Death's Ink Black Shadow Page 4

  Of course, he’d expected Nikolas to be home to admire it and laugh at him for it before the visitors arrived.

  But now they were here, seeing it first.

  It had been a good few days’ work, though. He could see Molly’s grandmother thawing, and before he knew it, they were all sitting in the vast glass kitchen having tea and eating scones that Ben had cooked.

  Ben had never felt so unmanned.

  Buying baby blankets with little embroidered ladybirds and baking scones…

  Was he on some kind of slippery slope from which no return was possible? What would be next? He had a vision of a Volvo Estate sitting outside the house and shuddered. Could babies be trained to ride on the back of a Ducati? Radulf had never managed it, although Ben had tried it once or twice when Nikolas wasn’t around.

  Tea passed off comfortably; Ben suggested a stroll around the grounds. He was ready in a minute, only needing to put shoes on.

  Jennifer didn’t appear for another hour. Reginald had disappeared behind his Times newspaper and only grunted once or twice to Ben’s polite enquiries, “Babies—damn complex things. Never got the hang of ’em.”

  Finally, they managed their walk.

  Ben made straight for Babushka’s house, having had the very clever idea of introducing them all and leaving them to it while he went for a run. Babushka was out. Contrary to Nikolas’s belief that she hobbled around only waiting for him to appear to make her life worth living, Ulyana Ivanovna had made many new friends in the local area and had a very active social life. Given she hardly spoke any English at all, she was very at home in Devon.

  Ben was forced to conduct the tour of the grounds by himself. Fortunately, Jennifer knew most of the flowers, shrubs, and trees she was shown, for Ben certainly didn’t. He knew dandelions when he saw them. Nikolas had once given him one. He smiled as he thought of Nikolas again then frowned and remembered he was pissed off with him for not being there.

  It only occurred to him later, in bed, on his own, that Nikolas had deliberately engineered this whole visit so Ben could bond with Molly Rose without him.

  It was so obvious when he thought about it that he actually heard himself say duh in his head. Of course. There had been nothing important to be done in London. He was immensely saddened in a way that Nikolas had wanted this, but also incredibly impressed with Nikolas that he’d sacrificed something he would have enjoyed for his sake.

  On a whim, Ben slipped out of bed and pulled on his jeans then made his way back across the bridge to the other side of the house, carefully locking his new gate behind him. It had opened silently. It had been extremely well fitted.

  Molly Rose was asleep in her cot in the room next to the guest suite.

  Ben leant on the rail, studying her. He’d not picked her up or held her once in the whole time he’d been aware of her existence. He wasn’t about to do so now.

  The thought suddenly occurred to him that he had lain in this place as a baby, too. Not this house, but in the original one which had stood in its place.

  Who said the hand of fate didn’t exist?

  Had his father stared down at him, wondering what he was supposed to do with a baby?

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a photo of his daughter sleeping. As he crossed the bridge back to his lonely bed, he sent it to Nikolas.

  He expected to get a text back and checked his phone every so often as he tried, unsuccessfully, to sleep. It wasn’t like Nikolas not to reply to a text. Especially the first one he had probably ever been sent with a photo of baby in it. Ben gave in and called him. It went to voicemail.

  It was twenty past one.

  Voicemail.

  § § §

  The next day, Ben took everyone to Plymouth. Neither of the Armstrongs had been there before, and they marvelled at the usual things: the Hoe, the Barbican, and then Dartmoor, as Ben took them home the long way via Princetown and the prison. They made a detour to his favourite pub for lunch, but couldn’t go in with Molly Rose, something Ben had not taken into account. He wondered if he was annoyed or secretly proud of the fact he now had a daughter to consider. He decided he’d think about it when he wasn’t so tired. He hadn’t slept at all until dropping off into a fraught doze just before he’d been woken by the faint sound of crying at six.

  He’d listened to the baby for a while, knowing someone else would sort her, and assumed when she stopped they had. But he’d not slept again after that. Instead, he’d gone for a long run to punish himself for thinking the things he was about why his calls were going to voicemail.

  There were many varied and very reasonable explanations why Nikolas wasn’t answering his phone at twenty past one in the morning.

  Ben just couldn’t think of one.

  § § §

  That evening, Ben had something of a shock.

  Jennifer Armstrong declared she had an old school friend in Exeter. Did Ben mind if they went out that evening?

  Ben didn’t mind at all and was looking forward to a couple of hours in the gym, Chinese, and a movie.

  It was only as they were leaving that he got he was supposed to be babysitting. They were leaving Molly Rose with him.

  Was this a conspiracy?

  He figured he ought to point out that he hadn’t actually even touched her yet. Jennifer nodded thoughtfully and handed her over.

  Ben held his daughter for the first time.

  She seemed as surprised as he was.

  Her eyes were extraordinarily green. He’d always thought all babies’ eyes were blue, but Nikolas had told him that occasionally they could turn their final colour at this age. How did Nikolas know these things?

  She hardly weighed anything.

  She was staring at him in confusion, apparently trying to decide between screaming and laughing. He stuck his tongue out at her and the decision was made. She howled until her face went puce.

  Jennifer made to take her back, tutting with disapproval as only a grandmother could, but Ben turned away, still holding Molly and took her over to the counter. He picked up the first thing he could see, his keys, and handed them to her. She stilled immediately and put them in her mouth. It was a large bunch, no danger of swallowing. She was sucking the Ducati key. Ben was impressed.

  With some reluctance, Jennifer was persuaded by her husband to leave them alone.

  Ben glanced at the huge list of instructions she’d left, ignored them all, and took his daughter into the gym to help him work out.

  She crawled around, pulling herself to standing on everything, studying him until she discovered the mirrored wall. Ben couldn’t help a small smirk as he watched her admiring herself. They had more than looking alike in common then.

  He took another photo and sent it to Nikolas.

  He refused to check his phone to see if he’d had a reply until he’d finished his reps.

  None.

  It was something of a downer, and he felt deflated rather than his usual post-work-out high. Molly Rose began to cry. He knew how she felt.

  Carrying her back across the bridge, he put her down on the kitchen floor and tried to work out the bottle-warming instructions he’d been left.

  The sobbing stopped. He glanced down. Radulf had apparently decided Ben’s babysitting was pathetically inadequate. He’d stretched out alongside the baby and was wagging his tail against her. She had forgotten to be upset in the excitement of trying to catch it.

  He picked up his phone—only because he wanted to take another picture, but it seemed natural to see if he’d received any texts.

  None.

  He rang Nikolas.

  It went to voicemail again.

  § § §

  When the Armstrongs returned, Ben and Molly Rose were lying on the sofa asleep. He woke to the sensation of someone lifting the baby off his chest. Jennifer seemed surprised to find her granddaughter in one piece. Reginald only gave Ben a complicit wink.

  Ben checked his phone.

  The silence was
resoundingly loud.

  The next morning they went for a longer walk on the moors, with Molly in a back carrier Ben had bought because he’d known even her off-road pushchair couldn’t cope with Dartmoor. Both Jennifer and Reginald seemed awed by the splendour and beauty of the place and couldn’t help murmuring to themselves what a healthy environment it would be for any child to grow up in—far healthier than St Albans, which they both described somewhat mysteriously as ‘not what it used to be’.

  When they finally left, Ben watched the car depart with a heavy heart for about ten minutes, by which time he was packed and in his own car with Radulf heading back to London.

  Voicemail? Yeah.

  § § §

  He’d expected to find Nikolas either murdered by Chechens, disappeared, or possibly eaten. He was willing to forgive the lack of texts because of any one of these occurrences. To find him with his feet up on the table, smoking, and reading the paper was, therefore, both very welcome and beyond infuriating.

  “What the fuck?”

  As a greeting after three days it lacked something, Ben knew.

  Nikolas peered at him over his reading glasses. “I thought you’d stay longer. How did it go?”

  “Did you get the pictures? Why didn’t you answer your phone? Where have you been?”

  Nikolas waved imperiously toward the kettle, and Ben went to put it on before he swore, spun around and sat down at the table. “Seriously. Put that fucking thing out. I was worried. Why didn’t you answer?”

  Nikolas shrugged. “I’m on holiday.”

  Ben opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t think of anything. Finally, he ventured, “On holiday from me?”

  Nikolas smiled and swung his feet off the table. “I’m going out tonight, too. Jackson has arranged another meeting with some people seeking my help. Why don’t you see if Tim wants to come around?”

  Ben studied Nikolas’s back as he went out and up the stairs.

  He leant back in his seat, thinking.

  Three days.

  Nikolas had just gone upstairs without inviting him to accompany him. Without forcing him up. Without seizing him and dragging him to the bed. He was tempted to not go up, just to make a statement, but it seemed self-defeating, as he’d thought of nothing else but Nikolas horizontal all way from Devon—after, of course, playing out a very satisfying scenario in his head where Nikolas had been captured by Chechens…

  He jogged up the stairs and found Nikolas in the office, less impressive than being strung up in an abattoir, but probably better. He shut down his laptop when Ben came in and folded his hands on his stomach. “So, how did it go with Molly Rose?”

  It was such an obvious question, so normal that Ben felt his fury winding up again inside. Since when did Nikolas do normal after three days without sex? Ben nodded and perched on the desk. “What’s up?”

  Nikolas twitched up an eyebrow, dragging his gaze down Ben’s lean body. “You, by the look of it.”

  Ben kicked Nikolas’s ankle to get him to focus. “What’s wrong? You’re behaving weirdly. I’ve had my little bonding session with Molly Rose. Now what?”

  For one fleeting moment, Ben saw an expression of puzzlement on Nikolas’s face. Ben suddenly got that Nikolas hadn’t engineered his time alone with Molly for his benefit after all. But before he could call Nikolas on this, the look was covered by a smirk. “Busted, as you would say.”

  It was disconcerting watching Nikolas lie. Sure, he lied all the time, but mostly Ben didn’t know he was doing it until after, but now, seeing it, seeing him claim Ben’s assertion as the truth…It was a masterful performance, he had to admit that. He got off the desk and went into the bedroom, feeling at something of a loss, debating returning to Devon on his own.

  He sensed Nikolas standing in the doorway behind him and knew he was being considered…studied. Arms slid around him. He was about to turn in them, try again to find out what was bugging Nikolas, when he was shoved face first to the bed, strong hands ruthlessly snapping his belt and unzipping him. His jeans were ripped down his legs and then he was impaled.

  It hurt. A lot. Ben always greeted this pain, taking it as a tiny residual protest from his body that he wasn’t gay until it woke up and remembered, and thought fuck yeah that’s perfect.

  He wasn’t getting to the good part quite as quickly this time.

  Nikolas knew exactly what Ben was feeling. Of course he did. He always waited, gently moving, until the fuck yeah of relief transmitted to his deeply embedded cock, and they then worked as one.

  Not this time.

  This time, he continued to pound into Ben when it was clearly hurting. One hand snaked around Ben’s throat, squeezing. Ben put his head down to the bed, bending over to try and open up and give Nikolas more access. Nikolas pulled his legs even wider apart, swearing at the constricting jeans, stamping them down so he could part Ben further, sink deeper, thrust harder.

  Ben took it, but it was decidedly unpleasant. The grip around his throat tightened. Any minute, he expected Nikolas’s other hand to seize his cock, jerk him off, bring them off together. But he didn’t.

  He felt Nikolas stiffen, felt himself being filled, and then cum leaked and trickled down his thighs. It was way too soon, he wasn’t nearly there yet, so pushed back into Nikolas to get him to work his cock and maybe carry on, but Nikolas pulled out.

  He slapped Ben on the backside and commented casually, “Finish yourself off. I forgot I have to make a call.” With that, he zipped up and left.

  It was incredibly quiet in the bedroom, except for the sound of the blood pounding in Ben’s ears. He lay prone on the bed, not bothering to pull up his jeans.

  He had the distinct impression he’d been unmanned some more.

  This time, it was far worse than baking scones.

  § § §

  After Ben had showered, he examined himself in the mirror. He had a handprint on his neck. Anyone else seeing it might think it just a regular bruise, but he could see finger marks. He was sore in other places, too, and scrunched his face, feeling sorry for himself.

  He’d wondered if recent events—the time when he’d broken Nikolas—would come back to haunt him. Despite Nikolas’s assertion that consent could never be withdrawn, it had been, but Ben had taken him anyway.

  It had been some weeks now. Easily long enough for Nikolas to restore his equilibrium, recover his sense of himself. Was this payback?

  Ben straightened.

  He knew it wasn’t.

  This was about Steven.

  He had no idea why or how, but one thing he was certain of—this was about Steven.

  He stared into his mirrored eyes, trying to force their reflected green to speak to him, tell him what was happening. He blinked, stopped focusing on this one feature and saw the whole package. He closed his eyes slowly as the truth dawned on him. How dumb could one thirty-something ex-soldier be? Jesus, who gave you the relationship manual when you became an adult? Why did you get left to work all this out for yourself? Ben liked instructions and diagrams and being told the names of parts. He needed that. If he’d been an intuitive thinker, he wouldn’t have joined the bloody infantry!

  But sometimes, even he got there in the end.

  Nikolas was trying to provoke a fight.

  Nikolas wanted him to storm off back to Devon.

  Nikolas wanted him away from Steven.

  Nikolas was still embarrassed about being in a relationship with a man.

  Fucking hell.

  Nikolas didn’t want his son to know he was gay.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When Ben had recovered a little, had a strong cup of tea and eaten a packet of hobnobs, he was more inclined to cut Nikolas some slack.

  He could hear Nikolas in the study as he made the occasional call.

  Nikolas’s introduction to fatherhood had come about even more abruptly than Ben’s. He’d had a fully formed male human being turn up on his doorstep. And he hadn’t even been able to tell Steven tha
t he was his father. Molly Rose’s existence confused the hell out of Ben, so what Nikolas must be thinking was unimaginable.

  Ben felt emasculated by his daughter, but his daughter didn’t know her father liked cock! Because wasn’t that what it came down to when all was said and done and denied? Gay or not—and as Ben had already convinced himself, the jury was still out on that, despite professions of gayness in Lancashire; needs must as the devil drives, and the fucking devil had definitely needed him to say something in front of those men—so, gay or not, Ben liked cock. He couldn’t deny it. Cock was on his mind most of the day, just hovering in the background, wondering when he’d get Nikolas’s again, sometimes crotch-watching Nikolas, speculating, anticipating…

  Nikolas had met his son, and along with the other gelding this might entail, he’d had his boyfriend present. The person he chose to fuck. The cock he thought about, watched, anticipated…

  No wonder he’d been odd!

  He hadn’t entirely negated Ben’s existence.

  It was obvious Ben lived here with him.

  He’d just wanted him gone for a few days to possibly prevent Steven from dwelling on their relationship, obsessing on what everyone focused on when they thought about a man having sex with another man…

  How typical was it of Nikolas to decide to drive Ben away with anger, provoke a fight, rather than sit him down and admit he didn’t want his boyfriend around when his son came to visit? Ben sighed and hung his head for a while, feeling jaded and depressed.

  What did he want to happen? Did he really want to be introduced as Nikolas’s boyfriend? Maybe he could have the baby bouncing on his hip and be baking…

  Fucking hell!

  Why was it was all so complicated? Just give him the fucking op order and tell him the target. He could work the rest out for himself—mission command and all that good shit—but fucking hell, someone tell him why it was all so difficult?

  No, Nikolas made it so.

  Nikolas made everything extreme, no compromises, no…alteration.

  Nikolas didn’t change. He took on some new programming every so often, assimilated the updated code for a while, but then reverted back to his factory default. Nikolas would never evolve.