Chapter 9
Chapter nine
They didn’t speak on the drive to the mansion, and once they were back, Thomas marched up to his quarters in silence, stepped into the snake room and locked the door behind him.
Scott trudged down the corridor to get to his room.
He’d messed up.
He’d only wanted to help Thomas and his obvious infatuation with Russell, but all he’d done was ruin the contentment Zara had rubbed into Thomas’s high-strung body.
Thomas had been relaxed, dared Scott think it, and he’d been happy, but his meddling had soured their day together.
“I was right not to contact you after we left Brixton.”
The words hurt.
Scott would never admit how much, but they did.
It was rare prisoners got released on the same day, but they had. They went through reception together, both holding their clear plastic bags of belongings.
Scott had been about to ask whether Thomas wanted to go into town, get something proper to eat after three years of prison food, but a taxi pulled up next to the pavement.
Thomas hadn’t even looked back at him.
He hadn’t said goodbye.
He hadn’t said anything.
Scott watched with a slack jaw as Thomas climbed into the taxi, slammed the door shut and was driven out of his life.
They were cellmates, not friends, that’s what Thomas kept telling him, and Scott had never felt that more than when he watched Thomas’s taxi disappear into the distance.
Scott threw himself down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
He shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets, frowning at the wrapper that tickled his thumb.
It wasn’t a wrapper.
Scott’s heart began to thump.
He pulled out the piece of folded paper.
An unhappy face looked back at him.
He sat up fast, giving himself head rush in the process, which only made him feel more panicked.
Warren had seen them.
He’d got close enough to slip the piece of paper into his hoodie.
Scott flung himself out of bed, locking the bedroom door. He rushed to the window, yanking up the blinds to peer out.
Thomas had locked the gate.
He’d not sensed anyone following them home, and Scott liked to think he had a sixth sense for evil.
No car was parked outside of the front gate.
How had he got that close without Scott realising?
His hoodie had been on the whole time, except for when he yanked it off in the tattoo shop, and before that, at the salon.
“The salon…”
Scott pulled his phone from his jeans and called Zara’s number.
“If it’s burning or itching, remember to –”
“There’s a face in my hoodie – a drawing of one.”
Scott was overly aware he sounded hysterical.
Zara was quiet for a few seconds, then hummed. “Oh, that’s what it was.”
“What?”
“Jade put it there.”
Scott’s heart squeezed. “She did?”
“Some guy was in the salon when I went to get Jade. He said he was a good friend of yours and wanted one of us to slip the note in your hoodie. I thought it was odd but…” She sighed.
“He said it was romantic, you’d know who it was from and what it meant.
Had no idea it was a face, though. What’s it doing? Blowing a kiss, winking?”
Warren knew Scott used that salon, but he couldn’t have known Scott would be visiting that day, which meant he must’ve been watching the place, staking it out, waiting for him.
“Scott? Is everything okay?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah, fine. Thanks again for fitting us in at such short notice.”
“You’re welcome,” Zara replied. “We hope to see both of you soon.”
Scott hung up and flung himself back down on the bed.
He called the station and asked for Pauline.
“It’s Scott.”
“Scott…Scott,” she murmured. “Scott –”
“The guy who came in after a client tried to render him helpless with a shock collar.”
“Oh, I remember.”
Scott held the unhappy face above him. “Warren put a picture of an unhappy face in my pocket.”
“Like the one you claimed was on your bedroom ceiling?”
“What do you mean, claimed?”
“I went to investigate, spoke to your landlord, who let me in – no sign of a face.”
“It was there, glow in the dark.”
“I checked,” Pauline said softly. “There was nothing.”
Scott’s stomach clenched. “Has he got to you?”
“What?”
“Warren… Is he paying you?”
Pauline’s tone sharpened. “I don’t know a Warren –”
“He’s the guy who’s after me –”
“I met Anthony, though.”
Scott nipped his lip. “And what did he tell you?”
“A different version of events. He also gave us the necklace.”
“The shock collar you mean.”
“It was an ordinary gold chain with a Citrine pendant.”
“There was nothing normal about it –”
“Anthony told me you went to the bathroom and started acting erratically. He thinks you took something.”
“And you believe him?”
“He said you climbed out of the window in a panic, and he had no idea where you’d gone. He drove around looking for you –”
“He’s lying.”
“That’s what he told me happened.”
Scott’s laugh came out strangled. “He’s making me sound crazy.”
“No one is calling you crazy.”
“But you’re thinking it, aren’t you?”
Scott flared his nostrils and ended the call. He scrunched the piece of paper into his fist.
He needed to make money, fast, and the easiest way to do it was by escorting. He had regulars. A whole list of them on his phone.
He sent the same message to all of them, telling them he had a free schedule and could do them a good price.
Only one, Max, messaged back to say he no longer required Scott’s services.
Did I do something wrong?
Your boyfriend warned me off.
“Boyfriend,” Scott whispered, and the first thought that popped into his head was Thomas before he quickly squashed it. Thomas didn’t like the escorting, but he wouldn’t intervene. As long as Scott didn’t bring anyone back to the mansion, he didn’t mind.
It was Warren.
Had to be.
Scott had no idea how he’d managed to get Max’s number, but he’d found a way, like he’d found a way into Scott’s apartment, swapped the shock collar and got Anthony to lie for him.
He needed money, and so far, he’d spent more than he’d made on the salon treatments.
His page needed to go live.
He needed subscribers, and he needed content to satisfy them.
Scott heaved himself out of bed, unlocked the door, and went to the next bedroom that looked more like a studio than a place for rest.
He set a camera to record, knelt on the bed and took himself in hand.
He couldn’t get hard.
His mind was too distracted, and after twenty minutes of pulling at his flaccid cock, he collapsed back and stared up at the ceiling.
When he blinked, he saw an unhappy face glowing in an eery green, then he blinked again, and it was gone, nothing but his imagination.
Scott tipped half of the dinner onto a plate to microwave. It was Moroccan chicken, served with couscous and a Greek yoghurt and mint dip, and it tasted incredible.
Afterwards, he loaded the dishwasher but didn’t start the machine.
Thomas didn’t come out of the snake room.
Scott knocked but got no reply. He thought about taking the tunnel from the first floor but talked himself out of it.
Thomas wanted space, and it was the least Scott could do.
It surprised him that Thomas hadn’t demanded he pack his bags and leave, and he thought if he pushed too soon, it still might happen.
Scott ate breakfast and lunch alone too the next day.
He knew Thomas had moved from room to room, had heard his bedroom door lock, and the slow drag of Thomas’s feet as he headed back and forth along the corridor.
Scott made himself scarce, strolling the impressive gardens.
He steered clear of the rose bushes and ended up sat on the bench where he’d been reunited with Thomas. The fountain chucked up water, and when the wind blew Scott’s way, he sighed at the refreshing mist on his face.
He closed his eyes and tilted his chin up to feel the sun.
“Beautiful weather we’re having…”
Scott jumped to his feet. His wide eyes targeted the man standing behind him. He was elderly, wore a battered flat cap and trousers held up by braces. He had thick gloves and held a trowel, which sprinkled dirt on the ground.
“Yes,” Scott said, blinking. “It is. You must be the gardener.”
The man looked down at himself. “No. I dress like this for fun.” He snorted at his own jibe, then held out his hand to Scott. “The name is Tim.”
Scott shook his hand, only to grimace at his palm when he got it back.
Tim wrinkled his nose. “Sorry about that…those darn foxes love messing in the gravel.”
Scott gawped down at his hand. “You’re telling me this is fox shit.”
Tim stared at him blankly, then broke into a laugh. He laughed so hard it sparked a coughing fit, and Scott used his free hand to smack his back a few times.
“It’s only mud,” Tim said eventually. “You’re Thomas’s house guest?”
“He told you about me?”
Tim nodded. “He told all the staff. Put it in the group chat.”
Scott snorted. “You have a group chat?”
“We sure do. He said you were in Brixton together, and he’s letting you stay while your apartment gets fixed. He said you dropped a clanger in the toilet and took out the whole block.”
“That’s…that’s not quite what happened.”
“Really? That’s a shame. The GIFs we were all sending were quite entertaining.”
Scott looked away. “I’m sure they were. Did he say anything else about me?”
Tim shrugged. “Not a lot except under no circumstances were any of us allowed to sleep with you.” He pressed his gloved hand to his chest. “I know I’m damn irresistible, but you’ve got to control yourself. I’ll get fired if you don’t, and I kind of like this job.”
Scott smirked. “I’m holding myself back, but it’s a near thing.” He glanced at the trowel. “What are you doing?”
“A bit of weeding here and there.”
“Need some help?”
Tim’s thin eyebrows vanished beneath his hat. “I’m good with the weeding.”
“Oh.”
“But I’ve got another job you could do if you want?”
“Is it cleaning up fox shit?” Scott asked.
Tim laughed. “No, lad, that’s already done. I’ve got some nets, nice easy job of going around fishing out all the leaves, twigs, petals, and whatever debris has been swept into the ponds. How about it?”