Chapter Nineteen
Tyler listened to Haris’s voicemail and then deleted it. He was too angry to talk to him. Maybe Haris didn’t care about what he’d seen on the photos, but the expression on his father’s face had made Tyler feel so…dirty he’d wanted to weep. He’d known the bomb was out there, ticking away, but hoped with so much new porn coming online daily that anything with him on would have sunk to the bottom of the pile. With my luck, I should have guessed that wouldn’t be the case. The bad news was that those photos were from a couple of years back. Prescott had plenty more he could release.
Bright light spilled onto the pavement from a café and Tyler went in to escape the snow. He bought a coffee and sat by the window. Two bags of sugar went into the black liquid and he stirred until he’d made a whirlpool. Maybe if he wished hard enough he could jump into the vortex and reappear in another world. Fuck.
Snow didn’t usually settle in London but the pavement was already covered. He needed somewhere to kip. Calls to Col and Newt told him they were already on their way home for the holidays—with their keys—and Des wasn’t answering his phone. Tyler couldn’t face going back to his place, though he suspected the police would have sealed it off as a crime scene. He’d have to fork out for a hotel tonight and then rethink.
His mobile kept pinging with messages and Tyler checked them in case it was Des calling back but they were all from Haris. He deleted them without reading or listening to them. It was over and the sooner he—and Haris—got their heads around it, the better. Oh God. Tyler felt such a fool, thinking he’d been in control at any time. It was obvious a guy like Haris would check up on him.
“Is okay if I sit here?” someone asked.
Tyler looked up to see a man in his mid-to-late thirties with dark curly hair, smiling nervously down at him. He glanced around but there were no free tables. “Sure.”
“I wait for friend but café very busy.”
Tyler nodded. He wasn’t interested in conversation.
“I from Egypt.”
Good for you.
“I buy you coffee?”
Don’t talk to me. “No thanks.”
“I leave bag. Watch please.”
As he got up, he rocked the table, went to steady it and knocked over Tyler’s drink.
“Sorry, sorry.”
Tyler pushed back on his chair before the liquid spilled onto his lap. The man pulled a handful of napkins from the holder and mopped up the mess.
“I get you another. So sorry.”
He went to the counter and Tyler sighed when he looked at the bag on the chair. He couldn’t leave now until the stranger came back. He didn’t much want to go out into the snow anyway. What looked fun when he was a kid was going to make him miserable tonight while he trekked around looking for a place to stay. He gave a quiet snort. Easier to blame the weather for his bad mood than Haris.
The guy came back with two coffees and put one in front of Tyler. He’d even brought him sugar.
“So sorry. Very clumsy.”
Tyler stirred the sugar into the coffee and then picked up his phone from the table and messed around with it, trying to deter conversation. As soon as he’d finished his drink, he’d leave.
“London very cold,” the man said. “Is always this cold?”
Maybe before he finished his drink. “No.”
“I grateful you let me sit here. I can practice my English. I not good.” He laughed.
Tyler suspected the man was gay but wasn’t sure. Different sort of pick up if he was. Not that he was interested. He thought of Haris and his gut clenched. I hate him. I love… No, I don’t.
“What you do?”
Shut the fuck up.
“Sorry. I disturb.”
Stop being such an arsehole, Tyler. Your fucked up life is not this guy’s fault.
“I’m a student.” He took a sip of the coffee.
“I’m artistic director of Cairo Symphony Orchestra.”
Tyler’s cup clattered back onto the saucer. “Wow. What are you doing in London?”
“Looking for venue for concert next summer. We tour Europe. Paris, London, Rome.”
“Think you could fit in a concert at a music college in Greenwich?” Pity he’d have graduated by then because Flowers would be so impressed if he convinced the man to bring his orchestra to the music school.
“Your college?”
Tyler nodded. “It’s really beautiful. You might even be able to play outdoors next to the Thames. They’ve filmed lots of movies there. Les Miserables for a start.”
“I see it?”
“Well, it’s closed now for the holidays.” He took another drink of coffee.
“I only here two more days. We could see outside now? I have hire car. Could drive.”
Tyler hesitated. He wasn’t trying to pick him up, was he? But why invent something as outlandish as artistic director of the Cairo Symphony Orchestra? Tyler thought about his guitar leaning against the window. Had that given him a clue? Nah, not from a guitar.
“Which soloists have you had playing with the orchestra?” Tyler asked. Not that he had any idea, but it might prove his legitimacy.
“Long list.” The man laughed. “Rudolf Buchbinder, Ramzy Yassa, Alexander Frey.”
That was all it took to convince him. Wow.
“Maybe we use best students as soloists. What you think?”
I wish I was going to be there. Maybe I could be. “Sounds a great idea.”
Tyler’s phone vibrated on the table. “Excuse me.” He put it to his ear and turned away from the guy. “Hi, Des. You get my message?”
“Yes, and yes you can stay, but you have to get over here before six thirty. Everyone else is out and I’ve got a date.”
“I owe you one, mate. Thanks a lot.” Tyler put the phone in his pocket. That was lucky. He finished off his coffee and put the mug down.
“You really want to go and see the college?” Tyler asked.
“Absolutely.”
“I can show you the exterior and maybe some of the interior if the place is open.” Then all he had to do was walk the few hundred yards to Des’s place. “My name’s Tyler, by the way.” He offered his hand.
“Jamil.”
His grip was really firm. He must have big muscles under that coat. Tyler picked up his guitar and bag and followed him out.
“Car just over there.”
He pointed toward a black Peugeot.
Haris waited while his father called Malik.
“He’s not answering.”
“Have you asked him about Rashid?”
“I’ve not spoken to him since Adil told me he hadn’t caught the flight to America.”
Something cracked in Haris’s chest. “That’s why you came. You were worried about Malik. It wasn’t to tell me you were dying.”
His father gave a little smile. “It’s not. But Malik is…impetuous. I could see no good reason why he would want to be in contact with Rashid, why he would linger in London.”
Haris’s brain was racing. What was Malik up to?
“But perhaps Adil is wrong,” his father said. “Perhaps Malik is in America.”
“You clearly don’t think so.”
“I wondered if he stayed here wanting to talk to you.”
“Why now?”
“Because I’m dying and he knows I would like the family to be strong, to be together.”
Haris shook his head. “I have more important things to worry about than Malik. Where are you staying? I’ll come and see you tomorrow. Give me your mobile number.”
“The Savoy.”
Haris tapped the number into his phone. “Give me the numbers for Adil and Malik too.”
His father hesitated and then handed his phone to Haris.
He added them to his contacts and gave the phone back. “Thank you. Now you have to leave.” He ushered him out of the room. “I need to find Tyler.”
Wilson came into the hall as his father slipped on his shoes and coat.
“Could you call a taxi for my father?”
“I can drive him,” Wilson said. “I’m sure the snow won’t be too much of a problem. I’ve only skidded three times in my life and there were no collisions, though the effect on my nerves lingered for some time afterwards. I’m quite willing to take a chance if—”
“Call him a cab. No. Give him a drink, something to eat first. I have to make some calls.” Haris strode into his study and slammed the door. Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck.
He knew he’d been rude, but he couldn’t deal with family issues right now. He sat at his desk, his gaze dropped to the photos and he spun his chair around to face the other way. He left another message for Tyler and then slammed his phone down. Where would Tyler go? His flat would be sealed off. To one of his friends? The only ones he was aware of were Jeremy and the band members. The only person he knew how to get hold of was Jeremy, provided he was still in the hospital.
A call told him Jeremy was still there. He leapt to his feet, grabbed his coat from the closet in the hall and put on his boots. He wanted to speak to him in person and make sure he got the truth. Before he left, he stuck his head around the kitchen door and saw Wilson and his father sitting at the table.
“I have to go out. Wilson, keep trying to contact Tyler. Tell him…tell him to come home.”
The snow had stopped falling, but it had settled on posts and railings and on the pavement, disguising harsh lines, hiding the dirt of the city. Haris tugged the hat Tyler had bought him out of his pocket and put it on as he hurried down the road toward the Tube.
Forty minutes later, he’d sweet-talked the nurse into letting him speak to Jeremy. There was no longer a guard on the door. A couple who looked like Jeremy’s parents sat on either side of the bed. Jeremy’s eyes widened when he spotted him.
“Sorry to intrude. I’d like a word with Jeremy,” Haris said.
“Why don’t you two go and get a coffee,” Jeremy said.
“Are you sure?” The woman stared accusingly at Haris.
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
When they’d gone, Jeremy sighed. “They won’t leave me alone. Tyler not with you?”
Haris slumped into a chair. “No. I don’t know where he is. I was hoping you might.”
“No idea.”
Haris mentally groaned. “Did he mention any friends?”
“I don’t think he had many. The night I met him, he wouldn’t have even bothered with me if I hadn’t pushed hard.”
“You think he might have contacted Prescott?”
“No way. Prescott—”
“What?”
Jeremy pressed his lips together.
“What, Jeremy? Tyler’s missing and I’m fucking worried about him. What about Prescott?”
“Nothing.”
Haris tensed. “I know about the parties. I know about Gerald. I know what he did to you.”
Jeremy sucked in his cheeks. “He didn’t do anything.”
Haris reached for his hand and gripped it. “Tyler let it slip.”
Jeremy groaned. “I haven’t told anyone. Prescott called me this morning, warned me off. He said he had nothing to do with the attack, that it wasn’t his style. He said Gerald hadn’t had anything to do with it either.”
Haris struggled to make sense of this. “So Tyler told the police everything, but you didn’t. They must know you’re lying.”
“Nothing they can do about it. Tyler said I haven’t broken the law. If I keep quiet, no one will know I was ever involved. And I don’t want to tell my parents what I’ve been doing. They’d be so ashamed. It’s better they think it’s some random attack.”
“You’re not worried whoever stabbed you will come back and finish the job? Make sure you stay silent?”
“He could have finished the job and he didn’t. The knife wounds were shallow. He could have cut my throat. He’d tied me up. I couldn’t fight back. Anyway, I’m being discharged tomorrow. My parents are taking me home to recuperate.”
“You don’t look overjoyed at the prospect.”
“No, well, I suspect they think they can talk me out of being gay. But instead of running away, which is what I’ve always done, I need to talk them into understanding what I am. I’m not going to change. I was trying to get a look at your arse from the moment you walked in.”
Haris smiled.
“I’m worried about Tyler though,” Jeremy said. “Have you fallen out?”
“Not exactly. I just need to talk to him.”
“The thing is, I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m not sure the guy who attacked me was after me. I was in Tyler’s room. We’re the same sort of built and height. And I’d dyed my hair. The man was pissed off when he looked in my wallet. I assumed that was because it was practically empty, but maybe he wasn’t looking for money. My driver’s license is the first thing you see when you open it. What if he realized he had the wrong person?”
“He called someone, babbled away in a strange language and then grabbed my phone and sent a text to Tyler. I didn’t know that then, obviously. He waited a while, checked his watch and then stabbed me. None of that sounds…right.”
Haris’s heart lurched behind his ribs. It didn’t sound right. “A strange language?”
“I’ve no idea what it was.”
“Did it sound like this?” Haris spoke a few sentences of Arabic.
“Maybe. A bit. Yes.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tall. Dark curly hair. Olive skin. Older that you but not by much. Thin face, sort of a big nose and a pointed chin.”
Not Malik, but was he describing Rashid? Shit.
“Recognize the description?” Jeremy asked.
“I don’t know. Possibly. I need to find Tyler.” He stood.
“I’m sorry if I got Tyler into trouble because I didn’t tell the police about Prescott.”
“Tyler’s current problems aren’t connected with Prescott. I don’t think.”
Jeremy sighed and winced. “I can’t say anything. It would kill my mother if she found out I’d been paid for sex.”
“Do what you think best, Jeremy. Being honest might be painful but it’s rarely the wrong thing to do.”
By the time Haris managed to track down Simon Keys from Spot magazine, and persuaded him to provide the phone numbers for the other members of the band, he’d almost reached Tyler’s bedsit. He banged on the door and pressed every buzzer until he found someone to let him in. But he’d wasted his time. Police tape still criss-crossed the door and there was a security lock in place.
Back on the street, Haris called the first name on the list. Des. “Hi, it’s Haris. I’m looking for Tyler.”
He crossed his fingers hoping Tyler hadn’t told the band members not to speak to him.
“He wanted to stay at mine but he didn’t arrive in time,” Des said. “I told him he had to get there before I left on a date.”
“Could someone else have let him in?”
“Everyone’s out.”
“Would he have gone to stay with Newt or Col?”
“They’re on the way north for the holidays. Tyler sounded really grateful he could stay with me so I’m kind of surprised he didn’t make it. I called him as I was leaving to see if he was close, but there was no answer.”
“If you hear from him, please contact me.” Haris gave him his number.
Now what the hell was he supposed to do? The police weren’t going to help. He had no proof Tyler was in danger, but the deep ache in his gut told him he was. He tried Malik’s number but it went straight to voicemail.
Haris made another call as he headed for the Tube. “Adil?”
“Halaw wallai.”
He stopped walking. The first time he’d heard his brother’s voice in thirteen years. “It’s me. Haris.”
Adil gasped. “Haris?”
“How are you?”
“I’m good. How are you?”
“Not so good. Father’s here.”
“Yes.”
“And so apparently are Malik and Rashid.” He didn’t know that for certain but he suspected it was true. “I need you to tell me everything you know.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’m worried about someone I care for.”
Adil gave a cold laugh. “You never worried about me. You never contacted me. You said you would and you never did. Malik has been the brother you should have been.”
Oh fuck. “I tried,” Haris said quickly before Adil cut the connection. “My emails came back undelivered. I wrote but you didn’t write back. I couldn’t return to Saudi. I thought…I thought one day you might look for me. I’m not hard to find.”
“Malik said…”
Haris could guess what Malik had said. The fucking snake.
“You know father is dying?” Adil whispered.
“He told me.”
“Malik wants to run the business with me. Not with you.”
“I don’t care about the business. I only care about protecting the people I…I love. Adil, mistakes have been made. I’m sorry you haven’t been part of my life. I’d love you to come and stay with me in London.”
It wasn’t a lie, and Haris needed Adil on his side if he was to find out anything about Malik.
“What do you want?” Adil asked. His tone of voice didn’t suggest he’d been won over by Haris’s offer.
“I need to speak to Malik.”
“I’ll ask him to call you.”
Adil cut him off.
Haris tried Malik’s number again but there was no response. Stan answered on the second ring.
“Can you trace cell phones?”
“It depends.”
“This is an emergency, Stan. I need your help.”
Tyler felt as if he were swimming in mud. Even the air he sucked into his lungs seemed to weigh him down. It was hard to think straight. He was on his feet, but someone was supporting him otherwise he’d have slithered to the floor. They were inside a building and it was dark and noisy. He no longer wore his coat. He couldn’t see properly. Everything was hazy. What were those mixed up sounds? Music? Screams? Moans? Tyler tried to pull away from whoever hung onto him, but they just held him tighter.
With no small amount of effort, he turned his head and saw that the guy who gripped his arm wore a leather mask covering the top half his face. That’s not good.
“Where…?” Tyler managed one word.
“Here you go,” someone said. Not the man holding him.
Tyler stumbled through a door and crashed to the floor. He put his hands out to break his fall but he still landed heavily and groaned. The floor was cold and sticky and smelled of…oh fuck. He gagged. Strong arms hoisted him into a sitting position, and the man shoved him against a wall and let him go. He heard the sound of two bolts sliding closed and then a phone was pushed into his hand. My phone. When did I lose that?
“Call Haris. Tell him come to Garden of Hell. Room Seven.”
Garden of Hell. He’d never heard of it. Even in the depths of Tyler’s befuddled—I have to be drugged—brain, he registered that this was the guy from the café, the orchestra thing had been a lie and he knew Haris. Tyler’s heart pounded and his stomach churned. I’m bait in a trap. He couldn’t ask Haris to come here. Nothing good would come of it. The man pulled the mask off his head and glared at him. Another lever clicked into place. Curly dark hair. Tall. Foreign. Shit. Was this the bastard who’d stabbed Jeremy? Was it so much of a jump? Why can’t I think straight?
“Use your phone. Tell Haris to come. Tell him I whip you until he does.”
The man pulled a whip from a bag. Oh fuck. Tyler pretended to fumble with the phone before he managed to slap it to his ear.
“What do you want, you little shit?” Prescott snapped.
“I’m in Room Seven at Garden of Hell. Please come. I need your help.”
“Why the fuck should I help you?”
“Because…I’ll owe you.”
Tyler ended the call and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. He looked up at the man. Distract him. “Who are you?”
“Rashid Al-Dakhil.”
“Am I supposed to know you?”
“Take off your clothes.”
“Why do you want Haris?”
The crack of the whip made Tyler cry out in surprise. The noise was deafening. He didn’t realize he’d been struck until pain flared in his lower leg. Fuck it, that hurt.
“Take your clothes off.”
Didn’t seem like a good idea.
Rashid pulled a knife out of a scabbard fastened to his lower leg. “Do it or I cut off your fingers one by one.”
Now stripping seemed a really good idea. He wasn’t going to hurry. He still had his phone but would Rashid check it? He was an idiot not to. He didn’t look like an idiot but he looked mad. A muscle twitched in his cheek and his lips were compressed into a thin line. Tyler stripped. He didn’t have to pretend to go slow, his fingers weren’t exactly cooperative. They were probably more scared than the rest of him. Except for maybe a couple of bits of his anatomy doing their best to hide behind his kidneys.
“I don’t want to be whipped,” Tyler said. “I haven’t done anything to you. Why do you want to hurt me?”
He glanced at the door. Two bolts. One high, one low. Even if he managed to pull back one, this guy would be on him before he reached the other. To the left side of the door, a curtain hung across what he assumed was a window. It was too high to throw himself against. He tried to stand up to take off his jeans, fell and banged his elbow. Tyler swallowed hard. How long before this drug wore off? Maybe he should pretend to be more uncoordinated than he was. He lingered over removing his jeans but eventually they lay on the floor.
The whip sliced through the air and came down on his arm. “Everything off.”
“Fuck,” Tyler gasped and rubbed his arm.
An angry red welt bloomed on his skin to match the one on his calf. He shuffled out of his boxers and curled up with his hands over his cock and balls.
“Look, I’ll do whatever you want but lay off with the whip. It fucking hurts.”
Rashid dragged him across the room by his hair and Tyler fought to get free, but the fucker had little difficulty securing him. He yelled for help, twisted and squirmed, but he still ended up with his wrists in leather restraints. He shook from head to toe as he hung on the wall.
“Tell me why you’re doing this?” he blurted.
Did I make a mistake calling Prescott? Tyler assumed he’d be furious enough with him to respond to the call, but maybe he’d just stand and watch while whip-guy went berserk. Oh fuck. But he couldn’t have brought Haris into this.
You’re an idiot.
Yeah, I know.
“Face wall.”
“Please,” Tyler said. “Don’t do this.”
“You want me whip your cock?”
Tyler turned. He gripped the restraints and tensed. He heard the swish of the whip moving through the air and tried to press himself through the bricks. The strike felt like a knife raking down his back. Before he had time to draw another breath, the whip hit him again and he screamed.
“Please. I’m not into this. Stop it. Stop. Finish. End. Give in. Surrender. Banana. Whatever fucking word you want. Please.”
There was a loud bang on the door and Tyler shouted, “Get me out of here. This guy’s a fucking lunatic.”
Rashid grabbed his hair and forced a sock into his mouth. Tyler heard him pulling on the bolts and he tried to push out the sock with his tongue as he turned. Prescott couldn’t have got here this fast.
Oh fuck. Not Prescott. Lu.