Worth Keeping (34 page)

“Owen, it’s okay. As long as he doesn’t hurt you he can do what he likes to me.” Nick heard the resignation his voice and hated himself. “It’s nothing new. I’d rather it were me than you. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Nick, nothing’s going to happen to either of us.” Owen’s fierce face was terrifying to see. “I’ll fucking kill that bastard when I get my hands on him just for thinking he can touch you.”

“It’s my fault you’re in danger now,” Nick said softly. “If you’d never met me then you wouldn’t be in this situation. “

Owen’s face darkened. “If I’d never met you, we’d never be having any conversation at all because I’d be dead. Don’t let that bastard get to you, Nick.” He raised his voice slightly. “Socks, bring that fucking penknife over here, now!”

There was a chirrup behind the curtain and Socks appeared with his orange penknife clutched in one tiny paw. Nick laughed in relief when he saw it. “Clever Socks. Bring it to me.” The monkey leapt onto Nick’s lap and held out the knife. Nick’s heart sank. He hadn’t thought this far ahead as to how Socks was going to give it to him. But before he could formulate a plan, Socks was on the floor beside the chair and Nick felt the smooth steel of the knife slide into his hand, the one where the binding was already a little loosened.

“Christ, that monkey’s smarter than a lot of people I know,” Owen muttered as he watched Nick manoeuvre the small penknife. “Pity he couldn’t open it too. How the hell are you doing to get the blade open?”

“I never showed this trick to Socks because he’s too damn smart for his own good.” Nick’s fingers strained to hold the item and do what he needed to do. “But there’s a small button hidden under the clasp, makes it act like a flick knife. It should automatically release the blade if I can just bloody get to it. It’s probably rusty so I hope like hell it works.”

His forearms tightened with the effort to get his fingernail under the clasp and press down on the small nodule underneath. He swore as his fingernail tore, wincing at the sudden pain. He ignored it, thumbing the switch. Finally it released and Nick swore again as the blade was released, cutting a chunk of skin out of the fleshy part of his hand.

“Got it,” he said in triumph.

“You’re bleeding, Nick.” Owen’s worried voice echoed in the room.

“Just a flesh wound. I’ll be fine. Now let me just get this in place and maybe I can saw through these ropes. The blade is pretty sharp actually.”

Slowly and inexorably Nick managed to begin the process of cutting the rope around his wrist. It was awkward and his arm and shoulder were at such an angle that they ached. But he was determined to do it.

“Luckily this is the thin bondage rope that he used,” Nick grinned tiredly, seeing the roll on the dresser. “Thank God for that. If it was the other kind there’s no chance in hell I’d even make a dent in this. Good thing you’re into all this stuff.”

Owen was quiet and Nick looked up as he continued his sawing. “You okay, Owen?”

“Nick, how did Brad know where you lived? How did he find you?” He frowned. “I was out of it but I could swear I heard him mention the name Cole Porter. That’s the name of someone I was in touch with in London. Do they know each other?”

Nick’s hands were slippery with blood but he thought there was more give in his binding. He continued sawing. “No, Owen. Brad
is
Cole Porter.” He didn’t want to explain but he knew Owen wouldn’t stop until he knew the truth. “Those pictures of my artwork you sent to someone—they knew Brad and asked him to look at them. It’s a small, intimate community and Brad is a pretty big fish in it. He recognised it as my work.”

Owen’s face was stark, and the look of horror in his eyes broke Nick’s heart. “Then all the time I was talking to Cole Porter, it was him? And he managed to track you down because of me?”

Nick nodded. The rope was almost cut through; he could feel it giving way. “Yes, apparently he asked someone in your family how to find you. Owen, don’t stress, please. You didn’t know. You were just trying to help me.”

“I got us in this position,” Owen choked, his eyes full of pain. “Nick, he wants to hurt you and I led him straight to you.”

Nick gave a small cry of triumph as his rope came free and he could move his right arm. He moved swiftly to untie the left one with fingers still sticky with blood. “It’s not your fault. Brad’s the crazy bastard here. We can deal with this later. Right now let’s focus on getting free and getting him locked up where he belongs.” Nick’s other binding came loose and he soon made short work of his ankle restraints then moved over to release Owen. Nick knew they probably had run out of time already, Brad couldn’t be too far away from coming back yet. He wondered grimly what the man was doing upstairs even though he wasn’t complaining.

Soon both he and Owen were free, standing up and stretching cramped muscles. Nick wondered what the best thing to do was. Hide behind the door and knock Owen out as he came in? No doubt two grown men would be able to subdue another, even if Brad was bigger and stronger.

Owen’s face was white and he seemed to have retreated into himself. Nick couldn’t bear the beaten look on his lover’s face. He reached over and cupped Owen’s face in blood-soaked hands, leaving scarlet fingerprints.

“Owen, stop feeling guilty. We can sort this out. What do you think? Surprise him when he comes in or sit back down and pretend to be bound then jump him together?”

Owen took a shuddering sigh. “If he comes to the door and sees an empty chair, he’ll be forewarned and could do a runner. I think we sit back in them and when he comes into the room, we tackle him.”

Nick nodded. “Let me just clean up your face first. If he sees the blood on your face from me touching you, he’ll smell a rat.” He took his shirt from his jeans, dipped the end in the glass of water at his bedside then cleaned Owen’s face of the blood streaks he’d just left. Then he cleaned his own hands, wincing at the cut on his palm. Owen seemed numb and Nick leaned forward and rested his forehead against Owen’s.

“I’m so sorry, Nick,” Owen whispered, his voice anguished. “Truly sorry at bringing him back into your life and putting you in danger.”

Nick kissed Owen’s cold lips tenderly. “Forget it,” he whispered. “Now sit down and let’s see how good our acting skills are. He could be back any minute. The chances are he’ll come over to me first. But be careful of him. The man has a strength bar none and he’s also sneaky with a violent streak. Wait until he’s close to me, distracted maybe then tackle him from behind. Then you bring him down, sweetheart. Hit him hard with that paperweight.” He motioned to the glass owl on the dressing table. “Don’t go easy on the son of a bitch.”

Owen nodded and sat back in his chair, arranging the ropes loosely across his wrists. Nick did the same. They sat in silence, glancing at each other as they waited. They didn’t wait long. Nick heard the sound of gentle humming in the hallway and then Brad stood in the doorway. He had a half-full glass of red wine in one hand and a chicken leg in the other, which he waved at them both.

“Whoever cooked this, it’s damned good. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was. I did a bit of exploring. I like this place, it’s truly quaint.” He took another bite of the chicken leg as he stood and observed them from the doorway. Nick tensed and he saw Owen do the same.

Come into the bloody room, Brad.
Did the man have a suspicion all wasn’t well?

“I took a piss too, so that there are no distractions, Nicky.” He rubbed his groin suggestively. “So we have all the time in the world.” He grinned. “Owen, you’re awake. Good, you can watch me pound the arrogance out of Nick and see how a real man does it.” He observed Owen with a sneer. “You’re rather gullible aren’t you? Did you really think anyone would be interested in Nick’s crappy paintings?” He moved into the room, still out of reach at the door. He took a slug of wine. “Has Nick told you all about his poor, pathetic life, Owen? How his own mother loaned him out to randy men, how they abused him and left him to die? I imagine you’ve never had the pleasure of him inside you and I know damn well you’ve never been in him. He’s a pathetic excuse for a man, really. He needs someone to show him how it’s done and that someone is me.”

Nick tried to stop the red tide of fury from dictating his actions. He wanted nothing more than to launch himself at Brad, punch his mouth in an effort to shut him up. But he had to ensure they had the best possible advantage. He’d been in a knock-down fight before with Brad and it wasn’t pretty.

Owen’s eyes were stony. “That’ll never happen, you tosser. You did enough to him and you are never going to touch him. That’s a promise.”

Brad laughed loudly as he moved further into the room to stand in front of Nick.

Nick tensed. Brad reached out a hand and gripped Nick’s chin tightly. “He’s sweet, Nick. I’m sure he’ll taste just as sweet when he’s on the end of my cock.”

Nick saw Owen propel himself out of his chair, grab the paperweight then catapult into Brad. Brad gave a startled yell which turned to a choked gasp as Owen smacked him on the back of the head with the glass owl. The glass of wine went flying through the air, the chicken leg going in another direction.

It wasn’t as hard a blow as it could have been
, Nick thought,
more designed to stun than anything else.
Owen wasn’t a violent man.

Nick leapt to his feet as Brad fell back onto the bed, dazed, with blood oozing from the gash on his scalp. Together, Owen and Nick straddled the shell-shocked man. Socks screeched and ran up on the curtain rail. Nick sat on Brad’s stomach while Owen pinned his legs down.

Brad shook his head furiously, like an angry grizzly bear. “Get the fuck off me, you retards,” roared Brad, his face turning puce with the effort to unseat the two men.

“In your fucking dreams,” Nick spat into Brad’s face. “I’m calling the police.”

Brad sneered. “Have you forgotten my threats, Nick? To tell everyone about your story and make sure your pretty boy there gets a good seeing to, not to mention that old fart of a father of yours?”

Nick shook his head. “No, Brad, I didn’t forget. I don’t really care about my story getting out. I’d live with it if I had to. But there is no way you are going to hurt anyone again. Definitely not Owen or my dad.”

Owen leaned forward and delivered a roundhouse punch to Brad’s mouth. The man’s head rolled violently against the bed covers.

Owen’s murderous expression was one Nick never had seen before and he hoped he never had to again. His green eyes were like shards of broken glass, his mouth twisted in a very un-Owen-like snarl.

“I didn’t hit you hard enough and that’s for making me feel ill, you bastard.” His fist punched another dent into Brad’s chin this time and Brad shouted out in pain. “And that’s for threatening to rape my boyfriend, you sick son of a bitch. I swear I would have fucking killed you if you touched or hurt him.”

Nick saw Owen’s hand raised to deliver another blow and he grabbed his wrist, holding firm as Owen glared at him with unfocused eyes, his chest heaving.

“Owen, enough,” Nick murmured gently. “Bring the rope over here and we can tie him up. Then I can make a call to Don. I’ve got this bastard covered.”

Owen heaved a shuddering breath, and then left the bed to retrieve the rope. Soon Brad was trussed up like a Christmas turkey, mouth gagged with a sock and more bondage tape. Nick went to the lounge to retrieve his mobile, leaving Owen to watch Brad with frosty eyes.

Nick returned to the bedroom as he dialled Don’s number and put him on speaker phone.

“Nick? Is everything all right, son?”

Nick closed his eyes, feeling exhaustion creep up on him. Owen laid a soft hand on his arm and Nick smiled at him. “No, Don. Not really. I’ve got Brad tied up on my bed and I can assure you it’s nothing sexual. The bastard broke in, drugged us and tied us up. He made threats. I need your police buddies to come take him away and take care of him for me.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone. “Nick, are you sure you want us to come over and do that? You know how we operate—”

“I’m sure, Dad.” Nick whispered. “Please just come and take this piece of filth away so we can get back to normal. I don’t want anything to happen to Owen.”

When Don spoke again, his voice was choked. Nick knew it was because he didn’t often use the endearment Dad. “Okay. I’ll get Robbie and the lads to take out the trash. It will be a couple of hours but they’ll be there as soon as they can. I’ll come down with them. Are you sure the two of you are okay until then?”

“Yes, we’re fine, really. Just get that psycho Robbie here soon and let him get this garbage out of my home.”

“See you soon, son.” The line went dead and Nick laid his mobile down on the bedside table as he passed a trembling hand across his eyes.

“Nick, what are you doing?” Owen’s voice was uncertain and his eyes were shadowed. “I thought we were just going to call the local police?”

Nick shook his head. “This isn’t a job for the locals, Owen. This needs a bit more finesse.” He sighed heavily. “Let’s make sure this guy isn’t going anywhere and then I’ll lock him in the bathroom and we can wait for Don to get here. I’ll explain everything in the lounge.”

He and Owen made sure that there were no sharp objects or anything Brad could use to free himself in the bathroom, and then they picked him up. He struggled fiercely but they managed to finally dump him in the bathtub. Brad lay there wriggling, his wild eyes watching every move they made.

Owen leaned down and hissed into his face. “And just so you know? Nick’s cock works just fine when it’s inside me, you sick fucker. Just wanted you to know that.”

Brad’s eyes grew even wilder and the muffled sounds through the makeshift gag were definitely not compliments. Nick locked the bathroom window, taking the key from the key hole, then finally the door. There was no way Brad was going anywhere. Socks and his penknife came with them into the lounge.

Nick sat down, his bones weary, and lay back against the couch with a soft sigh.

Owen sat down next to him, his attitude hesitant and a little wary. “So who the hell is Robbie?” Owen asked finally. “He sounds a little scary.”