Now Comes the Dark (Basic Instincts #1)

Chapter Fourteen

No Safe Haven

Though their bedrooms were separated by a hallway, Roman heard the raised voices from Ashley’s room, and it was clear from the tone that he was arguing with Patrick. Great . They’d been back together for just over a week, and they were fighting already. It hadn’t taken long for Patrick to drop the nice guy act and revert to his typical behaviour.

Patrick had been there when Roman had returned from work, sitting at the kitchen table with a shit-eating grin on his face while Ashley grilled a four pack of chicken breasts for him. Roman had said hello to Ashley and ignored Patrick completely, taking a bottle of beer from the fridge and going straight to his room. This couldn’t continue. He was acting like a prisoner in his own home, afraid to use the shared communal areas. He would have to speak to Ashley when they were alone.

Roman was the one who shared the rent on this flat, not that meat-headed arsehole. Patrick had no right to behave like he owned the place.

Last week, Ashley had said Patrick wanted to say sorry for punching Roman last October. Roman was still waiting for the apology. He had no interest in speaking to Patrick, and the feeling was clearly mutual. He regretted not pressing charges against him after the assault. Back then, Ashley had assured him they were finished for good and involving the police would only prolong the agony of having Patrick in their lives. If he’d got the police to prosecute him, he could have taken out a restraining order and had him barred from the flat for good.

Roman couldn’t face a night in listening to them fight. He changed out of his work clothes and put on jeans, a T-shirt and a warm sweater. He couldn’t afford a big night out, but he’d rather go to the pub and spend what little money he had than suffer in silence here. Mallon had returned to France for the weekend and wasn’t due back in Blyham until the middle of next week.

Roman knocked on Ashley’s door a little before eight.

“Yeah,” Ashley called from inside.

Heavy footsteps thudded across the floor, and the door jerked open. Patrick was stripped to the waist. His chest and arms were bigger than ever. His neck seemed to have disappeared, and his head was balanced on his wide shoulders. Ropey veins bulged all over his body. So much for quitting the steroids.

“What d’you want?” he asked. His jaw protruded as he chewed frantically at a piece of gum. His eyes were agitated, roaming over Roman’s face.

And still no apology . Roman moved to one side, trying to see past him into the room. The lights were on low, and Patrick angled the door to block his view.

“We’re busy in here?” he growled.

“Busy arguing,” Roman said, refusing to back down. “Thin walls. Is everything all right?” he called over Patrick’s shoulder.

“Yes, it’s fine,” Ashley said. Roman could not see him.

“Happy now?” Patrick glowered.

Roman ignored him. “Are you sure? I’m going out, but I’ll stay if you want me to.”

“It’s fine. Really,” Ashley said. “Go out. Have a great time.”

Roman looked daggers at Patrick while addressing Ashley. “Okay. I won’t be late. I’ve got work in the morning. But we need to talk this weekend. Okay?”

“What about?” Patrick asked, standing over him.

Roman didn’t back down. “House rules,” he said defiantly.

“No problem,” Ashley called. “I’ll see you tomorrow after work. Have a good night.”

Patrick sneered, showing his ugly little teeth before shutting the door in Roman’s face.

* * * *

“You should have called the police when you had the chance,” Phil said. “You had plenty of witnesses to back you up.”

“I realise that now,” Roman said.

He sat at the end of the bar in Julie’s. For a Friday night, the place was quiet. Phil expected it to fill up after ten, though that seemed optimistic. When the Uber had brought him here, Roman had not seen many people on the streets. The cold weather, combined with a post-Christmas January slump and the on-going threat of the Blyham Strangler kept them away.

There were a handful of customers in the beer garden and another twelve or so smattered about the pub. Before the troubles, this place would have been packed.

Roman finished the beer he had made last almost an hour and raised the empty bottle to show he wanted another.

“The man has always been trouble,” Phil continued, setting the new drink in front of him. “I still won’t allow him in here.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. He’s barred for life. Anyone who raises a fist to one of my customers gets the same treatment. There are no second chances for the kind of people who resort to violence. And from what I’ve heard of Patrick, he’s got a long history of it.”

Phil moved along the bar to serve a couple of women who had just come in, shivering from the cold. Phil was a nice guy. Why couldn’t Ashley fall in love with someone like him instead of a toxic prick like Patrick? Phil was nearly forty, probably ten years older than Ashley, but he was in great shape, a hundred percent better looking than Patrick and far more chilled and intelligent. The age difference wouldn’t matter at all. Ashley had told him before that he fancied Phil. He wondered if the attraction was mutual. If he could get them to take notice of each other, Ashley might realise what a complete loser Patrick was.

Not that it should take a genius to figure that out. Anyone with half a brain could see what a piece of shit he was.

Phil returned to his end of the bar. “You need to have it out with Ashley. You can’t continue to live there and hide in your bedroom. It’s your flat as much as it is his.”

“Believe me, I intend to. I want to have that conversation tomorrow, if he doesn’t find a way to squirm out of it.”

“Tell him if he wants to see Patrick, they need to go to his place instead.”

“I’m not sure I can go that far. Ashley pays half the rent, too. He has a right to do what he wants in his own home.”

Phil picked up a tea towel and started polishing glasses from the upper shelves. “Then he should be more considerate.”

“That’s just it. He is. Ninety-nine per cent of the time he’s the most perfect flatmate. He cleans up after himself, does his share of chores, doesn’t play his TV or music too loud. We get on brilliantly. But when it comes to Patrick, his brain turns to shit. For whatever reason, he’s infatuated with him.”

Phil grimaced. “If Patrick had a single redeeming feature, I could understand it. But he doesn’t. Looks, personality, kindness? He’s a failure on every front.”

Roman was ready to change the subject. He’d come to the pub to get away from Patrick, not talk about the fucker all night. “Has there been any more trouble these last few days?” he asked.

Phil nodded. “Another week, another shit storm. A couple of lads were harassed on their way back to their hotel last weekend. Visitors from Derby so they had no idea of the circumstances. They didn’t know it wasn’t safe to walk around at night. As far as I’m aware, it was verbal abuse and nothing violent happened, but they were all over social media afterwards, slagging the city off and saying they would never come back. Can’t say I blame them. If I didn’t already live here, Blyham would be at the bottom of my list of places to visit.”

Roman stared grimly into his drink while Phil served more customers. He loved his life in Blyham. He couldn’t think of another northern city where he would rather be. Newcastle, Leeds, Manchester, they all had their merits, but none of them compared to Blyham. From starting university, when he’d sampled the nightlife for the first time, he had known that he belonged here.

But for how much longer?

That was a question he had no answer to.

Would the city be the same after everything that had happened in the last year? Maybe it would bounce back once The Strangler was caught, maybe it wouldn’t. The venues around the gay village occupied places of prime real estate. There had been rumours going around for years that the city council was interested in driving out the LGBTQ businesses and gentrifying the area. The murders might be just the reason they needed to close the place down. The Viaduct, with its reputation for men-on-men sex had long been at the top of the hitlist.

What were the chances that Roman would even be here once it was over? If his circumstances didn’t change quickly, they were slim. And what about Mallon? He said he’d be here for a few months, but there had been no great commitment from him about that. Would Mallon be interested if he were living at home with his parents? Hardly . What grown man would be?

Fuck . Roman felt more depressed than ever.

“Can I have a double a vodka and cola?” he asked Phil, counting the change in his wallet. He’d have enough for one more drink after this, then he’d have to call it a night.

“Drowning your sorrows?” Phil asked as he poured the order.

“Getting that way. I’m struggling to think of much to be grateful for.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Drama queen. Tell Ashley to get his sleazy boyfriend out of the flat, and your troubles are over.”

“That’s not everything. I wish it was.” He told him about his money worries and the looming threat of redundancy. “I must have written to every accountancy firm in the city with my CV in the last year. None of them are hiring. If I lose this shitty job, I don’t know where I’ll find another one.”

“If it helps, I’m hiring,” Phil said. “It’s not accountancy, and I can only offer a couple of shifts a week, but if you want to earn a little extra money and maybe save some of it for a rainy day, the offer is there.”

“Seriously? I thought business was down.”

“It is, but I’m still short. I need staff to run the place. I can’t do everything on my own. Do you have you any experience of bar work?”

“Yeah. I had a second job all the way through university.”

“Great. Well, just think of it like that, taking on a second job while things are tough.”

Roman swallowed his drink, giving it some thought. “I’m not sure. It’s been a while. I don’t know if I can do it anymore.” But he was already thinking ahead. As well as the extra cash coming in handy, it would get him out of the flat a couple of times a week and away from Patrick. He was already working several hours of free overtime. Wouldn’t it be better to get paid for the extra work?

“How about a trial shift?” Phil suggested. “Come in on Sunday morning for eleven. I can show you the ropes while it’s quiet, then we usually get busy from three onwards when the cabaret starts. What about doing eleven to seven? I’ll pay you, too, even though it’s a trial.”

What did he have to lose? He had no plans for this weekend, Mallon was in France. If he hated it or sucked at it, he could walk away at the end of the shift with a few extra pounds and no commitment—or it could be great and might help him out of his financial hole.

“All right,” he said, suddenly loving the idea. “If you’re serious, I’d like to give it a try.”

“You’re on,” Phil grinned. “Be here for eleven, and we’ll take it from there.”

* * * *

From the beer garden, a man had been watching Roman unnoticed for the last hour. By that time, the venue had filled up to near normal capacity.

Around ten-thirty Roman fastened his jacket and left the bar. The man slipped through the crowd and followed him outside.

Roman had already crossed the road and was walking up the street towards the town centre.

After everything that was going on, Roman was walking the street on his own again. The man couldn’t decide if that made him incredibly brave or just plain stupid. Whatever, it excited him to see the young fool alone. The man pulled the peak of his cap over his brow wrapped his scarf around the lower half of his face and crossed to the other side of the road to follow him.

Roman had a brisk walk and quickly extended the distance between them. The man increased his own pace slightly. Not too much. He didn’t want to draw attention. There was no need. He knew where to find Roman when he was ready. His time was coming. The man had wanted him for months and couldn’t ignore the urge for much longer.

He’d spent weeks fantasying about the moment, the night when he would get Roman exactly where he wanted him, when he would pin his body to the bed and wrap his hands around his throat. How much pressure would it take? The man’s cock grew hard at the thought. Would he put up much of a fight? Probably. Roman had a slender build, but there was strength behind it. It was obvious in the way he strode along the pavement tonight, the purpose with which he walked. It was not the gait or posture of a potential victim. Roman would be a challenge, and the man thrived on those.

His target turned the corner at the end of the road, heading for the taxi rank, no doubt.

The man hurried to catch up. He wanted one more glimpse of his future victim before quitting for the night.

As he rounded the street, he saw the taxi pick-up point was empty.

Fuck. Had he caught a cab so soon?

As the man looked along the road, he spotted Roman farther ahead, still on foot. Interesting. Is he going to walk all the way home, despite the dangers in the city?

The man followed, keeping a safe distance. He didn’t want Roman to see him. Not yet. Tonight was not the night.

Roman paused when he reached the bus stop and turned. The man edged closer to the wall, keeping out of sight as Roman stuck out his hand to flag down an approaching bus.

Not a complete idiot.

He watched as the bus came to a stop and Roman boarded, paying the fee and finding a seat as it pulled away again.

The man’s breath quickened and billowed around his head as Roman was carried out of sight.

That boy was the hottest thing in Blyham, so confident and assured in his sexuality. No one else came close. None of the men he’d killed so far had excited him in this way.

The man groaned and adjusted his hard on in his jeans.

Roman’s time was coming to an end. It would not be long.

He would squeeze the life out of him and relish every delicious second.