Fire and Sand

by Louise Collins

  “That’s what you think, isn’t it? You think he might include you in what we do. Give you a gun, train you up. That’s not going to happen, Jake. What you have isn’t real, it’s just sex.”

  “How would you know?” Jake spat, but he couldn’t lift his gaze from the floor.

  “The boss, he’s had guys like you before. Ones that submit to him and let him do as he pleases. The only difference between you, and them, is you lie in his bed for free.”

  Jake curled his lip and lifted his chin to finally face the gloating man. “Shut up. He’s sent me away, he must care about me—”

  “He cares about you complicating the situation. It was between this and putting a bullet in your head.”

  Jake swallowed stiffly and shook his head. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  Tom grinned. “Do you even know Maddox?”

  Do you even know Maddox?

  The words were like ice in Jake’s bloodstream and he shivered.

  He forced a cough, but his voice still trembled when he mumbled, “What am I supposed to do here? Are there at least other people?”

  Tom shook his head. “Only villa here.”

  “He’s sent me to some desert island.”

  Tom pointed out the window. “There’s worse places to be, count yourself lucky. You loved it a minute ago.”

  “Before I realised I was cut off from civilization. Like Rapunzel trapped in her tower.”

  “You think far too much of yourself. Besides Rapunzel would’ve killed to stay somewhere like this. Who would want to leave?”

  Jake lowered his gaze. If Maddox was with him, he wouldn’t want to, but stuck away with no people to entertain him, he saw it for what it was. A jail.

  “Anyway, you’ve got me for company.”

  Jake swallowed uncomfortably and ran his foot against the floor. If the island was a jail, that left Tom as his jailer.

  Jake grew tired of the view after three hours. There was no fun to be had alone on a beach. There wasn’t one shell in the sand, or a fish in the sea. Most people marvelled at crystal clear water, but all Jake saw was yet more flawless sand below the surface. No rocks or possible crabs, just soft sand that engulfed his feet.

  He slathered sun cream on himself, but it was unnecessary when he only stayed in one spot for a few minutes before moving under the shelter of the trees.

  He stomped back to the villa, and each step inside sprinkled sand all over the floor. Maddox would’ve gone crazy, demanded he clean it up on his hands and knees, but he wasn’t there. He was thousands of miles away, not sparing Jake a single thought.

  The food Tom spoke of wasn’t the sugary, salty kind Jake prayed for, but healthy, expensive stuff he would never have bought. Posh breads with olives, thin meats that Jake couldn’t pronounce and a vegetable for each colour of the rainbow. There was something called quinoa, which looked a cross between couscous and toe nails. Jake moved along to the selection of beers in the fridge, clearly not meant for him; they were dark and bitter. He grabbed one anyway and shoved it underneath his armpit to cool him down.

  Tom had retired to one of the bedrooms, leaving Jake to wear the floorboards down with his frustrated pacing. There was nothing to do, and he growled at the roof. He didn’t know Maddox, and Maddox didn’t know him if he thought locking Jake up was a good idea.

  He thought of Carl dismissing the idea of Maddox taking him on dates, and his warning not to fall for the boss, then forced a large gulp of beer down his throat.

  He thought of Tom calling him disposable and saying the only difference between him and the men Maddox had seen before was him not being paid, then took another swig, spluttering at the taste.

  Then he rested the can on his bottom lip, prepped to take another mouthful, but didn’t lift it. Naïve and stupid, Tom was right, and Jake hated when that smug bastard was right.

  Jake craved Maddox like a drug, needed him, but it wasn’t a mutual need. Maddox sent him away, and being the trained lap-dog he was, he'd followed the command. They weren’t in a relationship. It was sex, on Maddox’s terms.

  Jake walked out onto the balcony, stretched out his arm, and tipped the can. The last dribble of beer speckled the sand below, destroying its perfectness. Jake scrunched the can and tightened his face. His angry expression left him when he clasped eyes on the sun. Fading fast, the intense orange bled into the sky, every shade, just like the fire that had engulfed the house. Jake shuddered at the memory, then frowned and backed away.

  He searched the villa for a TV, a phone, a computer, but there was nothing. He couldn’t see what was happening back in London, didn’t know if the death toll had risen, and whether the faces of the victims had been released. He fished his phone from his pocket and stabbed his thumb on the buttons, but there was no response.

  He knew Tom had a phone.

  A smile grew on Jake’s lips, and he took a breath deep into his lungs. He could find out what was going on at home and get his adrenaline buzz. Unlike Carl, Tom would give chase with his fists clenched and face reddening. Jake’s body fluttered at the memory of breaking Tom’s glasses. His eyes had bulged close to popping free, and his lip had curled, flashing his clenched teeth.

  Tom’s nasally snoring made Jake shudder. He lay on his side, with a sheet thankfully covering his crotch. His back had the same wiry hair as his moustache, and it stuck to his flesh with sweat. Jake grimaced and tiptoed forward. The phone wasn’t on the side table, or in Tom’s jacket. The end of it poked out from beneath the pillow, the pillow supporting Tom’s head.

  Jake pressed his lips together to withhold a giddy laugh and reached for the phone. He tugged it, and Tom frowned before relaxing again and resuming his snore. Jake retreated, rubbed at his throat, then tried again. He edged the phone out from the pillow, heart thumping in anticipation each time Tom’s breathing changed. His eyelids fluttered, and Jake bent his knees ready to duck if he needed. The twitching stopped, and the pig like snorts resumed.

  Jake punched the air in triumph with his hand around the phone. He backed out of the room with the phone in hand, grinning like an idiot. One press of the phone and his smile fell. Passcode protected. Of course it was; not everyone had a phone from the eighteenth century like Jake. He squeezed it in his grip till the case creaked, then unclenched his fist and sighed.

  He couldn’t find out what was going on back home or read all the private messages Maddox had sent to Tom, but the phone could still provide some entertainment.

  Jake grinned, and moved into the master bedroom. He collapsed into the four-poster bed and let his body sink into the luxury mattress. He slid his watch off his wrist and flung it on the side, before wincing and checking he hadn’t damaged the face.

  The clean scent of the bed relaxed him, and he rolled on to his back with a sigh. No aching hips, or pinging springs, he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. Phone in his grasp.

  Carl was right about Tom getting food stuck in his moustache. The crumbs of his toast looked almost like dandruff, and the sticky marmalade had clumped the longer strands together. After his toast, Tom slurped at his coffee which darkened his moustache until the hair looked black.

  Jake got through half of his breakfast before the sight of Tom and his buffet moustache put him off eating more. Jake gestured to his top lip, brushing his bare skin in a hint, but Tom just glared at him, and Jake gave up.

  The villa was cool in the morning air. Tom still wore his suit trousers and white shirt, but his jacket had been left in the bedroom. Jake chose his joggers, easier to run in, and he didn’t put a t-shirt on, even when Tom tutted at his bareness. The cool air felt pleasant on his skin, especially when dreams of fire and heat still plagued him.

  Jake breathed deep and reached into his joggers pocket for the phone. He had been more than generous allowing Tom to eat before the chase, but he needed the burst of excitement, his feet were twitching, and his heart had sped up in anticipation.

  He held the phone in his hand and waved it for Tom to see. To
m’s eyes flashed to the phone, then he frowned. “And?”

  Jake swallowed awkwardly and looked at the device. “It’s your phone.”

  Tom sniffed loudly. “Yes, looks like it.”

  “Don’t you want it back?”

  Tom shrugged and went back to sipping his coffee.

  “What if I throw it in the ocean? Bury it in the sand?”

  Jake was overly aware his voice escaped his lips higher than normal. He shook the phone, then tapped it to the table, but Tom didn’t react.

  “I’m not gunna chase you, if that’s what you want.”

  “So, you don’t want it back?”

  Tom sighed and lowered his mug. “I do want it back. It’s the only way the boss can contact us, but I’m not going to play your games. Carl tells me about them all the time. Stealing his wallet, his phone, his sandwiches and he also told me the best way to deal with it is not reacting.”

  Jake bunched his lips and frowned furiously. “Remember when I stamped on your glasses, you would’ve gone after me then—”

  “The boss stopped me,” Tom said with a smirk, then flicked the new pair on the table, “And he got me these. You destroy the phone, he’ll get me another. It’s no bother to me, but it might irritate him, and I would enjoy the last few months of Maddox’s attention without pissing him off if I was you.”

  “Last few months?”

  Tom smirked at his coffee. “The guys the boss likes are young, nineteen-twenty-ish. Fresh meat. You almost twenty-two?”

  “Twenty-three.” Jake whispered.

  “Then I’d stop with your games.”

  Jake placed the phone in the centre of the table, and Tom hummed, sliding it next to his shades. He finished the rest of his coffee, then clapped, startling Jake from his sudden self-loathing.

  “Now I’m going to go sunbathe. You…you entertain yourself.”

  Tom walked off whistling, with his phone in his pocket, and his glasses on his face. Jake’s stomach plummeted to his toes, and he braced himself on the table. It may’ve just been sex, but the thought of Maddox tiring of him, and casting him away left Jake cold.

  Maddox told Jake he wanted to keep him, but never said for how long. Maddox had promised more Christmases together, was it a lie to get Jake to cooperate, to lead Maddox into the bedroom?

  Jake moved his hand to his queasy stomach and swallowed forcefully. He didn’t want to be sick, but the beer of the night before rumbled in his belly, irritated by realisation after realisation. He was naïve and stupid, just like Tom had said.

  Chapter 6

  By the second morning, there was only one can of beer left in the fridge. Jake snatched it from the shelf, turned to Tom and raised his eyebrow.

  “The last one…”

  He saw the bob of Tom’s throat, the phantom swallow of his favourite beer, then he turned, and shrugged.

  “You have it.”

  Tom strolled into the other room, and Jake followed on his heels.

  “Don’t even like this stuff.” Jake said, pretending to study the label.

  “Don’t like it, don’t drink it.”

  Jake frowned and nodded. “You’re so right…”

  He strolled through the room and onto the balcony knowing Tom’s eyes were tracking him, then he turned, and opened the can.

  Tom frowned, shaking his head slightly. His face tightened with anger when Jake poured the beer onto the sand below. Jake stared at Tom, and Tom stared back. The anger was there, bubbling beneath the surface, and Jake waited for the moment the tension snapped, and Tom launched at him.

  Tom broke eye contact and shook his head. “You really are crazy…”

  Jake stomped back into the villa with his nostrils flaring. “I’m bored, there’s nothing to do here.”

  “You’re like a child,” Tom huffed, “desperate for attention. I don’t want a family for this goddamn reason.”

  “And no one would want one with you…”

  “Says the man craving a relationship from the boss.”

  Jake grimaced at the sudden sour taste in his mouth. “You don’t know anything about me and Maddox.”

  “If it was a proper relationship, he would’ve asked you to move in with him.”

  Jake backed away a step and shook his head.

  “He would’ve told you what was going on, not sent you away.”

  Jake tightened his hand around the can in his grip, and it pinged and creaked in protest.

  Tom laughed lightly. “The fact that you’re getting so wound up, tells me you know what I’m saying is true. Now make the best of this situation. Go lay in the sun, splash in the sea. This is the only paradise you’re going to see.”

  He turned and walked leisurely towards the bathroom. Jake stared after him. His nostrils flared and his chest heaved.

  The chirp of a phone cut through Jake’s anger, and he patted his pocket before remembering his was out of battery.

  He glanced at Tom’s jacket, slung over a chair, then moved towards it, craving to see Maddox’s name. Jake tugged the phone free and glared at the screen. A message from ‘the boss’ flashed right in his face, and he pressed his thumb down hard. The phone requested the passcode, and it took all Jake’s willpower not to hurl it across the room.

  Jake shoved the phone back in Tom’s pocket, and something clunked against the chair. He stilled and peeled back the jacket, as if he thought what was hidden could leap out at him. Hanging from the chair was Tom’s chest holster, and Jake snapped his eyes to the gleaming gun and swallowed.

  Not matte black, but gold, shimmering gold. Jake checked over his shoulder before removing the gun from the holster. It was heavier than he expected, and comfortable to hold. The power of the weapon in his grip had him gasping, and he tilted it left to right in awe.

  Jake had no idea why he tiptoed out of the villa, the shower hissed loud enough to muffle his steps, but the giddiness in his chest made him creep and wince at each creaking floorboard. The gun was firmly in his hand, and in the other he held the finished beer can. He didn’t need Maddox to teach him how to use a gun, he had spent enough of his teenage years playing on game consoles to give him a rough idea. Point and shoot, as simple as that.

  Jake twisted the beer into the sand to keep it upright, then retreated an optimistic distance. He studied the gun, released the clip, which hit the sand with a dull thump. He bent down to retrieve it, slid it back in the gun, then aimed and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened, and he frowned at the gun before trying again. It didn’t fire for the second time, and he growled. Then he closed his eyes and thought back to all the awful action movies he had seen.

  Jake lifted the gun, pulled back the slider on top, then fired. He missed and took a step closer before firing again. The sand flicked up where the bullet struck, meters away from the target.

  The dented can stood in the sand, unaffected, mocking Jake, and he growled taking another step forward. When he missed for the fourth time he cocked his jaw, marched straight up to the can, and fired directly at it.

  The sound rebounded, a loud pop that startled Jake, followed by a high-pitched ring. Jake’s eyes watered with the intensity, and he dropped the gun to the sand to rub at them. The sound, almost like a metallic ping, seemed to intensify, and no amount of distancing himself from the can helped. He couldn’t hear the sloshing sea, or his pants of breath, let alone the shouts of his name from behind him.

  The wind was knocked clean out of his chest when he landed. Tom was on him, pinning him to the sand. Jake lay on his back, with Tom straddling his waist. His mouth moved but Jake couldn’t tell what he said. It looked almost funny, Tom staring at him wide-eyed while making odd shapes with his lips.

  Beside them on the sand were Tom’s jacket and holster.

  Jake realised Tom had grabbed them from the chair before leaving the villa. Tom scrambled to tug the holster from the jacket and his phone slipped free onto the sand.

  Then Tom froze, and his eyes widened. He hooke
d the strap, tugged it free and held the empty holster above Jake’s head. Then he pulled his lip back, leaned down, and shouted in Jake’s face.

  Jake couldn’t hear above the ringing, but he felt the pain of the shout, the velocity of the soundwaves battering his eardrums. Furious lines slit Tom’s forehead, and his eyes pulsed from his face as he shouted.

  Jake squirmed, trying to escape the weight crushing his pelvis, but Tom dropped the holster, and grabbed Jake by the throat. He didn’t squeeze, just held, but Jake’s mind immediately went to Richie.

  The flashing white in his vision, swiftly followed by the darkness sweeping in from the edges. The only thing louder than the ringing in his ears was the sound of his heart beating frantically.

  Maddox had saved him, had battered Richie into the concrete, but there was no one to save him from Tom. Jake patted the sand beside them and knocked the phone. The screen brightened, and Tom flashed it a look then released Jake’s neck. Maddox hadn’t physically saved him, but his name had been enough.

  Tom took a few steps back, staring at his hands like they had acted on their own accord. Jake rolled on his side and spluttered into the sand. Each gasp of breath drew the grains into his lungs, making him cough more. Coughing turned to retching, and he curled into the foetal position with his arms wrapped around himself.

  Sound came back all at once, and the only noise to break the calm of the beach waves was his own desperate pants for air. Tom hadn’t squeezed, but as soon as hands were on Jake’s throat, his body reacted instinctively. He held his breath, and savoured his last gulp even though he could’ve drawn more into his body.

  Tom watched without comment, then shook his head and walked up the beach to reclaim his gun.

  “If it wasn’t for the boss, I would’ve killed you.”

  Jake lifted his head to face Tom, sand had stuck to his lips, and his eyes were sore and dripping. He opened his mouth, but snapped it shut again when he didn’t know what to say.