Dirty Games

by Barbara Elsborg

  For a brief moment, he’d thought about telling them what he’d told Orlando but he knew how these things went and even though Thorne was only guilty of stupidity, it wasn’t worth the risk.

  Orlando climbed in the car and told the driver to take them to Thorne’s place.

  “They took photos,” Orlando said.

  “Not of me. I wasn’t under arrest.”

  “Not the police, you idiot. Mason and the wanker who was with him, which turns this into something else entirely. ”

  Thorne was stunned into immobility. He was pretty sure that for a long moment his heart stopped beating.

  “They were offered several thousand pounds for them.” Orlando stared at him.

  “What? Why?”

  “Who wanted them is the question.”

  “Mason doesn’t need the money, surely? Why would he do it?” Thorne felt sick.

  “I suspect Mason was offered more than money. Or maybe he just got off on the idea of fucking you and the money was a bonus. He’d have made sure his face wasn’t in view. I don’t know the name of the other guy. His agent will try and worm it out of him. Anyway, the photos are gone.”

  “How did you manage that?”

  “I called in a favour. So think. Who’d want incriminating pictures of you? Who wants to wreck your career?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well you’d better work it out because whoever it is, they’re likely to try again. I told you to be careful. I’m trying to broker you a big deal and if there are photos floating around on the Internet of you taking part in an orgy, no one is going to touch you. Bad enough that you swing both ways. If it was just one guy you were seeing, that could be handled, but not two. You need someone respectable as your partner. You had someone respectable, even though it was a guy. I thought you two were going to get—”

  “No,” Thorne snapped and took a deep breath before he spoke. “Thank you for sorting all this out. I was tricked. It won’t happen again.”

  “See that it doesn’t.” Orlando patted his hand. “I don’t mean to be unkind. I’m on your side and I’m angry this happened. More than angry. Fucking raped. Christ.”

  “I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

  Though he knew he would.

  But he was just as shaken by what Orlando had discovered. Pictures of me being fucked? Maybe more than that. He’d gone up there willingly but for sex with one guy, not two. And not drug fuelled sex. He’d been unconscious for a while. They could have taken pictures of him that looked really bad.

  Back in his house, he shivered as he slunk to his room, declining Josh’s offer of Sunday lunch on the grounds that he felt sick. He did.

  So who was the other guy? Someone Thorne knew? Maybe that accounted for the blindfold. He lay on his bed and thought again about who hated him enough to go to that amount of trouble and expense. But maybe it wasn’t someone who hated him, rather someone obsessed with him who had the money and nerve to make sure he got what he wanted. The other guy. Someone famous who was gay but pretending to be straight whose agent was even more powerful than Orlando?

  That made sense. Thorne had fallen straight into the trap. Shit. He was only slightly reassured that Orlando had the photos. But how could they be sure it was all of the photos? Christ, Mason and his pal could have posed him in women’s underwear or dressed him up as a baby or worse still, photographed him with an underage kid and he wouldn’t have known.

  He moved from agitation to anger. He knew better than to have let this happen. Christ, had he learned nothing? Josh was the only person he could rely on. Thorne couldn’t even trust his brother. River would never knowingly betray him but he didn’t understand how manipulative people could be.

  Thorne let out a heavy sigh. No more letting people catch him out. No more accepting offers whispered in his ear. He had to stop listening to people telling him how great he was, because he wasn’t. He was a fucked-up mess.

  Linton couldn’t see any point in delaying looking for Budak. Dirk had given him a description and a pub where the guy might be. A stocky Turk with a shaved head, a flashy gold ring in his right ear, a heavily tattooed left hand and most likely wearing a black leather jacket and biker boots. Sounded delightful. The one precautionary measure Linton took was to buy a call recorder app for his phone and watch the tutorial on how to use it. He withdrew five hundred pounds in cash from an ATM, the most he could get in one day and headed for The White Peacock, a pub in Peckham.

  Before he went into the pub he opened the app and pressed the record button. After he walked in, he wanted to walk out again. Every face turned his way. He wasn’t ashamed of being gay but as he strode for the bar he’d never been as glad that he wasn’t wearing anything flamboyant. Not that usually did. He was in jeans and a black T-shirt. He didn’t think he particularly looked gay, well maybe a bit, something in the way he held himself maybe, but this place was full of hard guys. Ironically some of them were probably gay. He glanced around. Or not.

  “Corona, please,” he said to the young barman. At least I didn’t squeak.

  After the bottle was put in front of him, and he’d paid, Linton said in a quiet voice, “I’m looking for Budak. I have money for him.”

  “Your name?”

  “I’m Dirk’s brother.”

  The guy nodded. Linton wrapped his fingers around his bottle of Corona and made for a table near the door where he could sit with his back to the wall except that meant he could see people staring at him. Most had returned to their pints and conversation but not all. One huge guy with a long beard was looking at him.

  Linton wished he had something to occupy himself with while he waited, but he didn’t want to take out his phone in case it got nicked, or worse someone realised it was recording. He felt bad for thinking it would get stolen, bad for thinking he’d be a target because he was gay. Just because he was in a pub in a dicey area didn’t mean everyone in there was a thief or a thug or a homophobe. They were probably perfectly nice guys. Even so… Shivers of unease whispered up and down his spine telling him to be careful.

  Bit late for that.

  He sipped his beer. He’d taken a risk saying he had money. For all he knew the barman had called a friend and Linton was going to sit there for ages, give up on Budak, only to be jumped when he walked out. But the mention of money had seemed the most likely way to entice the guy to come. If he came. Shit.

  Maybe he ought to switch off the app until Budak arrived. He could pretend to be texting on his phone. No one was going to nick it. He was being paranoid. He took it out. When he got home, he’d search online and find a place for Dirk to get better. Linton wasn’t yet sure how he was going to pay for it, maybe get a loan except he had no collateral. He could find a cheaper place to live, sell his stuff, sell his car. But not much of that could happen fast, nor would it leave him with the amount of money he needed and Dirk had to have help now.

  Once he’d paid off Dirk’s debt to Budak, there’d be a couple of thousand left in his account. Enough to at least start Dirk off somewhere. Or maybe they should go away together and instead of paying off the drug dealer, use the money to rent a cottage on some remote Scottish island where there was no way Dirk could get hold of drugs or alcohol.

  Except guys like Budak didn’t forgive or forget debts, not according to any TV show Linton had ever watched, and Linton’s boss was hardly going to be happy he needed a leave of absence of several months. Max would likely just sack him. Plus what did Linton know about helping a drug addict? Maybe he’d have to use those handcuffs to keep Dirk with him.

  No, Dirk needed professional help, not some well-meaning amateur.

  He started to make a mental list of people he could approach about a loan. The thought of saddling himself with more debt after it had taken him years to pay off his tuition fees made him feel as if he’d swallowed a boulder. He could ask his friends. Maybe collectively they could loan him what he needed, but how would he manage to pay them all back? It would
have been okay if he’d just been talking about a few thousand, but assuming Dirk spent three months in a medium priced place—that was still twelve weeks at three thousand a week.

  Thirty-six thousand frigging pounds. Shit. There was no way he could ask Pascal without throwing himself back into that particular quicksand. The only friend he knew who had that sort of money was the one he didn’t want to ask. Their relationship was complicated to say the least.

  Plus the need for money wouldn’t end with rehab. If Dirk agreed to go to college that would be even more expense. If they lived together that would save some money, but it would be putting Dirk back in the way of temptation because Linton needed to stay in London. His boss was an arsehole, but a brilliant arsehole who was the managing partner of one of the top architect businesses in the country with offices in New York and Paris as well as London. Linton would never get as good a job with such excellent prospects. It was his dream job and he didn’t want to give it up, especially when he’d come close to losing it a few months ago. What happened with Pascal could easily have meant the end of Linton’s career. Linton had sworn to Max it was over but what if Pascal had other ideas? Christ, I know he does. He’s made it clear he does.

  “Looking for me?”

  Linton’s head jerked up to see a shaven headed guy staring down at him. He spotted the ring and tattoos, looked down at the black boots and pressed the button on his phone to start the app before he stuffed it in his pocket. As he began to get to his feet, a hand on his shoulder pushed him back down. He hadn’t even seen the big guy on his right. Budak yanked out a stool and sat opposite Linton.

  “Little scumbag’s brother. Linton.”

  Oh fuck. Thanks, Dirk. You gave him my name as well? Linton hadn’t pursued how Budak knew about him and he should have.

  “Thought you in States.” Budak narrowed his eyes.

  Obviously not, you twat. “I came home.” Linton took a deep breath. “Dirk told me he owes you ten thousand pounds for drugs.”

  “Twelve and by end of week will be thirteen.”

  Fucking hell. Linton put his hand in his pocket. An arm wrapped around his neck and a hand clamped around the wrist of the hand still in his pocket. He let out a strangled gasp. Another guy patted him down, slid his fingers into the pocket next to Linton’s fingers, then nodded to Budak. Linton was released.

  “Sorry about that,” Budak said, not looking sorry at all.

  Linton pulled out the money and set it on the table. “Five hundred is all I could get in cash today. I could do a bank transfer tomorrow. Or give you a cheque.”

  Budak laughed, then his expression changed and he leaned over the table until his face was against Linton’s. “A fucking bank transfer? A cheque? What planet you on?”

  “Cash then.” Linton’s pulse had rocketed. He felt as if he could hear his heart pounding and it was getting louder and faster. He almost expected it to jump out of his mouth and land on the table between them. “I can get the rest tomorrow when the bank opens.”

  “You bring it here tomorrow afternoon at three.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s your debt now and not brother’s.”

  Linton nodded.

  “So I come after you if you don’t turn up. Then I go after brother.”

  “Leave him alone,” Linton snapped. “He’s fucked-up enough. I don’t want you supplying him with any more drugs.”

  Budak leaned back and laughed. “He’s big boy. He can make own decisions.”

  “No. He can’t. Your thugs put him in the hospital and if you go near him again, touch him again, supply him again, I’ll kill you.”

  Oh God. What the hell? Linton wanted the words back the moment they’d come out of his mouth. He didn’t even know Budak’s guys were the ones who’d attacked Dirk. Would he deny responsibility?

  Budak smiled. “Good brother. I like that. Don’t be late with money.” He patted Linton on the face, then pinched his cheek hard enough to make Linton yelp before picking up the cash and walking out with his minders.

  It was a couple of minutes before Linton dared stand up. He hadn’t been sure his legs would support him. He wished he could get a cab back to his place but he had to save every penny now. Though even if he did, he’d never have enough. He waited until he was outside before he switched off the app. How much of that had it caught? He’d wanted Budak to confess what he was involved with, but maybe that was hoping for too much. So much for Linton thinking he might get evidence to give the police. He wished he hadn’t threatened to kill Budak. Though he’d meant it.

  Sort of.

  Chapter Six

  Linton waited to confirm what had been recorded until he was a stone’s throw from his building. When he heard Budak’s voice, he sighed and stopped listening. Maybe he should be doing this behind a locked door. He switched his phone back to incoming calls and hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps before it rang. It was his boss Max Devere. On a Sunday? Now what? Of course the bloody control freak knew he was back. No point trying to figure out how he and Pascal knew.

  “Hi, Max.”

  “I need you at my house in Surrey.”

  Linton pressed the button to call the lift. Max was always straight to the point but that took Linton back.

  “Owen’s here,” Max said when Linton didn’t speak. “He wants to see you. He’s in a bit of a state.”

  Owen was Max’s brother and an old friend of Linton’s from school. A sort of friend. The rich one. The friend Linton didn’t want to ask for money, but the only one who could probably help him without breaking into a cold sweat.

  “When do you want me to come?” Linton asked, because while saying no to Owen might have been an option, saying no to his boss was not.

  “Now.”

  Linton clenched his teeth. The last thing he needed was to drive all the way to Tonbridge and back.

  “My brother’s in—” Linton began.

  “See you in ninety minutes.” Max cut him off.

  “Fuck.” Linton stepped into the lift and pressed down instead of up.

  As he headed for his car he called the hospital to check on Dirk and was told he was out of intensive care and comfortable. He asked them to tell Dirk he’d sorted out the problem and he’d be in to see him the next day.

  Max’s address was already in his sat nav. Linton had been to a garden party there last year. A massive event for clients and staff. He wondered what was wrong with Owen and how the hell Max thought he could help. Because Linton and Owen were gay? Because of what happened when they were teenagers that no one spoke about? But Linton had no choice over whether to go. Max was the head of the firm, and Linton didn’t want to get palmed off with designing loft conversions for the foreseeable future.

  He hadn’t seen Owen for almost a year though they emailed each other irregularly. Owen was the youngest of Max’s three brothers and when Owen and Linton had arrived at school aged ten as weekly boarders--there from Sunday night until Friday afternoon, Max had been the head boy and in his final year. Linton and Owen had recognised something in each other, the one thing they had in common, and Owen had attached himself to Linton like a stray hair. No matter how often Linton peeled Owen off, he came back.

  Owen had never been as good a friend as Linton would have liked. He couldn’t count on Owen to back him up if it meant Owen would get in trouble too, but they’d been pretty close until Linton had been hurt by Owen one too many times. Then the thing had happened and everything changed.

  Their off-on friendship continued into the same university where they studied different subjects, and Linton had used his connection with Owen when he applied to join Devere-Rousseau Architects—DRA. Owen had entered public relations after studying English and the last time Linton had spoken to him on the phone, before he went to the States, the guy had been deep in lust with Thorne Morrisey, an up-and-coming actor. More than lust. Owen had been busy planning a spectacular wedding and the joy in his emails had gladdened Linton’s heart, thoug
h he’d thought the wedding sounded terrible, like some made-for-TV special. But for a guy who didn’t believe in love, any wedding sounded a bad idea.

  Linton had just pulled off the M25 when his phone rang. Owen. Linton pressed the button on the steering wheel to accept the call.

  “Hi.”

  “Fuck off, Lin. I’m not going to see you so you might as well go home.”

  Owen cut off the call before Linton could say anything, but it made no difference. He carried on toward Tonbridge because he couldn’t afford to upset Max particularly when Linton was already on the naughty list.

  The electric gates opened as Linton turned toward them and he headed up the gravel drive. The house had been designed by Max who was a big fan of glass, steel and concrete. With spectacular open views front and back, Linton would have gone for the walls of glass too, but he was less keen on the demonstrative rounded steel supports that criss-crossed the front. They looked like something straight out of Jurassic Park, rusting bars on a dinosaur’s cage. It was a foreboding approach, though the house was fantastic inside with internal décor Linton loved.

  Max, the resident T-rex, opened the huge glass door as Linton stepped from his car. His boss was as imposing as his house, a few inches taller than Linton with broad shoulders and thick wavy brown hair. He was a brilliant architect but he was also a controlling, self-opinionated, demanding prick who threw huge tantrums if his coffee had been stirred the wrong way. Seriously.

  “He called to tell me not to come,” Linton said.

  “And yet here you are.”

  Yeah, well you’re he-who-must-be-obeyed. “What’s happened?” Linton asked as he entered the house.