files that he had to carry around with him almost all the time, just trying to keep up with his workload. And then the skinny body pushing up against us, the shock blindsiding me, the kid turning toward Stewart. The glint of a knife, the grunt of surprised pain….

“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.”