by P. W. Davies
Some secrets deserve to be buried, he thought, rueful. Hours had passed since then, spent laden with heaviness. Ideas had raced across Christian’s mind, bearing pictures of Victor and how normal and comfortable his life felt. Getting a chance to slip into that world had felt serene. Like Christian had been granted a taste of a world he’d never been extended the chance to inhabit. Fourteen-year-old him had been orphaned. Fifteen-year-old him had run away from his brother’s house. When sixteen-year-old him was picked up on the streets, he had been taught how to use his fists and his wits, graduating to knives by the time he was eighteen. His father had been a con man. His mother had died when he was little.
Being with somebody stable – somebody outside the shadows – only made him crave what he couldn’t have even more.
Which is why Christian jumped when his mobile phone chimed. A time and the location – Roland’s bar – appeared on the screen, giving him the ultimatum that he had better show up as punctual as possible. His stomach sank, chest aching and head throbbing with the amount of whiplash he experienced, being thrown back into the world of shadows. You’ll never escape this life, Christian thought to himself, responding to Roland, to indicate he’d received the message. A pre-arranged time. A directive to appear. That usually meant contracts were about to be negotiated.
And suddenly, Christian didn’t quite feel ready.
He still didn’t feel ready at the point he found himself outside the bar. Looking at the doors, with a cigarette in hand, he wanted to turn and walk into the opposite direction. Let himself inside Victor’s condo and curl up onto the couch, pretending for a little while longer. Something about the night felt laden with portent, forming a point of no return. A line given to him to cross. As he walked inside, he tried to push any thought of Victor out of his head. This is it. Don’t lose your nerve.
Christian walked to the stairs, descending them while marveling over the difference a few weeks could make. A few weeks ago, he would’ve sold his soul for what this meeting had to offer. A chance to be what he’d surrendered in leaving London. Now, however, he didn’t know. A part of him still distinctly wanted it. And it was that part he held onto while walking into the basement, seeing a small crowd of men gathered around Roland’s desk, with Roland himself waving Christian in closer.
Christian nodded, taking up residence in the one chair that had been left vacant. “Apologies if I’m tardy,” he said. “I hope you all haven’t been waiting long.”
“Not late,” Roland said, in a rare moment of reassuring. “I didn’t want you here until now.” He nodded at one of the unfamiliar men, making it obvious in the introduction that Christian only needed to focus on him. Slightly older than Christian, and much better dressed, he looked both intrigued with Christian and somehow, unaffected by the other man. “Ian Ashcroft, this is Christian Richardson. Christian, this is Ian, Jasper Ashcroft’s son and underboss of the Ashcroft Crime Family.”
Christian reached for the hand that Ian extended and shook it. “A pleasure to meet you,” Christian said.
“Likewise,” Ian said. “My father’s heard a lot about you through Roland. He regrets that he himself couldn’t be here, but I have full authority to speak on behalf of the family.” Raising an eyebrow, Ian reached into his pocket for a metallic cigarette case. “So, we’ve heard that you found a link between our lawyer and the DeMarco Syndicate.”
Looking at Roland, who nodded in affirmation, Christian focused on Ian again and produced his own cigarettes. “Yes, at the Keystone Shipping building.” He paused first to light his cigarette, then offered his lighter to the underboss, who gladly accepted. “They had crates that were labeled to go to DeMarco Enterprises. I’ll admit, I’m not familiar with all the players in this city, so I didn’t know how what to think about the name.”
“DeMarco’s even a fake name for them. Only my people know that.” Ian exhaled a puff of smoke while Christian flicked the lid of his lighter shut and pocketed it. “Just to verify, you saw the link to Keystone shipping while following the mark?”
Christian nodded. “I followed the mark to a meeting he had at Reading Terminal Market. When he and the man he met with, Matt Desai, parted ways, I followed Desai to Keystone Shipping. Their discussion was difficult to listen in to, but I did hear mention of needing to tend to something urgent as soon as possible.”
“Yeah, no doubt about that.” Ian chuckled, flicking the ash from his cigarette while Christian drew from his. “I hesitate to say what all I know, but our lawyer’s been feeling the heat from multiple places and his actions are finally getting noticed. Taking extra payments from our clients, now that was just tacky, but working with another syndicate?” Ian clucked his tongue. “Dad’s not too pleased with that at all. It confirmed our suspicions.”
“What suspicions, might I ask?”
“That he’d stopped being loyal to our interests.” Ian weighed Christian through the haze of smoke. While he lifted the cigarette again, he paused before inserting the filter into his mouth. “How are you on loyalty?”
The question almost made Christian wince. He kept his expression outwardly impassive, holding eye contact with Ian before setting his cigarette down on the ashtray. “I was quite fond of loyalty back in London,” Christian said. “I worked for a firm with whom I’d been for years, but breaking free from England meant breaking free from them as well. You’ll forgive me if I struggle with committing.”
Ian laughed. “Choosing to stay freelance?” he asked.
“I don’t want to be beholden to anyone.”
“We’d pay well. Might have a few other jobs for you, if you’re as good as Roland says you are, and considering you’re a new player, I can think of many uses of that. You sure you’re still afraid of committing to something?”
Oh God, don’t think of Victor right now. Christian took a deep breath, mainly to steady himself past the flash of thought he directed toward his… what? Lover? Was that what they were now? Stop that and keep your head, this is what you want. “I’m positive,” Christian said. “If that’s a problem, then so be it, but the loyalty I can offer is that whenever I’m being hired for you, I will see your job through to the end. I don’t care much for the politics of the underworld here. I only want to work.”
“Fair enough,” Ian said. He drew from the cigarette again, the pause that followed laden with tension. Christian found himself unable to read the underboss for a moment, until his lips pursed, and he nodded in an agreeable fashion. “Alright, then. Name your price.”
Christian blinked. The response felt too good to be true. “My price for –?” he asked.
“Offing the two-timing son-of-a-bitch,” Ian said. “From what I understand, you’re the stuff of legend where you come from. Whatever it is, we can pay it.”
Looking first at Roland, who offered him no silent counsel, Christian then looked at Ian and took a deep breath. “Used to be a bloke could get anywhere from one-to-two-hundred-thousand pounds, but I’m still establishing myself here.”
“How does a hundred-thousand in US dollars sound?”
“Like a good start. The rate might go up in the future, so we’re clear.”
“Alright, sounds good to me.” He looked at Roland, and as the two men shared a glance, Christian saw the conversation before it made it into words. Roland knew the fee he would collect, and Ian Ashcroft gave his silent approval. Once they broke eye contact, Ian looked toward Christian again. “I assume Roland knows your account information. Half will be in there by tomorrow night.”
“What kind of time frame are we looking at for completion of the job?” Christian asked, standing while Ian rose to his feet as well.
Ian snubbed out his cigarette. “Let’s just say time is of the essence. Three to four days max. I know you guys like your surveillance, but we’re afraid he’s getting antsy and might try to run for it.” He shrugged, sporting a wide grin while standing upright again. “Unless you don’t think that’s possible.”
“Not imp
ossible, only risky. I keep the deposit and won’t tolerate receiving shit if I don’t think the job can be finished with the lack of time. It’s either that or I ask for more money.”
“You keep the deposit. But we won’t hire you again. That’s as good as you’re getting.” While Ian retained a smile on his face, he seemed determined to communicate the threat clearly. Christian heard it even without the tone in his words. Yes, he’d walk away from saying no. But possibly with a limp.
As if Evan could dole out anything worse than I ever had, Christian thought, giving Ian a resolute nod and nothing else in response. The entourage gathered around Roland’s office turned to leave, following the underboss to the stairs, where two broke company and walked ahead of the rest. Christian watched them, lifting what remained of his cigarette to his lips and drawing from it with his eyes fixed on their departure. Even after they had left, he remained frozen in that position for a few seconds.
“You really think you might not get a shot at the mark before then?” Roland asked.
“No, nothing like that, simply testing the water,” Christian said. He turned to look at Roland again. “Also making it clear that I expect some better lead time before given another job like this.”
Roland raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been following the guy for how long? How much longer do you need?”
“I don’t know.” The answer sincere, it also masked where his thoughts strayed and as Christian extinguished his cigarette, too, he took a deep breath. When he looked up at Roland, he winked, and that provided the sigh he’d expected, giving Christian a chance to leave the office, too, with little more than a salute. “I’ll text the account number,” Christian said while walking to the stairs, “and change the SIM card again. I think it’s due.”
“Change it first before you text,” Roland said. “And don’t ever fucking wink at me again.”
Christian chuckled, hand on the banister the entire ascent to the main floor. When he emerged into the bar, though, what cheerful, carefree disposition he had crafted fell apart and landed at his feet, a much more serious and far more unsettled tenor replacing it. He failed to pause until he found himself outside, emerging from the bar in time to see Ian Ashcroft and his entourage filling their cars and leaving. Ian cast a final glance at him while getting into the back seat of his car.
Within moments, they drove away.
Shutting his eyes, Christian took a deep breath. “Well, here I am again,” he said, walking away from the bar the moment he opened his eyes again. Thinking about Victor again made him ache again, and while en route to his flat, Christian produced his phone, failing to see any messages from his lover. There. You’re using that word again, he thought, but his fingers were moving almost without his consent, typing out a message to Victor. Whether led by guilt, they had sent the text, the mobile pocketed the moment he finished. Nothing revelatory passed in the air from one phone to the other, only a simple request, from one heart to another.
I’d like to talk, it read. Up for dinner again sometime soon?
“You can’t do that.”
Victor lifted his eyes to better gauge Nathan. His voice had trembled when he spoke. Seeing him, hearing the echo of the words, made Victor frown. “I don’t intend –”
“It doesn’t matter what you intend. This is how things blow up in people’s faces.” Nathan was stern, scolding. Victor couldn’t recall if he’d ever seen his mentor in this state before.
He also couldn’t recall the last time he’d been prone to dramatics. “Nathan, we have shelter on this. Jeffries will think Harper is the one initiating and Harper will assume Jeffries is stirring trouble. When we’re able to explain the deception, they’re will be far more to be gained from thanking us.”
“And I. Said. No.” Nathan stepped closer.
Victor’s eyes widened as the other lawyer got into his personal space. So much so that he could feel the heat of Nathan’s body beneath his suit. He forced himself to focus on Nathan’s eyes instead, but what he saw there wasn’t much salvation.
Nathan was angry. And it was directed at him. Words formed, were given thought, and died on the tip of Victor’s tongue as the man started to speak. His voice was not something Victor would forget any time soon.
“This is not how I want to conduct business. Not for this. There are far too many risks already running – several of which are by your design – and I will have no part in adding more logs to the fire. And if – if – I hear that you have done so after this conversation, you will find boxes in your office and your name scraped off the wall.”
Victor was too stunned to respond. Nathan leaned even closer. It made Victor grip onto the nearest thing he could - the edge of Nathan’s desk - as images with a very different tone warred with the reality in front of him.
“No.”
“Understood.” Victor finally managed a response. Both he and Nathan held still, studying each other, neither moving. It became uncomfortable for Victor, but Nathan gave no indication of what he might be feeling other than frustration at needing to exhibit such authority.
He finally stepped away from Victor, causing the younger man to breathe a sigh of relief. For half a moment, he’d been terrified and excited at wondering if Nathan meant to pin him against his desk. It’s not something Nathan would really do, he knew. Simply a warped fantasy fueled by the energy of the moment.
“I’ll notify Jeffries before I go home tonight,” Victor said, trying to bring them back on topic in a more civilized manner.
“No need. I’ll speak to him myself.” Nathan sat down at his desk and pretended not to notice that Victor had cast his eyes downward, hanging his head.
He lifted his eyes again, but didn’t find Nathan’s gaze. “I defer, then. Thank you for the time.” Victor spun on his heel and strode for the door.
“Victor.”
Victor paused, swearing at himself over the eagerness, the hope, in doing so.
There was a long pause as Nathan gathered himself to say, “Close the door on your way out.”
Dutiful, he did. And then he made his way past Martin, who conscientiously kept his head down so Victor didn’t have to see his sympathy. Or his amusement. For all Victor knew, maybe Martin had been aware of Nathan’s disappointment before Victor came to his office. Maybe this had been a grand show.
It didn’t feel grand to Victor. Somehow, despite his best efforts, he had disappointed Nathan. For the first time in six years, he had fallen so very short of the mark.
Somehow, he would find a way to make it right. Victor still wanted to make junior partner, and he wanted Nathan to be the one to nominate him for the position.
There was no way in hell he was going to let this get in the way of that dream.
Even if this was a very larger, obnoxious, bump in the road.
It would be all worth it when he made it right.
Eighteen
He walked into the condo after knocking once, hearing the familiar bang of a frypan and shutting of the refrigerator door while walking inside. Carefully shutting the door behind him, Christian padded into the vestibule, removing his shoes and hanging up his jacket like this wasn’t only the second time he had been there. It only took a moment for the kitchen to come into view, and while Victor focused on the stove, Christian smiled and gave himself a moment to admire his lover.
The moment he saw the expression on Victor’s face, though, Christian’s lips began to falter.
Victor looked consumed with thought, focused on more than whatever sizzled in the pan. Crossing the distance between them, he realized when Victor failed to respond to his presence, that he hadn’t picked up on it yet, and when Christian circled to walk up behind Victor, he’d already abandoned his opening salvo. Instead, he reached out for him, brushing his hand across Victor’s shoulder and chuckling at the way the taller man jumped.
Spinning around, Victor made eye contact with Christian. Exhaling a breath, he also released whatever tension Christian had created, and man
aged a smile for his benefit. “Are you always that quiet?” Victor asked. “Or only when you want to scare the life out of someone?”
Oh God, if only you knew how apt that question was. Christian held a grin, despite the thought causing his own demeanor to turn heavier. Right. I came here with a purpose. “You could say being light on my feet has always been an asset.” Christian glanced at the frypan. “What are you making us, love?” he asked.
“Burgers.” Victor nodded at the stove. “They’re almost finished, if you’d like to have a beer and wait.”
Kissing Victor’s cheek first, Christian took a step closer to the fridge. “Can I get you anything while I’m at it?”
“I’ll have some wine with dinner. Thank you.”
“Thank you for supplying it.” As he opened the door for the refrigerator, Christian witnessed the renewed conviction with which Victor flipped the meat in the pan, as if he’d forgotten until a minute ago what he was supposed to be doing. Christian raised an eyebrow, though rather than mentioning it, he selected a beer and twisted off the cap while walking with it to the counter. He perched onto one of the stools. “I have to say, this is the quietest I’ve ever seen you. Something on your mind?”
Victor breathed a soft, sardonic chuckle. “Possibly something. Potentially nothing, though it’s difficult to say right now. I only know it wasn’t the best day I’ve ever had at work.”
“Is the case you’re working giving you trouble?”
“In some manners. Though not with the case itself.”
It being the second cryptic comment in a row, it hung heavy in the air, and while Christian took a quick drink from his beer, he waited patiently for Victor to sort himself out. It took a moment, and a long, deep draw of air inward before Victor turned off the burner and lined Christian in the corner of his eye. “Have you ever thought you’ve known someone and discovered they might not be everything you thought they were?”