Worth Keeping (12 page)

“I’ll track you down, Nick,”
Brad had said through teeth gritted in fury and hate
. “No one takes away what’s mine. No one will ever want you anyway. You’re too much fucking work.”

Nick knew he was damaged; he’d no illusions about that. The look Brad had thrown at both Don and Nick then had been venomous and Nick had had no doubt he’d do what he promised if he ever got the chance.

Owen looked at him in horror. “Why
didn’t
you leave him, Nick? Why let him do that to you after all you went through as a boy?”

Tears welled in Nick’s eyes. He was emotionally exhausted even as he felt a deep sense of peace in sharing this with his new lover. “Because he made me think I wasn’t good enough to be treated any other way. He made me think I deserved it. After all the therapy I’d been through, he broke through that and made me doubt myself again.” His voice broke.

“Christ, Nick, come here.” Owen reached over fiercely, kissing Nick, pressing his mouth on his with a passion that overwhelmed Nick’s senses. It was a rough kiss but filled with both longing and affection. He let himself be embraced, feeling a strength from Owen that filled him with awe.

This man still wants me.

They pulled apart and lay snuggled in each other’s arms. Nick felt a deep sense of gratitude that he’d been able to bare his tortured soul to this man who still held him in his arms, in spite of everything.

Finally Owen spoke. “Why did you push me away? And what changed your mind now?”

In truth, Nick didn’t really know the answer to the second question. He just knew he was tired of being alone, of not having someone in his life. “I didn’t want to get involved because men don’t usually look favourably on the fact that their lover is a rent boy, even if coerced. And my state of mind is a little erratic at best. No one wants damaged goods. And you were getting too close. I panicked.”

“Well, I want to put up with it,” Owen said fiercely. “I can’t explain it, and I know it’s only been ten days, but we have something, Nick Mathers, and I want to keep it that way.”

Nick was quiet. “Nick Mathers isn’t my real name,” he said finally.

Owen glanced at him. “Oh? You changed it?”

Nick nodded. “Because I was under sixteen I needed a parent to agree. When Don adopted me and the papers went through he was able to sign off on a deed poll to change my name. Nicholas after his father and Mathers after Eminem.” He smiled at the realisation on Owen’s face. “I like the man, what can I say? He comes from a bad place and made good through sheer grit. I wanted to emulate him.”

“What was your real name?” asked Owen curiously. Nick’s face stilled. “Samuel Piper. And I never want to hear it mentioned again, Owen, Never.”

“Okay, that’s fine. I’ve already forgotten. I like Nick better anyway. It’s a really sexy name. Like its owner.”

Nick laughed. “You say the sweetest things.”

They lay together comfortably until finally Owen stirred. “I don’t know about you but I’m bloody hungry. Fancy going into town for a meal? My treat.”

Nick considered the idea as he sat up. “Sounds like a plan.” He glanced at his watch. “We need to give to half an hour for the tide to go out. Then we can take the car and maybe go to Rosario’s for Italian?”

Owen bounded off the couch. “Sounds good to me. Let me get dressed into my glad rags. I can’t be going out with my man looking like this.” He disappeared into his room. Nick shook his head.

Since when did he become Owen’s man?

He quite liked the idea though. Perhaps this unholy alliance might not turn out too badly after all.

Chapter 8

Brad Mayhew scowled as he waited for his skinny latte to arrive.

That bloody assistant of Lindy’s is useless
, he reflected sourly. He’d been waiting more than ten minutes for the stupid woman to get back with a couple of simple coffees, for God’s sake. He checked the time on his Prada watch and grimaced. He had another client to see in an hour and he needed to get the tube. Travelling by tubes was not something Brad did with any fondness. There were too many dirty, unwashed people with no manners on them. He hated having to travel with what he considered the riffraff of society.

“Brad, you look like you smelt something dying.” The amused tone of Lindy Vermeer broke into his reverie. He forced a smile onto his face. He needed Lindy’s influence to secure a new deal and he didn’t want to piss her off.

“I’m sorry. Just had a bit of bad news on a business deal. But it’s all fine now.” He picked some fluff off his designer suit, one that had been specially cut to fit his wide shoulders and heavy body. Brad was extremely proud of his physique, as he spent a lot of time at the gym working out and lifting weights. People should respect that fact. Respect was something Brad Mayhew demanded. He pushed his sunglasses farther up his nose and raised an enquiring eyebrow at Lindy.

“So is the commission on then? I heard there was some delay but Simon assured me last night that the deal was going through.”

Lindy nodded, her red painted nails waving around her head like scarlet-tipped butterflies. “Oh yes, it’s all a go. I have to say thanks to you for bringing those two together. It’s not often Simon Du Ponte finds an artist he really likes but Luc van Heer is one of them. His abstracts are now going to hang in the very exclusive Royal Palladonian Hotel and both artist and buyer seem very happy with that.” She cast a sly smile at Brad. “Of course, you’ll make a mint out of it too with your commission. This deal is worth three million at least and your twenty percent is going to net you a nice earning. You definitely have an eye for putting people together, Brad. It’s what makes you so damn good as go-between.”

Brad felt a sense of satisfaction surge through his body. “I do profess to having a talent. But it’s always nice to hear the owner of one of the largest London art galleries confirm it.” He grinned at Lindy. She was a nice enough woman, he reflected, although his tastes ran to a different gender. He liked tall, dark, muscular men who could take his rather extreme and cruel needs for satisfaction. Men like Nick Mathers. Brad felt his temper surge at the thought of his old boyfriend. He’d been grooming Nick for something special, and then he’d had to go and spoil it by not playing ball. He and that interfering old fart of a father of his.

When he’d first met Nick in one of the gay bars, he’d been quiet, reserved and so damn fucking sexy with that thick, bronze hair and taut, lean body—plus an arse to die for. Brad had known he wanted the man. He wanted to own him, fuck him, dominate him and make him his in every way. Nick Mathers had a charisma about him, an aloof, tormented air that had taken Brad’s breath away. Brad could be charming and sexy when he wanted and he’d used every ounce on Nick Mathers. And then he’d found out about the man’s hang-ups about sex and his past as some sort of rent boy put out to work by his mother. At first, it had put Brad off. Not the rent boy aspect—God, he used them all the time for quick fucks and relief. They had their place in the world. What had bothered him was the fact that Nick had quietly told him he didn’t bottom.

What the fuck use is a man who won’t let me shove my cock inside him? This could go nowhere.

So he’d cooled off, nodding to Nick when he’d seen him in the bar, sometimes going to the bathroom for a quick blow job with one of the other men. But the more he saw Nick, the more he wanted him. There was something about him. Brad had never felt this sense of ownership with any man before.

Finally he’d talked to his ever-rising erection, promising it that one day he would be inside Nick Mathers and give the man the fucking he so obviously needed to overcome his sexual inhibitions. But Brad had needed a plan. So he’d wooed, courted and seduced the man and finally got him right where he wanted him. Trusting him, needing him. Nick had been so damn grateful to have him around, blowing him, jacking him off and frotting, that he knew one day Nick would beg Brad to fuck him properly.

But he hadn’t counted on the man’s stubbornness. Brad had grown frustrated, and the need to hurt Nick into submission had become his goal in life. And when what Brad wanted hadn’t materialised, he’d finally resorted to violence to try and take it. That alone had excited him; seeing Nick broken and bloody on the floor had given him such a boner he’d thought he was going to fucking explode.

Brad shivered at the memory of seeing the man with his shirt ripped off his shoulders, his pants halfway down his legs as Brad had tried to take what was his. But the slippery bastard had managed to get free after cracking him one with a glass vase and that had been it. That fucking father of his had taken him away and Brad had never seen him again. To make matters worse, Don MacKenzie had harassed him at every opportunity. Brad had lost potential boyfriends and business as a result. He’d thought about getting back at the former policeman but the fact he still had friends in the police force made it a bad idea. Brad had no desire to become even more of a target by hurting a man who was well connected.

Nick was fucking mine,
he thought now as the old feelings of frustration overwhelmed him.
And one day I will find him and I will take what I want. What I
deserve
for putting up with his fucking bad moods and his refusal to let me inside him.

Brad didn’t see his obsession to possess Nick Mathers as a fault, merely a right. He was interrupted from his daydream by a cough from Lindy. “Brad? Everything all right? You looked a little far away there. Planning on how to spend your money when you get it perhaps?”

Bought to the present, Brad stared at the woman, wanting to punch her smiling face for interrupting his vision of what he planned to do to Nick Mathers once he found him. He had to physically restrain himself from planting a fist on her well-sculpted cheekbones. Once again he forced a grin.

“That’s it. A holiday to Mexico maybe, somewhere sunny and warm, with lots of señors and señoritas.” He looked down at his watch again, the sudden desire to hurt someone searing his soul, making him breathless. “Anyway, I need to get off. I have another client to see then I’m off home. Business dinner tonight. Call me when the money’s going to be transferred and the documents need signing, Lindy. I’ll pop on over. See you.” He turned on his heel and walked down the street.

Three hours later, his business meeting concluded, Brad stood on the sidewalk outside a row of white terraced houses sandwiched between Kensington High Street and King’s Road. Brad felt the heat in his groin as he thought of the night to come. He could normally find a young man inside this innocent-looking venue to meet some of his needs, and if they got more extreme, he was sure he could convince the man to go with him to a hotel down the road where he could indulge in more extreme pleasures of the flesh and psyche without the brothel’s bouncers getting involved.

Tonight he felt like playing out some of the fantasies he’d had during the day of facing down Nick and making him take his punishment like a man. He smiled wolfishly as he climbed the stairs to the innocuous blue door at the top.

It’s time to alleviate some of that eve- present frustration and make sure the pseudo-Nick Mathers knows who’s boss.

Chapter 9

Monday morning dawned brighter than it had been with the faint appearance of blue sky and the promise of sunshine. Owen was nervous. Don MacKenzie was on his way up to the house by taxi from the village. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect of Nick’s adoptive father. The man sounded like a bit of a legend from all accounts. Nick had been frenetic, washing sheets, cleaning rooms and even arranging fresh flowers in bowls all over the house.

He’d even had Owen scrubbing toilets and ensuring all the hair and debris was removed from various plug holes, for God’s sake!

And there was a lot of it considering the length of Nick’s hair. Socks had been inquisitive and a nuisance, following him around and getting under his feet until Owen had locked him in Nick’s bedroom with his penknife for company.

Owen was knackered and disgusted at the muck he’d removed. The one good thing that had kept him working was Nick had finally agreed it would make more sense for them to share his king-size bed.

Owen had fantasized about that headboard with alarming regularity.

Don would sleep in Owen’s single room. While Owen was very pleased about getting to share Nick’s bed, he was a little uncomfortable about doing it under the watchful eye of his father. It also meant that when Nick had the occasional nightmare he would be right there with him. The nightmares had reduced and Nick no longer locked his door but they were still a spectre that wouldn’t vanish.

“Are you sure about us sharing the room together, Nick?” he said uncertainly as Nick arranged cushions on the couch for about the fifth time. “I feel a little bad about doing it in front of your dad. I know I suggested it but now I’m feeling a little iffy about it.”

Nick grinned at his concern. “He knows you’re here and I told him we’re sleeping together and having sex.”

Owen’s jaw dropped. “You actually told him that?”

Nick laughed. “We have a pretty open relationship. He knows me too well. He’d know anyway. I’d rather get it out in the open.”

Owen flushed. “Christ, how very liberal of you. Is he going to ask me what his intentions are toward his son?”

Nick’s eyes twinkled. “He probably will and more. But you’ll be fine. Just don’t lie to him. He hates that. Be open if he asks you anything.” He bounded over to give the curtains yet another pull to get them just right and Owen sighed in resignation. This was going to be fun. A manic house, proud Nick and a doting father who had no boundaries.

Wonderful.

Don arrived a half an hour later and Owen lost his breath at the expression of sheer love on Nick’s face for his father when he saw him pull up. He scarpered out the house. Don MacKenzie got out of the car. Owen gulped.

Christ, MacKenzie was a huge son of a bitch
.

In stature, he resembled Ben Grimm in the Fantastic Four after his transformation to a brick wall. Even Nick was dwarfed by the sheer size of Don. Close to six-and-a-half feet tall, shoulders like a bull and legs like a body builder, the man exuded sheer animal power and masculinity. He must have been close to sixty, with thick dark hair greying at the temples and a face that looked weather beaten and rough.