Page 63 of Compulsion

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 Twenty-Four

LIFE goes on, as they say. Six 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’d reduced my shifts because 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 rumors 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, 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’s no other way I could have known enough 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 organization. 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.