The Bruise_Black Sky (28 page)

“I know what I said, Ben. I remember everything I say. Trust me.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You know I’m going to say nothing, so why ask?”

“Because I was hoping there might just be a chance that you’d tell me, that’s why. You’re shutting me out.”

“Oh, God, we’ve had this conversation so many times. I don’t shut you out. I keep you away from all the shit. There is a huge difference.”

They came to the leat, which usually marked the midpoint of a race. Nikolas allowed his horse to lower her head and drink and then slid off, idly holding her reins. Ben dismounted, too. He stood close and tucked his free hand into the back of Nikolas’s jeans. “This is the place where I discovered I was gay.”

“Huh?” For the first time on their ride, Nikolas seemed more present, his eyes fixed with curiosity on Ben.

Ben nodded. “When I’d lost my memory. We raced and then at the end of the race—when you’d won, of course—we stood just like this. I hardly knew you from fucking Adam, but I wanted you so badly I almost took you down to the grass and had you.”

“Don’t swear at me and you couldn’t—take me down. You are—”

Ben had a leg hooked behind him and had him on his back before Nikolas could complete his sentence. He just grunted. “Fuck!”

Ben laughed and replied, “Okay.”

He lay on top and kissed Nikolas very slowly, watching his expression knowingly.

Nikolas suddenly rolled them, now on top. Something shifted between them and Ben knew Nikolas had felt it, too—some residual reserve that had crept upon them since returning from America had moved off. They were raw once more, entirely themselves. He squeezed Nikolas’s face between his hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t need to know anything, okay? You almost killed yourself to come to me, and I don’t need anything else from you.”

Nikolas put his forehead down on Ben’s chest. “I told you that you were too forgiving.”

Ben pulled Nikolas’s face back up and kissed him. The kiss deepened, both wide-mouthed and craving more. Nikolas moved upon Ben so their cocks engaged through the rough denim of their jeans. Nikolas opened Ben’s fly, freeing him.

They were fucking on the moors in public. It wasn’t what they did, but Ben knew neither of them could stop, even if they’d wanted to. He trusted to fate that they would be undisturbed. Sometimes the universe was kind like that to those who didn’t deserve its mercy.

Released into the warm September air, Ben felt a rushing of desire and need filling his cock. Nikolas slithered down, taking him deep into his warm mouth. Ben arched and flung his arms to the side. The horses, startled by the odd movements at their feet, stamped and turned.

Nikolas slid Ben’s jeans down then returned to his mouth for a kiss.

Ben couldn’t believe it, but Nikolas pushed a finger into him, and he didn’t even glance around to see if they were observed. It was uncharacteristic, but the focus upon him and his pleasure was so welcome that he didn’t care either. All he could concentrate on was the taste of Nikolas’s mouth, the feel of his strong finger inside him, the swelling urgency that ached to be relieved.

He was almost there when Nikolas released himself and lay over him heavy and certain and entered with one swift, penetrating thrust. Ben cried out in pain, digging his fingers into the grass. The horses snorted and backed away, tossing their heads, and then he was there, and when he opened his eyes, Ben came with the blue Dartmoor sky above him and the soft peaty ground beneath, and nothing could ever be wrong in his world.

He felt blessed. He flung his arms up, embracing Nikolas. “I love you.” Sometimes the simplest things said the most.

Nikolas eased down on Ben’s chest. His golden hair blew in Ben’s face. He pressed into the warm fabric of Ben’s shirt. He appeared to be listening to the steady beat of the heart beneath.

§§§

Nikolas sensed Ben drifting to sleep beneath him.

He could see the marks of Santiago Molina on Ben’s arm.

He lifted his head and studied the injury to Ben’s perfect face—sickly yellow, green, and purple.

These were timely reminders.

Despite Ben’s heartfelt declaration, Nikolas knew this wasn’t how love was—soft autumn grass, immense blue sky, the towering song of skylarks—he’d relaxed his guard and made mistakes.

The universe didn’t forgive the kind of mistakes he’d made under the bruise-black skies of Salt Island.

Something was coming.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

They settled into their normal routines once Emilia went back to school. Babushka moved into her house in the grounds, so they had theirs back to themselves. Although her presence hadn’t exactly curtailed any of their favourite activities, they’d purposefully kept them to the bedroom. Now they were free to indulge themselves whenever they liked.

Ben felt once again the lightness of spirit that he’d been cultivating before the…Kristina incident. Perhaps, buoyed on the inherent boost of being a short-lived celebrity, he discovered he didn’t have to work so hard to stay one step ahead of Nikolas.
Do, then think
as a mantra now became just do. It wasn’t an act, a game as it had been.

He wasn’t unaware however that this newfound assurance was partially enabled because there had been a shift in the balance of power between them. He hadn’t just gained confidence while Nikolas stayed the same. Nikolas had withdrawn into himself since their return from the States. That was the best way Ben could describe it to himself. It was hard to put into words any better, because Nikolas applied the same skill to this retreat as he had to the not talking thing. He
not
talked to Ben by uncharacteristically chatting to him a lot, being very polite and reasonable, and hence Ben knew he wasn’t being spoken to. It was complex. Nikolas did the same thing with closing himself off—he appeared to be completely himself, more so than usual. He swam ferociously for a couple of hours a day. He wanted sex and couldn’t get enough of Ben’s body, not lovemaking but hard, challenging fucking which left Ben utterly sated and wondering if he was completely mistaken in his belief that something was just…off.

He started to notice changes, however, which he wouldn’t have given thought to without this suspicion.

Wandering into Nikolas’s office one day, searching for him, he discovered it was empty. Not just of Nikolas, but of all the usual detritus of Nikolas’s mysteriously busy days—no newspapers defaced, no paperwork carelessly scattered…no correspondence, Russian or otherwise. The work space was bare except for the computer and an empty in-tray. He didn’t often look in Nikolas’s desk, mainly because he didn’t want to get into an argument about what he might find in there, but he eased it open. The hanging files were all empty. It was the same story in every drawer.

He pondered the significance of this for the rest of the day until a thought occurred to him when he was making some tea. He went back across the bridge to the private half of the house and into their bedroom.

Standing in the huge walk-in closet, he tried to assess the items hanging on Nikolas’s side. Nikolas liked nice clothes. For the first four years Ben had known him—as a boss he illicitly fucked in anonymous hotel rooms—he’d never seen him in anything other than bespoke tailored suits and handmade shirts which cost more than Ben’s annual salary. Since then he’d favoured similar stuff to Ben—usually jeans and a shirt. It was hard to tell, but Ben reckoned there were fewer things there than usual.

He hadn’t yet allowed himself to think that Nikolas was leaving him. Of course that thought hadn’t sprung unbidden to his mind. It hadn’t. But these discoveries were odd.

The next day when Nikolas was out riding, three men turned up in a Porsche Cayenne. When Ben answered the door, they advised him they’d come to speak to Nikolas Mikkelsen. They’d wait, they said, and they climbed back into the vehicle.

Ben watched as Nikolas appeared from the direction of stables some half an hour later. He clearly saw the Porsche, paused for a moment then came on. He stopped to speak with the driver for some time and then strode into the house.

That he then began to go towards the bedroom to change suddenly infuriated Ben. “Hey! I’m sitting right here, Nikolas! What the fuck!”

Nikolas turned, apparently concerned about a fraying seam on his riding gloves. “Sorry?”

“Who are those men?” The men were beginning to get equipment out of the boot.

“Yes, I forgot to tell you. They are early. I thought it might be a good idea to improve our security a little. Glass house…I have many valuable—you have valuable artwork and other things…and we are away a lot. That’s all. You don’t mind?”

Ben didn’t know if he minded or not. That wasn’t the point.

He watched as the men moved off into the grounds.

Nikolas had disappeared. He went in search of him and found him in the bedroom. He was just standing there, arms folded, seeming deep in thought.

“Who are they?”

“Oh, just some people I used to know.”

“The department?”

Nikolas laughed, as if this were extremely funny for some reason. “No, not the department. You wouldn’t know them. It won’t be intrusive, Ben. You’ll hardly know it’s there.”

“What’s there?”

“I thought some perimeter security…cameras…you know, the usual.”

“Did you warn Babushka?”

“Babushka? No…”

“For fuck’s sake!”

Angry with everything, but mostly at himself for not having the courage to ask what was really going on under Nikolas’s front of nothing going on, Ben stormed off and went through the grounds to Ulyana Ivanovna’s house.

She had noticed the three very smartly dressed men and was peering at them warily from an upstairs window. She saw Ben, waved and came down. She had a tendency to forget that Ben’s Russian was very basic and babbled to him every time she saw him until remembrance hit her, at which point she raised her voice a notch to help him. He managed to reassure her that the men were friends. It was all he could think of to say. She seemed pleased and went out to offer them some refreshment.

When she came back, Ben wasn’t all that surprised to find that she had discovered they were Russian. She was in seventh heaven and began cooking
hvorost
, all her cooking, so she told Ben, wasted on her favourite Russian because he didn’t eat.

By the end of the week, they had a security system, and one wall of Nikolas’s study was stripped of books and was now lined by monitors. Had he wished to, Ben could have observed everything that happened in and around the grounds. The sensors could either be set to detect motion and then trigger the machines to record, or they could be on fulltime.

It changed things. Ben knew he’d grow used to the feeling of being watched—after all, everyone in England was monitored every moment of every day by cameras in all towns and cities—he knew he might even learn to forget he was being monitored, but he wasn’t happy about it. The day after the three Russians left, he took Radulf out for a walk and couldn’t help but recall the time he and Nikolas had run naked around the grounds and then up onto the Tor. No more running around in the buff, which was hardly a bad thing, he supposed…

He wrapped his jacket tighter and shivered. It was late November. Almost Christmas, as Emilia had reminded him only that morning by text.

Suddenly, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was being scrutinised. He turned his head slowly trying to spot the tell-tale box and saw it, fixed to the side of the tennis pavilion. He stared at it and knew that Nikolas was in his study, considering him. He didn’t know how he knew this, he just did.

He turned around and took Radulf back inside.

They didn’t have surveillance there.

He didn’t think so, anyway.

Who knew?

If it had been his house, he’d have known these things.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Nikolas was ambivalent about celebrating Christmas, and this year, knowing what he did about Nikolas’s Christmases as a child, Ben was inclined to be more accommodating. Squeezy and Tim were going to Aeroe, to the cabin Nikolas had given Squeezy, so Tim informed Ben when they arrived the first week in December for a few days’ stay.

Ben took the first excuse he could think of to get Tim alone on his own—he suggested going shopping so he could cook for them all that night. Nikolas didn’t even bother to look up from his newspaper, and Squeezy wasn’t out of bed yet, so Tim agreed to come and help.

As soon as they were in the car and beyond the range of the final camera overlooking the lane down to the ford, Ben asked, “Do you think Nikolas is acting strangely?”

Tim took a long time to reply, and as Ben was negotiating the increasingly narrow lane, he couldn’t glance over until they’d emerged onto a wider one. “What?”

Tim shook his head. “I’m just trying to work out how to answer that. I’m not sure what your definition of Nikolas acting normally would be.”

“Has he said anything odd to you?”

“Ben, he’s never said anything normal to me. Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to work out.” He told Tim about the added security and the empty desk.

Tim wobbled his hand. “If I had Russian security people coming into my office, I guess I’d remove all my paperwork. Lock my computer. Actually, remove my computer. And have the whole place swept for bugs afterward.”

Ben suddenly felt foolish. “I didn’t think of that.”

Out on the main road, Tim announced suddenly, “Party next week, by the way. Our place.”

Ben huffed. “This gonna be like your last party?”

Tim grinned. “I hope so. Theme is Christmas balls. Michael’s idea.”

Ben felt a weight lift off his shoulders with the thought of getting drunk with old mates from the Regiment and just not having to think about Nikolas for one night.

Then Tim added, “Kate’s coming,” and before he could stop the words leaving his mouth, Ben mumbled, “I won’t be allowed to go then.”

Tim turned his head slowly. Ben winced. Tim nodded. “Yeah, I’d wince too if I’d bloody said that. Seriously. This is not healthy, Ben. You shouldn’t let him tell you what to do.”