Chapter 2 #4
Following James’ lead, the team had decided to play this fast and dirty, claim that they’d traced the original email back to its source (they hadn’t) and that the source had named Johnson as the mastermind behind it all.
Leo would need to sell it convincingly. He’d drop some details about the blokes Ms Adams had described, about the material Nate had found on Johnson’s computer and in his flat, and hopefully it would make it seem as though he knew what he was talking about.
Fuck, he was ready.
* * *
James Boyle carried a gun.
Although it was hidden underneath the man’s jacket, Joshua caught a glimpse when James led them into the conference room.
His team closed ranks just as Johnson wanted to position himself outside the door.
Several moments of indecision passed, heavy like those thumping, throbbing heartbeats that sometimes pound through movies.
Then Johnson said, “Joshua, I’ll be outside as usual. Right?” There was a nervous twitch to his left eye.
Joshua forced himself to look away quickly. “Come on in with us. Please.” He didn’t recognise his own voice.
God, he didn’t want to be here for this. Also, was James allowed to carry a gun? Joshua had heard rumours about their unorthodox working methods, something about connections in high places that led to the kind of leeway not usually allowed civilians.
God, Joshua really didn’t want to be here for this.
He dropped into a seat at the very end of the room, felt Mo and Tristan shuffle into place beside him. Under the table, Tristan’s knee knocked against his, and Mo slipped a hand onto Joshua’s thigh, squeezing in reassurance. “Game face,” he whispered.
Joshua inhaled through his teeth, then nodded.
By the time he regained a sense of control, draping it around his shoulders like a cloak, Johnson had been seated at the table with Nate standing behind him.
Something about the way Nate held himself transmitted a clear warning.
James had taken a seat at the head of the table, Ben was at the door, and Carole was flicking through some printouts, pausing now and then to shoot Johnson an unimpressed look.
The tableau was completed when Leo hopped up onto the edge of the table, looking down at Johnson with his legs dangling, his cheerful attitude at odds with the thick tension that pressed in on the room. “So,” Leo said brightly. “Let’s talk about responsible gambling, shall we?”
Johnson made a sudden move. Immediately, Nate’s hand came to rest on a spot that made Johnson groan and sag back into his seat.
“Ready?” Leo asked, just as brightly as before, perfectly unbothered by the interruption.
When Johnson sought out Joshua’s gaze, Joshua swallowed and focused on Leo instead. Joshua’s head was spinning, thoughts tumbling through empty space because oh shit, oh no, it’s true.
Johnson had been with him for three years, had replaced Paul who’d wanted to spend more time with his kids “instead of just this one royal brat here”.
Joshua himself had helped pick Johnson from a long list of applicants, and he still remembered their first encounter, where it had taken four minutes of awkward small talk before they’d fallen into a heated discussion about video games.
Joshua should watch this scene unfold. He should.
It would be a good reminder of just why he needed to be careful with his trust, but—fuck, Leo was ruthless.
It was like someone taking apart a Lego castle, removing one brick, then another, almost lovingly.
You’re done, man, just give it up. Better not hold back because your trusted associates certainly didn’t.
Oh, and speaking of trust, of being in a position of trust, how do you sleep at night, hmm?
How do you look into a mirror? By the way, does your little sister know just how fucked up you are? The debt you’re in?
Johnson’s sister. Oh, shit, his sister. Joshua had met her a couple of times and found her a lovely girl. With their parents’ early death, it had been left to Johnson, five years her senior, to raise her. She’d be devastated if she learned of this.
“How do you know about my sister?” Johnson asked, toneless. His eyes were wild.
Leo’s grin was that of a shark who’d smelled blood. “Oh, we know a lot of things. In fact, I’ve got her number right here. What do you say, should we call her?”
Joshua hated him a little. He also couldn’t look away from the tight set of Leo’s jaw, the proud tilt of his chin and the sharp blue of his eyes. The confidence he projected had Joshua feeling breathless and unhinged, deeply unsettled even though he wasn’t the focus of Leo’s attention.
The moment Johnson broke was the moment Joshua hid his face in his hands, refusing to watch. If James and his team judged him for his weakness, he didn’t care. He didn’t give a shit. How could a single day feel like a decade?
Three deep breaths, a slow count to fifteen while Tristan and Mo rubbed his back.
Then Joshua straightened and schooled his features into the closest imitation of composure he could manage.
Blankly, he listened to Johnson’s explanations and excuses, and while he could feel his bodyguard seeking out his gaze, he kept his focus on the wall, as whitewashed as his mind.
He didn’t move at all until James suggested Nate hack into the blackmailers’ computers to erase all traces of the incriminating material, after which James would use his contacts at Scotland Yard to tip them off about illegal gambling practices.
“Please do,” Joshua said, addressing James as much as Nate. With that, he dragged himself into a standing position and fought not to sway on his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, please. Tristan, Mo, could we—is there somewhere we can wait?”
“What about me?” Johnson asked, more plaintive than demanding. The sound of his voice grated against the inside of Joshua’s skull.
“What about you?” Tristan shot back, harsher than Joshua had ever heard him. “Don’t think you’re in a position to ask anything of Joshua, fuckwit.”
Briefly, Joshua met Johnson’s eyes, then blinked and looked away.
His head hurt, and it felt as though the walls were crowding in on him, crawling closer each time he blinked.
If he couldn’t trust his bodyguards, couldn’t trust anyone but his family and his two best friends—Jesus.
How could he ever close his eyes with a time bomb ticking away under his pillow?
How, how could he set one foot in front of the other without falling over?
“We’ll keep him here for now,” James said somewhere in the distance, and Johnson’s protest was shut down with quick efficiency. There was more after that, something about the need to inform George and Queen Louise, about backup security before Joshua could leave the building. He blocked it all out.
Steady and confident, Joshua. Smile. It’s all about projection, about pretending you don’t even notice the stares. You’re above the scrutiny.
Hold the pose.
It wasn’t the first time Joshua had misplaced his trust. There had been people before Johnson, false friends who’d wanted him for his status or his connections, for his family money. But this was the first time he’d been played with malicious intent.
In theory, Joshua should be on the phone right now.
If he were stronger, he’d handle the calls to his mother and George himself.
He’d be out there taking charge instead of hiding out in a tastefully decorated waiting room, trying to forget the last fifteen hours of his life while his stomach quaked at the mere idea of bringing in a replacement for Johnson.
Just like Johnson, the other two bodyguards who sometimes worked for Joshua were bound to know things that Joshua had never told them, and just like Johnson, they might one day be tempted to twist that to their own advantage.
As long as Joshua kept his sexuality a secret—as long as he was gay—he was vulnerable. A liability to the Crown.
“D’you wanna talk?” Mo asked gently, sinking into the chair next to Joshua’s.
Tristan dropped to the floor, crossed his legs and leaned back against Joshua’s calves, one of his hands wrapping around Joshua’s left ankle. “We can also shut our traps, if you prefer. Just, like. We’re here, yeah?”
“I know.” Clearing his throat, Joshua tipped his head back against the wall. His body felt heavy, heavy, heavy. “Never doubted it.”
“You didn’t? You never thought one of us might have… You know?” There was a hint of apprehension to Mo’s tone, and Joshua was quick to shake his head. Tristan, still on the floor, twisted around to look up at them. His expression was uncommonly serious.
“No,” Joshua said. He glanced from Mo to Tristan and back, repeated, “No. You wouldn’t. I mean, I wasn’t even supposed to tell you about the whole… investigation thing, like, Nate trying to find virtual traces and whatever they did. Leo told me not to tell anyone, and I told you both anyway. So.”
Neither Mo nor Tristan replied, but Joshua could feel them shifting closer, wrapping him up. He was grateful for the second-hand warmth.
* * *
Leo hesitated in front of the closed door. He’d moved past the waiting room a few times while hurrying back and forth between Nate’s office and his own, and the initial murmur of voices had died down about an hour ago. Raising his hand, he knocked gently and waited for a response. None came.
Leaning around the ficus tree Nate was fighting to keep alive, Leo peered into the room through a glass panel.
Dimly lit by a single lamp, the room’s occupants were cast in a bronze glow, asleep on the floor in a haphazard tangle of limbs, curled into each other with no space left between them.
It was sweet, sparking a distant ache in Leo’s bones.
He inhaled deeply before he went to open the door.