Wanting (12 page)

“No, thanks. We’re fine waiting out here.”

“Righty ho.”

Mr Littleworth disappeared through a doorway to the left then came back, tartan slippers on and a set of keys in hand. He opened a door beneath the stairs to the right then pulled out a jacket. He shirked into it, the fleece lining looking like it would be warm on his bare arms.

“Come on then,” he said, stepping out and pushing between them. “I’d like to make this quick cos the footy’s on in a bit.”

Oliver and Langham followed him to the van. Mr Littleworth handed Langham the keys and stayed with Oliver on the tree-lined path as the detective opened the back doors and peered inside.

“Weird business, this,” Mr Littleworth remarked, sniffing. “You don’t expect your van to get nicked then put back, do you.”

“No. I think you’ll find it’ll need to be taken away,” Oliver said. “Have you got other means of transport?”

Mr Littleworth nodded. Sniffed again. “Yeah, got another couple of vans down the yard, but it’s not the point, is it? Pisses me off that someone feels they’ve got the right to pinch me motor.”

“And you didn’t see them take it, didn’t hear the engine start?” Oliver watched Langham climb into the back of the van.

“That’s the weird thing, see.” Mr Littleworth twitched his nose. “Like, I was awake till late, would have heard the engine start cos it’s a noisy fucker. Kind of does this popping thing, gives a bit of a strangled splutter, know what I mean?”

Oliver nodded. “And you didn’t hear it?”

“No. Reckon they must have pushed it up the road or something. I did have the thought it must have been someone who knew the van made that noise, but then I told meself I was just being a daft sod and to pack it in.”

Oliver went cold, and goosebumps assaulted his skin without warning. The roots of his hair seemed to waver, as though something was telling him that what Mr Littleworth had said was right. Holding a hand up so the man didn’t speak again, Oliver walked to the rear of the van and stared inside. Langham was crouched by the right-hand-side door, frowning as he looked at the spot his torch beam illuminated.

“Mr Littleworth just said something interesting,” Oliver said quietly, relating the bit about the car being taken by someone who knew it made strange noises when being started.

“Oh really?” Langham jumped out and closed the doors. “I can’t find anything in there. Forensics will have to give it a good going over.” He walked to where Mr Littleworth stood. “I’ll need a full list of the people you work with, if that’s possible, sir.”

“More than possible,” Mr Littleworth said. “I can give you names and addresses. I’m the boss, see, so I know where every single one of them lives.” He started walking towards his path and said over his shoulder, “Come on then. Like I said, the footy’s on soon. I don’t want to miss Man United giving Arsenal some welly, know what I mean?”

* * * *

Mr Littleworth had two bald employees, so Oliver and Langham started with them. One was a portly man in his fifties. As Adam or Dane hadn’t mentioned any of the men they’d seen as being of the bulky persuasion, and he had the alibi of playing after-hours darts down The Golden Swan off Drummond Road until four-thirty in the morning, they discounted him. The other, a Martin Eggleton, wasn’t in at the time they called, but a middle-aged female neighbour kindly, and with much excitement, lost no time in telling them he was a weird sod who came and went at odd hours and ate a lot of Indian takeaways. Oh, and pizza too, pepperoni—she knew that because once there’d been a circle of meat on the lid when the man in question had tossed the box out onto the path for the recycle collection.

“Reckon he has something to do with it?” Oliver asked as they made their way back to the station so Langham could file a couple of reports. He hoped Eggleton was guilty so they could sort this shit out and get back to normal—normal until the next case, that was.

“Who knows,” Langham said on a sigh. “Can’t be sure until we speak to him. Get him down the station. If he gets antsy when we ask him to be in a line-up so Adam and Dane can see if they recognise him, we’ll be closer to knowing whether he’s just a weird git who doesn’t like cooking for himself or if he’s been up to no good.”

“Wonder when he’ll turn up?” Oliver mused, licking his lips in anticipation of the hot, if somewhat over-stewed coffee back at the station. It was better than a kick in the teeth, and he needed the caffeine. Looked like it was going to be a long night.

“Time will tell. The officer sitting in an unmarked outside his place will let us know when Eggleton’s back.”

They reached the station and went inside, Langham waylaid by another detective on the case. Oliver left him to it, striding down the hall towards Langham’s office. He stopped to fill a Styrofoam cup with jet black coffee along the way. He dumped three sugar cubes in it for good measure—it would take the bitter taste away—and took a seat behind Langham’s desk, smiling at the recollection of the last time he’d done that and what had followed—the first time Langham had let Oliver know he was interested.

He leant back, thankful when his head met the top of the seat, and closed his eyes. It had been a bitch of a day, full of revelations, those revelations coming much faster than the ones in the first murder. The deaths were related, no two ways about it, and he could only hope they managed to wrap this up before a third was committed. Somewhere out there was a gay man, minding his own business, unaware he might already be in the sights of a bunch of bald-headed killers with a mind to chain him up, whip him and force him to suck their dicks. Or had their plans expanded? Would they do other things to him like they had with Jason Drum? Did they have a list of what they’d try next with each kill?

Not knowing had Oliver sighing with frustration. Jason Drum and Thomas Brentworth were keeping what they knew to themselves—or maybe they weren’t able to get through to Oliver for some reason or other. Whatever—he wished they could, wished they’d give him a bit more to go on, otherwise, what was the point in him even being there?

“Get on the bed, arse up, legs spread,” Dane snapped, looming in the bedroom doorway, an ‘I’m-full-of-control’ air about him.

Adam stood at the foot of the bed, the T-shirt he’d just taken off dangling from one hand, his mouth dropping open. He’d never seen Dane like this before, so forceful, and it took him a few seconds to process it. Accept it. Yeah, Adam had known he had a dominant streak, that he wanted to be a fully fledged Dom, but he made Adam uneasy. Adam had a mind to tell him being such a prick didn’t suit Dane, but he didn’t want to hurt his feelings or see the return of the scowl that had been on his forehead so much lately. At least now Dane appeared all right, de-stressed with nothing on his mind except making Adam submit.

At least he wasn’t angry.

“Are you going to disobey me
again?
” Dane asked, straightening his shoulders and puffing out his chest, gestures that really didn’t look good on him.

“Uh, no.” What else could Adam say? He’d suggested they do this, for fuck’s sake, and if he butted in, told Dane he wasn’t doing it right—or how Adam had envisaged things going at any rate—he’d prove Dane right again. That he couldn’t take being submissive and doing as he was told.

This stank of something else, though. More than D/s, more than bedroom power play. This, Adam thought, was Dane trying to regain control of Adam as a whole, making him go back to how he was before they’d moved here. And that wasn’t good, was it. Dane should be glad Adam wasn’t scared anymore, didn’t need to ask for support at every turn, was learning to handle his emotions better. If Dane wanted the old Adam back, he’d have a bloody long wait.

He wasn’t ever going to allow himself to be that person again.

If Dane loves me like he says he does, he’ll support the new me.

That thought wasn’t one Adam had intended thinking, but it had come, landed in his head and stood there now, screaming loud and proud, feet stamping. As Adam battled to make it go away, and the horrible, head-dizzying feeling that arrived with it, Dane’s forehead creased.

Shit.

Adam scrambled out of his jeans and onto the bed, getting into the pose Dane had ordered. It would be okay, wouldn’t it, if he let this happen, if he tried—really tried, damn it—to be what Dane wanted him to be? He reversed that all-knowing thought, turned it around and applied it to himself—
If I love Dane like I say I do, I’ll want to make him happy by doing what he wants.

It didn’t work. Adam knew that Dane shouldn’t expect him to be someone he wasn’t just to keep him happy. He shouldn’t want Adam doing something he wasn’t comfortable with—although Dane didn’t know he was uncomfortable right now.

I’ll try it. Like I said to myself earlier, before I’d got this new courage, got a handle on things, the only place I had control was in the bedroom. Surely now I can switch it around? Have control in my life and none in bed?

But that wasn’t right either. He didn’t know much about BDSM, but he
did
know a sub was the one with all the control. It just appeared that the Dom had it. Dane didn’t know everything he needed to know in order for this to work, and that was what had Adam uneasy. Adam didn’t know enough either. Should they give it a miss tonight, do some research and see what the real lifestyle was all about before progressing with it? Then again, Adam didn’t want the full lifestyle, just a bit of it, but going by Dane’s attitude tonight, he was going for the full works.

He knelt then dropped forward, crossed his arms on the mattress, rested his head on top of them.
On the bed. Arse up, legs spread.
Dane gave a grunt of what Adam could only assume was approval, and Adam closed his eyes, wondering what the fuck would come next.

“You’re going to do as you’re told, when you’re told,” Dane said, his tone brooking no argument. “This time, for once in our relationship, you’re going to give it a damn good go being what I want.”

For once in our relationship? Have I really been that selfish, taking and not giving? What about what I want and need? Doesn’t that come into it?

“You’re going to obey me, Adam, understand?”

Adam nodded, unsure whether it was okay to speak. Dane hadn’t said—hadn’t set any rules, and Adam supposed that was one of the reasons for his discomfort. There had to be limits, stipulations, surely, a time where if Adam couldn’t take it anymore he’d be free to become more dominant himself or, if it got too bad, stop play altogether.

“Now, I’m going to smack your arse like they whipped that man.”

Adam quickly lifted his head and looked over his shoulder at Dane, still in the doorway. “Fuck are you!” He sat so his arse was well and truly out of bounds.

Dane sighed, his frown growing deeper. “See? You just can’t do it, can you? Can’t keep your mouth shut when it comes to us doing this.”

Adam stared at him. Who was this man? Who had he become? “If you don’t understand why I said no, then you’re not who I thought you were.” Adam got off the bed, struggling into his clothes with the intent of sleeping in the spare bed until Dane either came to his senses or they—or they split, whichever came first.

He buttoned his jeans and slung his T-shirt back over his head, pushing his arms inside. They got caught up, making him want to scream in frustration, but he fought until he got the top on. Dane not responding meant he was probably angry, confused, or both, but Adam didn’t give much of a fuck. He wasn’t going to be treated as though his feelings didn’t matter. They might have been a couple for a long time, but he didn’t have to put up with this. Wouldn’t.

He made to push past Dane, but Dane wouldn’t let him go any farther.

“Where are you going?” Dane asked, his eyes wild, his body posture indicating his anger.

“I’m going to sleep elsewhere.” Adam tried to slip past again, but the doorjamb prevented his escape.

“What did you mean, I’m not who you thought I was?” Dane asked, gripping Adam’s arms. “How can I be who you want me to be if you don’t tell me what you want?”

“How can I tell you when every time I try you just scowl or act as though what I want is deliberately going against what
you
want? I can’t do this sub-in-the-bedroom bollocks, all right? We’ve tried it before and failed, and just now, well, I wasn’t comfortable right from the start but wanted to give it a go anyway. For
you.
Because it would have made
you
happy. Isn’t that what it’s
supposed
to be like?”

“So what changed? What made you change your mind?”

Dane glared. Adam glared right back, chest heaving, breaths coming out of him in angry bursts.

“You! You stood there with this look.”

“What look? What the fuck are you on about?”

“The look you have now! Angry, mean, Adam will do as I say because that’s the way it’s going to be! Well, it isn’t, all right? Adam
isn’t
going to do as he’s told. Adam has
changed
, for the better, and if you can’t deal with that then…then—”

“Then what?” Dane gripped harder.

“Then I can’t see us continuing, can you? If we’re both going in different directions, both wanting something else, then there’s no fucking point!”

“Jesus! Where did that come from? Bit of a bolt from the blue, isn’t it? We were fine until we moved here. Fuck, I had a feeling we shouldn’t have come, but I did it for
you
. To make
you
happy. I didn’t want to leave the fucking city.” Dane let Adam go with a rough push and stepped aside.

Adam left the room, racing downstairs, wanting to get away from Dane and the spiteful look on his face, except that face followed him, imprinted in his mind, and grew so much worse, so much bigger as he fled into the kitchen.

I’m going mental. Fucking going mental!

He squeezed his eyes shut, stomach muscles contracting at the sound of Dane following him.

Please, just leave me the fuck alone for five minutes. Let me…let me breathe!

“Why didn’t you want me to whip you?” Dane asked, voice calmer now, though it still held a hint of irritation. “I don’t understand you these days…”