Worth Keeping (33 page)

“What the fuck are you doing here, you bastard? And what did you do to Owen?” Nick once again tried to struggle to loosen his wrists. There was some play in the rope but not much.

Perhaps if he kept tugging them it would loosen and he could get his wrist out.

“Little pretty Owen,” Brad mocked as he walked around Owen, trailing a large hand through Owen’s dark hair. “He’s a real looker, Nick, I’ll give you that. Unfortunately he arrived home at a rather inopportune time and I had to chloroform him too. He took exception to that. He’s quite feisty, he is. I quite enjoyed him fighting me; it was a lot of fun.” A shiver ran through Brad’s body.

Nick felt sick. He knew exactly what it was like being on the receiving end of what Brad deemed as “fun.” The man got off on people who struggled and resisted him. Brad reached down and brushed Owen’s groin, his fingers lingering, and Nick surged at Brad in fury.

“Leave him the fuck alone, you son of a bitch. Don’t you fucking touch him—” His words were shut off as Brad moved swiftly over to him and delivered an open-handed slap to Nick’s mouth. Nick’s head rocked back and he saw stars. Brad had always had a lot of power in his blows. The thunder echoed outside, as if serenading the tenseness in the room with dramatic flair.

“Shut up, Nicky. You don’t get to tell me what to do. That’s my job, remember?”

Nick swallowed the blood that filled his mouth and looked at Brad with hate-filled eyes. “Leave Owen alone, please, Brad. You have me, that’s what you wanted isn’t it?”

Brad nodded grimly as he observed Nick through red-rimmed blue eyes. “Yes, I have you. All thanks to your stupid fucking Owen over there.” He waved a hand at Owen. Confusion fogged Nick’s brain.

Owen had told Brad where he was?

Brad grinned. “He was so keen to get you some recognition for those pathetic paintings you do that he contacted a mutual old friend to try and get some advice. He sent her some pictures. Of course, she asked me if I was interested, being one of London’s premier scouts for talent. I recognised the pictures as your rather lacklustre work straight away.” He scowled. “I made up a name so your stupid boyfriend over there wouldn’t know who I was. I can’t believe he really thought I was someone called Cole bloody Porter. He’s really gullible, isn’t he?” He huffed in amusement. “Then he refused to tell me where you were. In fact, he fucking blew me off the last time we spoke. So I decided there would be no more Mr. Nice Guy.”

He moved over to Nick and ran a hand down his cheek. Nick flinched. “From there on, all I needed to do was get in touch with Owen and find out more about his family.” Brad smiled flatly. “His dear auntie was only too happy to tell me he was living in this godforsaken place in a lighthouse. That kind of narrowed it down and here I am. I’ve been here about three days watching you both. I knew I’d find you one day, Nicky.”

Brad’s pet name for him made Nick feel ill. He’d hated it when anyone else used it as it reminded of the beatings he’d taken at Brad’s hands while the man taunted him with that name.

Brad reached out a hand and ran his thumb over the blood on Nick’s mouth. He lifted his hand and sucked the blood off. “I never really cared enough to put too much effort into actually finding you. You were never worth the effort. I’m more of an opportunist, me. But all my heavens opened at once when I got that call from your boyfriend.”

Despite his and Owen’s situation, Nick felt warmth suffuse his body.

Owen had tried to get my pictures shown. He cared enough to try and do that.

“Take that damn smile off your face,” Brad growled as he gripped Nick’s chin roughly, forcing him to look up at him. “You have nothing to smile about, Nicky boy.”

“What exactly do you want, Brad?” Nick regarded the other man carefully. “Why are you here? Just to tell me my art is crap, or confirm that you’re some sort of deviant because you chloroform unwilling men and tie them up? Is that how you have to get your rocks off nowadays?”

Nick’s head reeled back from the second hard slap Brad threw at the side of his head. Nick’s head was already pounding from the drug he’d been knocked out with and his headache grew worse.

“Shut up, smart mouth,” Brad snarled. “Christ, you’ve grown some balls since I last saw you, haven’t you?”

“I’m not that man anymore, Brad,” Nick said quietly. “I’m stronger now. There’s nothing you can do to me that will make me yours.”

Brad leaned forward and Nick drew back at the stale smell of his breath. The glint in Brad’s eyes told of bad things to come. Brad waved at Owen’s still form.

“Don’t kid yourself,” he sneered. “My cock in your arse is all I need to make you mine.” He looked at Owen. “And I can do things to
him
that will make you squirm,” he said with a lick of his fleshy lips. “Nice-looking man like that. I bet he has a tight arse and I can definitely see myself inside it.” He looked at Nick curiously. “Have you managed to get that pathetic excuse for a dick inside him yet or does it take a real man to do that? I’m sure Owen would appreciate a good rogering. He’s probably not had much of that where you’re concerned.”

Nick’s whole being chilled at the greedy look on Brad’s face. He had no doubt that if Brad wanted to rape either of them, he’d find a way, trussed up as they were. He struggled madly with his bonds, desperate to break free. Brad’s words no longer had the power to hurt, no longer reduced him to the man he’d been with Brad.

“You touch him, you fucking animal, and I will kill you. He’s not what you want. I am. You do what you like to me but leave him alone.”

Brad nodded in satisfaction. “And there’s the Nicky I know and I love. The one who’ll back down and let me have anything I want.” He sneered. “You always were a giver, Nick, in many ways. You were made to be used by other men. It was one of your finest attributes.”

Despite his bravado, the familiar sense of shame and guilt flushed through Nick’s body. He stared up at Brad. “You can say what you like,” he whispered. “That’s not true. Not anymore.”

Brad sneered. “Nicky, you were made to be abused by men stronger than you. Christ, your own damn mother pimped you out. That’s just shows how little you mean to people, doesn’t it?”

Nick closed his eyes, not wanting Brad to see how that comment ripped through his chest. Old familiar insecurities and fears came rushing back, flooding his mind with their toxicity. Then he looked across at Owen and felt a surge of strength, of confidence.

He meant something to Owen, that he knew. Owen made him stronger and he was damned if he’d let anything bad happen to the man he loved.

Nick raised his chin in defiance. “Brad, you have no fucking idea what you’re on about. I have people who care about me. One of them is sitting in the chair there,” he gestured to the still-unconscious Owen with his chin. “And I’m going to make sure your sorry arse gets a swift bloody kicking soon for hurting him.”

Brad smirked. “Well, we’ll see about that. If you promise to give me that fine arse of yours tonight, Nick, to do what I want with, then I’ll leave your fuck toy alone. God knows I’ve waited long enough.” He licked his lips and Nick quailed at the thought of what he might have to do to protect Owen.

“You won’t get away with this, Brad. I don’t know how you think you can come in here, rape a man then leave without any consequences.”

Brad lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, I thought this through, Nick. There are a number of things that will enable me to get away with this.” He held up a finger. “One, I’m at an art gallery showing in Norwich. There are a few good friends who will swear I was there all night and never even left the building. It was a pretty packed event and no one will notice I’m missing for a few hours. I even have a friend in my pocket who runs the CCTV room for the gallery. He’ll make sure the footage tells anyone what I need them to know.” He held up another finger. “Two, I know you wouldn’t want your past history coming out to the newspapers and if you decided to report this little session to the police, I’d make sure when they talk to me that everyone knows Nick Mathers was a rent boy and one fucked-up individual. Your past psychotherapy sessions, your suicide attempts—they’ll all be out in the open and I know you wouldn’t want that. Your credibility would go for a ball of shit.” He held up a final finger. “And thirdly, if you did say anything I’d make sure your friend Owen here paid for it. You don’t want to see what I did to the last pretty boy I got my hands on and I can promise you, Nicky,” he leaned forward, a dark expression on his face, “I enjoyed it, but it’s fair to say he didn’t, so much. I don’t think he could walk for a week. So the best thing you can do, my little runaway, is simply give it up for me, let me have what I want and then let me leave.”

He stood back and Nick knew that despair etched his face. What Brad said was true. But Nick would have had his story public in a heartbeat if he thought it would make Owen safe and be damned with the consequences. And as for the rest, well, Nick had ways and means of making sure Brad couldn’t make good on his threat to harm the one he loved. But having credible witnesses to swear he hadn’t been anywhere near them? That wouldn’t be easy to disprove and might make everything else Nick could do worthless or even more harmful.

“Now, I’m going to go get myself a bottle of wine. Then I’m going to come down here, drink some and then fuck you senseless. We can wake Owen up and he can watch if he likes. Then maybe I’ll do him too. Let you watch as a real man fucks him. Then I’ll be going back to my art showing and no one will be any the wiser.” Brad whistled as he made his way to the door. Then he turned back. “Actually, I forgot number four.” He held up four fingers. “That effing father of yours, Nicky. The one who took you away from me? I’ve held off doing much to him because, you know, he’s well connected and I don’t need the stress of his police buddies hunting me down if anything happened to him. But you can believe me when I say that if you decided to make me suffer, he’d suffer too because I’d have nothing to lose. Just bear that in mind.” Brad went out the bedroom and closed the door.

Nick closed his eyes, feeling a sense of hopelessness. He wriggled his wrists around but still couldn’t get free. It was then he heard a small noise in the corner of the room. He squinted into the corner to see a furry tail peeking out from behind the curtain. Nick knew his monkey hated loud noises and his first reaction was always to hide. Socks had obviously chosen the path of least resistance. Nick didn’t want Brad to find him in the room and he hoped Socks would stay hidden. The last thing he needed was his pet getting hurt too. The capuchin chattered quietly and Nick groaned.

Stay there and be quiet, Socks, don’t come out
, he thought to himself.
Just stay hidden.

But the monkey obviously felt the danger had gone because he peered out from behind the curtain and in one quick movement, he was on Nick’s lap, his nimble fingers playing with the rope around his wrists. Nick felt a surge of hope that perhaps Socks could undo the binds but then realised that was probably a forlorn hope. The ropes were still too tight for Socks to open.

“Go back behind the curtain, Socks,” he urged quietly. “Stay there until I tell you to come out. Go on.” But Socks ignored him and sat on Nick’s lap, toying with the rope, and then reaching up to pull Nick’s hair. Nick heard a groan to the side of him and he looked up, hopeful. Owen was starting to rouse, his head lifting slowly.

Nick felt relief that he was coming to. “Owen, are you okay?”

Owen’s eyes opened slowly and he tried to focus on Nick. “Nick, what the hell? What happened? Christ, my head fucking hurts.” Owen moaned and made a retching sound. Nick watched him worriedly as pale bile shot out of his mouth and down his shirt. Owen’s bloodshot eyes rose to Nick’s in confusion.

“Baby, you’ll be fine. Brad chloroformed you and I think it’s making you feel ill.”

“Chloroform? Brad, your ex-boyfriend Brad? How the hell did he find you?” Owen retched again, his body shuddering with heaves. Nick didn’t want to tell him it was through Owen that Brad had tracked him down. That wouldn’t help their current situation.

“Don’t worry about that. How do you feel?”

“Like I’m fucking tied up and I’ve been drugged.” Owen’s eyes glittered dangerously as he looked at Nick. “What did he do to you, Nick? Your lip’s bleeding.”

Nick shook his head even though it threatened to explode. “He hit me but I’m fine. Owen, can you loosen your wrists at all, get any movement at all? We have to get free, catch Brad ourselves and then call the police so they can catch him red-handed.”

Owen struggled against his own bonds, his face grey, then finally shook his head in frustration. “No. They’re pretty tight. If I had something sharp I could cut them—” his voice trailed off and a glimmer of hope shone on his face. “Socks, where’s your toy, your penknife?” He addressed the monkey who turned to look at Owen at the sound of his name.

Nick felt the stirrings of hope inside at Owen’s train of thought. “Good idea. That damn thing is never far away. It might just be sharp enough to cut this one binding of mine which is a little loose, then between us we can overpower that bastard who’s getting wine at the moment for his little fuck session.”

Nick leaned forward closer to Socks. “Socks, fetch your knife. You know the one you always have in your paws, other than now? Go find it, little buddy. Bring it here.” Socks observed Nick with bright eyes then scarpered away. He disappeared behind the curtain and Nick and Owen held their breath as the curtain shifted with the monkey’s movements.

“Nick, what fuck-session are you talking about?” Owen’s voice was quiet and Nick saw fear on his lover’s face, but not for himself.

Nick swallowed. “It appears Brad has this romantic plan for me. I call it rape; he calls it taking what’s his.” Nick didn’t want to scare Owen with Brad’s plans for him. He’d never let that happen, no matter what happened to him.

Owen sucked in a breath, his face paling. “Nick, we need to get free. There’s no way I’m letting that son of a bitch do that to you.” His face tightened in anger and he violently shook the chair and struggled with his bindings.