CARTER’S mobile rang suddenly, a trill of noise in the silence of the night. Shocked, he reached out for the side table, clumsily patting his hand around and dislodging two books and an empty tea mug onto the floor before he found the phone.
“Hello?” His thoughts were muddled and half scared. Last time this had happened, he’d picked up to Pam’s distress call. But it wasn’t Pam’s voice on the line.
“Yo.”
“Jag? Is that you?”
“Well, duh.” The young man sounded both wary and irritated.
“It’s….” Carter twisted around in the bed to peer at the digital clock. “It’s four in the morning, Jag, give a guy a break. I’m in bed asleep.”
He heard Jag’s sharp snort. “Yeah, well, you were. Didn’ know who else to call.”
Beside Carter, a sheet-wrapped lump shifted and huffed out a breath. Carter’s memory of the night before came back with a huge rush of delight and astonishment. His cock plumped against his thigh, apparently also remembering. For a brief second, he thought of telling Jag to call back later. Carter wanted to pull the sheets up and look underneath; he wanted to slide his hand along the mattress and touch the flesh he’d find there; he wanted to stroke and caress, take and be taken, all over again—
“You there, f’ fuck’s sake?”
Carter sighed. He pulled himself to sitting and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He’d turned his back to Red, but he still felt vibrantly aware of every move the sleeping man made. “Yes, I’m here. Turn down the swearing, will you?”
Jag paused, maybe considering this as a reasonable request, or maybe just scorning Carter for being a pathetic old git. Carter had heard him mutter that about most people the far side of twenty-five, especially ones who dared criticize him for anything he considered was “his way.” “You gotta come here. Now.”
“Here—where?”
“The center.”
“The center?” Carter could feel Red stirring in the bed behind him. At that moment, he didn’t want to leave the room—he didn’t want to leave the bed!—but if this was a nonsense call, Red didn’t deserve to be disturbed by it as well. Carter cupped his hand around the phone, trying to minimize the sound. He realized he had no idea how deeply or lightly Red slept. In that thought’s same breath, he felt a returning jolt of excitement and delight. What an intriguing situation to be in! All the new and undiscovered things about Red that were going to be open to him, and yet again, all the fun he’d have finding out. “Jag, what’s going on? It’s a forty-minute drive for me, even at this time of night. Can it wait until morning?”
Jag made another scornful snorting sound, but he didn’t start his usual argument. Carter could hear another muffled voice in the background, then Jag’s voice again, though it was distant, as if he’d turned his head away from the phone. “Fuckin’ will, y’hear…? No, it fuckin’ stops here!”
Carter winced, and briefly held the phone away from his ear.
Jag came back on the line. “Owen’s here.”
“Owen?” Carter felt stupid, just repeating things. No wonder Jag thought he was acting like a moron. “What are you two doing there at this time? Is this a joke or something? It’s in bloody poor taste if it is.”
“No way. No joke.” Jag’s voice had an odd timbre to it, as if he was trying to keep the volume down but add emphasis at the same time. “You just need t’ come.”
“Is it another break-in?” There was no voice on the other end, just shuffling, muttering noises. “Jag, are you listening to me?”
“Carter? What’s up?” Red sat up in the bed beside him, propped against his back, his hand on Carter’s shoulder. Carter could see his profile out of the corner of his eye, Red’s expression somber. Carter felt he could lean his full weight back, and Red would catch him and support him. He’d hold him firmly, as long as necessary.
Carter covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “I don’t know. It’s Jag. He says he’s at the center with Owen. He wants me to meet him there. Now.”
Red just stared at him as if he were talking a foreign language that hadn’t been covered at his inevitably expensive schools. “Now?” He peered at Carter’s bedside clock.
“Yes, I know,” Carter said grimly. “Oh, for God’s sake.” He started to scrabble on the floor, trying to find his clothes. “Jag? Are you still there?”
The voice came back on the line. “Carter? Thanks, bruv.”
Carter was startled, not just by the words, but by Jag’s tone. It sounded much younger than his usual swagger. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“We’ll be there,” Red said in his ear.
“Who th’ fuck’s there?” Jag demanded.
“It’s Red. He’s coming with me.”
There was a pointed silence on the other end of the phone. “And you said you was in bed asleep?”
Carter knew Jag’s comment was loaded but he had no time to dance around a teenager’s sensibilities. “Yes,” he said, sharply now. “Deal with it. And the quicker we get going, the sooner we’ll be there.”
There was a pause. Then, to Carter’s surprise, Jag gave a snort of laughter. “Safe. Just get here fast.”
“Jag? Wait!”
“What the fuck? I gotta go.”
“If there’s any trouble before we get there,” Carter said. “Call me back—” But the line was already dead.
“Are we really going?” Red said. He still sounded sleepy. “Do you think it’s some kind of prank?”
“I don’t know.” Carter felt he was stupidly repeating himself again. He got one leg of his jeans twisted and had to start again to pull them on. “Shit, if it is a prank, I’ll kill him.”
“Carter, did I hear you right? You said, ‘deal with it’?”
“So?” Carter turned to look Red fully in the face, though he couldn’t help his gaze lingering over the muscles of the other man’s arms. Those arms had held him tightly in bed. They’d pushed him into place, pulled him over onto Red’s torso. Those hands had guided his cock into places it was even now getting excited again at revisiting—
“I just thought.” Red was looking at him with an odd twinkle in his eye. “Thought you may not want everyone knowing.” There was a darker spot of color on each of his cheeks, as if he were nervous or embarrassed. Or maybe thinking exactly the same things Carter was right now. “I mean, apart from the millions of music-loving TV viewers at the end of the month when we turn up together in matching tuxes holding hands on the red carpet—”
“If you don’t shut up about it, I may change my mind and recall a previous engagement,” Carter said. He tried to concentrate on pulling on his socks and boots. “It’s time I stopped hiding every bloody thing. Especially something that’s really good.”
Red ran his fingers down Carter’s spine and chuckled. “Really good?”
“Arrogant bastard,” Carter snapped, then spoiled the effect with a wry chuckle. “Seriously, if you’re coming, you’d better get dressed.”
Red gave an exaggerated sigh, threw off the covers, and started gathering up his clothes.
Carter darted into the living room to pick up his jacket because he knew it’d be cold outside. As he came back out of the room, he found Red standing by the front door of the flat, fully dressed and typing a text message on his mobile.
“Who are you texting?”
“Zeke. The two of them are in town for that Hockney retrospective. He and Miles can back us up at the center. I’m leaving them a cheery message to call us.” He smiled, though grimly. “Might as well wake them up as well. That’s what friends are for, right?”
“You think we need that? It’s just two young people—”
“And who knows what else?” Red broke in. The sharp edge to his voice startled Carter. “The center’s had its share of excitement recently, right? I don’t want either of us blindsided by anything else. Best to have a few friendly faces with us.”
RED drove, because Carter’s car was still at the center. They arrived there ahead of Zeke and Miles, which was probably to be expected. Miles had called Red back on the car’s hands-free phone as soon as the message woke him, to ask what was going on and to ask for directions. Then Zeke had started yelling in the background that he already had the directions, he’d do the bloody navigating, he was sick of Red butting in on his and Miles’s sex life so often, and where the fuck was his left boot—?
At that stage, Red disconnected, and left them to get on with it.
They pulled into the car park, Red not so much parking the Audi as abandoning it diagonally across two spaces, both he and Carter careless in their haste to find Jag and Owen. But the minute they got out of the car, the problem was obvious.
“The front door’s smashed in,” Carter said grimly.
“And can you smell it?” Red turned his head from side to side, trying to source the acrid odor. His skin felt colder than the night air merited. “Something’s burning!”
Carter met his gaze, eyes wide. Before Red could say anything more, Carter turned and ran toward the youth center. Red wheeled around and followed. It was coming from inside the building—it stung his nostrils as he came nearer—though the only evidence of a blaze was a misty thread of smoke just inside the door. But as they crossed the drive, he caught sight of a faint red-golden glow through the open doorway, and now he could hear the distant but unmistakable crackle of flames. What the hell was going on? What was on fire, and how serious was it? He couldn’t see much through the opening, in the dark of the night.
They’d barely reached the foot of the steps when three figures stumbled out of the building, coughing and yelling. Red immediately recognized Jag and Owen but didn’t know the thickset older man hanging on to Owen’s waist. They both shared the same short hair, though the older man’s shaved cut was far more aggressive than Owen’s tousled spikes. Owen was shouting and trying to get free, but he was caught in a viciously firm hold. Jag tried to pull the man’s arm away and got an elbow in his lower belly for his troubles. He bent double, wheezing.
“Hey! Leave them alone!” Carter cried.
“Who is he?” Red yelled at Jag.
Jag answered, still clutching his belly. “Sean. Fuckin’ Sean Reilly.”
Owen’s brother, Red assumed. Apparently no longer being held at Her Majesty’s Pleasure. Was he the reason for Owen’s recent quiet mood? His new bruises? It was only one mental step from there to suspect that the drugs were something to do with Sean’s return too. He glanced at Carter, but Carter was already half up the steps toward the struggling pair.
“He just laid int’ Owen!” Jag cried. “Musta followed us.”
“Let Owen go,” Carter growled.
But Sean took no notice. He and Owen were weaving about in a weird and gruesome kind of dance. Carter tried to reach them, but Sean swung Owen around so fiercely that the younger man’s legs came off the ground completely, and his feet caught Carter in the head. Carter arched back but stumbled against the other two, temporarily stunned. He grabbed at Owen, and amid shouts of pain and confusion, the three of them tumbled down the steps. They landed with a heavy thud and rolled several feet over the sharp gravel of the driveway. Jag stumbled down the steps after them.
“Carter!” Red didn’t know what to do first—to help Carter, or Jag, or try to restrain Sean. How dangerous was this man? He was heavily built and strong, Red could see that, and his lips were drawn back in a disgustingly animalistic snarl as he glared down at his brother. As Red tried to gather his wits, Sean lurched to his feet, still gripping Owen.
“Stupid fucker,” he growled, his voice harsh and low, the accent much thicker than Owen’s. “You lose my fuckin’ stuff, you go get it back, y’hear me?” He was still swinging Owen about, using him like some kind of human battering ram. Owen screamed loudly, and Red dodged out of the way of his flailing legs. Sean dragged Owen back toward the steps where Carter lay on the ground, winded, in his direct path. Sean would either fall over Carter or stamp right on his head.
Red mobilized, quickly and instinctively. He launched himself at the Sean/Owen combination, ramming his shoulder against Sean’s. The shock ran like a shudder of pain through his upper body, then pain started to scream in his muscles as Sean pressed back. Sean was a lot heavier than Red, but Red was taller and quicker, using his leverage to halt Sean’s progress. Sean held his ground, still stumbling toward the building with Owen in his arms, but Red managed to push him sideways at the same time. They missed trampling over Carter by a couple of inches.
Carter groaned and turned his head as they passed. His cheek was squashed against the ground, his forehead was grazed, and he looked confused, but Red couldn’t see any evidence of serious hurt. Unfortunately, Red’s attention was distracted for that critical second.
“Get out of my way, you fuckin’ fruit.” Sean loosened his grip around Owen’s waist and shoved Red with one solid, muscular arm. Red took several clumsy steps back across the drive and went down on his arse.
“Owen!” he shouted. “Get free of him!”
But Owen’s expression showed nothing but frozen fear. Sean moved surprisingly quickly for his bulk, using the arm he still held around Owen to secure Owen’s arms to his sides. Then, with the hand he’d used to shove Red, Sean grabbed Owen’s hair, pulled back his head, and tightened his arm around Owen’s neck in a tight lock. The young man gasped hoarsely and wriggled, but Sean was once again in control of him. He backed away from Red and Carter and climbed backward up the steps, one foot meeting the next before moving on, like a cruel parody of an outsized and overmuscled toddler. He paused again by the front door to the center, breathing heavy.
Red leapt to his feet again, ignoring the wince of pain in his ankle. It’d be company for the bruise that was building across his shoulder. “What’s happened inside the center?” Red demanded of whoever might give him an answer. “What’s going on? What’s burning?”
Jag staggered to Red’s side. He still had his hands on his thighs, and his head bent as he struggled to regain his breath after Sean had hit him. “Sean followed us here, man. Wants ’is stuff. Says Owen has to get it for ’im.”
“The weed?”
Jag didn’t bother denying it. “It’s Sean’s. He’s gonna deal it now he’s out. Owen’s been hidin’ it for ’im, the stupid prick. Shoulda ratted the psycho out, he’s only on probation. Instead, Owen’s shit scared Sean’ll smash ’im up. He’s been passin’ the stuff in ’n’ out the center for a coupla weeks, bit by bit. Like fuckin’ money launderin’.” There was the slightest trace of admiration in Jag’s voice.
“It’s not in the center now.” Carter had risen to his knees on the drive, coughing. “The weed’s gone.”
“I told Sean,” Jag said bleakly. “Didn’ fuckin’ listen. He tried to get it before, couldn’ find it.”
“He was the one who broke in?”
“Psycho,” Jag repeated glumly.
“Did you know?” Red shouted at the young man. “Did you know he was the one smashed the place up?”
Jag winced at his anger. “Fuck no! Or maybe. Not f’r certain. Been tryin’ to get Owen to ’fess up.”
“And the fire?” Red urged. “Quickly! How bad is it?” Instinctively, they all stared at the door to the center where Sean still clutched a struggling, wailing Owen and was obviously trying to catch his breath. The faint glow of flames could be seen, flickering shadows on the wall by the door, but that could have been from anywhere up the corridor inside.
“Sean was searchin’ the office again. We didn’ know he was in there, honest. He came chargin’ out and saw us, said he’d dropped his roll-up into some papers. Scared shitless he’d get burned. Owen tells him he’s callin’ the cops, and Sean just lays into ’im. Said Owen had to go in and find the stuff. Into the fire.”
“We can’t let it get hold. I’ll call the fire brigade,” Red said. He was glad he sounded more sure of his actions than he actually was. He glanced at Jag. “And then you can explain all this to the police when they arrive.”
“Huh?”
At the top of the steps, Owen gave a sob and Sean started laughing. Jag made a strange grimace and Red’s heart sank. Obviously Owen’s bravery had been a bluff. He hadn’t really called the police.
“No puttin’ out,” Sean said. “If it burns, it burns. Stupid kids’ club. Tough shit.”
The careless cruelty made Red burn inside. He could remember where the fire extinguisher was—on the wall outside the kitchen. It’d take him half a minute to get to it, if only he could get past Sean without him hurting Owen. With any luck, the fire was confined to the office. It might even burn itself out….
As if in denial of that hope, there was a louder hiss and crackle from indoors, then the sound of a crash.
“So what about your stuff?” Red said rashly, gaze on Sean.
“Huh?”
“That’s still in there, right?”
“Fuck.” Sean frowned as if the two-plus-two calculation had only just reached four. “I knew it was. Yeah.” He tried to shake Owen, like a dog might shake a small puppy. “Lyin’ little shit said it wasn’t there.” He tightened his hold on Owen’s neck. “He can go in and get it. ’S my brother. ’S his job to get me what’s mine.”
“He can’t go in there now,” Red said. “Let him go.”
“Fuck that,” Sean said. He looked back and forth between Red and the center, agitated now. The glow of the flames had brightened, reflecting in the glass in the front door. In the background, there was the thin, wailing thread of a siren approaching. Thank God, Red thought, someone had called the emergency services. If he could just distract Sean so he could get hold of Owen—
“You.” Sean scowled directly at Red. “You so fuckin’ bothered, you go in there instead of ’im.”
“No.” Jag’s voice was low, and unexpected.
“No!” Carter’s voice from behind Red was more urgent. “Red, what the hell are you playing at?”
Red didn’t turn around, but continued to meet Sean’s gaze. “No point,” he said. Around them, the wind briefly changed direction and he could feel the warmth of the flames as direct heat for the first time. It must have breached the office by now. It definitely didn’t look as though it was burning itself out. Next would be the small offices, then the games room, then the kitchen, chill-out room, and front corridor. A picture of the painstakingly crafted café façade darted across Red’s mind. How long would it take for the fire to spread and take over the whole place? “It’ll all burn. Tough shit, you said.”
“You go,” Sean said stubbornly. He glared at Red but there was disturbance in his eyes. He tightened his grip on Owen, making his brother squeal again. “You know how easy it’d be for me to pop out one of ’is eyes like this?”
“For God’s sake. You wouldn’t do that.”
Sean grinned and shrugged. From the scornful expression that had returned to his face, it was obvious he thought Red was good for nothing, totally expendable. Red was a weakling, a man of stupid words, a “fuckin’ fruit.” Far from a serious threat.
The two of them stared at each other. On Red’s right side, Jag sidled forward and put a foot on the lowest step. Sean’s gaze didn’t waver from Red’s. Carter moved into Red’s line of sight at his other side, mouthing silent words that Red couldn’t distinguish, that presumably either sent him support or gave him hell for being a reckless moron. Red didn’t dare turn his gaze to look at either of them, for help or to defend his actions. Why the hell had he thought it was a good idea to remind Sean of his precious weed? It was just a stab in the dark, trying to piss him off, get him to lose momentum and release Owen. And we can all see how well that went, can’t we? Owen was still stuck in a headlock from his psycho brother, white as a sheet, trembling all over, and staring down the steps at Red with wide, terrified eyes.
And then Red felt a wave of confidence wash over him. He didn’t feel the pain in his twisted ankle or his strained shoulder. He didn’t hear the fire or imagine its heat. All he could see were the tears that streaked Owen’s pale, sooty cheeks. This is it. Time to act. Red had never thought of himself as a hero type. He was the amusing best friend, the supporting character actor. Yet that look in Owen’s eyes cried out for help. And Red was going to respond to that.
“Okay,” he said. He was pleased with how steady his voice sounded. “But release Owen first.”
“No fuckin’ way. You get my stuff, I let ’im go.”
Carter’s voice came across, sharp and quick. “Not going to happen.”
“Shut up,” Red said, equally sharply. He didn’t want to see how Carter took that. “I’m handling this.” He walked up the first couple of steps, hands outstretched as if trying to gentle a wild beast. Without moving his gaze from Sean, he called over to Jag. “Jag, how are you feeling?”
Jag was startled. “Okay. Sort of. Fuckin’ belly hurts.”
Red nodded. “Deal with it,” he said. Even without a clear view, Red could see Jag’s mouth drop open in shock. He walked up until he was only one step down from Sean. “So move out of my way,” he said. “Or I can’t get inside. What am I looking for, exactly?”
Sean was still scowling. Red could feel the heat from the fire now. It must have been hot on the side of Sean’s face nearest the building. He was blinking hard, shifting awkwardly, undecided whether and when to move away. Even so, his eyes gleamed at the thought of his stuff. “’S a bag.”
“Is that all you’ve got for me to go on?”
Sean’s eyes narrowed at the unexpectedly aggressive tone in Red’s voice. “Fuck you. Plastic, ain’t it?”
“Thick, thin? Big, small?” Red sketched out a sweeping, sizing motion, high in the air. “Sealed, zipped—?” But he never finished the sentence. Instead, as soon as he saw Sean’s confused, blinking gaze follow the movement, he balled his hands into a boxer’s fists, tipped forward on the balls of his feet, and punched Sean full in the face. Sean howled, his neck ricocheted, and he stumbled back. Red grabbed at Owen and pulled him away from Sean’s loosened grip.
At the same time, Jag ran nimbly up the steps to Sean’s side and kicked him with full force in the knee. Another howl, and Sean was on the ground.
But as he fell, he lunged out at Owen, trying desperately to maintain his grasp. Owen shrieked, panicked, and spun away from both Sean and Red. He fell back against the front door. It creaked on its broken hinges and swung farther open, inward. A spiral of black smoke floated out into the night air.
“Owen!” Carter yelled from the bottom of the steps. “Come back! Come down here!”
But Owen was too scared. He looked shaky on his feet and confused, not knowing which way to turn. He looked over his shoulder into the building. The glow was even brighter now, and waves of heat made the edges of the doorframe appear to ripple.
“I’ll get you, you fuckin’ queer!” Sean groaned, writhing in pain. Red had barely enough time to realize with a start that Sean was referring to Owen, not Red. With a yell of total anguish, Owen turned his back on them all and stumbled into the burning building.
Chaos ensued. Red didn’t know where to look or move first.
A car screeched to a halt in the car park, and Miles and Zeke came running across to them, shouting. They dashed up the steps, regardless of any danger from the fire, and fell on Sean, keeping him pinned to the ground. Zeke, in particular, had a grim but slightly manic look on his face.
“I called the police,” Miles cried to Red. “Fire service too, as soon as I smelled the smoke. Who was that just ran in?”
“Owen. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s hurt and scared. Miles, I’ve got to get him out!” But Red barely got the chance to act. He was still shaking out his bruised hand—he hadn’t hit anyone that hard since his days in the university boxing team—when Jag darted around the three men on the ground and made for the front door.
“What the hell?”
Red spun on his heel, trying to catch the young man, but Jag slipped past him. Red could hear his call as he ran indoors. “Owen, you prick! Owen!”
A fire engine drove into the car park, lights flashing, and behind it, a police car. Miles lifted a hand, waving them over. Carter was shouting. “Jag! Come back, you idiot!”
“What the hell’s happening?” Zeke cried.
The police reached the front of the building first. The darkness was lit by swooping shadows from the fire inside, and the blues and twos of the fire engine and police car. Silhouetted against the on/off neon loop of light in the car park, Red watched as the police quickly and efficiently cuffed Sean Reilly and half carried him to the back of the police car. He swore and yelled all the way about what Owen and his queer friends had done to him.
“Red?” Miles was at Red’s side, breathing heavily. “Are you okay?”
“The kids. They’re in there! Every second’s critical.” Red tried to push off Miles’s grasp on his arm but it was surprisingly strong.
“I know. I know. The firemen just arrived, they’re trained for this, they’ll get everyone out—”
Red wasn’t listening, or maybe it was that he wasn’t caring. His mind was firing on an instinctively emotional level, not with reason or sense. He struggled with Miles, not listening to his friend’s pleas to wait, not registering the firm demands of the fire officers who were already hauling equipment out of the truck so they could get to work.
“Red?” Carter was beside him. “What’ll we do—?”
Red spun on his heel and stared at him. “Leave it to me,” he said softly. Then he pulled away and ran into the building after Jag and Owen.