It was dinnertime.
Nikolas made a small gesture at Ben and they went up to Doctor Atwell. “Where can we go to smoke?”
Fergus frowned as if he’d been asked where they could go to eat shit but waved towards a set of patio doors. “Please don’t drop butts.”
I’m a florist. I’m a florist
.
Ben followed Nikolas dutifully through the doors to the patio. Once they hit the fresh air, they both expelled explosive breaths of tension and then, at the other’s expression, snorted with laugher.
Nikolas suddenly felt the most overwhelming need to kiss Ben. It was worse than the first weekend he’d invited Ben to his house at Barton Combe, when all he’d been able to think about was taking Ben Rider—what he would feel like parted and penetrated, how he would sound, the smell of his skin warmed through friction.
There was a walled garden around the patio and this had an arch, which appeared to lead to a driveway and some garages. He began to walk swiftly, fumbling in his pocket for his cigarettes.
The garages were converted from the original stable block, and one was empty with the door up. They went inside to the relative gloom at the back, and before Ben could comment on anything, cigarettes or the course, Nikolas seized him. He tasted just as good as he’d been anticipating: desire. But then Ben always tasted of desire. He always wanted sex. Nikolas had a momentary flash, picturing their real relationship if he had to draw it. It surprised him. It was all intensely bright colours and sharp shapes that fitted together like a complex geometric pattern. He fumbled at the button of Ben’s jeans. Ben stilled his hands. “We haven’t got time.”
“Shit.” Nikolas reluctantly buttoned him up again then produced his pack of cigarettes. “I thought this would be a good way for us to always leave the group when we needed to, so I bought some yesterday.”
“The pack’s half empty.”
“Ack. Convincing cover, Benjamin, or did I teach you nothing? Come, smoke one so you smell of smoke when we return.”
“No. You can just breathe the crap all over me.”
Nikolas smirked, taking a long drag. “I don’t recall you finding the smell of smoke so repellent.”
Ben blinked and considered him through lowered lids. Nikolas’s knees almost went weak. “No, I like you well enough, smoke or not. Come here.” He kissed Nikolas slowly and thoroughly, clearly relishing the familiar smell and taste of the smoke. With a reluctant curse, he pulled away. “So, guards armed with BB guns?”
“Two men, amateurs, bigging themselves up with gangster suits. But it seems incongruous, no?”
“They do have celebrities come on this course. Maybe there’s one in the other group?”
“Hmm, maybe. But why stop me going to the kitchens? Anyway, when we return, you go to dinner and tell teacher I fell over in the play—”
“Be serious, Nik, remember Squeezy.”
“Oh, trust me, I’ve been remembering your friend all day. Tell the doctor I went to ask about having a special diet provided. I’m a florist, after all.”
Ben chuckled at his glum look. “I liked your blood splatters.”
Nikolas cheered up. “Your winged man was me.”
“I know. My rising angel.”
“I
am
rising, now that you’ve mentioned it…”
“No!” Ben dodged, plucking Nikolas’s cigarette from his lips. “Guess what I’m going to say?”
Nikolas narrowed his eyes. “You’re starving?”
Ben grinned. “Who needs three thousand pounds of counselling?”
Nikolas followed him out, shaking his head. “That’s what I’ve been saying all day!”
§ § §
They were intercepted before they could split up for their respective tasks. Two different men, this time in black suits, were coming through the arch from the walled garden. When they spotted Nikolas and Ben they smiled politely and waited for them, hands in a relaxed fold, dark glasses obscuring their eyes. Nikolas gave them a broad grin, which didn’t seem to impress them much. He took a long, thoughtful drag on his cigarette and dropped the butt on the ground between their minders as they returned through the arch.
Dinner was a buffet, and all twenty men were back in the one room, encouraged to mingle. Almost everyone seemed more than happy to mingle with Ben, and Nikolas heard his look-alike story many times.
They’d both noticed the food had been pre-laid before they were allowed into the room. No staff visible. Nikolas was getting very bored of things now. He wanted nothing more than to sink into a comfortable bed with Ben, stop pretending to be gay, and release some tension deep inside Ben’s arse. To do this, however, he needed to at least forward his mission and ask someone, anyone, about Michael—unless he could find the idiot, he was condemned to stay on the course the whole week in order to then endure another three weeks of something. He was tempted to approach the goons in black and ask them.
Finally dinner was over. They were released to return to their rooms. Nikolas was thinking about the monitor and various ways to disable it when he entered the small, spartan space. It was even bleaker now. His bag was missing. He’d left it on the bed. He thought for a moment it had been unpacked—as it would be in the hotels he usually stayed in—but there was nothing in the closet. He wasn’t concerned about his clothes, but he’d now lost his phone. It was only a simple pay-as-you-go bought to bring on this course, as was Ben’s, but still…
He clenched his jaw and turned to go and remonstrate with the good doctor, only to find the door had been locked. From the outside.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nikolas decided Nigel wouldn’t tolerate being locked in either. He kicked the door. Hard. They made houses of stern stuff in Victorian days and neither the lock nor the door gave, despite the ferocity of his attack. He was only wearing loafers, so couldn’t do the damage he’d have done in boots. The window was a sash style, which didn’t open. It had been nailed down many years ago if the layer upon layer of old paint over the nail heads was anything to go by. He could break the glass, of course, but that seemed a little extreme and, besides, he was on the third floor. His options were limited.
The lights went out.
Before his eyes had adjusted and he’d had a chance to find his lighter, he heard the door open. He started to speak, but something was dragged over his head.
In one second, Nikolas had to decide whether to stay in character or react. Bizarrely, he felt no particular threat. If this were real, he’d have been disabled before being hooded. After all, what point did removing his vision serve as it was dark anyway? He hadn’t been punched or kicked or hit—all things
he
would have done to a victim before hooding them. He let them take his arms, let himself be led, staying silent, but listening to a great deal of protest all along the corridor of the accommodation. He couldn’t hear Ben but assumed he was staying stum, too. He ventured a quick, “Justin?” as it was entirely credible Nigel would think to ask, and was extremely relieved to get, “Yeah, I’m okay,” back from Ben. They were led, arms pinned to their sides, down the stairs and out into the cold night air.
Finally, his hands were bound behind his back. He still wasn’t unduly worried. It was a loose tie, and he could have worked free quickly had he wanted to. It was unnerving though, and
he
was very used to being tied, both in fun and for real. He felt genuine anger on behalf of the other men, some of whom were clearly having a harder time accepting what was happening. He could hear fear, outrage, and bewilderment in their voices.
Engines started up, and they were herded to the back of a truck and loaded on. They fell on one another as the truck started and began to bump away from the house over the driveway.
“Nigel?”
“Here.”
He and Ben had their bindings and hoods off very quickly, and most of the other men were doing the same, helping whomever they were closest to. Nikolas peered out the back of the truck, which appeared to be a standard army 4-tonner. He could only see trees. They were climbing up the hillside at the back of the house. Ben came to his side. “You wanna get out of here?” They could have easily jumped, as the vehicle was moving slowly over the rough terrain. Nikolas winced at the question. He did. He had a feeling some kind of campfire and singing might be coming on. He glanced at Ben. “I hope you know the words to Kum Ba Yah.”
Ben didn’t seem to be finding this as funny as he was. He was looking decidedly mutinous. Nikolas smiled privately and put a hand on his arm. “You complained you wanted adventure…Justin.”
Before Ben could apparently think of a suitable reply, they shuddered to a halt, everyone falling forward at the unexpected jolt. They jumped out of the back of the vehicle. When the headlights went off, it was very dark, the trees overhead not letting in any light from the tiny, cloud-covered moon. It was cold. Most of the men were only dressed in the clothes they’d worn that day. Samuel was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, apparently ready for bed. Nikolas counted with the small illumination of his lighter—only the nine men they’d been with that day. They clustered around the small flame until the lighter became too hot to hold, and he had to click it off. The only sound was the engine of the truck.
The 4-tonner lurched and began to drive off.
They were left in the small clearing.
There was a great deal of consternation for a while.
Nikolas dragged Ben off to one side and pressed his lips to a warm ear. He’d been planning to press other parts of his anatomy to other parts of Ben that night so he was beginning to lose what little equanimity he had. “I’ve no doubt we’re being observed and listened to, no?”
Ben nodded and reversed their positions, pressing his mouth to Nikolas’s ear. He nuzzled it lightly, kissing it and biting the lobe before murmuring, “Exactly—stay in character…you don’t kill anyone…you don’t torture anyone…in fact, talk about flowers or something, okay? Panic a little.”
Nikolas reversed them once more and whispered into Ben’s ear, “Fuck. How’s that?”
Ben laughed and announced out loud, “I’m freezing. Is anyone else?”
They all were. Nikolas sighed.
Would someone please suggest we need to maybe light a fucking fire?
No one offered anything except how uncomfortable they were.
Nikolas decided to drop a hint, so he lit up a cigarette. James asked if he could bum one, and Nikolas ground his teeth. “Lucky I have my
lighter
on me, isn’t it? So I can
light
the cigarettes.”
Finally, John—thank God for physics teachers—grumbled, “Let’s see if we can get a fire going. Can anyone find some wood?”
Nikolas knew exactly where they could find some wood; he wasn’t about to offer it to be burnt, however.
Gradually, they began to assemble the makings of a fire. Most had their folded or screwed-up programmes in their pockets, so kindling was easy. There was a chorus of ragged cheers when the fire caught, hands were outstretched, and everyone began to relax. Nikolas so desperately wanted to slide off into the trees, find the men watching them and end this little stunt, that he was actually glad Ben had a finger hooked into his belt. He’d thought at first when he’d felt the touch that Ben was being affectionate, playing up his role. He realised now he was being leashed.
“Maybe we should just walk back? It would be easy enough to follow the tracks of the truck.” Just because he was a florist didn’t mean he had to be completely incompetent.
John seized on this suggestion. “I think we’re about ten miles from the house, given the speed we were going and the time it took us to get here.” Nikolas took a drag of his cigarette, wondering if they were going to get some fascinating information about the gravity of the place as well, but when they didn’t, he pushed a little for his solution—he was tired…he wanted to go to bed! “So, ten miles? It wouldn’t be too difficult.”
“I haven’t got any shoes on.”
For the first time, Nikolas noticed Samuel’s bare feet. He pouted but conceded that, in the dark, this scuppered his plan. “Then I think, gentlemen, we are sleeping here.”
One of the men in the threesome—he hadn’t caught any of their names—spat out, “What the fuck is this for? This legit? Are they allowed to do this?” There was a murmur of support and agreement, and James added, “This isn’t what I paid all that money for.”
Surprising to Nikolas, it was Ben who spoke up. He was sitting very contentedly catching the ends of twigs on fire and watching them glow. He dug his fingers more firmly into Nikolas’s belt as if to tether him a little more securely and offered, “I was in army cadets when I was a kid, and we did things like this all the time. It’s why I became a chef, I guess.”
Everyone turned curious eyes to him, even Nikolas. Ben quirked his lip. “When you cook, you start with raw ingredients, which you blend into a perfect whole. You can do it with men, too, but, just like the ingredients, they need to be…broken down first. Shelled. Peeled. Scrubbed.
Ground
. Only then can you build them up again in a new image.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I was only a kid, of course. But I like watching stuff about the army on the telly…”
Oh, come on, he’s not that impressive!
Nikolas couldn’t believe the worshipful glances being thrown Ben’s way. He took another drag on his cigarette—it had been one of his more brilliant moves establishing Nigel smoked—and drawled softly, “I wish we had some raw ingredients now, Justin. I could just manage one of your lobster in
beurre monte
…”
Ben clearly had his Nikolas-radar on full alert and continued preaching to his congregation, “You’ll all—I mean
we’ll
all be different men if we…survive…this experience. You’ll see.”
“Have you slept outside before, Justin?”
Nikolas had to turn away, or he’d have laughed at the effort Ben was making to keep a straight face. “Once or twice in cadets.”
Nikolas added helpfully, “And the time you fell down drunk, cruising old men in the park. Remember that, Justin?”
There was a hushed intake of breath, but Ben shook his head fondly. “He’s joking, aren’t you, sweetheart?” He ruffled Nikolas’s hair. “My sweet little daisy.”