Chapter Six

His heart sank when he walked down the stairs and caught sight of men in thick winter jackets, standing outside the hotel. They were the kind of jackets designed for the cold, so the wearer could stand around for hours at a time, waiting to catch a glimpse of the thing they came out to see. And not just to see. To photograph.

Before they caught sight of him, Dax turned around and ran back up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He banged on the door of the room he’d just left, pounding his fist against the wood until Andy opened the door a crack, peering outside. Dax pushed the door open and rushed into the room, closing the door quickly, and bolting it with a chain, as though someone was coming to get him.

Panting, he searched for his phone in his pocket. He was about to dial Kelly’s number when he had another idea. He looked up at Andy. “Have you got a car here?”

“What?”

“A car, dammit!” Dax shouted, not caring how rude he sounded. “A fucking car. I need to get out of here. They’re outside.”

“Who’s outside?”

“Fucking paparazzi.” He looked over to the nightstand, where Andy’s phone was switched on. Andy followed his gaze to the nightstand, and in horror looked back at Dax.

“It’s not me,” he said. “I haven’t called anyone. I swear.”

Dax knew it. There was no way that even if Andy had known a paper or photographer to call, that they’d have arrived at the hotel so quickly. The paparazzi were the kind of scum who operated at lightning speeds, but even they weren’t that fast. It had to have been the cab driver from earlier. After such a good tip, he’d probably received ten times that amount for information about the world’s most famous heartthrob being dropped off at a well-known gay hookup site. Just one look at the hotel, and Dax had known what the place was used for. That’s why nobody had cared to question him when he slipped in through the lobby. Hell, there might even have been a guy on the desk who saw him and phoned the press straight away.

Whoever was to blame for the betrayal, Dax had to think fast. He called Kelly and told her the situation. She tried to calm him down. “Has your friend got a car of his own?” she asked. Dax put the question to Andy again, who was quickly dressing.

“Yeah, but it’s parked in the car park down the street,” he said. “If we leave we’ll have to outrun them.”

Dax wasn’t sure, but he thought he caught a glimpse of excitement in the young man’s eyes. He gritted his teeth and rubbed his eyes. He wanted a drink. Now the sexual desire had subsided, all he was left with was an exhausted headache, and a huge amount of anxiety. He had to get out. The tour of London had been such a glorious success, capping off the rest of the tour around the whole of Europe, and here he was, fucking everything up with only hours to spare before he got on the plane back home.

He could have kicked himself and he paced around the room, answering Kelly’s questions. No, he couldn’t see how many were outside. Yes, he was sure they weren’t simply standing outside having a cigarette. For starters, people were allowed to smoke in the hotel, flouting British law. There was no need for anyone to be outside, and Dax had bumped into so many photographers in his career that he knew exactly what he was seeing.

Despite that, Kelly made him go to the window. “Just take a look outside and see if you can see anything,” she said. “What’s the place called? Monroe’s? I’ve got Rocky and the guys looking at it now. Stay right where you are, and we’ll come get you. I need you to see if there’s a quiet place at the back where we can pick you up.”

At the window, Dax pulled the curtain aside and peered down into the street. His hunch had been right. He saw a guy with a large camera and obnoxiously huge flash hurrying across the street to join the melee. They all knew he was inside, and he was trapped. Dax pulled the curtain back over the window and sat on the bed with his head in his hands. Andy tied his sneakers and grabbed his jacket. “I thought you said your people were outside?” he asked.

“I lied,” Dax murmured into his palms. “It was just so that you wouldn’t murder me.”

“Oh.” Andy slipped his phone into his pocket. “Look, I can go out the back of the hotel and get the car. Behind the place there’s an alley where they put all the bins.”

Bins in an alleyway. Dax could only laugh with bitter irony at the memory of the last time he was very nearly exposed, only the alley of the last place was behind a much, much nicer hotel than this one. Still, it was the only hope he had of getting out of this without being exposed. He thought carefully. “Yes,” he said, finally. “Go get the car. Go out the back entrance and whatever you do, don’t talk to a fucking soul. Not even if someone comes up to you and asks for a light for their cigarette. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” said Andy. “I’ll go out the kitchen door at the back. I’ll go and get the car. You won’t be able to see me from the window, though. Just come down in about five minutes and I’ll bring the car to the end of the alley. It’s an old thing. Noisy engine.”

“Perfect,” Dax muttered. Nothing like a banged up old vehicle to herald his presence when all he wanted to do was disappear into the shadows. It was a terrible plan, but it was the only one they had. If he called Rocky over to the hotel in the huge, expensive vehicle, they may as well have stuck a flag on top, advertising that Dax was indeed holed up inside the grimy hotel.

Andy left the room, and Dax closed the door after him, taking a second to sweep the hall. So far, there was nobody outside waiting for him. He was a little surprised; usually the paparazzi didn’t have the good grace to respect boundaries. If they were outside, it was because the hotel didn’t want any trouble inside.

He couldn’t wait for a whole five minutes. He called Kelly, told her of the plan, and left the hotel room. He took the back stairs and slipped to the ground floor, where there was a strong smell of mold and cooking oil. There was a fire door ahead of him, and he prayed it wasn’t connected to an alarm when he pushed it, and found that it opened into the alley. Breathing a sigh of relief, he ducked his head out and looked for the car. There was no sign. He prayed that Andy hadn’t simply walked, or driven off, into the night, leaving him stranded.

After a few minutes, although it felt like a lifetime, there came the sound of an engine. Dax was about to leap into the alleyway and run to the end when he saw two men pass by the entrance to the alleyway. He was sure he’d been spotted, but they were simply two men on a night out, walking along the street, with no idea that an international star was only a few meters away.

The engine belonged to the car Andy described, and Dax saw the flash of lights beckoning him. He wasted no time in running down the alleyway, barely noticing the rat that scurried way and hid under a bin. He opened the car door, and as he jumped into the passenger seat, he looked up and caught the eye of a paparazzo standing near the front of the building. Fuck, Dax thought. He sat in the car and didn’t bother doing up his seatbelt. “Go!” he cried to Andy. “They’ve seen me! Let’s get out of here!”

Andy pressed the accelerator down to the floor, but it had much less effect than Dax was hoping. The wheels gripped the road with a screech, and they lurched forward, then the car stalled. “Sorry,” Andy muttered. “Brought the clutch up too soon.”

By now the photographers were running down the side of the hotel, toward the battered old car. They’d already begun to take photographs and Dax held up his hands to shield his face from their lenses, and his own eyes from the invasive glare of their camera flashes. Andy drove forward, but they ran in front of the car, and he slammed his feet onto the brakes. “What the hell are you stopping for?” Dax cried. “Get us the fuck out of here!”

This time, Andy didn’t stop. He tore down the narrow street, taking a sharp left to head down another street, before ending up on a main road. He joined the traffic and slowed down. “I think we lost them,” he said, looking in the rear-view mirror.

“Don’t be too sure,” said Dax, through gritted teeth. “They’re fucking parasites. Oh, shit.”

As though on cue, there was a roar of a large van, and it pulled up beside them, as the passenger leaned over the driver and snapped furiously. Andy edged forward but the lights were red. “Just go,” Dax shouted. “I’ll pay the fine.”

Once again they began to tear through the streets of London, along the river and past the Houses of Parliament. This time, Dax was in no condition to look dreamily at the iconic buildings. Instead, he was slouched in his seat, trying to cover his face. The photographer’s car had been joined by another, then another, and Dax now had three cars trailing him, all with engines much more powerful than Andy’s old motor, and all being driven by much more accomplished drivers.

Still, Andy did his best to weave in and out of the traffic, and he headed toward the highway that would take them out of the city. Dax was on the phone to Kelly, yelling at her to send help immediately, repeating the names of streets to her as Andy called them out.

Dax looked in the mirror and saw the headlights of one of the unrelenting vehicles behind him, and he was about to scream at Andy to go even faster, when suddenly there was a loud bang, and he was sure he’d been shot. Then, he was moving, out of his seat and through the windshield, and broken glass was raining down on him. He came to a halt on the hood of the car, and then there were flashes in his eyes, but he couldn’t tell if they were from cameras, or from the burning pain that seared in his head. And then, despite trying to force himself to stay awake, he was dragged down into blackness, and all was quiet.