“I know,” Calum said, and he did. Despite all he’d yet to learn about the Lusmoore clan, he knew without a shadow of doubt that there wasn’t an ounce of bad in Brix. “Wait here. I’m getting my coat.”
He dashed inside without waiting for an answer, grabbed his coat, and stamped into his shoes. Back outside, he half expected to find Brix already gone, but he remained, staring at the crates in the misty moonlight, his expression inscrutable.
Calum approached cautiously. “How are we doing this? On foot?”
“You don’t have to help.”
“I suppose the van would draw too much attention?”
“Very funny.” Brix finally broke his stare with the boxes and looked at Calum. “I mean it. You should just go to bed and let me deal with it.”
“Not happening. I’ve seen ’em now. You might as well let me help you. Sooner it’s done, sooner we can both get some kip.” In the cold night air, Calum felt more awake than ever, but Brix was exhausted. “Come on, mate. Let’s go.”
Daylight Brix would’ve probably taken more persuading, but moonlight Brix shrugged and picked up a box, holding it out to Calum.
Calum took it, then inclined his head. “Stick another one on.”
“Nah, just take that. I’ll come back for the last one.”
“Cock off. You’ve already schlepped up there twice if you’ve been carrying one at a time. Sling it on, Brix. I can take it.”
Brix’s frown turned sceptical, but perhaps remembering Calum had a stone or two on him in weight, he loaded him up with another box, before hoisting the last one onto his shoulder. “It’s a fair old walk. Let me know if you need to stop.”
It was Brix who stopped first in the end, at the bottom of the cliff path. “It’s pretty windy up there, and the path’s slippery. Stay tight, yeah? Walk where I walk.”
Calum nodded and leaned closer to Brix, raising his voice over the wind. “Are you all right? I can take your box too.”
Brix rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”
And so they went, scaling the steep cliff path with careful steps, slowed down by the weight of their cargo. The crates were heavy and despite his chivalry, Calum was glad this would be his only trip, and felt awful that Brix had done the first two alone. No wonder he’s tired.
A particularly strong gust of wind blew Calum off course. He stumbled into Brix’s back, causing Brix to stoop low to steady them both.
“Okay?” Brix shouted over the wind.
Calum nodded, then remembered Brix couldn’t see him. “I’m good. Keep moving.”
They pressed on, battling the oncoming gale. The cold seeped into Calum’s bones, freezing his joints and numbing his fingers. Twenty feet from the cave, it began to pour a hard, driving rain that soaked his clothes, plastering his jeans to his legs. Great.
Calum navigated the final ascent to the cave’s entrance, following Brix around the rock and under the ledge, guided by the faint glow of Brix’s phone. Brix dropped his crate on top of the others. Calum followed suit and then took in the murky interior of the cave. It wasn’t what he’d pictured when he’d first seen Brix slip inside all those weeks ago. Damn. This wasn’t a cave; it was a fucking warehouse . . . albeit a tiny one, and he couldn’t help the low whistle that escaped him. “Jesus. What is all this?”
Brix covered the new stack of crates with some dusty tarpaulin. “I dread to think. Most of it comes ashore in the next bay over, same as it did back when we were a clan of wreckers.”
“Wreckers?”
“Aye, lazy smugglers . . . or thieves, really. The Lusmoore gangs would lurk on the cliffs in bad weather and falsely guide ships into the rocks, wrecking them so they could loot them when the storm cleared. Made my ancestors a tidy fortune.”
“Wow.” Porthkennack was like nowhere Calum had ever been before. Add in Brix and it was fair to say he was fascinated. “How does that link to now?”
Brix shrugged. “It don’t, ’cept my lot are still a bunch of pirates. They just bring the stuff ashore themselves these days. Got contacts in the shipping world, pals in Ireland and France. All sorts end up to my garden before some mug lugs it here, and to the other caves Peg’s cousin has a little ways over.”
Part of Calum wanted to ask exactly what Brix meant by “stuff,” but the rest of him wasn’t sure he could handle the answer. Would Brix go to this much trouble to move a few boxes of smuggled fags, or counterfeit vodka? Calum had no idea, and with old headlines about IRA gun smuggling running through his brain, ignorance suited him. “How often do you have to do this?”
“Once a month, sometimes more, depending on the tides. It’s my aunt Peg who drops me in it. Her gang went to shit when her fella got sent down, and she reckons if she dumps loot in my yard, she won’t have to get it up here herself. And she’s not wrong. I can’t have this crap anywhere near me. I’ve got a business to run, people who depend on me. Besides . . .” Brix’s expression darkened. “I’m not down with some of the pies Lusmoores stick their fingers. It ain’t right.”
It’s not guns, it’s not guns, it’s not guns. “Can’t pick your family, eh?”
“Nope. Thanks for helping me, though. There’s no one else I’d trust.”
That did odd things to Calum’s heart, but even in the relative shelter of the cave, the biting wind was bitter, and a violent shiver replaced any coherent response he might have had to Brix’s sentiment.
Brix frowned. “Fuck this. Let’s get you home.”
“I’m okay.”
“Bollocks. You’re fucking freezing—we both are—and it ain’t gonna get no warmer up here. Come on. I need my bed.”
Relief warred with disappointment as Calum followed Brix out of the cave and down the rocky cliff path. The promise of imminent warmth felt like Christmas come early, but he couldn’t deny the magic he’d felt holed up in the cave with Brix, like it was the two of them against the world. Brix had saved him, in more ways than one, and the sensation that he’d repaid a tiny fraction of his friendship was too good to leave behind.
Shame the vicious wind and driving rain had other ideas. For the first part of their descent, it was all Calum could do to keep his head up and follow Brix’s sure-footed lead, which left him to the mercy of his mind, replaying the tale Brix had told him in the cave—not good for his overactive imagination.
He caught up with Brix at the next bend and put his hand on Brix’s arm. “Is this what your brother went to prison for? The family business?”
Brix cast an unreadable glance over his shoulder. “Actually, no. Abel was even less involved in it than I am. Ironic, eh?”
“If you say so. Seems to me like you’re as uninvolved as you can be when stuff keeps getting dumped in your garden.”
“Yeah, well. Abel would’ve tossed it out on the street, left it for the old bill to find and do whatever they’d do with it. He didn’t give a fuck about family loyalty. He had his own life.”
“So what happened?” Calum pressed cautiously, raising his hand to the howling wind. Brix seemed in the mood to talk tonight, but they were clearly on dangerous ground. If Brix wanted him to know about Abel, he’d have told him years ago when they’d been far closer than they were now.
A theory proved as Brix held his silence, not looking Calum’s way, until they came to the halfway point of the cliff path ten minutes later. “Abel’s not like Dad and his brothers, or Peg and her cronies. We didn’t even know he had the Lusmoore temper until the coppers came to our door telling us he’d beat some bloke to death at the side of the M4.”
Calum’s breath caught in his throat. “He killed someone? Why?”
Brix shrugged, slowing so Calum could walk beside him now the path had widened. “Road rage? Who the fuck knows? His bird ran off with his best mate the day before, so it could’ve been that, or any of the Lusmoore shite he’d lived through, but I ain’t ever been convinced he meant to kill anyone. Just thumped the bloke a bit too hard.”
Calum couldn’t imagine it,
and his expression must’ve said as much, as Brix hurried to elaborate.
“The bloke hit his head on the road when he fell over. They said in court that Abel was a bareknuckle boxer, so he would’ve known how much damage he could do with one punch. Didn’t matter that he hadn’t been in trouble since he was fifteen. They did him for twelve years.”
“Twelve years?” Calum whistled. “And he’s got two left?”
“Aye. He could’ve been out sooner, but he’s never applied for early release.”
“Why not?”
“Guess he doesn’t want to come home. Speaking of which, you can see the shop from here, look.”
Calum allowed Brix his clumsy subject change and followed his gaze inland to the seafront. Beyond the main promenade, he could just about make out the neon lights that lit up Blood Rush when the studio was closed. He tried to think of something sensible to say. Failed, and their companionable, if somewhat loaded, silence held until Brix let them into the cottage twenty minutes later.
Blowing his hands, Brix made straight for the fire, while Calum went to the kettle. His own trip up the cliffs had been bitter enough, but Brix had made the journey three times and must’ve been cold to the bone, a notion that Calum couldn’t quite live with.
A few minutes later, he took hot tea into the living room and set it on the coffee table. “Can I ask you something?”
Brix glanced up, his eyes hooded and weary. “Course. Can’t promise an answer if it’s pirate related, though. Don’t think there’s much left I can tell you without making you walk the plank.”
“It’s about what you told me when that girl, Fen, came in for her cover-up.”
“Oh.” Brix’s gaze morphed from exhausted to wary and back again, before he sat up and rubbed his face. “What do you want to know? What it’s like in the nut house?”
“Don’t call it that. Being an arsehole doesn’t suit you, and no, that’s not it.”
“I can be an arsehole, Cal. I’m a Lusmoore, remember? But the fact that you called me one makes me happy. I like it when you say what you think.”
Calum had no idea what that meant, but pushed it aside for now. “You said something the first time you took me up those cliffs . . . said you could go up there wanting to jump. Made me wonder if what happened when you were a kid had happened again.”
“You wanna know if I’ve tried to top myself since?”
Put like that it made Calum cringe. “I guess.”
Brix held Calum’s gaze for a long moment before he turned his eyes to the fire. “The simple answer is no. I’ve never done anything like that since that one time, but I’d be lying if I said there hadn’t been times when I’d thought about it. It’s in me, you know? Life gets on top of me sometimes. Can’t deal with it without turning black. Besides, it’s in my blood.”
“Depression?”
“No . . . jumping off cliffs. My sister offed herself when I was nine.”
Calum blinked. “What?”
“I thought you knew?” Brix shot Calum a quizzical look. “I never told you in London?”
“Nope. I mean, you told me that she, uh, died, but you never said how. Jesus.” Calum shook his head and sat down. “Was I that much of a crap mate back then?”
“Cal, don’t torture yourself over my bullshit. It ain’t worth it.”
“I reckon it is.”
“So? I reckon whatever put you on that coach down here is worth me jumping on a train back to London and kicking the shit out of your dickhead ex, but I’ve gotta live with that, ’cause I can’t see you letting me do it.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?”
Calum got lost in Brix’s eyes as he considered the question. The thought of Brix losing his sister in such fucked-up circumstances and then what had come next made Calum’s chest hurt, and he couldn’t imagine anything Rob had done ever mattering as much as the heartache Brix had lived through. “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.”
“If you say so.” Brix picked up his tea. “What time is it?”
“Half five. Not much point going to bed now, I s’pose. You hungry?”
Brix didn’t look particularly enthusiastic, but he nodded anyway. “There’s eggs in the bowl and Kim’s bread in the cupboard.”
Of course there was. Calum had grown used to Brix’s constant supply of fresh eggs and homemade bread. He went to the kitchen, sensing Brix a heartbeat behind him, and opened the bread bin. “Damn. Midnight hikes aside, you live the fucking good life here. It’s a world away from the City.”
“You only just noticed that?” Brix moved past him to sit at the kitchen table.
Calum gave him the finger. “I’m serious. It suits you more than I would’ve thought. Far cry from partying all weekend on a bellyful of vodka and a dodgy kebab, eh?”
Brix rested his chin on his folded up arms, his eyes already half-closed again. “Yeah, well, being sensible isn’t always easy, but I need it to be. I won’t make it on a six-pack of Stella and an ounce of weed.”
The statement was ominous and loaded, but Brix effectively ended the conversation by closing his eyes to the world and apparently falling asleep. Calum didn’t have the balls to call his bluff, and set about making breakfast instead—toasting bread and poaching eggs, drizzling them with rapeseed oil from the farm shop a few miles inland—while he digested Brix’s latest bombshell. He’d learned more about Brix in the last twenty-four hours than he had the whole time they’d known each other, but a nagging sensation in his bones told him there was still a vital piece of Brix’s puzzle that remained out of reach.
Calum set two plates on the kitchen table and touched Brix’s shoulder to rouse him. “Breakie’s up.”
“Wha—” Brix raised his head, blinking rapidly. “Wow. When did you cook all that?”
“While you were snoozing. Eat up.”
“Just a sec.” Brix got up and disappeared upstairs. Calum frowned, puzzled, but Brix was back before he could ponder his vanishing act much. “Have we got tea?”
“Yeah, but it’s probably cold.”
“Perfect.” Brix took the mug Calum held out and necked the contents. “Now let me at them eggs. I’m bloody starving.”
Calum couldn’t argue with that. He took his place at the table and ate his breakfast, trying not to keep half an eye on Brix, who seemed in danger of sliding back into sleep even as he ate. Christ. And he does this every month? “Are you working today?”
“Aye. I’ve got no appointments, but I’m opening up for Lena. She’s at the dentist. You? I should probably know, but I can’t keep track of the diary.”
“Not till one. Got a tribal sleeve to refresh.”
Brix hummed. “This breakfast is good. It’s nice to have someone cook for me.”
Guilt niggled Calum’s gut. He was more comfortable living with Brix than he’d been in years of living alone, but aside from clearing up after himself, he’d dodged the kitchen, preferring to stay out of Brix’s way. “I can open the studio for you, if you like? Give you a few hours kip? I’ve got to call the bank and set up a payment plan anyway.”
“Cheers, mate, but I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing you’d been up all night too.”
“I wasn’t up all night.” Calum wiped his plate with the last of his chewy sourdough toast. “I had a good five hours before we went walkabout. And I only went up that cliff once.”
Brix pushed his plate away. “Still can’t believe you came with me, or that I let you. Some Lusmoore I am.”
“You think trusting me makes you less of a Lusmoore?”
“It’s complicated. We’ve got a vow of silence . . . no outsiders, no emmets. Must’ve been half-mad with the cold to break it.”
“Fucking emmets again. Awesome.” Calum got up and went to the sink, swallowing the sudden hurt spreading through him. It hadn’t occurred to him that Brix would regret trusting him. Idiot. Did you really think—
Brix was suddenly right behind him, arms ar
ound his waist, stilling his hands as they fumbled with the taps over the sink. “Don’t take no notice of my sleep-deprived ramblings. I’m glad you were with me, and if I was gonna tell anyone my darkest secrets, it would be you.”
Calum closed his eyes briefly, absorbing the bone-warming heat of Brix’s chest against his back. “You mean you haven’t told me your darkest secrets? There’s more?”
“There’s always more, Cal.”
And Calum believed it. He’d run blindly into Brix’s life with his own bag of bullshit, but the longer he spent with Brix, the more he realised the closest thing to a best friend he’d ever had was drowning under the weight of something Calum couldn’t see. And perhaps he always had been. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
Brix sighed and banged his head gently on Calum’s back. “I do, mate, I promise, but it works both ways. I’m not gonna turn on you or cast you aside, and I just wish you fucking trusted me.”
Any response Calum might have had was caught behind the lump in his throat. He sucked in a breath and swallowed hard, but by the time he’d composed himself, Brix was gone.
“Lee? Do you know where the spare printer ink is?”
Lee kept her eyes on her work, showing no indication she’d heard Brix’s question, which wasn’t unusual for her, or anyone else who worked at Blood Rush when Brix couldn’t find something. And she had the perfect excuse for ignoring him—she was inking—and Lord knew if it wasn’t Brix who’d taught her how sacred that was.
He left her to it, moved to the next station, and asked the same question of Kim, who at least deigned to answer him. “Dunno, mate. Ask Lena.”
Brilliant. As if Kim didn’t know Lena was out for the day. Brix stomped off, barely stopping to check out the awesome phoenix Kim was etching onto a local lad’s back, and went back to the storeroom to resume turning the shelves upside down.
He’d fairly trashed the place by the time Lee came to find him.
She cast a critical eye at the mess he’d made. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”
“Watch it,” Brix grumbled—he wasn’t in the mood for Lee’s lip today. “You know what I’m doing—I’m looking for the printer ink like I have been all bloody day.”
House of Cards Page 11
