Conscious Decisions of the Heart (20 page)

This was war and Ben Rider was ready for battle.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Nikolas had another bad day. He wished he’d never complained about purposelessness to Ben. He was chained. That was it. He had nothing to do but think about the pain in his shoulders and wrists, his splitting headache from the concussion, the cold—and attempt to plan an escape. That last didn’t take him long because unless he could make some headway with Anna, this wasn’t going to happen. He was so cold and so bored when she finally made another appearance he almost meant what he greeted her with.
Almost.
“Anna, you came back. Thank you, thank God.”

“I’m not going to just
leave
you. Don’t be silly. Even though that’s exactly what you deserve.”

“Yes, I know, I’m really sorry. But it’s hard to be here—to have you see me like this.”

Anna set down a thermos and some wrapped sandwiches on the table. She’d clearly not thought through how he was going to use the thermos or how she was going to feed him the sandwiches safely. She hesitated, looking at him, and he continued his campaign. “Anna, can you stay for a while? Just sit and talk to me. Please.”

“If you’re rude again, I’ll just go.”

“I’m so sorry, Anna. I don’t want to be rude to you. I don’t want that at all. That’s what we were arguing about, you know—when you saw us. I told Ben I thought you were beautiful. I was so jealous of him, Anna.”

She put a hand up and tucked her hair nervously behind her ear. “That’s just silly. I must look awful. It’s very cold out.”

“It’s very cold in here, Anna, and I’m naked. Perhaps you could bring me some clothes next time you come. You could choose them for me. Something nice? I know you’d choose really well.”

“I don’t know…” She looked around as if admiring the décor then tentatively pushed the plate of sandwiches over to him. She frowned when he didn’t try to eat them.

“I can’t eat when you’re here, Anna. It would embarrass me for you to see me like that. I like you too much.”

“Oh, well…” She got up and walked around him to the back, looking at her handiwork. “I would’ve chained you in the front, but I didn’t think. This is how the police always handcuff people, isn’t it? If I’d planned it, I could’ve…I was so tired, dragging you, and then the boat, and it was so cold.”

“You did really well, Anna. Honestly. You did a really good job and kept Ben safe. Why don’t you unchain me, Anna, and we can keep Ben safe together?”

She drifted off toward the shelves then back to the table, twisting her fingers together, playing with her hair. Nikolas watched her like a hawk watching prey.

“I think they’ll find you soon.”

“Well, that’s good, Anna, no? You didn’t plan this, and you’ve looked after me really well. You’ve kept me safe, too. You’ve
nothing
to be afraid of when they find me. Why don’t you just tell them where I am? We can wait here together for them, then. We could enjoy your sandwiches and drink some coffee together. I’ll tell you some stories about Ben. Would you like to hear some stories about Ben, Anna? While we wait? Just tell—”

“
Shut up!
You’re lying, trying to trick me. I don’t know what to do.” She began to pace, still wringing her hands, walking to and fro then around Nikolas, then from one wall to another as if she were just as trapped as he. “You
made
me do this.” She came closer, almost shaking her fist. He stopped watching her and bowed his head, meekly kneeling.

“Anna, listen—”

“
Stop staying Anna like that!
Stop it! It’s all
your
fault. If you hadn’t hurt him, I could’ve—But I
had
to get you away. I didn’t know what to do with you! What am I going to do with you? You
made
me do this!” Suddenly, she was by the shelving unit. She picked up a hockey stick and came back, swinging it wildly. Nikolas was too cold and too stiff to move quickly enough to avoid it. It hit him full in the face and broke his nose. It flung him back, and the chains yanked his shoulders, almost dislocating them. He cried out, the blood pouring back into his throat, making him choke and spit. She came in again, hitting him hard on the side of his head. He felt himself greying out but fought it and got to his knees and then his feet.

On his feet, Aleksey Primakov wasn’t so easy to hurt. Every time she came at him, he kicked at the stick, catching the swings on his ankle and legs, but she was tiring and crying and telling him over and over it was all his fault. Finally, she sank to the ground, cradling the stick in her arms. He was panting so hard, trying to breathe through the blood and pain, he didn’t try to speak to her. He didn’t dare sink to the floor again, so he just squatted slowly and hung his head, concentrating on not passing out.

Eventually, he heard her stir, and straightened, rising painfully to his feet, a wave of nausea and dizziness making him stagger.

She looked up at him towering above her, a figure of skin and blood. “Not so talkative now, are you?”

“No.”

“Do you want these sandwiches, or not? I can’t just wait on you hand and foot, you know.” She slowly rose to her feet as well, considered the blood-covered hockey stick in her hands, and then very precisely replaced it on the shelf. “I have to go now. When I come back, we’ll have some coffee together, yes? Like you wanted.”

He didn’t reply. She nodded anyway then rolled the thermos over to him. He watched it settle at his bleeding feet, and then she was gone.

Very carefully, he eased himself to sitting. Adrenalin had worn off, and he was shivering very badly. He examined his legs. He was fairly sure one anklebone was chipped, and the joint was swollen already to almost twice its size. He was unable to run fast now so needed to factor that into his escape plans. He heard a bitter, choked laugh and realised it was his. What plans? So far, he’d only managed to piss the psychotic bitch off enough for her to beat him up. It would’ve been funny if it hadn’t been so painful. He began to wonder if his extensive experience of torture was, in fact, utterly useless. His victims hadn’t been tortured by a
psychopath
. As he’d once told Ben, he was the sanest person he knew. He’d tortured people because they required torturing. He hadn’t particularly enjoyed it (although some of it had its perks). He was completely sane; she was not.

He’d clearly gone about this all wrong.

When his nose stopped bleeding, he tried to eat the sandwiches, but he couldn’t bend over without feeling as if his brains were going to explode out of his nose, which was unnerving enough to endure the hunger. He was fairly sure she’d cracked his cheekbone as well because he couldn’t see out of his right eye. It left him unnervingly blindsided. But he found that interesting, as he appeared to be slightly short sighted in his left eye. He’d never noticed before. He played with that for a while, testing his vision on the things in the shed until the thrill wore off. He felt sick again. At least vomiting relieved the monotony of the pain and the cold. Clearly another severe blow to his head hadn’t helped his earlier concussion.

Eventually, he thought about the thermos. He’d dismissed it at first, being so handicapped with his hands behind his back, but by getting it secure in the folds of the blankets, he was able to grasp it quite easily. He even managed to screw the top off and set it back down. Then came the puzzle, how to actually drink the contents. He was desperate enough to knock it over and lick the coffee off the floor, despite the other spills surrounding him, but he wanted to leave that for a last option. Finally, he settled on grasping the thermos with his knees and then slowly rolling back until…scalding coffee poured all over him. He cursed and dropped the thermos, and that was when he had his first real glimmer of a plan. He picked it up between his feet and slammed it into the concrete floor. Pain shot through his damaged ankle, but the thermos didn’t break. He twisted around and got hold of it with his hands and then repeatedly smashed it, again and again. Who knew thermoses were so strong? But he didn’t have much else to do, so he continued. Unfortunately, the strain on his wrists where they were held tight in the shackles began to make them swell. He could feel the metal digging in, the skin rubbed raw and bleeding, but he continued to bash the thermos. Eventually, he reversed it and hit the open rim, and then it cracked. It was hardly dramatic, but he felt it. He increased the pressure, and finally it broke apart. He had a weapon and, more importantly, something he could use to rip the blankets. Now, though, his shoulders ached so much he could hardly move his arms, and his wrists were so swollen he couldn’t feel his hands, so it was very hard to get a blanket and a piece of glass and try to tear strips.

He couldn’t do it.

All he succeeded in doing was slashing his fingers with the glass until they became so slippery he couldn’t hold it. He had to stop. What was the point anyway? He saw now there was no chance he’d be able to fashion a rope and lasso a tool. And what would he do with one of the butchery tools anyway? He needed to remove the shackles, and he couldn’t see a hacksaw or use one if he could. He lay back on the filthy blanket and catalogued his new injuries.

It wasn’t looking good.

§ § §

Ben didn’t sleep that night. He replayed the interview at the police station. He wasn’t wallowing now in self-pity about their accusations. He knew who he was. He’d remembered what he was to Nikolas. He’d found himself again. Somehow, in the act of shaving his head, he’d rediscovered the person who’d first attracted Nikolas, who’d held that complex, enigmatic man captive all these years, held him orbiting his young lover like a moon around a planet of greater gravity. He was the centre of Nikolas’s life. He only replayed the interview to make his own list of people he’d met on Aeroe. It was more extensive than he’d thought.

There was Ingrid, of course. There was Alan Lund and his family. Alan had three sons, Jacob, Tomas and Otto. Jacob was married to Brigit. He’d met Hans the caretaker, and Ben mentally put a star alongside his name, because Hans also knew Nikolas, had, in fact, been working for the Mikkelsens before Nik was born,
and
Hans knew Ingrid. There was the library, Gabby, Amy, and the other librarians. He’d met the vet when he’d taken Radulf to check a sprain, but he couldn’t remember her name. He’d shopped extensively at the market and knew the stallholders by sight but not by name. He’d had a drink with the girl in the tourist information office once when she’d been in Alan Lund’s and recognised him. He knew the men who read Ingrid’s meter and fixed her boiler, but he’d only met them once, hardly likely to create the kind of psychosis that would lead to this. He couldn’t think of anyone else. There was the agent who’d rented them the lodge—but he’d only stood alongside Nikolas while the arrangement had been made. He couldn’t remember even
speaking
. They’d seen a couple of builders about the renovations…He mentally reviewed his list. Over twenty people. He tried to narrow it down and deleted people if he couldn’t remember their names or if he’d only met them once. Eleven people left. Had Nikolas met anyone he hadn’t? He’d been to his villa without Ben, met other builders possibly? There was Anna, the mystery girl in the restaurant, but Ben was fairly sure this had just been a joke. Perhaps all the women he’d met on Aeroe had known very well why he hadn’t taken up their offers of comfort. Maybe seeing him with Nikolas that night had only confirmed what they’d gossiped about together. It was not something he was comfortable considering. He didn’t like admitting to his best friend Squeezy that he was gay, let alone women he flirted with.

He fell into an uneasy sleep that wasn’t really sleep at all. He hadn’t eaten or slept normally since the day Nikolas had gone. All he did was dream. Fortunately, before he fell into one of his frightening, disturbing dreams, he felt someone shaking his arm and stirred, groggy and confused. “Mum?” His mother was standing over him. She was smiling and clasping her hands with delight. “I’ve found him for you, Benji. He’s safe.” Ben rose quickly from the bed and went out by the stream where it divided the garden from the moors. He felt disorientated, peering back up at the house looming above him, but then he remembered he was only four so of course the house would be bigger. Nikolas was standing looking up at the tor, idly dipping his toe into the pond they’d built. He turned when he heard Ben, crouched down and opened his arms. Ben sank into them and it was all warmth and security. Nikolas was rocking him and humming a song which was his mother’s favourite and which she’d sing to him every night before he went to sleep. Ben knew he should pull away, knew he should tell Nikolas he wasn’t a baby any more, that he didn’t need to be held so tightly—

Suddenly a knee jammed into his ribs, and he sat up with a cry.

Squeezy grunted and mumbled, “You wanking, Diesel? Shit,” and turned over.