Death's Ink Black Shadow (8 page)

“A revenge fuck is never a good idea. I thought about it with John.”

Ben frowned, and Tim added to clarify, “I thought about sleeping with Sebastian. He was a little whore. He’d have gone for it.”

“Then, on that logic, I should think about it with—” For the first time, the startling thought came to Ben
Jackson Keane
. Kinney?
What the fuck
?

He sat up.

“What?”

His thoughts were too unformed to share. He didn’t want to have them laughed at. “Nothing.” He looked down at Tim, at his tousled black hair, his stubble and beautiful blue eyes. “What would Squeezy say?”

Tim seemed to know what he meant. “He’d join us.” Then he frowned deeply and added, “Although he’s been kinda weird since he spoke with the bastard this morning.”

Ben didn’t comment on the fact that Tim appeared to have the same nickname for Nikolas as he now had. Had they all seen this in Nikolas? This thing he had never suspected? Sure, they’d played at being unfaithful, Nikolas teasing him by watching other men, commenting occasionally on another guy’s physique, face, anything he knew would go right to the heart of Ben’s jealousy, but he’d never once thought Nikolas would actually stray. Was that insanity or vanity? Or both?

And what about him? He wasn’t so innocent that he hadn’t baited Nikolas back.

What would he have done with this situation in the time when he’d still loved Nikolas Mikkelsen? Lying alongside Tim Watson, whom he had wanted from the very first time they’d met in a pub.

Ben would only have let it get so far and no further, that’s what he would have done.

Pretending to himself that he was tempted had been the whole point—
pretence
.

He’d never wanted anyone else since he’d met Nikolas.

Oh, but he was tempted
now
.

Not because sex with Tim was anywhere on his list of things to do post mortem, but because he wanted to hurt Nikolas, and he knew, whatever Nikolas thought about their destroyed relationship, the sense of ownership and possession didn’t go away that lightly. Nikolas might consider himself free to do as he pleased, but Ben knew without a shadow of a doubt that Nikolas would not extend that courtesy to
him
.

He turned on his side, propped up on his elbow, and undid a button on Tim’s shirt. It felt incredibly familiar, and Ben realised he must have done this in his dreams already. It was very different to Nikolas’s chest, which was smooth and very powerful and scarred. Tim’s had dark hair in a line up from his belly button, spreading like a T to his nipples. Ben stroked through it thoughtfully.

He caught Tim’s gaze. Tim narrowed his eyes. “I’m trying to decide if I want you enough to be a revenge fuck—because I get that’s all this is.”

“What have you decided? Because I don’t deny it. I hate him. You get that, yeah?”

Tim blinked slowly and opened his mouth to reply, but they heard a noise, and Ben glanced up to find Squeezy in the doorway.

He came over and pulled Tim off the bed. Tim began to protest, but Squeezy merely dragged him out of the room and shut the door on him. Then he locked it. Ben started to object, vociferously, but then Squeezy ripped off his T-shirt.

Ben’s brows lifted and any complaint dried on his lips. Fucking Squeezy was something he’d not considered before. But now, looking at his defined abs, his perfect face—the aquiline nose, high cheekbones, wide-spaced eyes and strong, stubble-covered jaw—knowing him so well, the temptation was…beyond Ben to resist. That would fuck the bastard up. Squeezy annoyed Nikolas like a permanent irritant in a place he could never scratch. Ben grinned.

Squeezy grinned back. “You got any running clothes I can borrow, Diesel?”

§ § §

Out on the moors, Ben allowed the fractured pieces of his life to fall back into place a little.

He couldn’t believe what he’d nearly done. Not because of any residual feelings he had for Nikolas, there were none, but because of what it would have done to his friendship with Tim—and Squeezy, of course. They were now running side by side, something they’d not done for well over ten years. It was better than other things you did side by side—or on top of each other. Or underneath. Or standing, come to that. There was no position he and Nikolas hadn’t explored.
Fuck him!

Ben had forgotten how fit Squeezy was. He was fitter than Nikolas—a better runner anyway. Nikolas’s smoking habit meant he would never be able to keep up the speeds and do the distances Ben could. Squeezy could though. He was actually pushing Ben. But then Ben allowed himself a little slack. He wasn’t on top form, for a number of reasons.

It seemed an odd way to spend the first day of the rest of his life: running.

He stopped suddenly. Squeezy had to skid to a halt and double back. “What’s up? Stitch? You complete fucking pussy.”

Ben shook his head. “I just realised something, that’s all. This isn’t like—” Neither Squeezy nor Tim knew about his response to thinking he’d lost Nikolas before. He was willing to tell them some things about his relationship, but not that—that was still very private. “I’m going to live.”

Squeezy snorted. “Not if your fucking fitness doesn’t improve a bit, mate. You’re a fat pig.”

Ben was six foot four, weighed a hundred and sixty two pounds and had a BMI of nineteen, which was in the very lowest of the normal range. It was only that high because most of the weight he did carry was muscle, which was heavier than fat. His abdominal v was so pronounced it cast a shadow. His abs were so ridged Nikolas could bounce—he saw Squeezy eyeing him with some amusement and stopped being outraged.

He spat instead, and took off, picking up the pace. No one could outrun him.

No one.

§ § §

When they returned to the house, Tim was gone.

Squeezy didn’t seem surprised by this sudden departure. Ben would have accused him of orchestrating it if he hadn’t been running with him for the last two hours. But Squeezy seemed to know a lot about it, suspiciously. Apparently, Tim had gone to visit his mum and dad who lived in Bristol. It was wicked how little he saw them. Ideal opportunity, now that he was so close. In Devon…

Ben was feeling drained so he wasn’t all that bothered where his friend was. He was more worried about his bike again, the theft of which he’d pushed to the back burner with so much other awful stuff happening. He told Squeezy he was going to take a shower, and with great reluctance decided he had to call Nikolas. He had to ask him about the bike before reporting it to the police. If Nikolas had sold it or something to…what? Punish him? Perhaps he’d given it to Kinney. It was such fun being so fucking miserable that Ben thought he might make a profession out of it.

Nikolas picked up, which was something. He’d clearly seen the caller ID. “Hello, Benjamin.”

Ben didn’t waste time with trivialities like hello. “My bike was missing—”

“No, I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you that we had new parking places. More convenient actually. It’s quite safe. I’ll have it sent down.”

Ben was at something of a loss now. He’d been planning on making a big deal about the missing Ducati. Which had meant a lot more than a missing motorbike, of course. What the Ducati had represented to him. To them both, given that Nikolas had bought it for him. Thirtieth birthday present.
Fuck him!

Ben sat heavily on the end of the bed, starting to shake from drying sweat, unable to think of a single thing to say.

“Was there anything else?”

Was there anything else?
Ben held the phone away, staring at it. He ended the call.

He was lying there, staring up at the tor when Squeezy came in, freshly showered. “Come on, fuckwit. I’m starving. I’m taking you out to eat. Curry? Chinese? Pub? Yeah, pub sounds good. Guess what?”

Ben summoned a reserve of strength he didn’t know he had. “Surprise me.”

“Some old mates up at Okehampton. They’re coming down to join us. Lego and Tonks.”

Ghosts from a past Ben had left long ago. He frowned. They’d been at the regimental dinner he’d gone to earlier that week. He opened his mouth to point this out, but in that moment saw the whole thing play out once again. All the weirdness since. The last thing he wanted was to meet up with the very men he hadn’t wanted to see then.

He needed distance from Squeezy’s unfailing cheerfulness and seemingly unflagging ability to keep him occupied. He agreed to the night out and said he was going to shower. Anything to be on his own.

Squeezy gave the room a quick once over, his eyes darting around, then left him to it.

Ben returned to the interesting thought he’d had about events since the regimental reunion.

He’d gone to the dinner. He’d come home unexpectedly. Nikolas had been pleased to see him—after the inevitable grumbling about having his peaceful evening disturbed. Nikolas had been
very
glad to see him. They’d fallen to the sofa in a passionate release of need and desire for each other. Nikolas had been laughing, annoying,
happy
.

Then Steven had arrived.

Since that moment when Ben had stood, pulling on his jeans, he’d had no idea whatsoever what Nikolas was thinking. It was as if a shutter had come down over Nik once more. Worse almost than the habitual guard he’d had over his emotions when Ben first knew him. Even then Ben had seen glimpses of the real man beneath…when they fucked, for sure. Nikolas had been entirely unable to hide behind his masks when he was coming inside him.

But not the last few days.

Who had that man been who’d taken him so abruptly, so painfully? Ben fingered the bruise around his neck, thinking.

Everything
stemmed from Steven’s arrival.

Ben took that as his reference point and worked forward.

After a while, removed now to the shower and letting the hot water stream over him, he began to see a pattern emerging.

He’d been sent to Devon.

He’d been distracted by a visit from Molly Rose he hadn’t even organised.

He’d been pushed away.

He’d tried to take Steven to Denmark but had been…retrieved.

And when he’d retaliated by going anyway, Nikolas had…

Nikolas had…

Had Nikolas just succeeded in a more devious pushing away?

Ben turned off the spray and stood with his head hanging down, water dripping off his chin.

He replayed that awful night in the London house again.

He’d heard a sound in the bedroom. What had that been? You couldn’t hear anyone in the bedroom from the hallway. He
knew
this.

The noise must have been from the landing outside the bedroom.

Someone on the landing.

He’d gone upstairs.

Jackson had been on the bed. Stoned.

And Nikolas had come out of the bathroom.

Naked, holding a towel, as if he’d been taking a shower after sex.

Except he had been
dry
. Hair dry. Feet dry. Who dried their fucking feet after a shower? Nikolas certainly didn’t. Nikolas’s hair was wet after a shower for an hour at least. Ben
knew
this.

He rewound the whole scenario and played it again.

He’d come into the house. Someone was on the landing, listening for him.

When he’d got up to the bedroom, Jackson Keane had been in their bed, too stoned to speak. Nikolas had greeted him, faking a shower, and then corralled him into the kitchen. Fucking hell! The bike! The car! They weren’t there because Nikolas had known what would happen and had not wanted him to drive!

Fuck him! Fuck him!

Ben couldn’t think.

Nikolas wouldn’t do this to him. Nikolas wouldn’t make up this elaborate scenario to push him away. Would he?

Nikolas wouldn’t kill him with grief, would he?

He might if…

Only a few weeks ago, Nikolas had confessed that he loved Ben enough to leave him, to destroy
himself
by leaving him, that he loved Ben more than he loved himself…and now
this
.

So this
wasn’t
that. Ben had got it all wrong.

Steven had arrived. Nikolas had instantly
swerved
and pushed Ben to safety.

Nikolas had protected him the only way he could think to do so.

Doing the
only
thing that would make Ben leave him.

The only thing
.

The
unthinkable
thing.

Ben ran from the bathroom and dragged his jeans up his wet legs. He seized a T-shirt and his boots, and ran across the swim lane. He was about to emerge into the kitchen when he flattened himself against the wall out of sight.

Squeezy.

No one would believe him. They’d say he’d lost it. They’d say that he was still in thrall to Nikolas, that he was deluded and sad. That if he went to London he’d find Nikolas back in bed with Jackson Keane.

He wouldn’t believe it himself.

Perhaps he didn’t.

But he
wanted
it to be the truth.

CHAPTER TEN

Babushka was knitting a sweater for Nikolas and watching a show about a cannibal. She didn’t understand a word, but she liked his suits, so she told Ben. She was surprised to see him, clearly, but even more shocked when he asked if he could borrow her car. Nikolas had bought her an old Land Rover to drive around the grounds to practise before she took her test. Technically, the vehicle wasn’t street legal—no licence, no MOT, and no insurance—but Ben reckoned he had more important things to worry about than prison.

He discovered why it wasn’t fit for street use when he made it out onto the first B road. Usually by this time, he was doing seventy and cruising up to the habitual ninety he liked before cresting over a hundred on the duel carriageway to Exeter. Then it was a hundred and twenty on the motorway all the way to London—if he was in no particular hurry.

The old vehicle complained at forty, and at fifty was screeching. He dropped down to thirty-five and cursed it. Nikolas said you should never praise mechanical things, for they always heard you and immediately failed, either out of spite or puffed up pride. He’d never told Ben not to swear at one, however, so he did, and because he enjoyed profanity when Nikolas couldn’t hear him.