Dirty Games

by Barbara Elsborg

  Dirk scowled and because he didn’t even look a little sorry, Linton passed simmering and went straight to boil. “You’re a lazy, selfish dickhead and sometimes I wish you weren’t my brother. How would you have felt if I’d done this to your place? If you’d come back and found me in bed with two people who didn’t give a fuck about me? Would you have even cared? Well, I care about you, though I wish I didn’t. You’re breaking my heart.”

  Linton sucked in a breath. “You know what? I’ve had enough of this. I don’t want to see you again. Just get out of here before I fucking lose control and hit you.”

  Linton strode into the bathroom and slammed the door so hard everything rattled on the shelves. When he took in the full extent of the state of the room, he gagged. A line of greasy scum around the tub, the mirror spattered with toothpaste and Christ knew what else. Used tissues on the floor. Cigarette ends. Empty cans of beer. The toilet—Jesus wept. There was— Oh God, stop cataloguing crap. He couldn’t even have a bath until he’d cleaned. He grabbed the antibacterial spray from under the sink—a full bottle, no doubt untouched since he’d left—along with an old toothbrush to scrub the grout, and stripped off.

  He was furious with Dirk and took his bad temper out on the bathroom. He cleaned everything before he began running a bath only to find he was too wound up to enjoy submerging himself in the warm water, and that made him even more pissed off with his brother. Dirk had such a bloody nerve, copying his key, moving in. What the hell had he been thinking? That I’d never know? Maybe he’d have minded less if Dirk had kept the place clean and tidy.

  No, I wouldn’t.

  Linton was thirty, five years older than his brother. They’d got on well as kids. Linton had been protective of his younger brother, especially because life had been difficult for both of them, but particularly for Dirk. Their relationship had deteriorated after Linton left home. Dirk had wanted to go with him but Linton had insisted he stay at school and finish his exams.

  But Dirk had come to stay with him in London, had his eyes opened to big city life, and after that nothing seemed to go right. Dirk had started smoking after swearing he’d never touch cigarettes, drinking heavily and taking drugs. He dropped out of school and went so far off the rails, there was no track in sight, and Linton partly blamed himself. He’d tried to sort Dirk out, and failed time after time. Dirk would make promises, Linton would believe him and Dirk let him down.

  Once Linton wised up to the folly of merely handing over money, and began to say no to his brother’s demands, the pair of them hardly spoke without quarrelling. Knowing Dirk was spending everything on drugs and booze and cigarettes, Linton paid for meals, instead of handing him cash, and sat with him while Dirk ate. Linton bought him clothes though he suspected Dirk sold them on. He’d found Dirk a small bedsit in Greenwich, filled his fridge, paid the rent, bought him a phone, tried to find him work. Then Dirk disappeared. He never answered his phone and eventually when he reappeared, told Linton he’d lost it, though Linton assumed he’d sold it.

  So the cycle continued.

  Linton helped Dirk and Dirk fucked up. Dirk was sliding ever deeper into the hole he was digging and Linton somehow felt he was helping him dig it. Even though Linton felt less and less inclined to help him, he always did. Dirk was his brother. Linton wouldn’t give up on him. He might have just thrown him out, but Dirk would be back, saying he was sorry, and Linton would help out yet again.

  They used to laugh together a lot. What can I do to make that happen again? To make things right? Linton thought he was a saint not to have given up.

  Shit. So much for a relaxing bath. Even worse was knowing he’d need to put the entire flat back to rights the moment he got out of the water. By the time he emerged naked and dripping from the bathroom—no clean towel in the cupboard—Linton had reached boiling point yet again. Just as well Dirk had heeded his warning and disappeared. Linton found the flat key sitting on his messenger bag along with a scribbled IOU. Sorry. Borrowed fifty quid. xx

  That was money Linton would never see again.

  He pulled on a pair of boxers, then tackled the rest of the flat. He stripped the bed and shoved the sheets in the bin, hoovered the mattress and turned it over before he remade the bed. He couldn’t afford to buy a new one. There was no alcohol left. Even the weird liqueurs people had brought to his occasional parties had gone. His cupboards were virtually bare. The fridge held a carton of out-of-date milk, a slab of half-wrapped cheese that had hardened and curled up at the edges and a loaf of bread with furry green spots on the crust.

  It was late afternoon by the time Linton finished. He’d washed the picture windows that looked out over the Thames and even repainted a couple of walls when he couldn’t get rid of the marks, and finally unpacked his cases. The flat looked almost the same as when he’d left it three months ago, but he kept Dirk’s handcuffs as a reminder.

  Once he’d showered and dressed, he went down to his car—which wasn’t parked as he’d left it. He always reversed into his spot. Fucking hell. Dirk wasn’t insured to drive it. Nor was it a fuck off car. It was seven years old. Linton had bought it from a friend and the thing sucked money each time it needed an MOT, but he liked the idea of being able to get into it and drive anywhere. He could pretend he was escaping when he’d never been more trapped.

  He was relieved to find the vehicle had no dents or scratches. Nor was there any trash inside it which was a surprise. But it stank of cigarettes and there was another three thousand miles on the odometer. Where the fuck had Dirk driven?

  And where was he now? Linton didn’t want to worry about him, but he did.

  Chapter Two

  Thorne took a deep breath before he carried on talking. He was uncharacteristically nervous, but he wanted this. A lot. So far he thought he’d done okay. Well, he’d got the right words in the correct order anyway.

  “Take your wallet out of your pocket and drop it on the floor.” Thorne spoke gently and put a chilling smile on his face. “Don’t do anything stupid… Kick it to me… Now your phone.” Thorne lifted his foot and smashed it down on the floorboards. The sound was so loud, he almost jumped. “Damn. My foot slipped.”

  Thorne stepped right into the guy’s space and wrapped his arm around his neck. “Thank you for doing exactly as you were told. See? I can be nice. My mother taught me to be polite at all times.” Which was true.

  The guy whimpered.

  “But the bad news is I’m not a nice man.” Thorne shrugged. “I can’t help myself.” Shit, this was truer to life than he’d realised.

  “What did you do to Ken?”

  “Ah, poor Ken. He died of natural causes. Stopped breathing. Though I did have to give him a bit of a hand with that.”

  “Oh God. Please, please.”

  “Hush.” Thorne kissed the side of the guy’s face, then trailed his tongue up his cheek. He’d just thought to add that and decided it would be a nice touch. “This is your final chance in life to shine.” He turned on the tone of an evangelical preacher. “It’s a special gift. Don’t waste it. Accept it. Embrace it. Love it.”

  Thorne broke the guy’s neck.

  Well, no, not really.

  “Shit, you scared me,” the man said with a laugh as Thorne released him.

  Thorne grinned and looked toward the two men and the woman who’d watched him audition.

  “Thanks, Thorne. That was great. We’ll be in touch,” one of the men said.

  Thorne nodded, made sure he looked as if he didn’t give a toss whether he got the role or not, and walked out of the room. He might be a well-known actor but he still had to audition for most parts. His agent-cum-publicist, Orlando Harding, was on the phone before Thorne reached the street. He had no idea how Orlando knew the audition was over, but this was a guy whose job it was to know who was doing what to whom, and where and when, and moreover what was in it for him, twenty-four seven. He was very good at his job and worth his percentage of Thorne’s earnings.

  “How
did it go?” Orlando asked.

  “Fine until I accidentally broke the extra’s neck.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  Thorne laughed. “I have no idea how it went. I said the lines, they said it was great and they’d call.”

  “You’re perfect for that role. A gentleman killer.”

  “Thanks… I think.”

  “With your posh accent and seductive charm, you’re made for the role, coupled with the fact that at times you can be a real shit and yet people still love you. They’re idiots if they don’t sign you for this. You remember to collect your suit for tonight?”

  Thorne smiled at Orlando’s switch of topic. “Yep.”

  “I’ll get the cab to pick up Amanda then you. Linger on the carpet. Go in with her. Come out with her. Be good. Whichever party you end up at after you’ve been to the main one, leave the guys alone tonight at least. Okay?”

  Thorne switched off his phone, thought about it and powered it down, irritated at Orlando’s instruction.

  By the time he reached the bar where Josh was waiting, he’d convinced himself he hadn’t got the part. The lick had been too much.

  Josh waved him over and took his foot off the seat he’d been saving. “How’d it go?”

  Thorne shrugged, picked up the bottle of wine from the table and emptied what remained into a glass. He waved the empty bottle in Josh’s face. “You’ve been busy.”

  “I didn’t drink all that. I gave a girl a couple of glasses.”

  “Did you? Which one?” Thorne looked round.

  “She left.”

  “And she’s not humping your leg? Bitch.” Thorne took a slug of the wine.

  “Did you forget any lines?”

  “No, I was word perfect, thanks to you making me practice a hundred times. You should have come with me and offered to try out as the victim.”

  Josh rolled his eyes. “They wouldn’t even wait for me to open my mouth. One look and it would have been—we’ll be in touch.”

  Thorne laughed. “Exactly what they said to me. I’ve not got it then.”

  “Course you have.”

  “We’ll see. I did run my tongue up the guy’s face.”

  “The casting director?”

  Thorne snorted. Josh believed in him more than Thorne believed in himself. He might sound and look confident but a fragile shell covered a deep-set insecurity. He sometimes wondered if acting was the only thing he could ever do well, that his life was destined to be one where he pretended to be something he wasn’t.

  “If you don’t get this, there’ll be something better come along,” Josh said. “Snake wrangler, shark tamer, crocodile handler. You could impress them by doing your own stunts.”

  “Very funny.”

  He and Josh had been friends since they were kids, their houses a few hundred yards apart, though miles socially. Josh and his younger brother Nate lived in an ex-council house with parents who were kind, thoughtful and considerate. While those of Thorne and his brother, River, were the exact opposite, a selfish, self-absorbed Lord and Lady Muck living in the biggest house in the village, who looked down on their neighbours and made life difficult for their children without all the other issues.

  Even thinking about his parents catapulted Thorne into a bad mood. He glanced at the bar and spotted three young women staring at him.

  “Get another bottle.” Thorne offered Josh a twenty pound note.

  “You go. You’ll get served straight away. The bar staff make a point of ignoring me. I could be standing there with my dick out and no one would pay me a blind bit of attention.”

  “Try it and see.” Thorne grinned at him before returning his attention to the three women who were looking in his direction and giggling. Thorne upped the wattage of his smile.

  Josh frowned. “What are you up to?”

  “Amusing myself.”

  “Not again. Don’t. You’re being cruel.”

  “How do you know one of them isn’t just what I need?” Thorne put on his innocent face but Josh rolled his eyes and pushed to his feet.

  One the girls was stunning. Straight white-blonde hair that flowed like water. Every time she swished her head, which she did a lot, the strands of her hair shifted as if they were working under Newton’s law of motion, each strand following the other before slipping back into place. Thorne was mesmerised. She wasn’t tall but she had a nice figure, as did the girl on her right whose jet black hair was shorter than his. When she caught Thorne gaze, she smirked.

  He immediately switched his attention to the third girl. Tallest of the three and built like a weightlifter, with a face to match. Big nose, big lips, fat cheeks and a hairstyle that didn’t suit her. Nor did the dress she was wearing, though she had a sweet smile, pretty tattoos and a dirty laugh he took a liking to. Thorne gave her the biggest, brightest smile he could manage. Her glass tipped in her fingers and wine splashed on the floor.

  Josh blocked his view as he walked back to the table with a bottle.

  “Stop it,” Josh said.

  “What?”

  “You know damn well what. It’s mean.”

  “It’s just a game.”

  “You’re not interested. Why let her think you are?”

  “Because it amuses me.” Thorne let his gaze settle again on the tall one whose eyes widened like saucers.

  “Well, I don’t find it amusing and neither will she when she realises you’re teasing her, you bastard.” Josh poured out the wine and glared at him.

  Thorne watched the three girls whispering to each other and wondered what they were saying. Maybe urging the tall one to pluck up the courage to come over. Or not. He realised Josh was talking and turned to face him.

  “Who are you going with tonight?” Josh asked.

  “Amanda Deering.”

  “She’s gorgeous. You lucky thing.”

  “Gorgeous but she knows it.”

  “Just like you. A match made in heaven.”

  Thorne huffed.

  Josh sighed. “You do realise that when you’re really famous we won’t be able to just sit in a bar and have a quiet drink.”

  “What do you mean—when I’m really famous? I am really famous.”

  Josh grinned. “Nate’s joining me for a quick one. Thought I’d better warn you.”

  “Right.”

  “Going to tell me what my brother is doing to piss you off?”

  “Breathing.”

  His mood plummeting, Thorne pushed to his feet and sloshed wine into Josh’s glass before carrying the bottle over to the bar. Emptying it into the glasses of the three girls marked the start of a magic trick where there was always another bottle available, no more bought by him. When that group moved on, another took their place. Thorne was the centre of attention, the focus of guys and girls, and he was polite and pleasant, at his most charming, most insincere. Laughing at jokes, listening to the person talking to him, accepting every phone number that was pressed on him, knowing he’d call no one.

  He was aware when Nate walked in but Thorne didn’t leave. It would have been admitting the guy infuriated him, admitting he wasn’t enjoying himself, though he wasn’t. He usually thrived on adulation but these days it was no longer enough. But he still played the same games and retreated behind his shield, the manners that had been drummed into him as a child surging to the fore. It was hard to fall out with someone who was incredibly well mannered. It was the way he usually behaved when he didn’t give a shit.

  He’d drunk too much, though not as much as it might have appeared. Josh came up to tell him he and Nate were leaving and Thorne gave him a tight smile.

  “You should leave too,” Josh said.

  “Yes, Mummy.”

  Josh rolled his eyes and Thorne turned his back. But after an hour or so, he’d had enough of the game. He wanted to piss someone off, a guy by flirting with his girlfriend, a girl by coming on to her boyfriend, but no one was annoyed with him. Or at least they didn’t show it. He nipped to the
loo, went the back way out of the pub and got a taxi home. If he missed the event tonight, he’d irritate Orlando, and Thorne had enough sense to realise that while Orlando was in the process of making him, he could just as easily break him.

  Josh was cooking when Thorne got back to the house they shared with Thorne’s brother. Thorne was relieved to see no sign of Nate. Josh knew Thorne no longer liked Nate, but he didn’t know why and Thorne hoped he never found out. Though the fact that Nate was a journalist was enough of a reason for Thorne not to want to have anything to do with him. No journalist could be trusted.

  “You bastard,” Thorne said with a groan. “You couldn’t make fajitas tomorrow when I could eat them?”

  Josh was cooking one of Thorne’s favourite meals. Thorne stuck his finger in the bowl of home-made guacamole and Josh rapped the back of his hand with a spoon.

  “Ouch.”

  “Pack it in. Christ knows where you’ve had your hand.”

  Thorne sucked the mashed up avocado from his finger and moaned. “Mmm…mmm…oh God…yes…yes…yes.”

  Josh sighed. “No, you’re not having any more. Go and get ready.”

  “Yes, Mummy.”

  Thorne ran up the stairs, taking off his clothes on the way. The irony was that Josh looked after him better than his mother ever had.

  By the time he came downstairs, River had returned from yet another chess competition.

  “Did you win?” Thorne asked.

  His brother looked at him as if he’d just asked if man-eating sharks ate women too, then placed his backpack carefully on the floor at the side of the couch where he always put it. Thorne was happy River had met his gaze. He must have had a good day.

  “Well did you?” Thorne pressed, though he knew the answer.

  “Yes.”

  “Doesn’t that make you happy?”

  “Not when there’s no real challenge.” River’s nostrils flared. “Is Josh cooking?”