Men of London 02 - Sight and Sinners (15 page)

His voice was flat, tired and dispirited. Taylor had heard men’s voices that sounded like that before. Like the day Bobby Meredith’s father found out his son would never be coming home. It chilled Taylor, made him remember all the voices he’d heard in his head and the sad sounds of their dying. He shivered, a full-body tremor that shook him to his core.

“Where is he?” he asked quietly. “In a hospital somewhere? Is that where you go when you turn your phone off?”

Draven was still, eyes focused on the country road ahead. They’d left the main road behind and were meandering down country lanes filled with picturesque houses and chocolate-box fields and greens. Far ahead in front, Taylor saw the back of what looked like a Bentley from the looks of the badge. This area was obviously fairly affluent.

“He’s in the Royal.” Draven finally answered. “And yes, I spend a fair amount of time there with him.”

“How bad is he?” Taylor shifted in his seat and pressed down on Draven’s leg, hoping the touch brought comfort. Draven overtook the Bentley rather adroitly and Taylor held his breath. From the driver-side window, a silver-haired man glared at them as they whizzed past smoothly.

“He’s not good. Very low on the coma scale to the point of being…” Draven’s voice caught. “Let’s just say every time I go in there it’s possible it might be the last time I see him.”

Taylor pulled in a breath in horror. “That really sucks.” He couldn’t imagine being faced with such a terrible burden. Something niggled in the back of his brain, that little second sense that told him perhaps he’d felt something about Draven’s pain already; that somehow he’d known. Draven’s next growled words made him forget that train of thought.

“It’s a nightmare, a cosmic fucking joke that someone like Jude could be like he was…he was always so lively and fun and now…” His broad shoulders shrugged. “I live in hope that one day things will get better, but it’s getting to the stage where I can’t really be positive about it anymore.” His face tightened. “The worse thing about it is not knowing if he’s in pain, if there’s anything of my little brother still living inside that body. It rips my heart out every time I see him.”

“I’d like to meet him,” Taylor murmured. “Maybe one day you’ll take me there to visit.”

Draven didn’t answer, but started to slow the car down. “This is it,” he muttered. “Drew’s place. Fancy isn’t it?”

Taylor filed away the fact that he hadn’t agreed to take him to see his brother, but let it go. There was time enough to pursue it later. At least he knew a little more about where Draven went at nights when he didn’t answer his phone. He felt sick at what Draven was going through and even worse for the young man in the hospital bed with what seemed like little chance of recovery. Taylor’s heart ached for them both but especially for his lover being left to pick up the pieces.

Taylor just wished Draven would let him help.

His sympathy at Draven’s plight was temporarily forgotten as he saw the house and felt a spark of surprise at its opulence. It could be seen set back from the road, a huge mansion of pale grey cobblestone set in what looked like a national park, with a sweeping driveway up which they now drove, through opened wrought-iron metal gates. The front door stood above a set above of regal steps, about twenty feet in width, with a stone balustrade either side.

Draven pulled up, turned off the engine and undid his seat belt.

“Wow,” Taylor exclaimed softly. “That is something. Makes my place look like a hovel.” He climbed out of the car and followed Draven, who was already striding toward the steps. Draven turned to look behind him, one eyebrow raised.

“Come on then. Let’s see who’s at home. I did call earlier to make sure Catherine was in today. I didn’t tell her to expect us. I like the element of surprise.”

“So do I,” Taylor remarked drily as he followed him up the stairs. “So don’t think I’ve forgotten about your story and meeting your brother. I’ll make sure to follow that up sometime.”

Draven turned back and stared at him with a strange look then smiled slightly and dipped his head in acknowledgement. He rang the bell and from inside, a there was a loud chiming sound. Taylor’s stomach plunged to his feet and he willed the sick feeling he had in his gut away.

There is no fucking way on this earth that you are going to pass out in front of him again. So suck it the fuck up you big baby and fight it.

There was no doubt that some of the emotions he’d originally felt around Drew’s death were present in his head, simmering bubbles of agitation and grief. He and Drew might have been occasional lovers but there was no doubt that Taylor had been very fond of him. He sometimes caught Draven watching him carefully when he talked about him. Taylor could see the curiosity in his eyes, the question there as to whether Taylor had felt more for Drew beyond being a fuck buddy. Well, the answer was yes, but it had been more of a fondness for another human being and not the overwhelming passion Taylor seemed to have for the man currently standing next to him.

There was no point in taunting himself with what-ifs, Taylor thought sadly. Perhaps in another life, he and Drew might have meant more to each other. But now they’d never know.

He took his hands out of his pockets to run fingers through his hair and just as quickly shoved them back in, not wanting to chance a reaction to the emotions running through the house, or accidentally touch anything.

Maybe I need to get myself a pair of gloves. A sexy pair of leather ones that I can tease Draven’s dick with.

He swallowed a chuckle at that thought even as his dick stirred in his pants. Draven frowned and rang the bell again. Then he knocked loudly using the brass handle fixed to the door. He stepped back and surveyed the surroundings, his keen slate eyes narrowing.

“I know someone’s home. I saw them in one of the upstairs rooms when we got out of the car.”

Taylor was impressed. “Wow. You can take the investigator out of the city but you can’t take the investigator out of the man. Are you always so observant?”

Draven grinned wolfishly. “I had noticed that slight boner in your pants. What the hell were you thinking about to put that there?”

Taylor’s mouth fell open. “You…what? Honestly?” He took a quick look down at his groin. Yes, he wasn’t particularly soft but he didn’t think anyone would have noticed his semi hard-on.

Draven snorted softly in laughter. “I tend to notice everything about you, Taylor. I really think…”

What Draven thought was cut off as the door opened and a man’s voice said, “Yes? Can I help you?”

Taylor thought he’d stepped out into the pages of a detective novel written by Agatha Christie, one of his favourite authors. It was the man he’d seen at the funeral. He looked like the archetypical butler, grey hair, regal bearing, dressed in a white shirt and a black suit. His rather bushy eyebrows were raised, and he had a rather querulous expression on his face.

Draven stepped forward. “My name is Draven Samuels and I was a friend of Drew’s. This is my friend, Taylor Abelard. He also knew Drew. We’re here to pay our respects to Catherine and see how she is. I did call ahead and told someone I’d be stopping by and to expect us.”

Taylor opened his mouth to say something about that outright lie then shut it. A sneaking pride suffused his body at the effortless way his lover lied so smoothly and confidently. Then he thought about possibly being on the receiving end of Draven’s lying mastery one day and his admiration turned to apprehension.

The man at the door sighed heavily. “Well, please do come in. No one told me we were expecting visitors. Catherine’s been a bit distraught today and my daughter isn’t very good at dealing with things.”

Draven nodded. “I’m sorry. Would you prefer we came back another time then?”

God, Draven is so charming, even when he’s suggesting something he doesn’t really want to do.

Not the butler, Catherine’s father. He shook his head. “No, don’t worry. To be honest, I’d be glad of the male company. Being surrounded by a bunch of hysterical females gives me somewhat of a headache. My wife and daughter have been a bit of a trial.” He beckoned to Draven to enter. Taylor followed close behind, feeling empathy for Catherine at the same time he felt the start of dislike for the man currently showing them in.

The woman lost a husband, for God’s sake. The man could have a little bit of patience, surely?

From the flaring of Draven’s nostrils, Taylor thought he felt the same way. He fidgeted, trying to suppress the emotions that coated him like soft ash, settling on his skin and making him itch. To distract himself, he stared around the palatial entrance hall, with marbled floors, fancy, ornate light fittings and a long flight of stairs that seemed to lead up to the next level. It was plush, luxurious and so unlike the Drew he’d known that he felt a little gobsmacked. His Drew had been happy to eat takeout from Chinese-labelled containers, lie on the wet spot and listen to music on his iPhone while lolling on the lumpy hotel couch. This all seemed too extravagant for the man and Taylor guessed more of the house décor was to do with Catherine’s needs, not Drew’s.

“Are you okay?” Draven said quietly. “Not going to weird out on me, are you?”

Taylor shook his head. “As long as I keep my hands in my pockets, I’ll be fine. It’s a little overwhelming, but I’m managing.”

Draven regarded him with a concerned look then turned back as the man at his side extended a hand.

“Jack Threadcourt. As I said, I’m Catherine’s dad.”

Draven shook his hand. “Glad to meet you, sir. I’m really sorry about Drew. He was a good man.”

Jack’s face darkened. “I thought he was. Then we found about his other, ahem…preferences. I wouldn’t have minded if he’d come clean and told us he was gay and had some rather dubious habits. Instead he chose to cheat on my daughter then killed himself when someone found out. I think that was the coward’s way out.”

He turned and walked toward one of the rooms off the entrance hall. “Let me see if I can find Catherine. She was sleeping in the lounge while my wife watched over her. If you two gentleman would like to wait in the conservatory, I’ll let her know you’re here. It’s that room over there.” He waved a hand in the direction of a sun-drenched room to his right and strode off.

Taylor’s knees threatened to give way at that. His old insecurity about him being a slut and pandering to Drew’s needs reared to the fore. And yes, Drew might have had other options than pulling the trigger but who knew what was in the mind of a man who had had a deep, dark secret of the kind he had.

Draven moved over to his side, his presence a comfort, and gave Taylor’s arm a slight squeeze. “You didn’t encourage him and you are not a slut.” Draven’s whispered words were a balm to Taylor’s soul. “So take that panicked look off your face and man up.”

Taylor gave him a grateful glance.

How the hell does he do that? Can he read my damn mind? God, how weird would that be, both of us being
special.

Draven grasped his elbow and led him over to the waiting room. They both sat down on plush seats made of some very expensive-looking fabric and waited.

*****

Draven watched Taylor closely. He knew the man well enough by now to see the constant fidgeting, the slight frown marking that expressive face, the full lips pressed together as Taylor tried to suppress whatever it was he was feeling. He could see Taylor was uncomfortable being in Drew’s house; not just for the emotions he seemed to be picking up, but for the fact that he felt like a thief in the night stealing another man away from his family, even if only for sex and companionship. Not for the first time, Draven wondered exactly how close Drew and Taylor had been. To hear Taylor say it, they’d been occasional fuck buddies, albeit fond of each other and that was it. However, Taylor’s reactions seemed to indicate more than that. Draven felt a prickle of jealousy and he quelled it, admonishing himself internally for being jealous of a dead man.

They both started as a loud wail echoed from a room on the other side of the house, somewhere in the bowels of the mansion. It was a cry rent with grief and pain.

“No, Daddy. I can’t do this anymore. Tell them to leave, tell them to go. Please.” The sound dissolved into heart-rending sobs. Draven shivered when he heard it—even more so when he saw Taylor’s reaction to the sound. Taylor went ghostly white, his dark eyes shadowing and his hands incessantly moving in his pockets. The agitated stare levelled at Draven told him everything he needed to know. This must be the woman whose voice Taylor had heard in his vision—Drew’s wife, Catherine.

He moved closer to his lover, reaching out to touch an arm that felt like whipcord, taut and immovable. It was as if Taylor was set in granite. Draven felt a sense of unease at the small movements of Taylor’s bloodless lips, as if he was chanting a prayer or incanting something to ward off evil spirits. He gripped Taylor’s chin firmly, forcing him to look at him.

“That’s the woman’s voice you heard?” he murmured as Taylor nodded jerkily and then closed his eyes, his face stilling. Draven cursed softly as he recognised all the signs of one of Taylor’s classic meltdowns. He expected the man to fall unconscious to the floor at any minute.

“Taylor.” He shook him hard; gripping his arm, leaving what he was sure would be bruises. He needed to stop what was happening. “Look at me. Look at me!”