I was right to keep quiet. Samuel was on the phone, his back to me as he stared out of the window. He was talking softly, his tone persuasive, pacifying. I wandered over tentatively, straining my ears to catch the words tumbling quietly out of his mouth. Stealthy as I was, Samuel heard my progress. He spun on the spot, his finger rushing up to cover his lips. I understood at once: he was talking to Alexander.
I watched him as he listened intently to whatever Alexander was saying, trying to read his expression, but he kept it veiled. Instead he moved silently over to the bed, picked up a bundle of material and handed it to me. Clothes. He gestured that I should return to the bathroom and I left him and the conversation, pulling the door noiselessly closed. In the steam-filled bathroom I investigated my new outfit. It looked like gym-wear: navy jogging bottoms and a grey T-shirt. Dropping the towel, I pulled them on. They were probably made for a child. The T-shirt was tight against my tiny frame and the trousers stopped halfway up my calves, but they did the job. Aware that I wasn’t wanted in the bedroom, I filled up the sink and used the remains of the soap to scrub my clothes. I couldn’t do much about my jeans, but I daubed at the worst spots, sponging off the clods of dirt and diluting the bloodstains until they were just darkened smears. Once I’d rung them out as best I could, I hung my clothes on the heated towel rail to dry. Then I tiptoed back out.
My skulking was unnecessary. Samuel was done with his phone calls and was lying across the length of the bed, his arms above him, hands making a pillow for his head.
“Sorry,” he said, grimacing at my outfit, “That was the best they could do.”
“It’s fine,” I smiled timidly. Aware that I was bra-less, I crossed my arms over my chest. Not that there was much to hide, but I felt exposed. After a few seconds, however, Samuel returned his gaze to the television. Crossing the room I saw the news was on, though the sound was turned down almost all the way.
“That was Alexander?” I asked.
“Yup.”
“And…?” I perched on the end of the bed, gnawing on my lip, eyeing Samuel apprehensively.
He shrugged.
“He’s not very pleased with me.” Samuel’s voice was toneless, but there was an undercurrent in his words.
I stared at him, waiting for more, but he pressed his lips together, eyes fixed on the screen.
“Where did you tell him you were?”
“Natalie’s.”
I kept my face devoid of emotion, mimicking Samuel’s mask, but the mention of his ‘girlfriend’ unsettled me.
“But I don’t think he believed me,” Samuel went on, oblivious to my agitation.
“Will he check?”
Samuel blew out a breath.
“Might do. But unless he bursts into her flat to see for himself, there’s no way he can really be sure.”
That sounded like something Alexander would do, but I swallowed the thought, because there was a more pressing question hovering on my tongue.
“Did he say anything about me?”
Samuel swivelled his head to stare at me. I watched him lick his lips.
“No.”
My smile was rueful. Liar.
“How’s your leg?” he asked, changing the subject.
“What?”
“Your leg? The cut?”
“Oh.” I lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. I’d all but forgotten about my minor injuries. “It’s not bleeding.”
“Good,” Samuel smiled, warm and reassuring, then he drew one arm out and held it aloft. “Come here.”
I blinked. What? But there was nothing ambiguous about the gesture. Feeling suddenly nervous and clumsy, I scooted across the bed and lay down beside him. Samuel put a hand behind my head and pulled me gently onto his chest. Then he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and turned his attention back to the television. His fingers absentmindedly toyed with my hair, still damp from the shower.
I focused on controlling my breathing. This was totally new territory for me. Alexander wanted me, or wanted me the hell out of his way. There was no cuddling, no closeness. I’d become accustomed to his constant blowing hot and cold, accepting that it was my body, not me, that he was after. With Samuel, I was lost. What was he after? What did he expect? The words he’d said in Rhys Davis’s office came floating back to me: Lizzie’s mine now, not Alexander’s.
I waited, waited for his hand to drift down from my hair to my body; waited for him to take charge, take control, take me. But he didn’t. He just continued to gaze at the news reporter, turning up the volume so that her clipped English accent filled the room. I tried to listen to the story, but it was hard to hear what she was saying over the pounding of my pulse in my ears.
“Lizzie,” Samuel’s voice was a whisper in my ear. It sent a frisson of electricity running through me. “Have a rummage in the mini bar. See what you can find to drink.”
Relieved – and reluctant – to slide out of his embrace, I wriggled away and squatted down in front of a small cabinet that, when I pulled open the door, revealed itself to be a fridge. I stared at the collection of miniatures. Normally Samuel had whisky, because that’s what Alexander drank. But it wasn’t what he liked. Not unless he was trying to drink himself into oblivion. Rooting around at the back, I found some Bacardi, then darkened it with cola.
“Oh, good girl,” Samuel winked at me, smiling gratefully when I handed him the tumbler. He looked down at my empty hand. “Where’s yours?”
“Oh… I,” I blushed. “You didn’t say.”
Samuel gave me a look that was almost pitying, then smiled. “Get yourself a drink, angel.”
This time when I returned to the fridge, I was confused, bewildered. I drank whisky too, again because that’s what Alexander had. But what did I like? The sad truth was, I didn’t know. Just because the bottle was pretty, I pulled out some Tia Maria. It pooled, dark treacle, into the bottom of my glass. I wasn’t sure what to dilute it with, so I took it back to the bed still neat, shining and thick.
Samuel had shifted position in my absence, pulling himself up to sit against the headboard.
“Cheers,” he smiled, holding his glass out to mine.
I clinked the edge of my tumbler against his and took a sip. The alcohol made me shudder slightly, but after the initial tang of bitterness, it felt smooth and velvety, like cold coffee. It was nice.
“How does it feel?” Samuel asked me suddenly.
“How does what feel?”
“Being free. What’s it like?”
I thought about it for a moment. Nothing came.
“Am I free?”
“Well,” Samuel gave me a slight shrug, a ghost of a smirk. “You’re away from Alex. That must count for something.”
“Yeah,” I tried to smile at him, took another sip. “I’ve swapped one Evans brother for another.”
His face immediately clouded over, eyes changing from amused to black in an instant.
“Don’t say that. Lizzie, it’s nothing like that.”
His voice was harsh and I was instantly abashed.
“I didn’t mean—”
I didn’t get any further.
“I’m nothing like Alex, Lizzie. Nothing. You’re safe with me. I promise. I’ll look after you.”
“I know,” I smiled, but Samuel kept frowning, his mouth turned down in dissatisfaction.
“Lizzie—”
Without thinking, I put my hand up to his mouth, pressed my fingers to his mouth to stop his words.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
His lips didn’t feel like Alexander’s. They were softer, gentler.
I didn’t know where that thought came from. I shook my head infinitesimally, trying to chase it away. Abruptly self-conscious, I tried to draw my hand back, but Samuel gripped my wrist, held me there. I watched as he skimmed his mouth over my hand, kissing my palm then each of my fingertips.
“Lizzie?” he whispered.
It took me a moment to find my voice.
“Yes?
”
“Are you afraid of me?”
What a question. I determined to go with the truth.
“Sometimes.”
He smiled wryly.
“Now?”
Truth again?
“Yes and no.”
The smile morphed into a grin that was swiftly hidden as his kisses trailed downwards to the inside of my wrist. I started to tremble.
“Explain.”
I cleared my throat quietly, but the words still seemed to stick.
“I’m scared of what you expect from me. But,” I swallowed “But I… I… want it.”
He stopped caressing the soft, smooth skin of my forearm with his mouth, fixed me with sparkling green eyes.
“Want what?”
Pause. I dropped my eyes, unable to hold his stare.
“You.”
Furiously embarrassed, I let my gaze burn into my knee. I refused to look up, not sure what I would see. I heard the soft rustle of fabric shifting as Samuel moved position on the bed. Seconds later, his warm hand curled around my jaw, tugged with gentle but irresistible pressure until I yielded and let him turn my face towards him. I still didn’t look up, this time staring down at the way his T-shirt rumpled against the curve of his half-seated body. Suddenly my view was obscured and there was pressure against my mouth, my lips.
Samuel kissed me with lips that were identical to his brother’s. But there, all similarity ended.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lying on my back, I stared up at the ceiling. The room was silent except for the quiet breathing of the man beside me. Trailing my eyes down, I gazed at the arm flung across my stomach. The lean muscles rippled in undulating curves beneath the skin, which was patterned with tattoos and several scars. Though Samuel’s face was relaxed in deep slumber, his thumb continued to rub soothing circles across my abdomen.
I wondered, if I’d been able to look up into a mirror right then, what expression I’d have seen on my face. Pleasure maybe, or contentment? Certainly something I’d never seen gracing my features before, and I’d have liked to know what it looked like. But maybe I didn’t want to see, because there was still a tight knot in my stomach that Samuel’s touch, his kisses, hadn’t been able to melt away, and I knew it would be visible in my eyes, spoiling the look.
Beside me, Samuel stirred. I turned to watch him, but he didn’t open his eyes. Instead he yawned and shifted on the bed. His arm slid further across my stomach, gripped my waist, and he pulled me to him. He kissed my temple, then settled down on his pillow, drifted back to sleep. I let myself smile before I shut my eyes, revelled in the warmth, the safety. The peace.
I was woken by the smell of fresh coffee wafting across the room. When I opened my eyes again the bed was empty. I lifted my head, gazed about me. The room was empty, too. Immediately my mouth went dry, my chest tightened. Where was he?
“Samuel?” I called his name like I thought he’d jump out from behind the dresser or under the bed.
I swallowed, trying to force my heart back down my throat. Don’t panic, I thought. He wouldn’t leave you. He promised.
But I was panicking. I scuttled out from under the heavy duvet, stopping for a frantic second to pull my borrowed clothes back on, and stared around me, eyes wide with fright. Then I saw his shoes, kicked haphazardly across the floor, his jacket draped over one of the matching winged chairs. I focused on the supple black leather, willed my breathing to slow down. Gradually reason returned, and it was then I heard the soft sound of rain coming from the bathroom. He was taking a shower.
A little giddy with relief, I laughed at myself. Trying to shake away the last wisps of fear, I moved towards the coffee machine, thinking I’d get Samuel a drink ready for when he came out of the shower. I stopped dead after two paces. Two mugs were already laid out on the counter: one half drunk, the other full to the brim and steaming gently. Hesitantly I picked up the full cup, took a sip. It was exactly how I liked it: no milk, but loads of sugar.
I had to put it back down, because my hand was shaking and tears were smarting in my eyes. What the hell was wrong with me? It was just that I wasn’t used to anyone taking care of me. It was just that… he’d noticed how I took my coffee.
How pathetic.
I started to make the bed when I heard Samuel shut the water off, so that I wouldn’t have to look at him. I was feeling a bit nervous, a bit awkward. I wasn’t sure what to say or how to act. My relationship with Alexander was completely dysfunctional, but it was all I knew. I didn’t know how to play any other role.
“Leave that,” Samuel told me, erupting from the bathroom with a billow of steam.
“I don’t mind,” I mumbled, focusing intently on tucking the edges of the sheets into perfect square corners.
A hand reached down and covered mine.
“Leave it.”
“Okay,” I pulled my hand away, straightened up. Faced him.
Rather than make eye contact, I stared forward, my gaze level with his chest. He hadn’t put his shirt on and his torso was still damp, the soft black hairs coating sinewy muscles. Below his right clavicle was a roaring red dragon that I’d never noticed before. He was much thinner than Alexander, much more natural. Wiry, but strong. Attractive. That didn’t help my awkwardness.
“Your clothes are dry,” he told me. “You’ve got time for a quick shower, then I want to get out of here.”
“Are we going back to Rhys’s?” I asked.
Samuel nodded, the gesture just registering on the periphery of my vision.
“Yeah. There are some details to be ironed out, some gear I’m going to need.”
This time the factory was much more active. Men loitered in the forecourt, talking, but they eyed us warily as Samuel drove in slowly through the gate. The garage was open, but a man wearing a bomber jacket and a mean expression stepped out to block our path. Samuel wound down the window and looked out. As soon as he saw who it was, the security guard moved aside and waved us through.
Danny raised a hand casually to us as we parked and climbed out of the car. He was standing by the rear of a rusting Mini, speaking quietly to a bedraggled-looking man with a beard and ponytail. Danny was pointing into the boot and he seemed angry. I stood on my tiptoes to try and see in, but all I caught was a flash of black plastic before Danny turned away from the lackey and caught me watching. Instantly I pretended I’d lost all interest, turning round to stare into the empty back seat of the Punto.
“Samuel,” Danny ignored me, greeting Samuel as if I didn’t exist.
“Danny. Where’s Rhys?”
“Mr Davis isn’t here.” There was a moment’s awkward pause. “But he’s given me specific instructions to arrange whatever you need.”
Danny smiled thinly. Samuel’s expression had curdled, but he nodded in acceptance.
“Let’s go somewhere where we can talk, shall we?” Danny reached out and put his hand on Samuel’s shoulder, guiding him towards a discreet door at the back of the garage, clearly excluding me. Not unfamiliar with this sort of treatment, I stayed where I was, watching Samuel disappear with a mixture of fear and resignation. Aware of the casual grouping of unpleasant men around me, I edged backwards towards the Punto, my searching fingers reaching for the door handle. I’d just lock myself in until he came back, crank the window open a touch and mope like a discarded puppy.
But at the doorway Samuel broke away from Danny’s steering hand, his eyes hunting for me. He caught sight of me loitering nervously by the car.
“Lizzie!” he waved me over and I bounded across to him, relieved. Danny looked disgruntled, but I didn’t care. I was just thankful that he wasn’t going to abandon me here, in a place where it was just possible someone would recognise me.
This time we didn’t go up to Davis’s plush office, but wound our way through a long, windowless hallway. We passed by various doors, some open, some firmly locked. Through one doorway I caught a glimpse of an ominous cement floor with an inlaid drain, and in anot
her, a series of unmarked boxes. It was the equivalent of Alexander’s basement. Danny, I was starting to realise, was something like Zane. This was his domain, his slice of the Davis empire. Subconsciously, I sped up so that I was all but tripping over Samuel’s heels. Without turning round, Samuel reached back and grabbed my arm, pulling me in close to his side. He looked completely at ease, but I couldn’t help wondering how he really felt.
“So,” Danny walked to the very end of the corridor and threw open the final door to reveal a medium-sized office. “Have a seat.”
This space was much more clinical than the office upstairs. There was a cheap desk, a few filing cabinets, a large, impregnable-looking safe and yet more boxes. The walls were white, the only light a fluorescent strip that flashed intermittently, irritating my eyes. Danny didn’t share the luxury that his boss enjoyed. That pleased me for some bizarre reason.
There was only one chair across from Danny’s desk, but a faded beige futon was tucked in along the back wall between two bookshelves that towered with files and office storage boxes. I folded myself unobtrusively onto the futon whilst Samuel settled himself down to face Danny.
“Right,” Danny leaned forward on the desk, fixed Samuel with a piercing look. “Tell me what you need.”
“No,” Samuel leaned back in the chair, his posture relaxed. I could just see the slight lift of his cheek as he smiled serenely at Davis’s number two. “You tell me how you’re going to get Lizzie and me out of London. Then, if I’m satisfied, I’ll tell you how we can deal with my brother.”
I waited, my breath held, as Danny stared at Samuel and Samuel gazed calmly back at him. I sensed a power struggle playing out in the air between the two men: how much Samuel wanted out of England versus how much Rhys Davis wanted Alexander dead.
Danny folded first.
“Boat,” he said, dropping eye contact and fumbling down at a drawer in the desk. He drew out a map and slapped it on the table with poor grace. “It’s an operation we’ve run a hundred times. There’s an old port a few miles out of the city.” He jabbed his finger at the paper but I was too low down to see where he was pointing. “A boat will pick you up there, then skirt the channel and dock at Aberystwyth.”
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