Whatever It Takes

by Barbara Elsborg

  “Okay?” Roman stayed where he was against the wall.

  Zain shrugged.

  “So you see why there’s a problem,” Roman said.

  “I’m not supposed to know Sheripov had been in your car.” Zain could feel his insides shrivelling in fear along with his balls, which were currently negotiating a route to his throat. “Did you kill him? Are you going to kill me?”

  “No to both. But…”

  “Another but? Not the sort of buts I like. I’m guessing whoever used your car to transport Sheripov, dead or alive, knows I found the wallet, thinks I’ll put two and two together and go to the police. Was that why Musa came at me with a knife and acid last night?”

  “I’m not sure about Musa. It’s possible he was told to attack you, but he might have been acting out of vindictiveness because you refused to give him any money.”

  Roman took his hands from his pockets.

  How dangerous are you?

  He’s hardly going to admit he’s intending to kill me.

  But then why hasn’t he just done it?

  Not in a hotel.

  He’ll take me somewhere.

  Don’t get in his car.

  Oh God.

  “Was that an interesting conversation you had with yourself?” Roman asked.

  “Fascinating.”

  “What was the conclusion?”

  “None yet. Do you know who killed Sheripov?” Zain swallowed hard. His balls were well and truly lodged in his throat.

  “Yes.”

  “Then why don’t you go to the police?”

  “Because I don’t want to end up dead as well. Nor do I want that to happen to you.”

  Zain sagged. “You’re going around in circles and making my head spin.”

  “I work for a dangerous man.”

  “Why?”

  Roman gave a short laugh. “I earn a lot of money.”

  Zain was afraid to ask what he did. “Enough money to make the danger worthwhile?”

  “Yes.”

  Zain sighed.

  “The son of the guy I work for, and his son’s friend were responsible for the death of Sheripov. My boss doesn’t want any link back to his son or to himself.”

  “And he wants me dead too.”

  “You’re a loose cannon. You might open your mouth accidentally, or on purpose. You’ve already shown you’re an honest man by telling me about the wallet. But maybe you think you can get more money for keeping quiet. You’re seen as a potential threat to my boss’s business and to his son. A threat he won’t tolerate no matter how much you swear you’ll keep quiet and never say a word.”

  “So you are here to kill me.” Zain’s voice cracked.

  “I’m here to save you.”

  Zain’s heart grew a little larger. “How?” Though he really wanted to ask why?

  “You need to disappear for a while until…everything is sorted. You can stay with me in my flat. You’ll be safe there.”

  “What if I don’t want to be safe in your flat? Oh fuck, did I just say that? Pretend I didn’t.”

  Roman’s exhalation was noisy.

  “Why do you want to help me?” Zain asked.

  “Because you don’t deserve to be caught up in this.” Roman took a step towards him. “Because I don’t want anyone hurt because of me.” And another step. “Because the idea of having you in my bed excites the fuck out of me.” He smiled, then shrugged and his face changed as if he hadn’t meant any of that. “But if it isn’t what you want, I’ll drive you to a rail station, give you enough money to survive for a while without a job and buy you a ticket to any town in the UK where you’d like to live. A long way from here. Actually, that would be the more sensible thing to do.”

  Shit, don’t change your mind. Zain pushed to his feet. “I’ll come to your flat.”

  Roman smiled and Zain’s anxiety eased. He knew better than to trust anyone but at that moment, he trusted Roman. I’m an idiot.

  “If we’re going to live together, do I get a ring?” Zain risked a smile.

  “Maybe through your nipple.”

  Oh God. Don’t go hard now.

  Roman brushed his thumb along Zain’s bruised cheek. “No smart quip in response to that?”

  “Maybe we should get matching ones.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Zain gaped at him, then grinned. “How long are you going to think about it?”

  “Forty or so years.”

  Zain laughed. He knew it was a joke, but… It made him hope. It made him think about this meaning something when he knew it probably didn’t. This could all be some ploy to get him to go with Roman quietly, to stop him screaming and fighting. Maybe it was all a lie. Even as his brain was telling him to stop and think, his fingers were packing his stuff.

  Why?

  Because he hoped for more than a quick fuck. He hoped for a relationship where they’d talk about their pasts, where they’d be persuaded to say more than they intended, then be glad that they had. He hoped for a friend.

  He hoped.

  Chapter Seven

  Roman lifted Zain’s bag from his hand as they left the room. “I don’t want to take you out of the front of the hotel.”

  “No one knows I’m here,” Zain muttered as they went down the stairs. “And it’s dark.”

  “Even so…” It was better not to take chances. He couldn’t afford to be seen with Zain. “I’ll speak to the desk, get your money back.”

  “You can do that? I’ve slept in the bed.”

  “And thrown up in the toilet.”

  Zain groaned. “I’ll pay for tonight, that’s only right, but if you can get me out of paying for tomorrow that would be great.”

  The desk clerk had been only too happy to take more money from Roman to let them out of the rear of the hotel and had cancelled Zain’s booking for the following night.

  Roman knew he’d freaked Zain out when he’d had him wait a little way away from the car while he checked under it, using an app on his phone to search for tracking devices. Not bombs, though… He felt marginally better when he had Zain’s bags in the boot and Zain lying flat in the back of his car.

  “What was all that about?” Zain whispered.

  “Keeping you safe. Stay down.”

  Roman knew he wasn’t doing the right thing taking Zain back to his flat. He was lying to himself imagining he could keep the guy safer if he was with him when the exact opposite was true. But doing the right thing had largely disappeared from his mindset after his father died. Up until then, Roman been respectful, considerate and generous. He’d been popular with teachers and pupils, he’d worked hard at school and at home, and had done as he was told. Mostly. He made people laugh and he’d enjoyed doing that. Then he’d lost the only person important to him, the main reason for being a good boy.

  The day the car exploded, something inside Roman fractured, his childhood disappearing behind him as the world spun faster and faster. Because it hurt to remember, he did all he could to stop that happening, to prevent himself from feeling anything. He didn’t want to be let down or disappointed. It was safer to be cold and isolated. He’d become used to it. He’d still worked hard at school, wanting to please a father who’d never know a moment more of Roman’s life, but he rarely smiled.

  Arkady might have appeared a benevolent benefactor in paying for him to go to school in England, and it had been what Roman thought at the time, but later he understood the extent to which Arkady’s generosity was self-serving. Even at the age of fourteen, Roman had been working for Arkady, defusing any trouble Dima got into, finding ways to help him get homework done when Dima ignored deadlines, lying for him when he snuck out of school. He understood that keeping Arkady happy ensured he continued to pay for his education. Everything came with a price.

  Even what he was doing now for Zain. He wanted to ask about Cash but needed to pick his moment. Common sense told him the chances of the pair knowing each other were small yet if they did,
in what way were they connected and what were the consequences? Cash hadn’t sent the picture he’d promised and that was worrying.

  “Can’t you just tell your boss I won’t say anything about Sheripov’s wallet?” Zain’s muffled voice asked from the back seat.

  “I wish that would work but it won’t.” It would also be an admission that he knew where Zain was. If Arkady even got a hint that Roman knew and had said nothing, his end would painful and inevitable. Arkady might have a soft spot for Roman, but Dima was his son. Roman knew what it was like to be broken, not that he’d ever been tortured, but he didn’t kid himself he’d last for long before he revealed everything.

  “I can’t stay hidden forever,” Zain whined. “I have a test to take a week on Monday.”

  “Reschedule it.”

  “I can’t. It’s hard to get a place. I have to take it.”

  “What kind of test?”

  “The UCAT. It’s an aptitude test for entry into medical school.”

  Medical school? Roman ran that around his head. It explained those drawings on his wall. “Does anyone at the car wash know?”

  “That I want to be a doctor? You’re kidding, right? No one knows. You’re the first person I’ve told.” Zain sighed. “Thank you for not laughing or gasping in disbelief.”

  “I did it silently.”

  Zain huffed. “So when am I going to be safe? Less than two weeks? Longer?”

  “I’m not sure. All I can promise is that one day you will be. You have to trust me.”

  “I’m not good on trust,” Zain mumbled.

  “Me neither.”

  There was a chuckle from the backseat.

  “Do you have a bath?” Zain suddenly asked.

  Roman laughed. “Sometimes. I mostly shower. I showered this morning if you’re wondering.”

  “No, I mean, is there a bath in your bathroom?”

  “In one of them yes.”

  Zain’s low moan made Roman’s cock perk up.

  “You’re not going to make me hide in the cellar or anything, are you?”

  “Not quite.”

  That shut him up but if Roman hadn’t had a safe place to hide him, he wouldn’t be taking this risk. Pointless denying that he wanted Zain though he was having trouble coming to terms with how much he wanted him or quite why. Because he makes me smile for real when I thought I’d forgotten how? Maybe it was as simple as that.

  After he’d put his car in his spot in the underground parking, he told Zain stay where he was on the backseat, then went in through the main entrance. He checked no one was waiting for him inside or outside the building, and once he was in his flat, did a security scan with his phone for cameras and recording devices. He’d never found anything, but the more careful he was, the longer he stayed alive.

  He brought Zain in through the goods entrance and up in the service lift. When Roman had closed and locked his door, he felt marginally happier. So did his cock. Down, boy.

  “Wow,” Zain whispered as he looked around. “You rent this?”

  “Own it.”

  “Good-looking and rich? Lucky me.” Zain gulped. “That was supposed to stay inside my head. Damn. This place is amazing. I love your furniture. You have a TV and a view of the river. And a couch. And books. Now I’m babbling. Wow, look at that kitchen. Oh a coffee maker and a juicer.”

  “And knives and forks.”

  Zain laughed. “And a bath.”

  “And a bath. Want a coffee or a beer? Do you drink alcohol?”

  “I’ve never had a beer.”

  “Seriously? Is that a religious thing?”

  “It is a religious thing but to be honest, more of a money thing. I’m not a good Muslim. I like sausage rolls. Though I don’t think there’s much meat in them.”

  “And you’re gay.”

  Zain gasped. “Am I?”

  Roman rolled his eyes as he opened the fridge. He took out two bottles. “Want to try a beer?”

  “Okay.”

  Roman took off the tops and handed Zain a bottle.

  Zain took a sip. “Hmm. Citrusy, fruity. Hint of guitar strings and summer nights.”

  Roman smiled. “Like it?”

  “Er…”

  “That’s a pity. I like the taste of beer on a guy’s lips.” Though he rarely kissed. I liked kissing him.

  “Love it.” Zain took a bigger gulp and choked.

  Roman laughed. “You don’t have to drink it.”

  “I do like it.” Zain squirmed. “Well, I might like it eventually.”

  “I’ll show you round.”

  Zain followed as he led him from room to room. “My bedroom. This is a spare bedroom. Bath in the en-suite. This is my office. Please keep out of there. Kitchen and living area and there’s a patio on the river side.”

  “It’s really nice. I feel like I’m messing the place up just standing here.”

  You’re not. “There’s something else I need to show you. A place to hide if I tell you to, or if you feel worried or if someone comes to the door and I’m not here. I think you should hide your bags. I don’t get many visitors but your things could give you away.”

  “Okay.” Zain’s voice had shrunk but Roman was deadly serious.

  “No one knows about this but me.” He picked up Zain’s bags and led him down the hall. “I had it built when I bought this place a couple of years ago.”

  “So the builder knows.”

  “Yeah, I had him killed.” Roman turned quickly to face him. “A joke.”

  “O…kay.”

  Roman opened a door. “Looks like a closet with a washer and drier and coats, and it is. But it’s hiding stairs leading up to the roof terrace. Press under here to open the doorway.”

  Roman reached under a shelf for the lever and the section of the wall holding his coats swung back to reveal a set of stairs.

  “Wow,” Zain whispered. “That’s amazing.”

  “Two steps up there’s another lever.” Roman reached under the tread and pushed up a block of three stairs to reveal a void. “There’s a few things in there to make it bearable. Water, flashlight, snack bars, couple of books. Once you’re inside, you can secure it and even if anyone does happen to find the lever, nothing will open. No light can be seen from this side.”

  He turned to see Zain staring at him open mouthed.

  “Not good with enclosed spaces?” Roman asked.

  “Why do you need this? Are you worried someone is trying to kill you too? Or have I just entered the lair of a serial killer and this is where you hide your prey?”

  Roman hadn’t thought how it might look, wasn’t sure how to explain when he didn’t want to tell Zain the truth.

  “A place to hide from a violent ex. Can you cope with being in there?”

  “If I thought I was going to be killed. You want me to put my bags in here?”

  “I think it would be a good idea.” Roman slotted them inside. “You can access them easily enough whenever you need anything.”

  “Such as clothes?”

  “You need clothes?”

  “Ha ha.”

  Roman smiled and slid the stairs back in place.

  “So they lead up to the roof,” Zain said. “Is there another way down once you’re up there?”

  “Not one you’d want to use unless you can fly.”

  “I’m shy about showing my wings.”

  Roman followed him up the stairs at eye level with his arse. He hadn’t been sure how he’d feel about having Zain here. He didn’t share his space. He’d never wanted to. Was that bubbling in his chest anxiety, excitement or something else? Roman mentally slapped himself. This wasn’t a relationship. This was expedience.

  Zain pushed open the door and stepped into the room at the top. It had wooden sides and a glass front with a sloping glass roof. There was just enough room for a couch, coffee table and bookshelves. Roman’s saxophone was in the corner in its case. His heart gave its usual lurch when he looked at it.

  He s
lid open the glass doors and Zain followed him onto the decked area where there were a couple of sun loungers, a bistro table and two chairs along with several planters filled with flowers.

  “Daisies?” Zain asked.

  “Roman Chamomile. Chamaemelum nobile. It’s a member of the daisy family. The national flower of Russia.”

  “Were you named after it?”

  “Yes. My mother loved flowers.”

  “I like them too.” Zain leaned over and sniffed. “Smells of apples. A guy in my city grew flowers all through the conflict. There was an article written about him in a newspaper in England. They called him the last gardener in Aleppo.”

  Oh shit. Roman swallowed hard. He’d really hoped Zain had lived in a different city.

  “His son, Ibrahim, was at my school for a while. His father grew brightly coloured flowers, vegetables and nuts. While the city was bombarded by cluster and barrel bombs, people still bought flowers from him to decorate their homes and even the streets. Small gestures of defiance. Life goes on. Well, not for everyone. But the flowers were tiny islands of beauty in the midst of devastation. Whenever I saw a building that had been destroyed, and a little flower sitting on the debris, it kept me hoping we could survive.”

  “What happened to the gardener?”

  “A barrel bomb killed him. Ibrahim closed the business down. He found it too hard to carry on without his father. Many lives were ruined in the war. Families torn apart. Families destroyed. My family…”

  Roman’s throat grew more uncomfortable. Maybe that was part of his attraction to Zain, recognising another person in pain.

  “In Russia, people spend a lot of money on flowers. They brighten drab lives. Feed our souls.”

  Zain smiled. “I like that idea. Soul food. That was what flowers meant for us too.” He wandered around the terrace. “No hot tub?”

  “You like hot tubs?”

  “I’m guessing I would. I’ve never been in one.” He put his empty bottle on the table and Roman added his. “But I like baths and they’re just like big baths, aren’t they? Is yours big? Long, anyway?”

  “My bath?”

  Zain smothered a laugh. Roman leaned against the stone parapet and looked out over the city. He exhaled when Zain went to stand by him. Not close enough to be touching but…