by Merry Farmer
“Everett,” she said in a papery voice, trying to push herself out of her chair. “There’s a good boy. I’ve got some lovely sweets for you, lad.”
Something about the way she spoke prickled the hair on the back of Patrick’s neck. It wasn’t just that the woman had clearly lost her senses. She spoke as one might if they were attempting to lure a child with toffee.
“Don’t get up, Aunt Dora.” There were equal parts disgust and pity in Jewel’s voice. He reached into his jacket pocket and tossed the woman a coin, as he had with Bessie. “I just want to know where Adler is.”
“Adler,” she echoed, nodding. “Adler. Adler. Adler.”
“Where is he?” Jewel asked, patient but stony.
“Oh, Adler is here and there,” Aunt Dora said, almost singing, settling back into her chair. “He came to see me the other day. Wanted me to bring him some more little lovelies for his school.”
Patrick’s breath hitched in his throat. He peeked at Jewel, half tempted to arrest the woman. But there was just enough compassion in Jewel’s sour expression to hold him back.
“Where is he?” Jewel repeated.
“Taken a place down in Batcliff Cross,” Aunt Dora said. She cocked her head to the side, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, that’s the place. Said he’d have a nice, juicy steak for me if I brought him some little treats there. I do love a bit of meat now and then.”
Patrick’s skin crawled. Mostly because he was certain the woman was talking about beef and not cock. She was thin as a rail and had the hungry look about her that Patrick knew too well. Which increased his own compassion for her. Hunger made humans into monsters.
“Buy yourself a steak and kidney pie with that,” Jewel said, nodding to the coin that had landed on her lap.
Aunt Dora glanced down, seeing the coin for the first time. “Oh? Where did this come from?”
Jewel didn’t wait around to answer her. He backed out of the room and headed down the stairs. Patrick followed. He remained silent as Jewel charged through the seedy, stinking streets, as though he couldn’t get away fast enough.
Only when they reached a nicer part of town, close to Drury Lane again, did Jewel return to something close to his old self. He rolled his shoulders and took in a deep breath as the scent of expensive perfume worn by ladies who had attended the theater that night and sweet and savory treats from the pubs and late-night cafes filled the air around them.
“Now you know my secret,” he told Patrick with a sly, sideways look. “Several of them, actually. Whatever shall I do to swear you to secrecy?” His flirtatiousness was back, but it had a harsh edge to it.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Patrick said in a soft voice. More than anything, he wanted to reach out to the man, to tell him he understood, and that his background wasn’t much better. He wanted to embrace Jewel and tell him everything would be all right. He’d never felt anything half as tender before, and it terrified him.
He snapped his gaze straight forward, his face heating. He could feel Jewel watching him as well, and when he risked a glimpse, his gut quivered and his cock stiffened at the hungry, excited way Jewel stared at him.
“One last stop,” Jewel said, promise in his voice.
Patrick said nothing as they walked on, even though he was desperate to know where they were going. The teeming, nighttime streets of the theater district gave way to the fringes of some of London’s most fashionable residential neighborhoods. Jewel’s spirits improved even more. Eventually, he walked right up to the door of a stylish terraced apartment and ushered Patrick inside.
“Here we are,” he said with a saucy smile, leading Patrick up two flights of stairs.
He took out a key and unlocked a door, letting Patrick into the finest flat he’d ever seen. It was three times the size of the dismal houses they’d visited in East London, and was furnished with beautiful, new furniture, hung with impressive artwork, and dressed with perfect curtains and carpets. Everything was immaculately clean.
Patrick paused in the main room, glancing around in wonder and feeling utterly out of place. Jewel walked on, crossing into what Patrick could see at a glance was a beautifully furnished bedroom. He removed his jacket with an impish grin as he stepped into the bedroom.
“Well, come on,” he said, turning back to Patrick. “We can’t suck each other’s cocks all night and fuck until we’re dry if we don’t start now.”
Patrick’s throat squeezed tight. His gut clenched at the same time as his cock stiffened in response. Want like nothing he’d ever known coursed through him. He wanted to touch and be touched, to kiss and suck and lose himself in all the ways he’d fantasied about. Hell, Everett Jewel, the Everett Jewel, the man he’d envisioned while masturbating until he thought he’d go blind, had brought him home and was propositioning him.
“Wrexham?” Jewel paused halfway through tugging his shirt out of his trousers. He stepped back through the doorway into the main room. “Patrick?” he asked, approaching slowly and seductively.
Patrick was frozen to his spot. He couldn’t even breathe. Panic overwhelmed him more and more as Jewel sidled up to him.
“Something wrong, love?” Jewel asked, fondling the Metropolitan Police insignia on his jacket, over his pounding heart. He glanced coyly up into Patrick’s eyes. “You do want to fuck, don’t you?”
The edges of Patrick’s vision went black. Yes, he wanted to fuck so badly he could hardly think. But he didn’t know how.
“Cat got your tongue?” Jewel teased his fingers up to Patrick’s lips. “I’ll get it back.”
He leaned in. His lips brushed against Patrick’s. His tongue teased the tight seam holding Patrick’s mouth shut. Jewel’s scent filled his nostrils.
Patrick gasped and leapt back, heart beating so furiously he was certain he would pass out.
“I can’t,” he choked. “I…I can’t.”
Jewel’s expression flashed from surprise to disappointment to hurt that was both genuine and deep. “But you want to,” he said. There was something tragic and vulnerable in his voice, almost like pleading.
“I can’t,” Patrick repeated.
He turned and lunged for the door, throwing it open and fleeing into the hall.
“Please stay,” Jewel called after him.
Patrick’s throat closed up, but he rushed on. He wasn’t sure if he shut the door behind him in his flight. All he knew was that he had to get out of the building and away from Jewel before he did something he couldn’t take back.
Chapter 4
By morning, after a restless night’s sleep, Patrick ached with regret so fiercely that he felt as though he’d been in a brawl and come out the worse for it. His head throbbed as he fixed coffee on the tiny stove in the corner of his cramped but respectable one-room flat. His back twinged with pain as he washed and dressed in a fresh uniform. Worst of all, his heart felt shrunken and hollow with guilt. That guilt only increased as he played the scene in Jewel’s apartment over and over again.
Jewel had begged him to stay. He now recognized the note of desperation in the man’s final words as he’d run away, like a coward. Jewel had been right as well. Patrick had wanted him. More than ever before after their trip into East London. It was one thing to see Jewel as an erotic and adored star of the stage, shining with charisma as he dazzled the high and the low night after night. The man’s vanity was well-earned, and Patrick didn’t blame him one bit for being an arrogant peacock. But Patrick had seen a different side of him, a darker side, and knew there was even more darkness behind that. Jewel’s hints and half-confessions had stirred a sort of sorrow deep within him. Or, if not sorrow, then a visceral sense that there were worlds of pain and hardship underneath the beautiful and desirable exterior Jewel presented to the world. The tiny glimpse behind the curtain of the man’s inner life Patrick had had the night before only made him want to know Jewel more.
Patrick grimaced at himself in disgust in the mirror as he combed his hair and shaved. He could have had everyt
hing he’d ever dreamed of but had never dared to pursue…if he hadn’t been such a coward. He could have known Jewel, emotionally and Biblically. And what was he so afraid of? It wasn’t as though the mark of the beast would appear on his forehead the moment he let himself experience pleasure with another man, especially one he adored.
He finished shaving, scrubbed his face, and finished dressing, fastening his belt last. By habit, he checked the pouch attached to his belt, inspecting the food he kept there. The sausage was fine, but the bread was going stale. He took that out and set it on the stove to toast before crossing to the locked chest on the room’s single, small table, where he kept his food. He fetched the key from its hiding spot under the mattress of his narrow bed, then unlocked the box.
Anxiety welled in his gut as he surveyed the contents of the chest. He hadn’t had time to visit the grocer in days, but instinct attempted to convince him someone had snuck in and stolen his food. Old, raw memories of his stomach gnawing so fiercely with hunger that it kept him awake at night, groaning, rushed in on him.
He took a deep breath and pushed those memories aside. “You will not starve,” he told himself, shutting the lid of his chest and closing his eyes. “You are a grown man with employment and income. You can purchase provisions freely. Your days of fighting for food to survive are over.”
He took another breath, forcing himself to believe his words. The scent of toast and coffee calmed him. He locked his chest, replaced the key under his mattress, then moved to the stove to gobble down his breakfast. It satisfied his hunger, but not much else.
No wonder he’d run from Jewel. Sex required intimacy, and intimacy was a liability. The second he let anyone in, especially a man as desirable and wanted as Jewel, they’d see how broken he was and cast him aside. Just like every prospective parent who’d visited the orphanage and shoved him out of the way to look at the prettier boys.
He finished his coffee, regretting the way it only added to the acid burn in his gut, before heading out the door. His problems were trivial compared to the horrors that the children Lord Chisolm and his cronies continued to steal were being forced to endure. A good and moral man wouldn’t give a single thought to his own pain when evil like that existed in the world.
He reminded himself of that fact over and over as he headed through London, on foot and by omnibus, to the edge of Hyde Park. He hadn’t made specific arrangements to meet up with Jewel again to continue the investigation. Any man who wasn’t an utter coward would return to Jewel’s flat so that they could continue their pursuit of Barnaby Adler together. But since the very thought of setting foot in Jewel’s flat again filled Patrick with a mix of terror and arousal, he headed to The Chameleon Club instead. For men like them, all roads led to The Brotherhood eventually. It was reasonable to believe that Jewel would come looking for him there. He might already be at the club.
In spite of having been a member of The Brotherhood for years, Patrick still felt utterly out of place at The Chameleon Club. Modeled off of every other upper-class gentlemen’s club in London, The Chameleon Club was the height of sophistication and elegance. So much so that he had only entered its hallowed halls twice before, years ago. Its marble hallways were decorated with exquisite artwork and fresh flowers. Rules of strict propriety were in place that prevented the sort of activity men like them could find at a molly house, which gave the club more of a feeling of tranquility and education than lasciviousness.
Men from all strata of society were welcome into The Brotherhood and the club with open arms, at least in theory, but that didn’t make Patrick feel as though he belonged. He felt like a hog that had been let loose in Buckingham Palace as he walked into the vast dining room, which was the usual center of activity at the club in the morning. Over a dozen, round tables were set up throughout the room, though only about half of the tables were occupied, and even then, not at full capacity, as Patrick shuffled through the room, hat in hand, shoulders slightly hunched, as though someone would realize he didn’t belong at any moment and have him thrown out.
The scent of bacon, ham, and coffee wafted from a series of long buffet tables at one side of the room, drawing Patrick in that direction like sirens calling him toward jagged rocks that could kill him. The amount of food spread across the table nearly brought him to tears. Sights like that had haunted his dreams as a child.
Before he could stop himself, he reached for a sweet roll from a plate towering with treats and tucked it discreetly into his pouch. He glanced around, and when it was apparent no one had seen the action, he snuck another one. From there, he inched down the table toward a platter of bacon.
“You can use a plate, you know.”
Patrick’s blood froze in his veins and the hair on the back of his neck stood up as Lionel Mercer stepped up to the table behind him. He reached for a perfect, porcelain plate from one of the piles placed artistically on the table and handed it to Patrick.
“Your membership dues cover the cost of meals,” Lionel went on with a smile filled with so much compassion it brought Patrick to shame. Lionel Mercer was famous—or infamous—for knowing everything about everyone in London, which meant it was likely he knew full well what sort of demons caused Patrick to steal and hoard food.
“I know,” Patrick mumbled, taking the plate without looking directly at Lionel. “Old habits die hard.”
Lionel hummed in complete understanding and thumped Patrick’s shoulder. For a man of such delicate and refined appearance, Lionel had a heavy hand, and his grip was powerful as he squeezed Patrick’s shoulder before letting go. “How fares the investigation?” he asked, a bitter twist to his smile. “Jewel lead you on a wild goose chase yet?”
Patrick heated at the mention of Jewel and at Lionel’s salty tone. “We found someone who claims to know where Adler is hiding,” he said, loath to reveal too much. As irrational as it was, Patrick writhed with jealousy at the idea that Lionel and Jewel were lovers at some point, even if only for a short time, as Jewel had implied the night before.
Lionel huffed a laugh. “Well, we’ll just see whether that lead pans out or not.”
Patrick finished filling his plate and turned to Lionel with a frown. “You don’t believe Jewel knows his business?”
Lionel picked at a piece of lint on his perfectly tailored sleeve. “I believe Everett thinks a little too highly of himself and his abilities.”
“So you think he’s lying.” It was madness to turn defensive against Lionel Mercer, but the urge to defend Jewel was too strong to resist.
Lionel’s benign smile melted into something a little too knowing. “Darling, let me give you a bit of advice,” he said, resting his hand on Patrick’s shoulder and leading him to the nearest table. A slender, brown-haired, blue-eyed man who had once been introduced to Patrick as Niall Cristofori, the playwright, was the only one sitting there, reading The Times. “Everett Jewel changes lovers as frequently as he changes his drawers and with just as little consideration. Don’t allow yourself to be drawn down that primrose path.”
Patrick’s stomach tightened, but he couldn’t find the words to object to Lionel’s statement fast enough. What was more, Cristofori glanced up from his paper, but rather than staring at either Patrick or Lionel, he glanced past the two of them with wide eyes, as though seeing a runaway carriage about to crash.
The crash came a second later as Jewel barked, “Get your hands off of my officer, Mercer.”
Everett was exhausted and irritable even before he arrived at The Chameleon Club. Watching Wrexham run away from him the night before had ripped his heart out in ways he could never have anticipated. He thought he’d been irresistible. He wasn’t naïve enough to mistake the fact that Wrexham had been hard for him half of the night. Even the jaunt to his bloody father’s house hadn’t dulled Wrexham’s ardor, though Everett had noted a shift in the emotion in Wrexham’s eyes once he’d seen the misery that was his past. He never should have taken Wrexham home with him. Either that or he should have
confessed all to the quiet, handsome man, pouring his heart out and shedding tears to win him over.
But no, he couldn’t have been false with Wrexham if he’d tried, which was a startling change from the way he usually conducted himself. The simple fact of the matter was that he’d bared his soul to Wrexham, whether he was fully aware of it at the time or not, and he’d wanted to bare even more. But Wrexham rejected him, and at exactly the moment that he needed someone by his side, in his bed. Wrexham had run out, leaving Everett with the choice of going to bed alone and facing the nightmares he knew full well would torture him or forcing himself to stay awake all night so that he could avoid them.
He’d chosen to stay awake, and the moment he stepped into the dining room at The Chameleon Club, he knew that he, and everyone else in the room, in all likelihood, would pay for it.
“Get away from him,” he snapped at Lionel, marching toward where Patrick had just set a ridiculously full plate on the table where Cristofori sat. The way Lionel touched Wrexham made him see red.
Wrexham jerked away from Lionel, wells of regret in his eyes. In his already fragile state, that hang-dog expression made Everett want to simultaneously weep and shout for him to grow a backbone and demand an explanation for why he’d run out the night before.
“Wrexham is not your officer,” Lionel sniffed, pulling himself up to his full, imperious height, like the arrogant prick he was. “He’s not your anything. Not if I have anything to do about it.”
Everett clenched his jaw and balled his hand into a fist. Between exhaustion, hurt, and the pounding headache behind his eyes, all he wanted to do was punch the smug smirk off of Lionel’s face. It was high time the man got over his disappointment that things had fizzled between the two of them all those years ago. Why the prick continued to hold onto something that was never meant to be was beyond him.
“You were the one who insisted the two of us work together on this investigation,” he said, forcing himself to shake his hand out.
