The Bruise_Black Sky (26 page)

“Okayyyy. No probs, man. Where’s Wellington?”

§§§

When he’d told Peyton exactly what he wanted, Nikolas clicked off and rubbed his hands over his face for a moment. “Don’t tell Ben anything until I have proof. He’ll need certainty before he agrees to—”

“No, I say do it now. Easy as breathing.”

“I
know
that.”

“Yeah, but you only know it theoretically…as a diplomat…don’t you…
sir
.”

Nikolas tuned him out. He was learning from Ben.

§§§

Nikolas went back into the studio to watch Ben fight his would-be killer.

He could barely walk across the lot against the wind, which gusted alarmingly, coming at him from unpredictable directions. The sky bore down, pregnant with unleashed rain, a vast bruise above him, staining the air.

The heat weighed him down. The storm fried what little ability to think he had left.

Perhaps it was the dilemma crushing him—what to do. Even if Peyton came back and confirmed what was obvious to him now—Santiago Molina had pushed them off the mountain in Queenstown—what was he going to do about it?

A terrible thought struck him. How many actors had died on sets in freak accidents? Could they kill Ben with a misplaced blow to the head? A snapped neck? A fall…a helicopter accident in a post-apocalyptic landscape…?

When he reached the big filming shed, Ben was fighting Santiago…Yoshi battling Nalusa Falaya…no, Oliver training with Santiago Molina. Fiction was blending too seamlessly with life, and Ben was being sucked further and further into the mix.

Even Nikolas could hardly tell him apart from Oliver Whitestone now.

He was in costume—tight stretch black shorts that hid nothing. Every single muscle stood out on his sleek frame. Although fractionally shorter than Santiago, there was no question who would win the fight. The other man was bulky and heavy. He had power, but Ben, like Ollie, had grace. Ben didn’t just work out, he ran. Running was his true love, and his superior runner’s agility worked in his favour now. Santiago could hit harder, but he couldn’t connect as often. He couldn’t dodge like Ben, duck and roll, and he definitely couldn’t flick himself to standing from being on his back on the ground. Nikolas had to smile. He’d not seen Ben do that trick before.

Watching Ben was something of a revelation for Nikolas. He tried to put himself into the position of seeing Ben as someone who didn’t know him—someone who just
wanted
him. What would that be like? To stand here and want that man? That unattainable man. He
had
seen Ben Rider once and wanted him. Then he’d engineered to bring him to his office in London and recruited him.

Then seduced him.

As if he sensed the scrutiny, Ben glanced over in Nikolas’s direction. There was an annoyed, “Cut!” Then, “Take a break everyone. Back in two hours.”

Ben appeared contrite and annoyed with himself for ruining the take.

He looked something else, too…He came over quickly, trying to pass himself off as a man greeting his bodyguard. Nikolas smirked. “You’re not a very good actor.”

Ben wrinkled his nose. “I keep forgetting not to look at the camera.”

“I didn’t mean that. I think you’re glad to see me. Guess how I know that.” Nikolas deliberately raked his gaze down Ben’s naked, sweaty chest to the hiding-nothing shorts.

Ben winced and hissed, “Stop it! It’s not funny.”

Nikolas raised his eyes. “How do you stop it doing that…on camera?”

“Bloody hell. Come on.”

Ben led the way outside. He staggered at the force of the storm then held his arms wide to it, laughing, spinning around. “This is incredible!”

Nikolas, focused on the stretched, slick, beautiful figure with the obvious tenting, had to agree—it was incredible.

Suddenly, a piece of corrugated iron whipped past them. It was the sort of crazy accident that people couldn’t believe later—taken out by a piece of wriggly tin. Standing arms akimbo in the blast suddenly didn’t seem like a very good thing to be doing. They ran for some shelter towards the trailers, but changed their minds when they saw one lift slightly before resettling.

“
Follow me.
” Ben’s words were almost whipped away by the swirling heat, but Nikolas tore after him across the lot and followed him down a set of steps.

Ben pushed through some doors, and they were suddenly in the dark and cool and quiet. Ben found a light switch, clicked it, and there was a feeble buzzing as a series of bulbs came on. Nikolas grunted in surprise. Ben grinned. “Welcome to Yoshi’s slave cell.”

He began to walk slowly through the warren of tunnels. It was almost icy, and Nikolas handed him his jacket.

“So have you found the guy then? What’s happening?”

The lights crackled louder, went out for a moment, then flickered back on, weaker than before. “What is this place?”

“Salt mines. It’s how the island got its name. It’s the perfect filming location for the show because they’ve got the old mine workings being the post-apocalyptic city, the water for the flooding, and then they film all the slaves-in-their-cells scenes here.” Ben stopped and smirked, running his hands over a section of the stone. “Remember this?”

Nikolas shook his head. He was checking his phone to see if a message had been received.

“The episode where Yoshi is wounded? He comes back from the arena and…”

“The one with tattoos all over his face rapes him.”

“That was right here.”

Nikolas frowned, looking up. “How do you know? It all—oh.”

The wall was surprisingly cold when you were pressed face first into it.

Ben was lean and hard against his back, pressing him on. “Yoshi couldn’t fight back, his ribs were…” He slid his hands up under Nikolas’s shirt and stroked his unbroken ribs, eager hands on hot skin. One by one, he undid Nikolas’s buttons then peeled the shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. Then they had naked skin to join. Ben ground his chest into Nikolas’s back until he ripped him around and seized his mouth for a savage kiss. There was no hiding Ben’s intent. The Lycra gave it away. He eased his mouth away, grumbling, “I wish you’d shave.” He flung him around once more face first into the chill rock. “It’ll have to be like this then.”

Nikolas was laughing, which he knew wasn’t the response Ben really wanted, but it was hard to simulate resisting something you desperately wanted. When Ben sank deep into him, Nikolas felt a surge of savage pride that having been surrounded by near-naked men all day, Ben apparently only craved him. And Ben did hunger for him. You couldn’t fake the delight he could hear in Ben’s ragged breathing, couldn’t mistake the meaning of his meaningless murmurs, or misread all the signals he sent, every inch of his body engaged in the rising urgency between them.

He changed position slightly, coming up at Nikolas on the balls of his feet. The extra height and thrust made Nikolas cry out, but it wasn’t something he did, so he cut it off, choked it back, and the sound was like the piece of tin whipping past them—gone before they’d really been aware of it. Ben was panting loudly now, the thrusts painfully hard, and Nikolas was slammed into the rough surface again and again, but then he reached the place Ben had been trying to send him, and he cried out again, shot a hand back to hold Ben on and in and deep, and felt Ben filling him, tension draining from his body with the release. Nikolas’s spill splattered on the wall and trailed down, fresh salt in the old eerie, abandoned mine.

Ben leant forward and fastened his teeth onto Nikolas’s shoulder. He bit hard and hung on, licking skin. Nikolas arched back and then there was no respite, no moment he might have sunk into for rest and rejuvenation, for he was hard again, swollen on the sudden pain. He turned, dislodging Ben, who now stood almost illegally indecent, his shorts hooked down around his cock and balls. Nikolas groaned and cupped the warm offering as they kissed, kneading, working. He could feel Ben rising and tightening to the play of his fingers.

Nikolas brought their cocks together and enfolded them both, rubbing them, stimulating them as their tongues danced and played above. He squeezed Ben even closer then gripped him around his firm cheeks, their cocks engaging independently as they ground their hips together.

They erupted at the same time, releases mingling, and still they kissed, biting lips, sharing taste with wide-open mouths and greedy, careless sucks. Shuddering into each other, knees weakening, with rueful glances and a last flick of tongue or lip, they eased apart. Ben laughed into Nikolas’s bare shoulder. “I missed you.”

They sank to the ground, backs to the wall.

Nikolas was thinking about cigarettes, but was dragged out of his gloomy reverie when Ben murmured, “I feel him in here—Oliver.”

Nikolas shrugged. He saw dead people. It didn’t mean he wasn’t rational. “Maybe.”

“What would happen if the world changed and didn’t want men like us anymore?”

“I have not noticed the world wanting us much now.”

“Not
gay
. I mean soldiers.”

“I’ll repeat what I’ve just said then.”

“So, what did you discover? Where’ve you been?”

Nikolas checked his phone yet again. “Everywhere and nowhere.”
Fucking text me, you freak
. “Come, your two hours must be up. I will tell you tonight. I am waiting on some information.”

They tidied themselves as best they could. Ben was the more obviously messed up as, again, nothing, especially damp, could be hidden on his incredibly revealing outfit. Fortunately for them the storm had unleashed her latest offering when they emerged from the tunnels. Once more Ben held his arms wide, his face now tipped back to sheeting, hot rain. He looked like a primitive god summoning the storm’s fury. Nikolas grabbed him and dragged the laughing figure back towards the studio.

§§§

Squeezy joined Nikolas watching the resumption of the filming.

“Good shag?”

A violent gust of wind rattling the walls of the building drowned Nikolas’s reply, but Squeezy laughed anyway. He’d obviously read the lips.

Ben was circling Santiago warily, crouched, just waving his sword temptingly to get the other man to attack.

“What’s this fucking scene supposed to be then?”

Santiago swung. Ben dived and rolled, coming back to his feet so fast he swept the other man’s legs out from under him.

“Oliver bonding with his co-star.”

“There’s a word for that.”

“There is.”

They were both up, twirling their swords mockingly.

“You told him while you were—?”

“No. I
must
have the proof.” He didn’t tell Squeezy that he’d been…tamed by Ben, forced sometimes to do things Ben’s way. He checked his phone yet again. Another vast shake of the studio made them both wince.

Peter furiously shouted, “Cut!”

Ben turned to look at the director.

And then Santiago swung.

It seemed as if he hadn’t heard Peter…that he hadn’t seen that Ben had stopped.

The heavy wooden sword caught Ben on the temple, and he went down as if he’d been shot.

§§§

To be fair to everyone, there would have been far more consternation about Ben’s apparent death if the roof hadn’t suddenly whipped off the studio.

Nikolas therefore was the only one at Ben’s side, so he was the only one who saw him open his eyes, the only one who heard him swear, and then hold him as he threw up. He’d held Ben Rider-Mikkelsen many times as he’d vomited for one reason or another, and it never got more pleasant—but it never grew old either.

Ben vomiting meant he was alive.

For one minute, Nikolas had thought Ben had been killed.

Squeezy wasn’t far behind Nikolas coming to Ben’s side. He avoided giving any assistance with the throwing up, but he helped some with the swearing. Together he and Nikolas lifted Ben under the arms and supported him as he staggered towards the walls where the equipment wasn’t flying around, lethal projectiles mixed with harmless swirls of paper.

Dolly had just joined the apocalypse.

They tried to run to the trailers, but one lifted into the air, twisted like a dancer and tumbled back down onto the others.

Nikolas shouted over the wind, “The mines!”

They weren’t the only ones heading down for shelter. He could see two figures ahead of them, stumbling and being blown down the steps.

The mine was dark and the lights didn’t work. There was no sign of the two who’d preceded them in.

Out of the wind now, they lowered Ben to the ground. He struggled to sitting, claiming he was all right, worried about all the others. Squeezy took out his phone and turned on his torch app. He held it so Nikolas could examine Ben’s head.

Ben now had a darkening bruise on his face, which, Nikolas noted angrily, matched the discolouration on his ribs and arms. He was turning the colour of the sky.

The shade of
his
fucking mood.

Nikolas nodded as this bruise-black spreading confirmed something he’d already thought. “You’re quitting. Now. Let’s go.”

They weren’t going anywhere.

Something vast and heavy slammed against the doors. However hard they pushed, they wouldn’t open.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Once they’d got Ben sitting down once more and wearing Nikolas’s jacket, Squeezy motioned to Nikolas to walk a little way down into the darkness with him.

Nikolas backed away from Ben, who was staring vacantly at the doors, until his slumped figure disappeared into the shadows as they moved away with the torch.

“Did you see who was in front of us?”

Nikolas shook his head. He’d been only focused on Ben.

“The fuckers.”

Nikolas pursed his lips. For once, he didn’t need Squeezy translated. He glanced despairingly at his phone. Tapped it, desperately.

“You’re still not sure about this? How many fucking near misses do they get before they get it right? He’s nearly killed him twice!”

Nikolas closed his eyes for a moment. “Stay with Ben.”

Squeezy seized his arm. “No. If
you
do it, he’ll know.” He hesitated then added, “He thinks you’re…a good man—underneath the bullshit. Don’t disillusion him with the truth.”