by Caz Finlay
‘And it will be.’ He walked over to her, tea towel slung over his bare shoulder, half covering the large Celtic symbol tattooed on his chest – a nod to his mother’s Irish roots – and planted a kiss on the top of her head.
Five minutes later, the two of them were sitting at the table, eating a large plate of bacon, egg, toast and beans, which, Grace had to admit, tasted as good as any she’d ever eaten before. Despite having her head down, concentrating on buttering her toast, she felt Michael’s gaze, hot on her neck.
‘What?’ she snapped as she looked up.
‘I’m just watching you.’
‘Well, stop it, will you? I’m trying to eat my breakfast.’
‘What is this, Grace?’ he asked then, catching her off-guard.
‘Well, you cooked it. But I think it’s a fry-up. Well, it’s supposed to be at least. No sausage or black pudding though, is there?’ She laughed, trying to keep the mood light.
Michael sighed. ‘Stop taking the piss. You know what I mean.’
Grace stared at him. ‘You mean us?’
He nodded as he bit a chunk off his toast.
‘You know what it is. We’re just having some fun, aren’t we? That’s what you said that first night you persuaded me to get into your car anyway. Fun!’
‘I know that. But—’
‘But nothing, Michael. You’re in the middle of a divorce and I’m moving back home in a few months.’
‘This is your home.’
‘Not any more. I can’t stay here.’
‘But you belong here.’
Grace shook her head and focused on the plate of food in front of her so Michael wouldn’t see the tears pricking her eyes. He was right and she knew it. But she couldn’t stay. She couldn’t stay with him, as much as she desperately wanted to. She should never have agreed to start anything with him. She was going to break his heart.
Stay or go – he would hate her eventually.
Chapter 38
Reuben McBride grinned at his own reflection in the lorry’s large wing mirror. He had finally hit the big time and was feeling incredibly pleased with himself. Liam had introduced him to Bobby White and Reuben had liked Bobby straight away. He was a no-nonsense, old-school hard man. He took no shit and he crushed anyone who tried to cross him. Reuben knew exactly how to play people like Bobby – it was all about stroking their considerable ego. Reuben had done his best to impress him, and realised it had worked when Bobby offered him an in on a big job he had planned. He needed someone who could drive an HGV from Liverpool to Glasgow and Reuben had offered his services. He’d been driving HGVs since Michael Carter had put an end to his previous career as an armed robber. He’d fucked up a massive job because of the hiding Michael had given him. He’d been deaf in his right ear ever since, and all because that little faggot mate of Grace Sumner’s, Marcus Holden, took offence at the way he spoke to him. Reuben liked to conveniently forget about the fact that he’d barged into Grace’s office and threatened her too.
It still pissed Reuben off when he thought about it, but he didn’t want to make an enemy of Grace Sumner or the Carters so he’d had to bite his lip and let it go. Anyway, Bobby White was his meal ticket now. He was on his way to the top, and Reuben was happy to ride his coat tails.
Reuben was still smiling when he pulled up at the temporary traffic lights just before his turning. It didn’t even register in his head that the regular traffic lights at the junction of Derby Road and Millers Bridge fifty yards ahead were in perfect working order. It was one in the morning and there were no workmen around. If he had been a smarter man, or one who was more concerned with his surroundings rather than how pleased he was with himself, he might have thought it odd and driven straight through them.
But he wasn’t. Reuben didn’t stand a chance when a masked man wrenched open the door of the cab and pulled him out of it, tossing him onto the tarmac as though he was a used johnny. Reuben bounced like an overdone Brussels sprout and landed in a seated position. What the hell had just happened? How had he gone from Cloud Nine to Shit Street in less than ten seconds? He heard laughter in the cab and realised his attacker had been joined by someone else. Looking up, he saw another figure running down the street towards them. This idiot wasn’t wearing a mask though and Reuben recognised him as he disappeared behind the passenger side of the cab. Before Reuben could stand up the cab doors slammed shut and he watched as the lorry, along with Bobby White’s drugs, and Reuben’s future, drove away down Derby Road and into the night.
***
‘Jake, where’s your fucking mask?’ Connor snapped at him.
Jake shrugged. ‘In my pocket. It’s pitch fucking black, Con. No one saw me. And so what if they did? Bobby will know it was us. Just like I know it was him who had me off.’
‘We agreed masks. We had a fucking plan.’
‘Oh, calm down, lad.’ Paul sighed. ‘No one fucking saw him. The poor fella you just face-planted onto the tarmac couldn’t have anyway,’ he sniggered.
‘Did you see who he was?’ Jake asked.
Connor shook his head as he drove. ‘No. Didn’t recognise him. I didn’t get much time to look at him anyway as he flew past me onto the road.’ He grinned. ‘He didn’t see me anyway. Because I was wearing my fucking mask.’
‘All right, Con. I’ll stick to the plan in future,’ Jake said.
‘Good. Let’s get this dropped off and we can celebrate.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Paul.
‘Good to me,’ Jake agreed.
The three of them chattered away, full of adrenaline, as Connor drove them to Charnock Richard service station on the M6, where some of their Scottish counterparts were waiting to take delivery of the shipment of cocaine and weapons that they’d just stolen. A shipment they were paying handsomely for. Connor had to admit, Jake had come up with a good plan. He’d found out all the details of Bobby’s shipment, even the route it was taking from the docks. It was Jake who’d had the temporary traffic lights nicked and set up at exactly the right place so the driver would stop. He’d been waiting ahead in the car they’d stolen, just in case Plan A hadn’t worked. Then their plan B was to simply follow the lorry and hijack it at the most convenient opportunity.
Connor smiled as he watched Jake and his brother laughing in the cab beside him. He had the feeling this was going to be the beginning of a lucrative partnership.
***
‘Here he is – where the fuck have you been? We’ve been waiting for you,’ Connor shouted good-naturedly as Jake walked into his office at The Blue Rooms.
‘I had to see to the girlfriend before she went home,’ he said with a grin.
‘Come here, lad,’ Paul said as he pulled Jake into a bear hug and tousled his hair. The three of them had just pulled off a massive job and were a whole lot richer for it. But more than that, they had earned their place as the new top firm in Liverpool, a firm who were not to be fucked with.
‘I think tonight went even better than we’d planned,’ Jake said as he poured the three of them a shot of his most expensive vodka.
‘Too fucking right,’ Connor said. ‘I wish I could see Bobby White’s face when he realises someone has driven off with his lorry-load of coke.’
The three of them started to laugh, so full of adrenaline that the vodka had no effect at all and Jake poured them another.
‘Let’s go somewhere for a proper celebration, eh?’ Connor suggested as they downed their next shot.
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Paul agreed.
‘Where?’ Jake asked. ‘It’s nearly three in the morning. And I don’t fancy one of them all-night dives in town.’
‘We know a place,’ said Paul, and winked at him.
***
Bobby White hung up the phone and sat on the bed beside his sleeping wife, Leanne. His heart thumped violently in his chest as he thought about the container of finest quality Colombian marching powder he’d just lost. He’d gambled almost all of his spare cash on that
job and had made promises to some very dangerous people in the process. This could ruin him. He resisted the urge to throw his phone at the wall and punch his way through every piece of furniture in the bedroom, knowing it would wake Leanne and she’d start asking questions that he didn’t want to answer. Instead he sat there, silently seething as he contemplated his next move. He no longer cared about the dirt Grace Sumner had on him. He could not let this go. Jake Conlon was a dead man walking.
***
Half an hour after leaving The Blue Rooms, Jake, Paul and Connor were in a private members’ club in Liverpool city centre, knee deep in beautiful women, expensive cigars and the finest Russian vodka money could buy. Jake’s head buzzed with the thrill of it all. He loved working with the Carter twins. They were professional, cold and calculating when they were working – and a good laugh when they weren’t. The private club wasn’t usually Jake’s kind of scene, but the twins were obviously good customers and were treated like kings. Sitting back in the expensive leather chair, Jake surveyed the scene unfolding around him. One of the waiters was placing a bottle of Bollinger in the ice bucket beside them – a bottle that neither he nor the twins had ordered, but that some well-wisher had sent over in a bid to ingratiate themselves.
Jake smiled. Life was good. He had made it. People thought he couldn’t live up to his old man – but here he was being treated like fucking royalty. All of the staff practically fell over themselves to serve them. The other customers were in awe of them, and the women flocked around them like seagulls to a chip butty van.
One in particular obviously had her eye on Jake and kept rubbing her tits, which were very expensive by the looks of them, up against him every chance she got. Eventually he told her to piss off. She was wasting her time. He would never cheat on Siobhan.
Chapter 39
Jake’s head was pounding. Reaching out his arm to feel Siobhan’s familiar warmth, his fingertips brushed against skin, but it wasn’t hers. Opening his eyes, he remembered where he was. And then he remembered last night, or more precisely, earlier that morning. Feeling the bile rising in his throat, he swallowed it down, trying to swallow the feelings of guilt and shame along with it.
Paul Carter stirred beside him, disturbing the sheet as he moved and revealing a glimpse of his toned, hard torso. Jake closed his eyes and remembered Connor leaving the club with two women. He and Paul had stayed behind and carried on celebrating. The women who had previously swarmed around them seemed to drift away until there was only Paul and Jake left. When Paul had invited him to sleep at his place, Jake had convinced himself he’d only agreed because it was close to the club. He’d phoned Siobhan and left a voicemail telling her he was shitfaced and wouldn’t be home until later.
Jake lay still and willed himself to get out of the bed but he already felt the familiar twitching in his dick that only someone like Paul could give him. He was still lying there with his eyes closed when he felt a calloused hand running down his chest towards his groin.
‘Morning, handsome,’ Paul said. His deep, hoarse voice seemed at odds with his words.
Jake didn’t move. He didn’t speak, afraid that if he did, he’d say something he would regret. In his head, it could go one of two ways. He would either declare his undying love for his new business partner and make a complete tit of himself. Or he’d confess his disgust at what they had done the night before. At what they quite obviously were. Men like them weren’t supposed to be queer. They had women falling at their feet. They were idolised. Like gods. If people found out they were actually a pair of fags, they’d be a laughing stock. They would never live it down. Jake had been at school with a few lads who’d been branded gay, whether they were or not, and the grief they’d been given was both relentless and merciless. Their schooldays had been made a living hell.
Jake had known back then that he liked boys far more than girls, but he decided that was a route he would never go down. Aside from the bullying at school, there was his dad too. King shagger himself, he would have balked at the idea of his son being a queer. No, Jake wouldn’t leave himself open to ridicule for the sake of a few sexual encounters. He’d buried his urges so deep, he’d almost convinced himself he no longer had them. And now one night with Paul Carter threatened to undo it all.
When Jake had met Siobhan, he’d been surprised that he’d even fancied her, at least more than any other girl he’d ever met. But it was her laugh and her personality that attracted him to her. He did love her though. She was the only woman he’d ever had any interest in. She was his best mate. But she had never made him feel the way Paul had. He could only describe it as pure lust. The tearing of clothes and the marking of skin in that frantic need to be as much as part of the other person as possible. His and Siobhan’s lovemaking had always been pleasant enough and she gave amazing head. But as much as he hated to admit it, he usually closed his eyes and fantasised that it wasn’t her going down on him but some muscular Adonis with a six-pack and more tattoos than a sailor. Until last night, he’d never acted on any of those fantasies, convincing himself he could live with that. But now he felt like he’d crossed a line and it made him feel like he was going to throw up.
Opening his eyes, Jake decided he was going to smile politely and leave. He would pretend that last night was due to one too many vodkas and over-excitement at their latest business venture succeeding. But he looked up to see Paul’s dark head disappearing under the covers and he groaned in pleasure instead, cursing his treacherous body for betraying him and refusing to allow him to move.
Jake stared at the ceiling while Paul stared at him, his head resting on one elbow, his firm body pressed against Jake’s side.
‘First time?’ Paul asked.
‘And only time,’ Jake snapped.
Paul shrugged. ‘That’s the guilt talking, mate. You’ll soon get over it. How long have you known?’
Jake stared at him. He contemplated arguing and claiming that he wasn’t gay, that he’d made a mistake and had been curious, that was all. But something about Paul and the way he looked at him made him want to spill his guts. ‘Since I was about fourteen. You?’
‘I’ve always known.’
‘Have you done this before?’ Jake asked.
Paul laughed. ‘After what I just did to you, what do you think?’
Jake felt like he was going to vomit again and jumped out of bed. He scrabbled around the floor for his clothes.
Paul stopped laughing. ‘There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, you know,’ he said as softly as his voice allowed.
Jake glared at him as he put on his jeans. He’d had no inkling at all that Paul was gay. ‘How do you manage to keep it a secret?’
‘I’m discreet. It’s not that hard to do. I’m discreet about the women I fuck too.’
‘You’re bi?’
‘I’m greedy.’ Paul winked.
‘Does Connor know?’
‘Of course. It’s not a big deal,’ Paul replied.
‘And your dad?’
‘Probably. He doesn’t ask questions about my love life.’
Jake dressed quietly, contemplating the fact that Paul Carter was bisexual. That some of his family knew, probably all of them, as the Carters were a close lot. Yet he’d never heard even the faintest rumour about him.
‘So, I’ll see you later then.’ Paul smiled at him.
Jake’s body tensed and he glared at Paul while he wondered how to answer. He thought he’d made himself clear that this wasn’t going to happen again.
‘At the club, I mean.’ Paul laughed. ‘Look, Jake, don’t start worrying I’m going to fall in love with you or anything. We can pretend this never happened if you like.’
‘Yeah. That’s probably for the best, isn’t it? With us working together and that.’
‘Whatever you say, mate.’
‘Brilliant. See you later then.’ Jake said as he bolted for the door. As soon as he was outside in the fresh air he stopped and took a deep breath. The cool air fl
ooding his lungs felt almost cleansing. Yes, he would forget last night ever happened.
If only he could.
***
Lying in bed, Paul Carter stretched his arms above his head and smiled. He’d fancied Jake Conlon for years. It was hard not to. He looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of Esquire – all designer stubble and swagger. Paul had always wondered at Jake’s ability to turn a blind eye to the constant stream of women who threw themselves at him, but he’d never dared to imagine that it was because Jake was in the closet. Paul’s gaydar was finely tuned and he could usually spot them a mile off, but he’d had no idea about Jake. Not until they’d been sat together in Xcalibur the night before, laughing and reminiscing. Then Jake had stared into his eyes and Paul knew. He’d got a semi on just sitting there with him then, knowing that in a few hours he’d have Jake exactly where he wanted him.
Paul knew Jake was feeling guilty now. The first time was hard for men like him when they’d convinced themselves they were straight all their lives. Plus, he’d cheated on Siobhan, and Paul knew that he did love the girl. But the guilt would soon pass. Paul knew that from experience, and he was very experienced. He’d given Jake his first taste of incredible sex and he knew it. It was only a matter of time before he came back for more.
Chapter 40
Jake went behind the bar of The Blue Rooms and helped himself to a large whisky. He didn’t usually drink the stuff but he’d already had five glasses of brandy and it had barely touched the sides.
The place was quiet. They opened in the early afternoon Thursday to Sunday to accommodate the hen and stag party crowds and after-work drinkers. Jake took a seat on one of the barstools and placed his forehead on the cool wooden bar. His head was pounding. He’d had an argument with everyone he’d met today. His mum, Siobhan, Michael, Vinnie. Everyone was pushing his buttons.