“Legitimising their money is a big deal for rich Russians. Those with wealth have to be ready to lose it, all of it. A change of attitude at the top, falling out with the wrong person, being seen talking to the wrong guy, not paying the right amount to the right person could land you in Siberia for years on trumped-up charges. It makes sense for those with money to diversify their risk and buy real estate abroad. Owning property is like a pension. My money is in this flat. It’s a sound investment. Even if property prices fall, they’ll come back and better to lose a little than all of it at the whim of a fickle government official.”
“Did laundered money buy this place?”
“I earned every penny from work I did in Moscow.”
“Which was?”
“Computer related.”
“But your salary now comes from the profit Arkady makes.”
“That’s true.”
Zain couldn’t hide his disappointment. There was no hope if Roman was involved in something criminal.
Roman twisted his fingers in Zain’s hair. “You don’t like me being a crook?”
“I don’t like you at all.” I wish I didn’t.
Roman chuckled. “Arkady is careful. He’s good at what he does, facilitating the process for those who need to clean their money. He understands people, takes advantage of their needs and wants and weaknesses. He’s popular, intelligent, generous and ruthless. For him, business is like playing chess.”
“He doesn’t care where the money comes from?”
“He doesn’t want to know. It might well be money earned by sex traffickers, but he doesn’t want his son involved in it. Quite an irony that Arkady is in the business of laundering money and could do it for his son but won’t. Though Dima just spends the money he gets. Flash apartment. Flash car, a yacht, holidays.”
“But not Qash too?”
“I don’t know what Qash does with his money but as far as I know, he’s not a spender.”
“Does all the money Arkady launders come from crime?”
“I shouldn’t be telling you any of this.” Roman leaned back on the couch.
“Don’t you trust me?”
“I’ve been in this business long enough to know that I should trust no one. I want to trust you but it’s trusting you with my life. One word to the wrong person and I’m done.”
Zain took hold of his hand. “You can trust me.”
“I shouldn’t. For your sake as much as mine.”
“But it’s not hard for me to guess that some of the money Arkady handles comes from crime.”
Roman sighed. “It’s general knowledge that Russians like London because they can find persuadable lawyers and greedy businessmen to exploit. The city’s too desperate to keep its position at the heart of Europe’s money markets to rock the boat, particularly in the fall out with the European Union. Brexit has sent the UK heading for an iceberg. Russian crime gangs have always been keen to use the UK to launder both their money and their reputations. It’s why so many Russian children come here to school. Not just any school. The top schools. Though that appears to be tapering off.”
“Was your father in a gang?”
Roman’s eyes darkened and he dropped his hand from Zain’s head. “No. Never. He never did a bad thing in his life. Except maybe accepting a job offer from Arkady.”
And yet you’ve done the same? “Aren’t you worried about getting caught?”
“Who by?” Roman pinned him with his gaze and Zain wondered for a moment what he was getting at.
“The British authorities?” Zain asked. “Tax people? The police?”
“I told you my flat was purchased with money I earned legally in Russia.”
“But in what you do for Arkady?”
“We’re careful and though the British government might be anti-money laundering, doing anything to stop it is difficult. They’ve introduced UWOs, unexplained wealth orders, which require owners of an asset over £50,000 to explain how they were able to afford it. In other words, did their money come from drugs, human trafficking, extortion or some lawful enterprise? Easy to prove you have the wealth to spend £10,000 in a day in Harrods if you have property worth a few million in London, and many Russians do. Not so easy for others to show their money was legally acquired, which is where Arkady comes to the fore. But those UWOs have yet to prove they have teeth. Hard to want to chase down people who support the economy.”
“What about danger from the Russian authorities?”
“Well, if a wealthy Russian faces investigation, they’re not above killing witnesses. Have you heard of Alexander Litvinenko? He was murdered with radioactive material while working with the Spanish and British authorities to expose Russian financial transactions. Another guy, Perepilichnyy, a businessman involved with helping uncover the destination of $230 million stolen from the Russian budget, just happened to die while jogging in Surrey. He was a fit man. At first, they said he’d had a heart attack, now it seems he may have been poisoned with a rare plant extract. Then there was the use of the nerve agent, Novichok, which shows the length people will go to in order to shut others up or take revenge.”
Zain gulped.
“The chances of bringing a successful money laundering prosecution against a wealthy Russian needs cooperation from Moscow, which is not going to happen. Plus, it’s hard to convince a UK court that any cooperation isn’t politically motivated. Add in the other problem of keeping witnesses alive… So money laundering continues.”
“You’re working within blurry lines.”
“Yes. Not easy to differentiate between asylum seeking oligarchs, Russian government stooges or even a crime boss, so it’s increasingly difficult for the authorities to work out where criminal acts begin and legitimate business ends. But I know what’s right and what’s wrong.”
Roman slid his hand up Zain’s leg.
“But you continue to do wrong,” Zain muttered.
“I can’t help myself.” In one swift move, Roman pinned Zain beneath him on the couch.
Roman had taken an enormous risk telling Zain as much as he had but Zain was right that it was better if he understood what he was up against. What they were both up against. It might make the difference between Zain doing exactly what Roman told him to do in a moment of danger or hesitating. In any case, the most important truths remained intact for both their sakes.
He kissed Zain’s collarbone, ran his teeth along it and Zain shuddered. “I can make everything right.” I hope. “You just have to trust me.” Please. “And be patient.”
“Arkady sees me as a threat. You can’t keep me locked up forever and if he finds out you’ve hidden me… If Qashim finds out that I’m the Zain he knows…”
Roman nuzzled Zain’s neck. “They won’t. He won’t.”
“I’m pissed off with you.”
“I know.”
“I can’t afford to get into trouble, and now I’m in trouble.”
“It’s my fault.”
Roman sucked at the junction of Zain’s neck and shoulder.
“You do know that me cleaning the inside of your car won’t get rid of DNA? If Sheripov was killed in your vehicle… If cameras caught…” Zain gasped as Roman bit down. Hard.
“Shut up.”
“Would Arkady expect you to lie to save Dima?”
“Stop worrying.” Roman snaked his hand between their bodies and pressed his fingers against Zain’s erection.
“Do you have an alibi?”
“Yes.” A perfect one.
“Would Arkady let you have an alibi?” Zain yelped as Roman squeezed his balls.
“I—” Zain’s next comment was silenced by Roman’s mouth.
There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was a violent, forceful, hot press of mouths until Zain’s lips parted with a sigh and Roman’s tongue shoved in. He thought Zain was the one who was groaning until he registered it was him making the noise. Maybe I do want to lock you up forever. For a while anyway. Until I’ve had my f
ill of you.
Roman nipped and licked and sucked at Zain’s lips while Zain clutched at his back and squirmed beneath him, their cocks riding and rubbing together, the friction of the material adding a pleasurable discomfort. Even when Zain threaded his fingers in Roman’s hair so tightly that it hurt, Roman kept kissing him.
What is it about this guy? They were grinding against each other, almost wrestling for control when Zain stood no chance, though Roman didn’t want him to stop struggling. Hot angry sex. The kiss turned fast, sloppy, greedy and Roman still wanted more. When Zain’s fingers slipped down the back of his jeans, Roman drew in a shocked breath then swallowed his whimper of pleasure. No one had… No one was going to… Oh fuck, fuck. Zain’s fingers were persistent, but Roman’s jeans were too tight for him to get… Christ. Maybe not.
They only broke apart to grab air before they joined at the mouth again, and Roman knew he’d never kissed or been kissed with such intensity, such passion, before. Maybe because he’d never let it happen. Yet it was more than that. Zain had heard what he did for Arkady, understood that Arkady wanted him dead, and yet Zain still kissed him as if he was the only guy in the world who mattered. It made him want Zain even more.
It vaguely filtered through his mind to be careful. Zain was still recovering from the beating, his body was bruised, he’d just told him his family had been destroyed and he was alone. The guy wanted to be a doctor. He was a good person and Roman wasn’t, but Zain kept pulling him in, closer, tighter, winding arms and legs around him, while the fingers of one hand still burrowed down the crease of Roman’s arse, sending shivers of lust hurtling up his spine.
They kissed until Roman was light-headed with need.
They kissed until all he could see and feel and smell and hear was Zain.
They kissed until realisation sank in that his life had changed.
Zain had changed it.
Except nothing was simple, and this couldn’t last. But he’d take what he could while it did.
The kiss morphed continually. Hard and forceful, back to soft and teasing. He’d never kissed anyone for as long as this. Zain trailed his tongue over Roman’s teeth, exploring the hard ridge of his palate before gently biting his lower lip, tugging at it with his teeth.
“I want to kiss you all over,” Roman whispered, and thought as he said it that those words had never come from his mouth before. “Strip.”
He rolled off Zain and let him get to his feet. The sight of him standing there, hair mussed, lips kiss-swollen, made his pulse race.
“You want my clothes off, you have to catch me. If you grab and miss, you take off something you’re wearing.” Zain grinned and bolted.
Roman chuckled and strode after him. But Zain was quicker than he’d expected and every time he reached for him, Zain squirmed away. By the time Roman was only wearing boxer shorts and Zain his jeans, his heart was pounding, his balls aching.
“You’re crap at tag and it’s your flat,” Zain panted as he kept a couch between them.
“I’m trying to be gentle. You’re still bruised. Look at your ribs.”
Zain glanced down and Roman leapt, propelling him onto the couch.
“Jeans off,” Roman said.
Once he was sure Zain was unfastening them, he let him go. He hadn’t realised it was the last item of clothing and when Zain stood in front of him, his cock stretching up toward his navel, Roman groaned.
“Lights down,” Roman snapped and the lights dimmed.
“Wow. What else can you do, computer man?”
“TV on. Alarm on. Coffee machine on. Cock up.”
Zain sniggered. He backed away and Roman followed until Zain’s back rested against the large picture window. “We can’t be seen if the lights are off, right? Because my arse is on display.”
“Probably not.” Roman caught Zain’s chin in his hand and stroked his jaw with his thumb.
“Probably?”
“I don’t give a shit and to be honest, I like the idea of someone watching.”
“Unless it’s Arkady or Dima.”
That made Roman pause, but only for a moment. They’d have to be looking at the flat through a powerful telescope. Or using a drone. Not likely enough to make him not want to do this.
Roman kissed Zain’s neck, licked along the line of his shoulder and down his arm. He grasped Zain’s wrist and took each finger into his mouth, sucked them individually, then two, three and four at a time, pulling at them with his teeth, and he never stopping staring into Zain’s increasingly glazed eyes. When Roman leaned forward and lightly bit a taut brown nipple, Zain came up on the tips of his toes with a groan.
“Oh God,” he mumbled.
Roman was gentle over every bruise on Zain’s chest, and finally trailed his tongue around Zain’s navel, smiling when the skin danced and fluttered under his touch. He rubbed his chin on the treasure trail beneath, and when his neck touched Zain’s cock, he heard the breath catch in Zain’s throat. Roman licked up Zain’s cock, then rose to his feet, and Zain whined.
“What about my feet? I thought I was getting an all-over kiss? I’m feeling completely short-changed.”
“Another day.” Roman pulled down his boxers and pressed himself against Zain, their cocks lying side by side. “I was going to give you a blowjob but…”
“But what?”
“I decided to fuck you instead. You’re not allowed to come until I tell you.”
“Fuck you, Mr Control Freak. You don’t get to decide when I come. My balls do. They don’t listen to me more than once a day. You and they—have had your once.”
Roman smiled. “Turn around. Arms up. Hands on the glass. Legs apart. Don’t move while I get supplies.”
“I’ll have a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of water.”
Roman snorted but Zain did exactly as he was told and hadn’t moved when Roman returned with a condom and lube.
“My sandwich?” Zain asked.
“You’ll have to wait.”
Zain tsked. “Be quick then. Damn, the romance didn’t last long.”
Oh God. Zain’s ability to make him laugh was such a turn on. Almost all of Roman’s sexual encounters had been totally about the fucking. But the moment he pushed, pressed, teased his way into Zain’s arse, being quick was no longer a joke. So hot, smooth, tight, there was no way he could stretch this out. He barely managed a few thrusts into Zain before he came, shuddering against Zain’s back.
“Fast enough?” Roman panted.
“I’m sure you could have gone faster if you’d tried. A bit disappointing, to be honest.”
Roman pressed his face against Zain’s hair and smiled.
“Can I come now?” Zain squirmed around to face him.
“Because you were cheeky, not until next week.”
“That’s unfortunate because if I don’t come, neither will you.”
Roman gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine.” He dropped to his knees and wrapped his hand around Zain’s cock. “Count to fifty.” Then he wrapped his lips around the head and sucked.
“Blah, blah, forty-nine, fifty.” Zain gasped and Roman’s mouth flooded with the salty-sweet tang of come.
“Oh God.” Zain’s chest heaved. “Now can I have a sandwich?”
“In bed.”
“Whose bed?”
“Mine.”
Zain’s smile warmed Roman’s icy heart.
“I’ve never spent the night with a guy before,” Zain whispered.
“Guess what?”
“You’re not sleeping here?”
“I’ve not spent the night with a guy either.”
Zain gaped at him. “Why not? Do you have some disgusting habit you’re ashamed to reveal?”
“I might reveal it for the right guy.”
“Am I the right guy?”
Roman couldn’t let himself answer.
“You were my first,” Zain whispered. “The first that counts.”
Roman’s throat closed.
Ch
apter Nine
Zain emerged from sleep like a whale coming up after a deep dive, a slow easy glide to the surface. Comfortable bed. Clean, crisp sheets. Warmth. The sensation of Roman lying behind him sent excitement coursing along his veins. Though they weren’t touching, which was a bit of a disappointment. Zain had imagined them waking wrapped in each other, legs and arms entangled. He’d imagined a lot more than that.
How quickly he’d moved from not being sure what he was or what he wanted, to being certain. I’m gay and this is my world. Some of this was as new to Roman as it was to him, if he’d been telling the truth about it being the first time he’d slept with a guy. Why lie? But even as Zain plucked up his courage and rolled over, smiling, he’d sensed something was wrong. Roman’s face was blank and the moment Zain turned his way, Roman catapulted out of bed.
“Busy day.” Roman kept his back towards him. “Not sure what time I’ll be back.” Then he disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.
Zain didn’t hear the click of the lock, but he got the message. He stared at the door, his cock wilting in disappointment. The earlier spike of pleasure he’d felt at the memory of what they’d done, shifted to acute disappointment that they wouldn’t be doing it again.
I’m no longer wanted. Even though it was Roman who’d dragged him here, Roman who’d insisted he was in danger, Roman who’d… If Roman had fucking checked his car before he’d brought it in to be valeted, none of this would have happened. Zain’s jaw tightened. He was beginning to wish he’d never met the guy. Plus he was connected to Qashim. That was enough of a reason to run.
I don’t have to stay here. He thought about that. His UCAT was next Monday. After that, he could quit London and live elsewhere. Once he’d taken the test, he’d send in his application for medical school. If he was called for an interview, he could come back. He might not hear whether he’d got a place for months, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be starting the course until this time next year.
Surely when he didn’t go to the police about Sheripov’s wallet, Arkady would understand he wasn’t going to say anything. Zain felt bad for Sheripov, but he wasn’t going to risk his own life to bring justice to the man’s family. Nor did he want to implicate Roman.
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