Page 41 of Compulsion

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 Seventeen

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’s 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 multicolored 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’s 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’s 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 realized 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’s birthday,” I said. There I was, stating the obvious, my tongue temporarily disconnected from wit. “We’re celebrating.”