CHAPTER ONE
Ben didn’t understand the call Nikolas made to Gregory Malenkov to set up the meet, because the conversation, what there was of it, was in rapid-fire Russian. He caught the occasional word, but he learnt more from watching Nikolas’s expression—which wasn’t happy. But then, neither of them expected what they were trying to do to be easy. When he was done, Nikolas tossed the burner phone he’d used onto the bedside table and lay back, his arms folded under his head. “So, we meet. I suggested dinner. We have some time to kill, therefore.”
Ben sat on the bed next to him and ran his thumb lightly over the very recent scars on Nikolas’s thigh.
“You in pain?”
Nikolas shook his head. “Nothing I can’t bear.”
“Oh, you’re so brave. You’re my hero, you know that, right?”
“Don’t be facetious, child. Stroke a little higher.”
Ben smiled and did as he was told.
§ § §
“You’re not coming tonight, by the way.”
“Hmm.”
“Benjamin, are you listening to me?”
Ben lifted his head. “Yep. This is me giving you one hundred percent of my concentration.”
Nikolas arched his back with pleasure, but persisted, “Stop it. I’m being serious. I must meet him this evening on my own. Your presence would only complicate things.”
Ben ignored him and continued with his more interesting activity. It didn’t take long for Nikolas’s thoughts to return to this as well.
§ § §
Sometime later and recovering, long, elegant fingers in Ben’s hair, Nikolas returned to his theme. “He’s a master of manipulation. He’ll twist the truth until it screams and begs for mercy, and when he lets it go, all you’ll see are the lies that remain. I’ll meet with him and we…You’re not listening to me. Stop it, Benjamin. I mean it; you mustn’t―Stop! I’ve agreed to put the man I was as Aleksey behind me and to meet Gregory as myself, but you must therefore do me the courtesy of obeying me now.” Nikolas looked down at his leg. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m poking at this bullet hole until you shut up. Nothing else seems to work.” Ben slid up Nikolas’s seductively bed-warm body and captured his mouth with a kiss. Nikolas held him off.
Ben sighed. “I mustn’t…I’m not listening…blah, blah. You’re like a broken bloody record. I get it—but I’m still coming with you.”
“No, you’re not. I’m adamant about this, Ben. I’m not joking. I don’t want―”
“Oh, I know what you don’t want. You don’t want him to tell me things about you that you don’t want me to know.”
Nikolas’s eyes flicked momentarily away from Ben’s, an obvious tell. Ben chuckled. “Yeah. Thought so.”
“You’re being ridiculous, as usual. I don’t want you there because―”
“Because I might get to find out what lies under…here?”
“Now you’re just being ridiculously childish.”
“Or here, maybe? Some secret hidden…here?”
Nikolas, laughing, gave in and allowed Ben to examine other interesting places where his secrets might lie, and when Ben was done with him, Ben thought both of them were fairly sure nothing much could remain hidden between them.
When he had Nikolas limp and unresisting to anything he wanted, Ben just informed him in a neutral voice, “Nothing on this earth would stop me being there when you meet the guy who was trying to kill you. Nothing. And nothing he says about you will change the way I feel about you right now.”
Nikolas turned with some difficulty and lay on his back, looking up at Ben. He brushed a thumb over Ben’s cheekbone. “I wish that were true, for both our sakes. But you’re a romantic, and I’m a realist. I’ve seen love and faith shattered and destroyed too many times to believe it can ever survive the harsh realities of this life.”
Ben caught at his hand, entwining their fingers. “I’m cutting you off the vodka. You’re turning into a melancholy Russian. Are you seriously telling me you’ve never seen a purely altruistic act?”
Nikolas frowned, seemed about to answer in the negative but then hesitated. “That doesn’t count. He was a priest. There wasn’t enough food, but he gave his to―Away, anyway.”
“Okay. And another? Think. Not everyone you tor—you saw tortured broke and betrayed their loved ones, surely?”
Nikolas pursed his lips. He seemed reluctant to admit it but conceded grudgingly, “No, many people resisted and died rather than implicate others. I was always surprised.”
Ben swallowed, his earlier thoughts about this man’s past resurfacing like a gas-filled carcass, but he covered by bending down and kissing him. The kiss deepened, as it always did between them until, breathless, Ben finally had to pull away. “So, do you think I’m weaker than them?”
Nikolas closed his eyes, professing defeat. He gave a small dismissive wave of his hand. “I surrender. I give you permission to continue with your stubborn, unrealistic blind faith in my complete lovability. It’s quite astounding to me no one else has ever noticed just how loveable I apparently am.”
Ben straddled then folded his arms on Nikolas’s chest, looking serious. “That’s because they were looking in all the wrong places…” This time, Nikolas took control of the game, deciding Ben had enjoyed enough fun at his expense. After all, he was completely loveable, so there wasn’t anything he could do to Ben, however much Ben might protest, that would alter that belief.
§ § §
“I’ve been thinking.” Ben stopped Nikolas trying to straighten his wayward tie.
Nikolas shook Ben’s hands off and continued what he was doing with a frown. “This is hardly the time to start a new hobby.”
“Funny. Anyway. I was thinking about what you said about telling Gregory too much about us. Maybe it would be a good idea to keep him guessing—it might be to our distinct advantage if he doesn’t know where I stand with you or you with me. As far as he knows, I could’ve just been your employee sharing the house with you.”
“We were in separate bedrooms…”
“Oh, he reminds me of that yet again! I think I’ve apologised enough and in many varied ways. I remember, okay! I was thinking we should leave him guessing, that’s all.”
Nikolas stood back, considering Ben: suit, shirt, tie, shoes—even the hair—his will, his design. Ben was his creation and he relished this knowledge.
Ben, who clearly knew exactly what Nikolas was thinking, gave a slight smirk. “Do I pass?”
Nikolas shook himself. “Oh, yes, quite well.” He caught Ben’s gaze. “There’s merit in what you say.”
“Have you just agreed with me about something?”
“It was my idea in the first place if I remember rightly.”
“He’s going to find it hard enough to process the new you anyway, so keep him off balance about me.”
Nikolas nodded then added slyly, “Are you going to be able to pull it off, or will my inherent new lovability ruin your deception?”
“Oh, I think I’ll cope. So, are we ready?”
Nikolas pursed his lips and nodded.
§ § §
For all their attempts at normality, they both knew the next few hours were going to change their lives one way or the other. It was an unnerving feeling. They took a cab to The Mandarin Oriental Hotel where Nikolas had used his seemingly endless connections to acquire a table at Dinner by Heston Blumethal. Ben realized why he’d picked this particular place for their meeting when he saw the floor-to-ceiling glass kitchen frontage allowing them full view of the thirty or so chefs and, more importantly, turned the entire restaurant staff into witnesses to what went on at their table. It was definitely not the place for a covert meeting or an assassination. Even so, Nikolas chose a table by a solid wall and sat with his back to it. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous and played with his cutlery; something Ben had never seen him do before. Every few seconds, he flicked his gaze over the crowded dining room, scanning. He even drank the wine he’d chosen quickly, without appearing to taste it—something else Ben had never seen him do before. Finally, at one quick flick of his eyes over the room, Nikolas’s whole expression changed. He swallowed and stood. Ben stood, too, and turned, moving to just behind Nikolas’s shoulder. There were a lot of people in the restaurant. He glanced in the direction Nikolas was staring and saw a large man in the entrance. He seemed older than Ben had expected—in his sixties, at least, although he could’ve just lived a hard life. He appeared hardened, with muscle running only slightly to fat, giving him a strong, bulky appearance. He was taller than either Ben or Nikolas. His head was shaved to only a hint of iron-grey hair, but he had the skull for it, all sharp angles and planes. He stood carved from some ancient stone, immutable. He was watching them, and when he saw he’d been observed, his expression also changed. A huge smile creased his face. He began to come toward them. As he came, he opened his arms—a grinning bear descending upon them.
When he reached their table, he enveloped Nikolas in a huge hug then pulled away and ruffled his immaculately styled hair. Then he punched him lightly on the arm and hugged him again. He said something in Russian, too fast for Ben to catch, but Nikolas just nodded. Gregory pulled away again, shook his head despairingly, and then, to Ben’s astonishment and fury, he caught Nikolas’s face in his two huge hands and kissed him—long and very hard.
Nikolas didn’t exactly kiss back, but neither, Ben noted, did he pull away, nor seem to find anything in this greeting odd or distasteful. Gregory finally let him go, pulled out a chair for himself, and sat; then, for the first time, he appeared to notice Ben. His eyebrows rose, and he stood up again, offering his hand politely. He told Ben something in Russian. Nikolas, who was casting Ben wary glances out of the corner of his eye, murmured, “English, Grisha. Mr Rider doesn’t speak Russian.”
Gregory looked surprised but reiterated slowly, “Mr Rider. You owe me two men.”
Ben, who’d planned to be very professional throughout this whole meeting, was now, for some reason, not feeling so very mature. He smiled, replied, “Fuck you,” and sat down. Gregory only laughed as though Ben had told him the funniest joke, and he sat, too. Nikolas was the only one left standing. He kept his eyes averted from Ben’s and slid carefully back into his own seat.
Gregory beamed at them both. “See? We can be civilized. No need for all this unpleasantness. So, Lyosha, Lyosha, let me look at you. Ah, life in this soft little country agrees with you. I see you across room and I think, that new Aleksey, maybe I try hug, maybe I even try kiss—so I do. You no like kiss me before, so I think you been practising. Hey, Mr Rider—Lyosha been practising the kissing? But you are so thin! Hmm, that suit though…You are not on civil servant wage now, I see. Like poor Gregory. Ack, but it is very good see you again. I cry at your funeral, you know. Yes! I did! Me! Gregory Malenkov! They laughed at me, but Grisha cried for you. You left my bed very cold, Aleksey, very empty.” He shook his head sadly then grinned. “Maybe if we both survive this little meeting of yours, you warm it for me again, yes?” He turned quickly to Ben before Nikolas could comment on this. “You are just like him, you know. When I first meet little Aleksey. So young, so hungry, so sure of himself. You are very sure of yourself, aren’t you, Mr Rider? Dmitry took much time to die. Long time to burn. And very sad knees. No need for that. Ah, we order. Good.” The waiter had arrived totally unnoticed by either Ben or, it appeared, Nikolas. Gregory dived into the menu, chuckling to himself at the oddly named items.
Nikolas finally risked a glance at Ben. Ben’s heart gave a little flip at the expression—apology, fear, sadness, guilt, all of them on the face of a boy who’d been given no choices in life—and whatever he’d been planning to say or do just dissolved on that heart-rending look. He raised one eyebrow in an amused question and moved his foot over to rest on top of Nikolas’s, pressing it. Nikolas glanced down for a moment, closed his eyes for privacy and strength—and perhaps thanking his own gods for the unconditional love he knew he didn’t deserve—then opened them. With a contrite, private smile just for Ben, he slipped his foot out from under and returned the gesture. This tiny exchange, which said so much between them, appeared to give Nikolas back his self-control. He picked up the menu and ordered swiftly for both of them, then leant back, considering Gregory.
Gregory finished ordering and handed the menu to the waiter. He took a sip of wine, but it turned into coughing, and he coughed alarmingly for some time, before wiping his eyes with his napkin and taking a longer swallow. He looked between Nikolas and Ben then appeared to pick on Ben as his most amusing target, for he turned to him, topping up all their wine, peering at the bottle and chuckling. “Good label. Your boss have good taste. Good taste in you also. They tell me how pretty you are, but I say no, not possible, he English, and English all weak with their chins and teeth. But you, you are superb. No, Lyosha? He superb. He good fuck? He look it.”
Nikolas managed to laugh, and it sounded authentic enough even to Ben who knew all Nikolas’s laughs. “If you’re trying to get a rise out of Mr Rider, I suggest you try something else, Gregory. Perhaps you’d like to talk about my proposal now, or shall we continue to behave like children scoring points in a sandpit?”
Gregory winced, theatrically wounded, then took a sip of his wine. He appeared to like it and finished the glass, as if he were drinking water. “I come work for you? Upstanding British gentleman?” He hummed the national anthem and made a mock salute. “I don’t think so, Lyosha. Be like you working for Mr Rider one day. You forget who saved who from prison. Who clothed who? Who fed who? Who took who to bed and fucked him because he miss his papa’s cock?”
Nikolas shot to his feet, his chair crashing to the floor. He stared at Gregory, then very carefully picked up his napkin and dabbed his lips. “Please excuse me.” And with that, he left.
Ben stayed with a chuckling Gregory for a few moments more, and then said neutrally, “You must excuse me, too. Sir Nikolas is my boss, my responsibility. I should check on him.”
For the first time, Gregory betrayed that he was slightly less sure of himself than he had appeared at first. He was clearly reassessing the information he’d been told about his old colleague and this pretty man. Ben rose. “Please, order some more wine.” He bent and picked up the chair, left the table very calmly, as befitted an employee worried about his boss, and followed Nikolas to the bathroom. Fortunately, it was empty except for Nikolas standing in front of the mirror, staring very intently at his own reflection. Ben came and stood next to him, also staring at the image in the glass.
They were silent for quite a long time.
Finally, Ben sighed. “Do you think he realises he’s just a fat, ugly old man?”
Expressions flitted across Nikolas’s face, but finally he closed his eyes to his reflection, as if accepting Gregory’s words hadn’t fundamentally changed him. Ben pulled him into a hug then held his face and kissed him roughly—lips, cheeks, eyes, hair, ears—obliterating the earlier kiss he’d been given. He held Nikolas away. “You okay?”
Nikolas gave him a very weak smile. “Define okay.” He held onto the back of Ben’s neck, rubbing a thumb across the short hair. “I told you that you shouldn’t have come.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
“I would.”
Ben ducked slightly, catching Nik’s gaze and holding it—forcing Nikolas not to lose eye contact. “You’re not letting him get under your skin, are you?”
Nikolas managed to hold the gaze. “Are you? He’s only begun. He’s only warming up.”
“Is it true? You and Gregory were…”
Nikolas closed his eyes. He didn’t appear to need Ben to finish this question. He nodded but began to say, “Not in”―and Ben finished for him―“the way I mean?”
They laughed together, a little ruefully, and Nikolas leant his forehead to Ben’s. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”
“Nothing to tell. I don’t care, Nik. I don’t. The real you, remember?”
“The real me.”
“Come on, real you. And make sure you eat something, yeah?”
Nikolas gave him a patronising eye roll. Ben nodded. “Yep, there’s the real Nikolas.”
§ § §
When they got back to the table, there were three bottles of wine and the food had arrived. Gregory was looking very content and pleased with himself, tucking into some soup. He waved his spoon at them cheerily. “Lobster. Very good.” He nodded at Nikolas’s selection that appeared to be nothing more than green leaves in a pretty arrangement. “You no eat enough still, Lyosha. Mr Rider, your boss need eat more. Eh, Lyosha? Remember those tasty meals I found you eating? Ah, such simple solution to overcrowding of the prisons! I suggest it to your soft, little government, hey? No feed your prisoners; let them…what shall we call it…feed themselves? Yes, you fed yourself, Aleksey. Ah, sorry, you no like be reminded of hungry days when you no so particular what you eat. So, Mr Rider, please, I call you Ben, no? You call me Gregory, we all friends now, yes?”
Nikolas took a long drink of wine. “We could be if you accept my offer.”
“If I accept your offer, maybe my English be good as yours! Maybe I have lovely suit like you. Maybe I eat lobster every day like you! Soft country with soft people, no, Aleksey?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t hold you to staying in England, Gregory. Please. Feel free to go wherever you wish. Thailand, possibly. I always thought your tastes would run to Thailand.”
Gregory smiled, but it appeared slightly forced. “No, I want stay here and enjoy all this. Like you.” He amended with a smirk, “Like you do.”
“So, do we have a deal? I provide you with a new identity and life, and in return―”
“In return I no kill you?”
Ben looked up from studying the food he had no intention of eating. “You were spectacularly unsuccessful last time. Take a hint, maybe?”
Gregory’s eyes widened, and he turned to Nikolas, palms held out imploringly. “You see how he treats me? Me! Your idol. Your mentor. Your…What was I to you, Aleksey? How I best describe it…?” He took a long, noisy suck of his soup. “Your saviour? Mmm, I like that. Yes. Saviour. So, where that waiter boy? You no eat your starter?” He pulled Ben’s chicken livers over to his side of the table and ate them with a flourish, washing them down with more wine. “I want be Charles.”
Ben glanced at Nikolas with a puzzled frown. Nikolas seemed just as mystified. The waiter arrived at that moment, so they stayed silent until he’d cleared the plates. He topped up their wine glasses, and Gregory took the opportunity to order a couple more bottles. When the waiter moved away, Gregory expanded on his theme. “I want be Charles Buckinghamshire. I think good English name. My English very perfect, and Charles Buckinghamshire perfect English gentleman. He have big house in country.”
“And your men?”
Gregory waved his hand, and Ben almost snorted—it was exactly the same annoying gesture of dismissal he’d had from Nikolas for the last four years. “They no matter. I no want them. Very common, Chechen. Phah. I want like Mr Rider here—best of British bodyguard. I want British butler. Very proper with little silver tray and accent is that all m’lord?”
The waiter arrived with the next course, steaks for Gregory and Ben, and braised celery for Nikolas. Gregory eyed the food and raised an eyebrow. “Where your meat? You like the meat. I remember you love the meat, Aleksey.” He laughed at his own joke, and began to demolish his ribeye. He held up a piece, chewing, contemplating his own genius. “Course, you had lovely vodka-pickled Chechen boy liver to eat…” He winked at Ben. “You no eat your steak? Tsk, tsk.” He looked between his dining companions and pouted. “You no much fun to go on date with.”
“Do we have an agreement?”
Gregory shrugged. “Maybe, maybe no. I have nice name. I have nice house. I have nice little butler with his shiny shoe. I want other things nice.” He smiled a little, contemplating a piece of steak. “Maybe I want you, Lyosha. You very nice, I remember.”
Nikolas leant back in his chair, dabbing at his lips with his napkin, although he’d not eaten a single thing. “You’re being rude, Gregory. This isn’t like you.”
“Like me. Ah. Yes. Because, of course, you know much about me. Last ten years not so much, I think. Ten years, Aleksey. Ten years a long time. I think you have it good here. You like this new Nikolas life, no? There, you have my answer. I have wants. I want name, house, and you. I say no more. We eat.” He waved toward the waiter and asked for the dessert menu. “What Tafferty? Aleksey, I like this Tafferty? Ack, I order and see. I very—what is that word?—eclectic, yes, I very eclectic in my taste. Ack, I tired of this English now. We speak in Russian.” And with that he fired off a long string of words at Nikolas, not addressing him directly but apparently absorbed by the ruby contents of his wine glass.
Nikolas on the other hand didn’t take his eyes off Gregory as he spoke. At the end, he just nodded then turned to Ben. “We’re going, come.”
Ben’s eyes flicked from the Russian to Nikolas, but he didn’t speak. As he stood, Nikolas reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of notes. Holding Gregory’s eye, he peeled off ten £50 notes and dropped them slowly on the table next to him, then with a frown and casual shrug, as if tipping an inconsequential porter and with no more concern for the amount, he dropped the rest of the roll. “I hope you enjoyed your meal. It’s on me, of course.”
Gregory flicked his eyes to the notes then back up to Nikolas. “You big man now, Aleksey. I see that. You no little Lyosha for me no more. But we know where we stand now, yes? All agreed.”
Nikolas nodded and walked away. Ben kept his eyes fixed on the Russian’s lowered head. The gun tucked into his waistband called to him. It would be so easy. Gregory smirked up at him as if reading his mind. “You should learn Russian, my friend. It is good language for matters of heart. They say Aleksey Primakov have no heart, but I always say you need to know where look, where he put it for safe keeping, then you find it easy. I see where he put it. You no use that gun here, eh? But maybe later. Maybe not.” He raised his glass to Ben and took a long, satisfied drink.