Dirty Games

by Barbara Elsborg

  “I thought I might go and stay with Dad after I’ve finished here. They invited me. Just for a while. No temptation up there. All they have is fucking sheep.” Dirk winced. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “Staying with…your dad sounds good.” Linton smiled at him, trying to feel pleased for his brother.

  “He’s your dad too.”

  Linton said nothing.

  “His wife’s really nice.”

  Fuck. Don’t tell me anymore. “By the way, I’ve moved out of my flat. Found somewhere better. I’ll text you the address.”

  “I don’t have a phone.”

  “I’ll send you one.”

  “Okay.”

  “So are you all right now? Not going to walk out?”

  “If you swear to me this arrangement with Max isn’t going to cripple you with debt and that you’ll tell Thorne the truth, make him understand why you did it.”

  “Yes.”

  Dirk pushed to his feet. “You better call him and tell him to come get you. I’ve got basket weaving in fifteen minutes.”

  Linton laughed and they walked back to the building.

  A young guy with a lot of facial piercings arrived at the front door at the same time as them. “You’re going to be late.”

  “Sorry, Doctor Cooper.”

  Linton widened his eyes. That was a lesson in not being too quick to judge. He hugged his brother. “Make me a nice basket.”

  Dirk chuckled. “Yeah, I will.”

  After they’d gone inside, Linton made for where the helicopter had first landed. Maybe he’d heard a different one coming back and taking off again. But the field was empty. He sat on a gate and waited.

  At first he wasn’t worried but when an hour went by and the helicopter hadn’t returned, Linton felt sick with anxiety. He’d gone through multiple scenarios. There’d been an emergency and the pilot had to return to London with no time to drop off Thorne. Thorne couldn’t phone him. Thorne hadn’t phoned him. Thorne was ill, injured, dead. Linton sent increasingly worried texts and finally a voice mail.

  Are you okay? If you’ve not been abducted by aliens, then I guess you’re pissed off with me. Call me. At least let me know you’re alive.

  He walked back to The Moors so he could log onto the Internet, and with his heart in his stomach, he Googled helicopter crashes for that day, but found nothing. Though that didn’t mean nothing had happened. He went back into the car park and waited for someone to come out to their car because he needed to beg a lift. He had thirty pounds in his wallet and no credit card. His choices were limited unless he took money from a hole in the wall.

  Finally, he cadged a lift to York.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  By the time Linton reached Thorne’s street it was ten at night and he was mentally and physically exhausted. He’d tried to make time pass faster on the long journey by working on the plans for Thorne’s house but it had been hard to concentrate with an aching head and a heavy feeling in his stomach. Travelling by train had been an expense he could have done without, but he’d been desperate to get to London as fast as he could. As it was, the train broke down south of Leeds and passengers had to be ferried by coach to Sheffield. But now he was here, almost outside Thorne’s house and he was scared shitless.

  The street was packed with cars and he could hear the thump of music as he approached the door. Not dead then. Linton took a deep breath. Thorne had to know what Max had persuaded Linton to do. It was the only explanation for deserting him in North Yorkshire.

  As Linton knocked on the door, it drifted open and he walked inside. There were well-dressed people everywhere, glasses in their hands. They sprawled on the stairs, leaned against the wall, sat on the floor. He spotted Marta talking to River and managed to smile. At least that was working out. Thorne was in the living room, lounging on the couch with a woman sitting in his lap. He was twisting strands of her platinum blonde hair around his index finger. Linton ground his teeth. I’m so easily forgotten?

  He waited for Thorne to notice him and when he did, neither of them looked away, but there was no expression on Thorne’s face, not even surprise, and any hope that had been on Linton’s was extinguished like a dying firework. But Thorne lifted the woman off his legs and pushed to his feet. He stalked over to Linton, pushed him out of the room and tugged him up the stairs.

  Thank God, thank God. They could talk. Linton could make this right.

  Inside the bedroom, Thorne dragged Linton’s bag off his shoulder and threw it aside before he slammed the door. One shove pinned Linton against the wood.

  “I’m sorry,” Linton said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Shut up. Shut the fuck up.”

  Then Thorne was kissing him, shoving his tongue in his mouth, tearing at Linton’s clothes, stripping him out of his shirt, yanking down his zip, pushing at his trousers and shorts until they pooled around his ankles. And that should have been good, should have been reassuring, should have made him happy, the knowledge that Thorne still wanted him, was still mad for him…but it wasn’t any of those things.

  The kiss was too violent. Thorne too wild. He nipped at Linton’s lips, bit and gnawed at them until Linton tasted blood and all the time Thorne pressed his fingers into Linton’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. Linton wanted to talk to him, to explain, but Thorne wasn’t giving him the chance.

  He attempted to calm Thorne down by stroking his arms.

  “Don’t touch me,” Thorne snapped.

  Linton let his hands fall. “I just—”

  “Not one word,” Thorne barked.

  Thorne had to see Linton wasn’t kissing him back, but he didn’t seem to care. He twisted Linton round and shoved his face against the door. When he dragged Linton’s hands above his head, a ball of panic coalesced in his stomach, turned fiery and began to eat Linton from the inside out.

  “Thorne,” Linton muttered into the door. “Please—”

  “I told you to shut up.”

  He could feel Thorne fumbling behind his back, then his rigid cock was up against Linton’s arse and while Linton wanted to feel excited, instead he was afraid because whatever this was, it wasn’t born out of affection. A knee pushed between Linton’s thighs, forcing them apart, and Thorne drove his hips up hard, ramming his cock against the crease of Linton’s backside, grinding his body against him, banging Linton’s hips on the door.

  Linton flashed straight back to when he was fifteen years old and couldn’t breathe. He was no longer in Thorne’s bedroom but in that field. He was choking. They raped him. He begged them to stop and they’d not listened. They hurt him.

  He dragged himself back from the edge. Thorne had to listen.

  “Thorne,” he tried again.

  Thorne bit into Linton’s shoulder and Linton cried out.

  “Don’t you dare say a fucking word!” Thorne snapped. “It’s too late to say anything.”

  Linton struggled, trying to move away from the door. His heart throbbed. Thorne was hurting him, using sex to punish him, humiliate him, dominate him. Linton felt like he was dying. A sob slipped from his mouth and he stopped moving, let himself go limp. I’m not fighting. I’ve always stood up to you. Can’t you see what you’re doing?

  “You fucking, fucking bastard,” Thorne hissed and shoved his head into the middle of Linton’s back.

  Something died inside Linton then. The last remaining hope that he could make this right. Thorne wasn’t going to listen. He didn’t care enough to listen. The knowledge of how badly Linton had fucked things up would haunt him forever. But Thorne doing this wasn’t going to make things right in the guy’s head.

  Don’t hurt me.

  Don’t do this.

  Don’t make me fight.

  Look at what you’re doing.

  Don’t hurt me.

  Don’t.

  How long should he wait for Thorne to stop before he fought back? Linton’s chest grew tighter and tighter.

  “Why do I want
you so much?” Thorne hissed in his ear. “Why do I want someone who betrayed me? I trusted you. I fucking trusted you. I told you I had an issue with trust and you still played your fucking game.”

  Linton shook so hard his teeth chattered. He was chilled to the bone. His heart raced out of control and nausea churned his stomach. He knew he was sliding into a panic attack. Fight back before it grabs you. But his vision was wavering, his mind filled with fear. Thorne wasn’t going to let him go. Linton slid deeper into despair.

  Thorne released his wrists and Linton’s hands fell to his sides. Another sob escaped, then another, and another and his knees gave way sending him down. Linton kept falling. There was no floor. Nothing to save him from falling forever.

  He was barely aware of Thorne yanking him away from the door, thrusting him aside and slamming out of the room. He collapsed again, the door closed and he curled up, hiding his head in his arms. Breathe, count. Breathe, count. Oh fuck. My stomach. Desperation not to be sick in Thorne’s bedroom gave him the strength to half-pull up his trousers and shorts, and stagger to the bathroom. He dropped onto his knees and vomited in the toilet. Not that there was much to throw up. He’d not eaten since the pastries they’d shared that morning.

  A lifetime ago.

  A happiness ago.

  He curled up again.

  Linton wasn’t sure how long passed before he felt himself emerging from the dark hole he’d dived into. Now his heart rate had slowed, he could think more clearly. The worst hadn’t happened. Thorne could have fucked him and he’d stopped. Did that mean there was still a chance? Thorne had stopped short of doing the worst thing he could, something that Linton wouldn’t have been able to forgive.

  Once he’d managed to pull himself together mentally, he washed his face, rinsed out his mouth, and dressed. A button had pinged off his shirt but he didn’t look for it. He slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way downstairs. He wouldn’t leave until he’d said what he came to say.

  Thorne was back on the couch with the girl, twiddling her hair. Linton walked toward him, each step increasingly difficult. Thorne saw him, said something to the woman and she slid from his lap. A moment later, the music went off. There was some groaning and protesting, and Thorne yelled, “Shut up.”

  The noise level plummeted.

  “Didn’t you get the hint?” Thorne’s face was empty. “What is it about ‘fuck off’ that you don’t understand?”

  Linton tightened his fingers around the strap of his bag. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Too late for that. You played your hand and I’ve played mine. Here, my beloved guests, is a fucking sad piece of shit.” Thorne raised his voice and instantly had everyone’s attention.

  Linton didn’t turn but he could feel everyone in the house gravitating toward the room, toward Thorne. His skin prickled as if millions of ants were swarming over him.

  Thorne pushed to his feet. “I’d like you all to meet Linton Williams who plays a very dirty game. I thought he was one of the good guys but turns out he’s a liar and a cheat. An immoral con artist who’d say and do whatever was needed to get his celebrity fuck. And to be honest, he’s fucking crap in bed.”

  There were a few titters at that. Linton didn’t move. He didn’t even want to swallow. Apart from the leaden ball tumbling in his stomach, he’d been turned to stone. The ants had gone. Now he was cold and getting colder. Even if he’d wanted to, he wasn’t sure he could have moved.

  “If you’d just—”

  But Thorne wasn’t going to let him speak. “He’s selfish and greedy. He plays a clever game, but I play better. He wanted me to think money didn’t impress him and yet he sold me out to line his pocket. Fifty thousand pounds.” Thorne’s eyes glittered with rage and malice and Linton submerged under the weight of shame.

  “He’s a selfish bastard as well. He threw his brother out of his apartment when the guy had nowhere to go. And he’s a coward. When his brother was beaten up, Linton knew who’d done it and didn’t tell the police. I think he rather likes Dirk being beholden to him.”

  Linton had almost stopped listening. What did it matter now? All the good things about the last couple of weeks were being stripped away by Thorne’s cruelty. Adrenaline surged and grief was the emotion that finally swamped him, manifesting as a physical pain that started in his chest but raced around the rest of his body until all of him hurt. The walls were closing in. His ribs tightened around his heart, crushing his remaining hope.

  He fully understood now how Owen had felt when Thorne had done this to him. Publicly humiliated him. The guy had a viperous tongue. He was twisting everything, making fun of Linton now, things he’d done and said. People were laughing. Linton’s heart ached so much he wanted to rip it from his chest and chuck it at Thorne. Breathing hurt. Move. Leave. Now. He’d had enough.

  Except he couldn’t. He wanted it to end but he wanted Thorne to end it, to run out of words, run out of hatred and that way Linton would have got what he deserved and Thorne would feel he’d won. That was the least Linton could do.

  Thorne smirked. “He played hard to get and when he had my attention, he stuck his backside in the air and begged me to fuck him. I thought, why not? He has a nice arse. But he needed teaching a lesson. I hope he’s learned it. Now fuck off, you fucking loser.”

  “I would never—”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Thorne shouted. “I don’t want to hear another lie come out of your ugly mouth.”

  Breathing was no longer possible. He felt scorched by the fire in Thorne’s eyes.

  “Get out before I throw you out!” Thorne yelled.

  Linton turned and walked out of the room. The people gathered behind him parted to let him through. He kept his chin up, stared straight ahead and when he reached the table in the hall, he opened his bag, and with shaking fingers took out the plans he’d worked on for Thorne’s house and left them. He sucked in a breath of warm night air as he stepped through the door, relieved his lungs were working, but as he headed down the steps he stumbled and would have fallen if he hadn’t grabbed the post at the bottom.

  He couldn’t let go of it. Not yet. Not until he was sure he could walk without falling. When he was fifteen, he’d thought the worst thing that could happen to him had already happened, but he’d been wrong. Being hurt by someone you cared for was worse than being hurt by someone you didn’t know.

  “Linton?”

  Not Thorne but Linton turned to see River and Josh coming down the steps.

  “What happened?” Josh asked. “Why did he do that?”

  Linton opened his mouth but nothing emerged. River’s eyes were swimming with anxiety.

  “’S’okay,” Linton managed. “I made a mistake. Thorne’s right to be angry. But I didn’t—”

  “Still hanging around?” Thorne snapped from the doorway. “I thought I told you to bugger off.”

  Linton took a deep breath but his lungs didn’t fill.

  “You forgot something.” Thorne threw down the plans Linton had drawn. They’d been ripped in half.

  Walk away right now.

  You don’t need to be hurt anymore.

  Penance is paid.

  Linton took a step without falling, then another. Something hit the side of his face and he flinched. He looked down to see one of the white stones he’d ordered for Thorne. Another hit his head and he yelped. Fuck it that hurts.

  “Hey!” Josh cried. “Don’t.”

  Stones rained down, a few striking him, and Linton walked away as fast as he could which wasn’t fast at all. He could feel blood trickling down his face. Or maybe it was tears.

  Okay, I get it.

  We’re done.

  Game over.

  You won.

  Thorne let the rest of the stones drop from his fingers as he watched Linton go. His heart felt too large for his chest.

  “Why did you do that?” Josh asked. “What were you thinking? You hurt him.”

  He hurt me. Oh God. And chucki
ng stones at him made that right, did it? Thorne jumped down the steps to go after him and Josh stepped into his path.

  “Move out of the way!” Thorne snapped.

  “What the hell did he do?”

  “Weren’t you listening?”

  “Yeah, I listened but all you did was pull him to pieces. You didn’t say what he’d actually done.”

  “I’m sick to death of people lying to me, playing fucking games. Your fucking brother, some fucking arsehole trying to wreck my career and now him.”

  People were staring from the doorway and Thorne made a dramatic bow and fixed a smile on his face. “Show’s over, folks. No encore, sorry.”

  Josh grabbed his arm and yanked him down the road in the opposite direction to the one Linton had taken.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Josh asked. “Who’s trying to wreck your career and what’s Nate done?”

  Thorne hadn’t slipped up when he’d mentioned Nate. He’d held the secret long enough and if he was to explain what had happened tonight, he had to start much earlier than today.

  “Your brother’s a cunt,” Thorne ground out.

  Josh recoiled.

  “Not a nice word? Okay. Wanker. Fuckwit. Dickhead. Tosser.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Once upon a time, there was a happy prince who fell for a sweet guy. They were going to get married until one day the prince came home and found his sweet guy in bed with the brother of his best friend.”

  Josh sagged. “Nate was in bed with Owen? Christ. The little shit. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Thorne shrugged.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Josh almost shouted.

  “I didn’t want you to have to choose between us. I wanted…you to still be my friend.”

  “Idiot. Of course I’m still your friend. I couldn’t figure out why you suddenly were down on Nate. You should have told me. I’d still have been your friend. Oh God. So what has Linton done?”

  “He said he was a freelance graphic designer but turns out he works for Max Devere, Owen’s brother. Max and Owen hatched a plan to get their own back after I dumped Owen and sacked Max as my architect. They paid Linton a lot of money to seduce me.” Thorne swallowed hard. Oh fuck.