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Nelson advanced a step, trapping Grant against the caravan with his arms. He quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah, I think you do. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”
“Only if I get to top.”
“Fat chance.” The arrogant punk leaned in and nipped Grant’s lower lip. It shouldn’t have been sexy, but something about the sharp tug of his teeth made Grant want to shove his tongue down the bloke’s throat. Or maybe it was the hyper-masculine smell of him, all fresh sweat and engine oil.
“I don’t bottom,” Grant protested.
“What, never?” Now the man was licking Grant’s neck, making it hard to think. The rasp of his stubble was a new sensation, and it was almost too much. “That’s a shame, because you’ve got an arse made for fucking, if you ask me.” He accompanied his last assertion with a double-handed squeeze of Grant’s arse.
Oh God. Grant had never wanted to do this. Not ever. But for the first time, he found himself seriously contemplating letting another man’s cock up his holy-of-holies. He knew it was meant to feel amazing, if your partner knew what he was doing. He always prided himself on giving the man he was with a pleasurable experience, but then again, the physical side of things had never been what worried him. But giving up the control? And to a man like this, who barely had two pennies to rub together, given the state of his outfit. Not happening. So not happening.
And yet...
“If I let you fuck me, will you sell us the land?”
The oral exploration of Grant’s neck ceased. “You really think your arse is that lush, it’s worth giving up my home for?”
“This isn’t your home. Just your workplace.”
Nelson gave a bark. “Yeah, whatever. It’s still mine. I spend most of my time here. You’re asking me to make a major life change, just to get a piece of this.” One of the bloke’s hands wormed its way down the back of Grant’s trousers, and his fingers unerringly found Grant’s hole.
And pressed.
Oh God.
“There’s the money too,” Grant squeaked. If Nelson so much as moved his finger, he’d groan and buck his hips to impale himself, he swore. It was taking everything he had not to frot crazily against the man. And what he should really be doing was removing that trespassing hand and regaining his dignity. He had not just offered his body as a sweetener for the sale, had he?
Maybe his dignity was long gone, but at least he could work on the not-whimpering-with-pleasure thing.
Grant exhaled noisily. Shit. That sounded a lot like a whimper. And his adversary was smiling like a predator. He grabbed hold of Grant’s tie with his spare hand and tugged on it, while the fingers of his other hand worked some arcane magic on Grant’s arsehole.
“Let’s get something straight,” Nelson murmured, his lips tickling Grant’s. “I’m not bargaining for your arse. If you want me to fuck you, I’ll fuck you and I’ll make it so bleedin’ good, you’ll never want to top again. But all that has absolutely nothing to do with me selling my land, so if you’re hoping to get a deal by whoring yourself out, you can think again.” The last few words were accompanied by tiny finger thrusts. Just enough to make Grant groan and his cock go from halfway there to rock solid.
More! “Stop.”
“Stop what? Stop this?” The probing finger thrust deeper inside. “I will if you say it like you mean it.”
Grant summoned up all his fury at the sheer arrogance of this junkyard punk. “Get your dirty hands off me. I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on earth.”
“Hmm, okay. Your loss.” Nelson pulled his finger out and stepped back, releasing Grant’s tie. To his shame, Grant was so weak with mingled desire and fury, his head thunked back against the caravan.
And worse yet, that bastard was staring at Grant’s very obvious erection and grinning. “The body’s willing, but the head isn’t. I tell you what, if your body ever wins out over that stubborn brain of yours, you just call by. I’m here most evenings working, and I’d always be happy to fit you in for a full service.” Nelson thrust his hips out, and now Grant could see he was hard too. Christ. That had been a close escape. The man was hung like a donkey.
Grant tidied up his tie and pushed his shirt back in where it had become untucked. “I’m heading back to the office now, but someone will be in touch in a few days to see if you’ve changed your mind.”
“What, about fucking you?”
“You’re not to tell anyone else about that,” Grant snapped.
“Ooh, hark at ee! Are you getting all embarrassed about offering me your arse?”
“I didn’t offer.”
“I think you did. In return for me selling.”
“That was just a hypothetical question.”
“How’s it working out for you, this whole self-deluding thing you’ve got going on?”
Grant turned around and stalked out of there before he could tell his potential client to piss right off.
How in God’s name he was going to hand this case over to anyone else, he had no idea.
Dare glowered at the house as he kicked assorted bits of rubbish off the front garden path. Bleedin’ Jase. Was it really too much to ask him to carry the bin bags of rubbish down to the wheelie bin by the gate? This latest one looked like it had been attacked by a fox in the night. Dare sighed and let himself in the front door. It was well overdue for a fresh coat of paint, but dealing with the front door would be a bit like gilding a turd.
Besides, it would destroy the whole crack-house ambiance Jase had going on.
“Rise and shine, little brother. It might be Sunday, but it’s past noon.” Dare went around opening curtains like he always did. You needed to watch where you put your feet in this place. The place he refused to think of as home.
“Oi! That’s too fucking bright,” someone complained from down by his feet. Dare could see a mass of tangled, washed-out pink hair and a track-marked arm sticking out from under a pile of blankets. Lovely. Some other shapes stirred from corners of the room. Looked like Jase had had one of his Saturday night parties.
“Wakey-wakey. Time to bugger off to wherever you lowlifes came from.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Now a hostile face was peeking out from under the blankets.
“Who am I? I’m the fucking owner of this property. Now where the fuck is Jase?”
“Upstairs. I think.”
“Wow. He actually managed to drag his arse up the stairs? I’m impressed.”
Dare turned to leave, glanced down at the smoke-blackened glass pipe, stained teaspoons and oddments of foil by his feet, and whirled back around. “I want you lot out of here by the time I get downstairs or I’m calling the police. And clear all your junkie mess up before you go. I don’t want any pipes or needles or shit left in here. There’s a sharps bin in the kitchen.”
“Screw you, fascist,” someone said, but they were all moving now. The threat of the pigs did its work again. Shame it didn’t work to sort Jase out. For a moment, Dare entertained the thought of getting one of his dad’s old business associates to come and give Jase a good talking-to. “Uncle” Tony Giordano could be pretty bloody scary when he wanted to be. But then again, he didn’t want to be in debt to a criminal like Tony. You never knew where that would lead. No, he was keeping his business on the right side of the law.
Dare headed down to the kitchen and turned on the oven. Still working, which was good. It would have suited his purposes if he could have used a microwave instead, but he’d found out the hard way that anything that wasn’t nailed down in this house would be nicked and sold.
The kitchen wasn’t looking too disgusting, all things considered, but rather than find it reassuring, he was disturbed by the lack of any dirty plates. There’s no way Jase would ever wash up, so this meant he probably hadn’t eaten anything all week. Nothing except the odd takeaway, anyway. There were a few foil containers on the worktop and some greasy newspaper that had probably been used to wrap a portion of fish and chips.
Good thing Jase had a brother like him, really, wasn’t it? Not that Jase tended to see it that way, the ungrateful little bastard.
Lazy little bastard too. Dare took a last menacing look into the living room—the four of them seemed to be attempting to clean up, even if they weren’t very effective—and headed up to find Jase.
Someone had graffitied in the stairway. Nothing that could claim to be legitimate street art—more a disturbing cobweb of black marker pen and depressing words. It didn’t look like Jase’s handwriting, but Dare wouldn’t put it past him. As he did every week, he told himself he should move back in and help get Jase climb on the wagon. But then Brandon’s words came back to him, in all their self-satisfied glory. “You can’t help someone until they’re ready to help themselves. And in the meantime, you need to look after yourself so you’re in a fit state to help them when they’re ready.”
But how would he know when Jase was ready? Maybe this was him hitting rock bottom. A filthy, reeking house full of crackheads and junkies. Hard to believe this was where he’d grown up. At least no one had busted the locks on his old room yet. Dare had reinforced it several years ago with a steel plate and frame reinforcers to back up the dead bolts. He’d like to see a bunch of skinny crackheads force that open.
It looked like someone had had a try, though. Dare inspected the gouges out of the woodwork by the lock. They clearly hadn’t got anywhere with the steel door, and he was confident his bolts would hold. Still, though, he’d have to have words with Jase, as soon as he found the useless fucker.
“Jase!” he yelled, pushing into their dad’s old room. A single shaft of daylight pieced through the tatty curtains, illuminating the sorry spectacle. Jase and some skinny creature lay passed out under the stained blankets on the bare mattress, and the room stank of stale smoke and sex. Revolting.
Dare knelt down to peer at Jase’s companion. Up close, he could see the androgynous figure was female, and where her arm hung over the side of the mattress, he could pick out the web of old scarring—self harm?—and fresher track marks. Didn’t look like Jase’s taste in women had improved any.
“Rise and shine, campers,” he boomed out, but was too sad to feel amused by the way they both jerked awake.
“Bloody fucking hell, Dare. Fuck off and let me sleep,” Jase whined.
“Can’t. It’s Sunday. Time for our family dinner.”
“I told you, I don’t wanna do that crap anymore.”
“Tough. This is my house, and I’m paying all the bills while you run the place into the ground. The least you can do to repay me is to kick out your loser friends and sit and have a proper meal with me. You look like you need it too. Fuck’s sake, have you eaten anything since I last saw you?” His little brother had once looked like he might end up larger than Dare, but ever since the drugs had taken over, he’d begun the slide into skeletal.
“We had a big packet of Malteasers last night. And a kebab the night before.” That was the girl speaking.
“Good for you. But it still doesn’t sound like enough for a fully grown human being to survive on. Although I’m not sure Jase is fully grown yet. He seems to be lacking a few essential brain cells.”
“What food have you brought?” she asked again, huskily. “Is it a roast? I used to love a roast dinner.”
Dare couldn’t look her in the eye, or anywhere really, as when she’d sat up, the blanket fell down, revealing her emaciated chest—all ribs and deflated-looking tits. “Sorry, love, family only. You’ll need to clear off.”
“But I’m so hungry. And I'm his girlfriend. Tell ’im, Jase. We’re in love.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Rain is my girl now.”
“Great. I’m so glad Jase has chosen another junkie to fall for. I’m guessing now you’ll do your best to fuck up any progress he makes and drag him back into the pit with you.”
Rain slapped Dare in the face, but there was no force behind it. “Oi! I could get clean any time I wanted.”
“Yeah? Then prove it. And help him get clean too. Then I’ll make sure you’re invited to Sunday lunch every bleedin’ week. But until then, this is family only. You hear me?”
“It’s only for a couple of hours, sugar-bun,” Jase wheedled, pulling her into a hug. Oh God. Dare couldn’t bear to watch.
“I’ll be downstairs getting things ready. You two get dressed and downstairs as quick as you can.”
While he was upstairs, Dare checked the bathroom for any stragglers—he’d once found a bloke passed out in the bathtub—but the house was mercifully empty. It was just a little two up, two down, so there weren’t many places people could hide.
Before he headed down, he checked the thermostat. Felt like a sodding sauna in here, but that probably wasn’t a surprise considering none of these kids had any body fat going spare. Christ, he wanted to wrap them up in warm clothes, then feed the lot of them, at the same time as he wanted to pound their stupid heads against a wall for being such self-destructive fuckwits.
He did neither, though. After checking the lot in the lounge had cleared out, Dare headed out to his van and collected the basket of warm food.
Rain met him at the doorway. “Oh my God, that smells well lush. Did you make it yourself?”
“It’s nothing fancy. Just a chicken and some veg.”
A wistful look passed over Rain’s face. “My mum used to make the best Sunday roasts. God, I really miss her.”
“Kick you out, did she?”
Rain’s expression was half smile, half grimace. “Never had the chance. It was my dad who kicked me out. Mum died when I was twelve.”
Now he felt like a total bastard. “I’m sorry. My mum died when I was a kid too.”
“Yeah, I know. Jase told me. But you know, at least she never got to see how I turned out. I was still a sweet little girl when she died. I kind of hope she’s my guardian angel now, but then again I don’t, because I’d hate her to see me like this.” She gestured at her arms.
She wasn’t all that bad looking in the light of day, Dare realised. And she had a nice, husky voice. Shame about the heroin chic, but that seemed to be Jase’s thing.
But most importantly, she’d shown some remorse for the state she was in. Maybe she could help Jase after all. A vague plan started to form. It would be risky, encouraging their relationship, but if Rain was open to the idea of change, then that would give him something to work with.
Fuck it. It had to be worth a try. The last five years of Sunday lunches and attempted interventions hadn’t got him anywhere. “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier,” he began. “I was in a shitty mood after finding everyone downstairs and the house in such a state, but I’m happier now. Why don’t you join me and Jase for lunch. There’s enough to go round.”
“You mean it? You’re a fucking star, you know that? Hey, you got a girlfriend?” The look she gave him was calculating, and Dare reminded himself to be on guard against being manipulated. Junkies could be the craftiest people.
“Sorry, love, you’re not my type.”
“Because I use?”
“Because you’re female.”
“Oh. Well, nothing I can do about that, I suppose. Never mind. I reckon Jase is cuter than you are, anyway.”
Dare just smiled. “Come on. Let’s get this lot properly reheated and maybe you can persuade that brother of mine to have a shower before he joins us.”
Rain loped up the stairs as Dare headed into the kitchen. He’d get everything into the oven, clean up a bit, have lunch, and then take Jase down the launderette so that he had some clean clothes and bedding for the week ahead. Pretty much a typical Sunday afternoon for him.
But instead of the weariness he usually felt at the prospect of an afternoon with Jase, this time Dare experienced a glimmer of hope. Maybe things could change. Maybe one day he’d be able to call round and Jase would have a meal ready for him.
Maybe he’d even be able to move back home. Stranger things had happened.
Dare whistled as he began clearing the decks.