Survival Game (Men of London Book 9)

by Susan Mac Nicol

  Kyle and Eric watched Louis plunge his way through the crowd. Kyle sat down and reached over to take Eric’s hand. “So, what do you think? He’s great, isn’t he?”

  Eric shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know him well enough yet. If you like him, then I guess he must be. He’s a bit—handsy, isn’t he?”

  Kyle made a sound suspiciously like a man giggle and then clapped a hand over his mouth. That sound surely hadn’t come out of his mouth, had it?

  His man was jealous. Kyle wanted to milk this just a little more.

  “Oh, he’s a bit affectionate. It’s just how he is. Does it bother you?”

  Eric looked a little affronted. “I wouldn’t ever tell you who can and can’t touch you, babe. That’s your decision.” He leaned in and brushed Kyle’s cheek tenderly. “I just don’t want him thinking he can ever take you away from me. Because I’m not letting you go without a fight.” He smiled softly.

  Kyle’s eyes filled unexpectedly as the words sunk in. His heart beat erratically and he thought he might explode from the feels.

  Eric really wanted him. He would fight for him. And he might be jealous, but he accepted Kyle’s responsibility for his own body and his own wellbeing.

  He wasn’t Mario.

  “Wow, that’s pretty deep.” He tried to make light of it, but his throat was a little choked. “Lucky then I’m not thinking of going anywhere, huh?”

  Eric pulled Kyle’s chair flush with his, and for a while they were both oblivious to the sounds around them as their kiss became the only thing that mattered.

  It was close to two am when an exhausted Kyle was shooed away from the club by an equally exhausted Ryan.

  “Go home,” he instructed, blue eyes tired yet the look on his face was one of satisfaction. The amount of money raised for the evening had far exceeded expectations. “Rufus is doing the final checks to see we don’t have unexpected overnight visitors, and Greg, bless him, is going to close up for me.”

  Ryan looked as if he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and as Mango strode toward him, Kyle had no doubt Ry would be rushed to bed and tucked in before the door was even locked.

  Mango’s face showed his concerned. “Babe, you’ve overdone it, as usual. Come on. Let me get you upstairs. I’ll carry you if you like.” He grinned. “I’ve done it before, remember?”

  Ryan flapped a hand and scowled. “You big ape, I’m not a damsel in distress. I can make it on my own, don’t you remember?” His tone was fond and the loving glance he gave his boyfriend made Kyle wonder if he might find the same thing with Eric. “Now, shoo, you two. And Kyle, baby?” Ryan reached over and pulled Kyle into a fierce hug. “Thank you. For tonight and every other night. I couldn’t have managed to get through all this without you there looking after this place.”

  Kyle’s throat clogged up with emotion and he hugged Ryan back. “No problems, boss. Glad to help anytime. You get to bed, and sweet dreams.”

  Mango gave him a quick, awkward pat on the back. “Yeah, what he said. Ry’s been lucky to have you in his corner. Appreciate you looking out for him.”

  Kyle spotted Eric on the other side of the room, helping Greg pick up overturned chairs in the private area and setting them right. Eric waved, his smile lighting up his features.

  Kyle waved back, and Ryan laughed. “Go on, fuck off you two. Go do the horizontal mamba if you can manage it. Me, I don’t think I can even manage to stay awake long enough to enjoy a blowjob.” The sly look he gave Mango made Kyle doubt that was true.

  He chuckled. “Great. See you Monday.” He walked over to Eric who beamed at him. “Ready to go? I’m about to drop where I stand.”

  Eric’s face brightened. “What, right here? Isn’t that a bit public?”

  Kyle punched Eric on the arm. “Is that all you think about—sex?” He collected his jacket from the back of the reception desk and handed Eric his. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  Home tonight was Kyle’s place. They decided to walk, shift off some cobwebs and the scent of being stuck in the sweaty and testosterone-reeking club all night.

  The evening air was chill, the streets still vibrant with people. Eric offered his elbow to Kyle who took it, a warm feeling in his chest that he wasn’t averse to displaying affection in public. Kyle wouldn’t go further—he’d learnt his lesson about unwanted PDAs the hard way, so kissing or making out in public was a no-no—but the snug feel of his arm tucked into Eric’s was soothing. He felt safe and cherished.

  The dream was shattered when a sudden push at his back caused him to stumble, twisting to fall awkwardly on the pavement. Instinctively, he put his arms up to shield his body and face. Before he blocked out the view, he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. A tall, dark-haired man loomed toward him, something swinging from his right arm.

  Fuck, he’s found me.

  Beside him Eric shouted something, but Kyle couldn’t hear. His ears were buzzing, bile had collected in the back of his throat and overwhelming fear claimed his body and mind like an invasive entity that drove all rational thought from his brain and made him remember all the abuse he’d suffered.

  The words that came out of his mouth were strangled and fearful, ones he thought he’d never utter again. “Mario, I’m sorry. Please don’t….”

  Something wet hit his face, unwanted and foul smelling. Kyle curled into a ball, waiting for the kicking to start. Instead, strong arms encircled him in their warmth, and dimly he recognised the scent of Eric’s aftershave.

  “Babe, he’s gone. It was just a guy on the lam. I think he snatched a handbag. He ran into you. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  Kyle shuddered and moved his arms away from his face. Anxious green eyes stared into his, as fingers gently wiped something from his face.

  “He spat at you. I want to clean you up. I don’t want anything of that bastard’s on you. Can you stand? Come on. Hold onto me. We’re not far from your flat. Let’s get you home.”

  Eric helped Kyle stand. His body shook but it wasn’t from fear alone. He felt ashamed and embarrassed, and was sure Eric would leave him now—because who’d want a man like him?

  So indelible, his self-loathing mixed with the current panic, creating a miasma of dark emotions he thought would destroy him.

  He let Eric guide him along the busy street, and when they reached his block of flats, it was Eric who led Kyle into the grumbling lift and to the front door of his home. It was Eric who reached into Kyle’s pocket and drew out the keys to unlock the door.

  But it was Kyle who turned to Eric when they were safely inside, the door shut and locked, and quietly said, “Thank you for seeing me home. I appreciate it. You don’t have to stay with me. You can leave. I’d understand if you don’t want to come back.” Of course he would mind. He’d scream and cry at his own failure until he was drained and comatose.

  Eric stared at him, face grim, eyes haunted. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay. And why the fuck wouldn’t I want to come back?”

  The bedroom seemed like the right place to be right now, buried under the covers, so Kyle moved toward it, not answering. I just want to sleep and forget all this for a while. Maybe it’ll take this ache in my chest away.

  “Kyle? Talk to me. Please.” Eric sounded wounded. He sighed sadly and turned to face Kyle, who had trouble meeting Eric’s gaze.

  “You must think I’m pathetic. How can you not? I see a person that looks like someone from my past and I fall to pieces. What kind of man does that make me?” Eyes stinging, he walked toward his room. “I won’t think any less of you if you don’t want to see me anymore.”

  “Kyle.” Eric’s tone was fierce. “I’m having trouble with all this.”

  He laughed harshly. “That’s why I said you could leave.”

  “No.” Eric appeared at his side but he made no attempt to touch him. “I meant I’m having trouble with you thinking I’m the sort of man who’d kick you to the kerb because you have some sort of PTSD. I thought you knew me better. I
’m disappointed you would even consider I’d do something shitty like that.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He strode over to Kyle and gathered him into his arms. “I’m not going anywhere. Get used to it. Because you and I—we need to seriously talk about things.”

  Kyle stopped and let the fatigue wash over him like a veil. Hope flickered in his chest like a small candle. “Are you sure? I mean—”

  Soft lips pressed against his and then lingered over his cheek. “I’m sure. You and I—we’re the same. I know exactly what you’re going through because I’ve been through it myself. But this isn’t about me right now. All I want you to know is that I understand. And I’m not leaving.”

  Kyle let himself collapse against Eric’s broad chest as tears fell while he surrendered to Eric’s embrace. Before he knew it, he was undressed, bundled into bed and a duvet was drawn across his body.

  “Sleep now. We’ll talk in the morning.” Eric kissed Kyle’s forehead then brushed a strand of hair from his face. “I’m going to take the couch so I don’t disturb you. I’ll be around if you need me. I’ll leave some clean clothes on the dresser for you.”

  “’Kay,” Kyle muttered, his body warm and languid under the covers. “Thanks, baby. For everything.”

  The light went out and he fell into sleepy darkness.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Kyle watched the second hand move around the clock at the side of his bed and groaned softly. He’d been lying awake now for over an hour, summoning up the courage to get up. He thought he might be smiling like an idiot.

  He’s still here.

  He heard Eric moving around the kitchen and smelt coffee brewing, which was scented heaven. That alone should have him scrambling out of bed ready to face the day. But he needed another few minutes to gather his thoughts and plan what he was going to say when he faced Eric.

  The sharp rap on the door made him jump.

  “Hi, sleepy-bones. Get your lazy arse out of bed and come get your coffee. I know you’re awake. I heard you sighing like a woman out of some Victorian melodrama.”

  Kyle bolted upright indignantly. “I so did not. I was thinking.”

  There was a muffled, amused snort outside the door. “Yeah, well, stop thinking and come have some breakfast. I’m making your favourite.”

  “You made me French toast?” Kyle swung his legs over the bed, a smile forming.

  There was silence. “Oh, French toast is your favourite? I thought it was eggs over easy on rye bread.” Eric sounded a bit put out and Kyle chuckled, feeling better. “Anyway, you’ve got a few minutes to shower—the eggs are going now.”

  Kyle showered in record time, slung on some sweatpants and a tee-shirt and left his room feeling decidedly better than when he’d gone in the night before. He found Eric in nothing but jeans, his chest bare, dishing out eggs onto already buttered toast.

  God, he looks good enough to eat.

  “This, ermm, all looks good.” Kyle waved at the small two-person dining table. The coffee pot was on the table, the mugs already filled. It was the picture of domesticity.

  Eric grinned. “I hope you don’t mind me taking over your kitchen. I promise I’ll clean up, Mr Neat Freak.”

  Kyle noticed with dismay how untidy his usually pristine kitchen was. Eggshells lurked in plain sight. Crumbs were scattered across every surface and there was even a piece of burnt toast casually flung on top of the tea towel. Fat spattered up the white backsplash tiles. He swallowed, trying not to let the state of his kitchen affect him too much. “No problem. I see you’re one of those chefs who really get into what they’re doing.”

  Eric cocked his head to one side as he slid Kyle’s plate over to him. “Is that your way of telling me I’m a messy bastard in the kitchen? Because I know I am. I mess first, clean later.”

  He sat down with his plate and took a slurp of coffee. “God, that’s what I needed. Now eat, before it gets cold.”

  The food was tasty and Kyle hadn’t realised how hungry he was. When they’d finished eating, he managed to convince Eric to leave the cleaning up. Kyle found it therapeutic; plus, it meant he could get things cleared the way he wanted them. It also delayed their conversation, which he wished there was a way to avoid altogether.

  When he’d finished, he went to the lounge to join Eric, who was lying on the couch, legs stretched out. Kyle sat down in the armchair and looked across at him. “That was great, thanks. It’s been ages since anyone did that for me.”

  Eric raised an eyebrow. “Good, I’m glad you enjoyed it. And don’t think I didn’t notice your attempt at getting me out of your kitchen so you could clean up your way. I would have cleared my own mess.”

  Kyle nodded. “I know. It’s just I like things done a certain way, so…” He fiddled with the drawstring of his sweatpants.

  The room went silent.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened last night?” Eric shifted on the couch, turning on his side. When Kyle didn’t answer, he went straight for the jugular. “Who is Mario?”

  Kyle cleared his throat then exhaled. “He was my ex in Vegas. We were together around five months.”

  Eric’s eyes narrowed. “He was abusive?”

  Kyle nodded. “You could say that.” His fingers clenched together.

  What the fuck am I saying? The guy nearly killed me.

  He closed his eyes, carefully choosing his next words. He sensed Eric’s presence on the arm of the chair before he opened his eyes.

  Eric ran a comforting hand down his back. “You going to tell me more? I don’t want to push too hard.”

  Kyle took a deep breath, and then, like a floodgate had opened, it all came out. Torrents of fear, shame and pain mixed in with the need to tell this man next to him, this decent man, exactly why he’d acted like a scared child last night.

  “Mario was older than me. He was a backup dancer at the casino. We met during one of the stage shows when I went backstage to deliver some drinks. I worked bar for extra money when I wasn’t on the tables.”

  The memory of the night he’d first seen Mario flooded back. The dressing room had been empty apart from a few men busy disrobing and wiping makeup off their faces. He’d noticed Mario straight away, having seen him perform, and had been smitten.

  Mario was dark, tall and muscled, with a dancer’s grace. He’d smiled at Kyle when he’d taken his drink, and before Kyle had known it, he’d given Mario his number and arranged to meet him the following day after the show. That had been the start of Kyle’s nightmare.

  Eric moved over to the couch and patted the seat beside him. “We’ll be more comfortable over here,” he muttered softly.

  Kyle moved to sit next to Eric and leaned in to Eric’s side. The contact gave him strength to tell his story.

  “Mario was Italian, and Catholic—staunchly so. He was bisexual, but nobody knew. If his family had found out, they’d have disowned him. They were deeply religious. Him having a nice boy slut on the side was all he wanted.”

  Eric said nothing, but made soothing circles on Kyle’s back.

  “I thought I was in love with him. He was charismatic, great in bed and spoilt me like crazy. I thought we were a great couple. Then suddenly, everything changed.”

  He slid closer to Eric. “His uncle Roberto from Italy came to live with the family. He was a priest who was cold and uncompromising. Mario adored him. He began spending time with him, and less with me. At first, I thought it was a family duty thing. Family meant everything to him.” Kyle’s throat grew tight. “One night he came over to my place in a foul mood after spending the day with his uncle. Roberto must have said something to him, because Mario stormed into my bedroom and…” The memory of that first assault came flooding back. “He hit me. With his fists, again and again, sending me halfway across the room.”

  Oh God, I can’t tell him the rest of it. I can’t.

  Eric’s hands stopped and he moved back, his face a masque of fury. “No reason? He just came in and beat the shit out of yo
u?”

  Kyle nodded jerkily. “The scariest thing—he didn’t say a word. There was just this disgusted look on his face, as if I were a piece of shit. Then he left the room. I managed to get to the bathroom and clean up, but I was pretty out of it. I went back to bed and must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, he was there beside me, cleaning my face and putting ointment on it. He said he was sorry, that he’d never do it again.”

  Kyle closed his eyes and heaved a juddering sigh. “And I believed him. For a while, we were okay, went back to normal. That was when I met Luce at the club. She came to my rescue one night when he was getting mouthy. Told him to piss off and find someone his own size to pick on.” He smiled at a better memory this time, one of meeting a crazy woman with pink hair telling his boyfriend exactly what she thought of him.

  Of course, he’d never told her that had led to a beating when he got home. Luce would never have forgiven herself. It had been worth that beating to hear someone stand up to Mario like Kyle never had.

  “Did you tell her about Mario beating you?” Eric’s face was stony.

  “No, not then. Things seemed all right, so I thought…no need for anyone else to get involved. Until it happened again. And kept happening. It was as if Mario was a different person. An evil, sadistic bastard, whose only intent was to hurt me. He said I brought out the ‘dark touches’ in him.” Kyle laughed cynically. “Apparently what we did sexually was all my fault.”

  Kyle looked at the floor. “It’s why that time we first went out I got spooked when you asked me about a lip ring. I used to have one, and a tongue stud, but the bastard tried to rip them out with his teeth a couple of times.” He stroked his upper lip. “You can still see a faint scar if you look really closely.”

  He cleared his throat and continued, “Finally, I had to tell Luce about the fucked-up relationship I’d had with Mario. I had too many bruises and she was observant. Hell, she was so pissed off I had to stop her going to the cops. She had no idea what Mario was like. He wouldn’t have gone quietly, and I didn’t want her getting hurt.” He grimaced. “As it happened, it wasn’t long after that it all came to a head anyway.”