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Authors: John Wiltshire

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BOOK: Death's Ink Black Shadow
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It only occurred to him later, in bed, on his
own
, that Nikolas had deliberately engineered this whole visit so Ben could bond with Molly Rose without him.

It was so obvious when he thought about it that he actually heard himself say
duh
in his head.
Of
course
. There had been nothing important to be done in London. He was immensely saddened in a way that Nikolas had wanted this, but also incredibly impressed with Nikolas that he’d sacrificed something he would have enjoyed for
his
sake.

On a whim, Ben slipped out of bed and pulled on his jeans then made his way back across the bridge to the other side of the house, carefully locking his new gate behind him. It had opened silently. It had been
extremely
well fitted.

Molly Rose was asleep in her cot in the room next to the guest suite.

Ben leant on the rail, studying her. He’d not picked her up or held her once in the whole time he’d been aware of her existence. He wasn’t about to do so now.

The thought suddenly occurred to him that he had lain in this place as a baby, too. Not this house, but in the original one which had stood in its place.

Who said the hand of fate didn’t exist?

Had his father stared down at him, wondering what he was supposed to do with a baby?

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a photo of his daughter sleeping. As he crossed the bridge back to his lonely bed, he sent it to Nikolas.

He expected to get a text back and checked his phone every so often as he tried, unsuccessfully, to sleep. It wasn’t like Nikolas not to reply to a text. Especially the first one he had probably ever been sent with a photo of baby in it. Ben gave in and called him. It went to voicemail.

It was twenty past one.

Voicemail.

§ § §

The next day, Ben took everyone to Plymouth. Neither of the Armstrongs had been there before, and they marvelled at the usual things: the Hoe, the Barbican, and then Dartmoor, as Ben took them home the long way via Princetown and the prison. They made a detour to his favourite pub for lunch, but couldn’t go in with Molly Rose, something Ben had not taken into account. He wondered if he was annoyed or secretly proud of the fact he now had a daughter to consider. He decided he’d think about it when he wasn’t so tired. He hadn’t slept at all until dropping off into a fraught doze just before he’d been woken by the faint sound of crying at six.

He’d listened to the baby for a while, knowing someone else would sort her, and assumed when she stopped they had. But he’d not slept again after that. Instead, he’d gone for a long run to punish himself for thinking the things he was about why his calls were going to voicemail.

There were many varied and very reasonable explanations why Nikolas wasn’t answering his phone at twenty past one in the morning.

Ben just couldn’t think of one.

§ § §

That evening, Ben had something of a shock.

Jennifer Armstrong declared she had an old school friend in Exeter. Did Ben mind if they went out that evening?

Ben didn’t mind at all and was looking forward to a couple of hours in the gym, Chinese, and a movie.

It was only as they were leaving that he got he was supposed to be babysitting. They were leaving Molly Rose with him.

Was this a conspiracy?

He figured he ought to point out that he hadn’t actually even touched her yet. Jennifer nodded thoughtfully and handed her over.

Ben held his daughter for the first time.

She seemed as surprised as he was.

Her eyes were extraordinarily green. He’d always thought all babies’ eyes were blue, but Nikolas had told him that occasionally they could turn their final colour at this age. How did Nikolas know these things?

She hardly weighed anything.

She was staring at him in confusion, apparently trying to decide between screaming and laughing. He stuck his tongue out at her and the decision was made. She howled until her face went puce.

Jennifer made to take her back, tutting with disapproval as only a grandmother could, but Ben turned away, still holding Molly and took her over to the counter. He picked up the first thing he could see, his keys, and handed them to her. She stilled immediately and put them in her mouth. It was a large bunch, no danger of swallowing. She was sucking the Ducati key. Ben was impressed.

With some reluctance, Jennifer was persuaded by her husband to leave them alone.

Ben glanced at the huge list of instructions she’d left, ignored them all, and took his daughter into the gym to help him work out.

She crawled around, pulling herself to standing on everything, studying him until she discovered the mirrored wall. Ben couldn’t help a small smirk as he watched her admiring herself. They had more than looking alike in common then.

He took another photo and sent it to Nikolas.

He refused to check his phone to see if he’d had a reply until he’d finished his reps.

None.

It was something of a downer, and he felt deflated rather than his usual post-work-out high. Molly Rose began to cry. He knew how she felt.

Carrying her back across the bridge, he put her down on the kitchen floor and tried to work out the bottle-warming instructions he’d been left.

The sobbing stopped. He glanced down. Radulf had apparently decided Ben’s babysitting was pathetically inadequate. He’d stretched out alongside the baby and was wagging his tail against her. She had forgotten to be upset in the excitement of trying to catch it.

He picked up his phone—only because he wanted to take another picture, but it seemed natural to see if he’d received any texts.

None.

He rang Nikolas.

It went to voicemail again.

§ § §

When the Armstrongs returned, Ben and Molly Rose were lying on the sofa asleep. He woke to the sensation of someone lifting the baby off his chest. Jennifer seemed surprised to find her granddaughter in one piece. Reginald only gave Ben a complicit wink.

Ben checked his phone.

The silence was resoundingly loud.

The next morning they went for a longer walk on the moors, with Molly in a back carrier Ben had bought because he’d known even her off-road pushchair couldn’t cope with Dartmoor. Both Jennifer and Reginald seemed awed by the splendour and beauty of the place and couldn’t help murmuring to themselves what a healthy environment it would be for any child to grow up in—far healthier than St Albans, which they both described somewhat mysteriously as ‘not what it used to be’.

When they finally left, Ben watched the car depart with a heavy heart for about ten minutes, by which time he was packed and in his own car with Radulf heading back to London.

Voicemail? Yeah.

§ § §

He’d expected to find Nikolas either murdered by Chechens, disappeared, or possibly eaten. He was willing to forgive the lack of texts because of any one of these occurrences. To find him with his feet up on the table, smoking, and reading the paper was, therefore, both very welcome and beyond infuriating.

“What the fuck?”

As a greeting after three days it lacked something, Ben knew.

Nikolas peered at him over his reading glasses. “I thought you’d stay longer. How did it go?”

“Did you get the pictures? Why didn’t you answer your phone? Where have you been?”

Nikolas waved imperiously toward the kettle, and Ben went to put it on before he swore, spun around and sat down at the table. “Seriously. Put that fucking thing out. I was worried. Why didn’t you answer?”

Nikolas shrugged. “I’m on holiday.”

Ben opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t think of anything. Finally, he ventured, “On holiday from me?”

Nikolas smiled and swung his feet off the table. “I’m going out tonight, too. Jackson has arranged another meeting with some people seeking my help. Why don’t you see if Tim wants to come around?”

Ben studied Nikolas’s back as he went out and up the stairs.

He leant back in his seat, thinking.

Three days.

Nikolas had just gone upstairs without inviting him to accompany him. Without forcing him up. Without seizing him and dragging him to the bed. He was tempted to not go up, just to make a statement, but it seemed self-defeating, as he’d thought of nothing else but Nikolas horizontal all way from Devon—after, of course, playing out a very satisfying scenario in his head where Nikolas had been captured by Chechens…

He jogged up the stairs and found Nikolas in the office, less impressive than being strung up in an abattoir, but probably better. He shut down his laptop when Ben came in and folded his hands on his stomach. “So, how did it go with Molly Rose?”

It was such an obvious question, so normal that Ben felt his fury winding up again inside. Since when did Nikolas do
normal
after three days without sex? Ben nodded and perched on the desk. “What’s up?”

Nikolas twitched up an eyebrow, dragging his gaze down Ben’s lean body. “You, by the look of it.”

Ben kicked Nikolas’s ankle to get him to focus. “What’s
wrong
? You’re behaving weirdly. I’ve had my little bonding session with Molly Rose. Now what?”

For one fleeting moment, Ben saw an expression of puzzlement on Nikolas’s face. Ben suddenly got that Nikolas hadn’t engineered his time alone with Molly for his benefit after all. But before he could call Nikolas on this, the look was covered by a smirk. “Busted, as you would say.”

It was disconcerting watching Nikolas lie. Sure, he lied all the time, but mostly Ben didn’t know he was doing it until after, but now, seeing it, seeing him claim Ben’s assertion as the truth…It was a masterful performance, he had to admit that. He got off the desk and went into the bedroom, feeling at something of a loss, debating returning to Devon on his own.

He sensed Nikolas standing in the doorway behind him and knew he was being considered…studied. Arms slid around him. He was about to turn in them, try again to find out what was bugging Nikolas, when he was shoved face first to the bed, strong hands ruthlessly snapping his belt and unzipping him. His jeans were ripped down his legs and then he was impaled.

It hurt. A lot. Ben always greeted this pain, taking it as a tiny residual protest from his body that he wasn’t gay until it woke up and remembered, and thought
fuck yeah
that’s perfect.

He wasn’t getting to the good part quite as quickly this time.

Nikolas knew exactly what Ben was feeling. Of course he did. He always waited, gently moving, until the
fuck yeah
of relief transmitted to his deeply embedded cock, and they then worked as one.

Not this time.

This time, he continued to pound into Ben when it was clearly hurting. One hand snaked around Ben’s throat, squeezing. Ben put his head down to the bed, bending over to try and open up and give Nikolas more access. Nikolas pulled his legs even wider apart, swearing at the constricting jeans, stamping them down so he could part Ben further, sink deeper, thrust harder.

Ben took it, but it was decidedly unpleasant. The grip around his throat tightened. Any minute, he expected Nikolas’s other hand to seize his cock, jerk him off, bring them off together. But he didn’t.

He felt Nikolas stiffen, felt himself being filled, and then cum leaked and trickled down his thighs. It was way too soon, he wasn’t nearly there yet, so pushed back into Nikolas to get him to work his cock and maybe carry on, but Nikolas pulled out.

He slapped Ben on the backside and commented casually, “Finish yourself off. I forgot I have to make a call.” With that, he zipped up and left.

It was incredibly quiet in the bedroom, except for the sound of the blood pounding in Ben’s ears. He lay prone on the bed, not bothering to pull up his jeans.

He had the distinct impression he’d been unmanned some more.

This time, it was far worse than baking scones.

§ § §

After Ben had showered, he examined himself in the mirror. He had a handprint on his neck. Anyone else seeing it might think it just a regular bruise, but he could see finger marks. He was sore in other places, too, and scrunched his face, feeling sorry for himself.

He’d wondered if recent events—the time when he’d broken Nikolas—would come back to haunt him. Despite Nikolas’s assertion that consent could never be withdrawn, it had been, but Ben had taken him anyway.

It had been some weeks now. Easily long enough for Nikolas to restore his equilibrium, recover his sense of himself. Was this payback?

Ben straightened.

He knew it wasn’t.

This was about Steven.

He had no idea why or how, but one thing he was certain of—this was about Steven.

He stared into his mirrored eyes, trying to force their reflected green to speak to him, tell him what was happening. He blinked, stopped focusing on this one feature and saw the whole package. He closed his eyes slowly as the truth dawned on him. How dumb could one thirty-something ex-soldier be? Jesus, who gave you the relationship manual when you became an adult? Why did you get left to work all this out for yourself? Ben liked instructions and diagrams and being told the names of parts. He needed that. If he’d been an intuitive thinker, he wouldn’t have joined the bloody infantry!

But sometimes, even he got there in the end.

Nikolas was
trying
to provoke a fight.

Nikolas
wanted
him to storm off back to Devon.

Nikolas wanted him away from Steven.

Nikolas was still embarrassed about being in a relationship with a man.

Fucking hell.

Nikolas didn’t want his son to know he was
gay
.

CHAPTER SEVEN

When Ben had recovered a little, had a strong cup of tea and eaten a packet of hobnobs, he was more inclined to cut Nikolas some slack.

He could hear Nikolas in the study as he made the occasional call.

Nikolas’s introduction to fatherhood had come about even more abruptly than Ben’s. He’d had a fully formed male human being turn up on his doorstep. And he hadn’t even been able to tell Steven that he was his father. Molly Rose’s existence confused the hell out of Ben, so what Nikolas must be thinking was unimaginable.

BOOK: Death's Ink Black Shadow
9.19Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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