Luis had slept with other men and spent the night in their beds, but he’d never been so consumed by someone, so fixated on every little thing about them. Paolo slept like a dead man, so he often didn’t notice Luis creeping on him at night, counting his breaths, and playing with his soft, dark curls. Luis had always loved that about him, but he resented it now, for robbing him of the chance to see Paolo smile one last time. Cos Lord knew, he was going to be fucking fuming when he woke up to find Luis had bailed on him for good.
You don’t deserve his anger. You don’t deserve anything from him.
But God, Luis loved him . . . loved him so much he’d almost blurted it out in the park, and again when Paolo had fucked him so sweetly Luis had been close to tears with the pleasure. Luis could still feel it now, the profound heat, the wonder, the love. And the grief at letting it go. He fought to regain the numbness that had carried him through recovering from a beatdown with a metal pipe and six long years of the same four walls. Dug deep for it, scraping the pit of his soul.
The very worst of himself wasn’t that hard to find, but the apathy was more elusive.
Dante said something.
Luis blinked at him. “What?”
“Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”
They drove on into the city. There was a big furniture store close to the motorway. Dante pulled into a space at the very back of the car park and shut the engine off. “We walk from here.”
“Walk where?”
“A mile that way, to the house by the train station.”
“Where’s the package?”
“Under your seat.”
Of course it was. Luis should’ve guessed that it would’ve been on him if they’d been stopped on route. That it was still on him, even now. “You haven’t even touched it, have you? There’s some kid’s prints all over it instead of yours.”
“Stop bitching and saddle up.”
Luis sensed the shift in Dante’s mood, and finally, the man who watched daytime TV in his underwear faded away, leaving behind the hard-faced bully who’d ruled Luis’s life for as long as Luis could remember. Manipulative and cold, Dante was everything Luis despised, and hate bubbled in his chest again.
He rummaged under the seat and fished out a tape wrapped package. It was bigger than he’d expected, enough to score him another six years in the box. He held it out to Dante.
Dante smirked. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re a pussyhole,” Luis growled. “If you want me to carry this shit, you gotta give me your coat.”
He’d never been more thankful that he’d left everything Paolo had ever given him behind—the phone, the hoodie. Dante took his coat off and handed it over. Luis put it on and gagged. “You smell like a wet dog.”
“Whatever. Let’s go.”
They’d left the wet weather in London. Grey skies remained but without the wind and pelting rain. Dante checked the maps app on his phone and pointed west. “It’s that way.”
Luis rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You tapped the address into your phone? You’re fucking green, man. No wonder you never rolled on the street.”
Goading Dante was almost as stupid as a bullshit plan to mule drugs on foot through a retail park, but here they were. They followed the direction on Dante’s phone and braved the underpasses crowded with tents and sleeping bags—the homeless not yet ready to face the day.
Luis wasn’t ready either, but events had overtaken him.
The route Dante had mapped out hadn’t taken account for the fact that they were on foot. Half a mile into their trek, they came to the busy A road.
“We have to cross it,” Dante said.
Luis shot him a dark look. “You want to jaywalk across a dual carriageway at rush hour? Fuck it, we might as well do it naked if we’re trying to draw attention to ourselves.”
“Don’t you think you’ve been naked enough recently?”
Luis’s hands itched to close around Dante’s throat. He stepped up, pressing his forehead to Dante’s, forcing him to stumble towards the oncoming traffic. “Say that shit again, I’ll fucking kill you.”
Dante held his stare for a brave moment, then sensibly backed off. “There’s no bridge. We don’t have a choice.”
Story of my fucking life. Luis turned away from Dante and stomped along the roadside, scanning both directions for the safest place to cross. Dante had brought them to a suicidal bend, but a straight stretch was up ahead.
Keeping a sharp eye out for transport police, Luis dashed across the first carriageway to the central reservation without looking to see if Dante followed him. The southbound lane was busier, but perched between the two, dithering time was limited. A break came, and he ran again, not stopping until he slid into the ditch on the other side.
Wet mud mottled his jeans, and brambles scratched his skin. Ridiculousness struck him, and he laughed as he scrambled to his feet. Maybe this isn’t real. Maybe I’ll wake up and it’ll be one of those fucked-up dreams after a dope-smoke session.
Only problem with that theory was that Luis didn’t smoke anymore. He’d left the cigarettes he’d bought the day before unopened on Paolo’s bedroom floor. They were probably in the bin by now, unless he’d upset Paolo enough for him to smoke them.
Don’t flatter yourself. As if you’re worth it.
Dante joined Luis in the ditch. Luis walked on without looking his way. They had four fields to cross before they hit civilisation again, and the rain had finally caught up with them.
Eventually, they reached the train station. Still busy with morning commuters, it was easy to blend into the crowds, even covered in mud. And Luis was used to walking with his head down, hands in his pockets. Dante, not so much. He liked to be noticed, and he didn’t know how to be inconspicuous.
“Stop looking at people,” Luis growled. “You want them to remember you?”
“What?”
“Every fucker that walks past, you meet their eye. Don’t.”
Dante stared at him like he was a mutant. “You don’t think peeps will notice us if we both look like serial killers?”
Luis made an effort to soften his features, but it was hard to dial down the murder when Dante was this close. “Whatever. Where’s the house? I want to be done with this shit.”
“It’s not a house.”
“You said it was.”
“I lied. It’s an underground snooker club.”
“Why would you—you know what? Never mind. Just tell me where it is.”
Dante shrugged and pointed across the road. “It’s right there.”
Luis swung his gaze to the boarded-up snooker hall on the opposite side of the street. It was as big of a shithole as the neighbourhood they’d left behind. “For real?”
Dante moved to cross the street. “Said so, didn’t I?”
Luis caught his arm. “Wait. We need to scope the place out first.”
“Why?”
“Because only a dumbfuck wouldn’t. How many times have we fucked people over on an exchange? You think we’d have got away with that if they’d planned a way out first?”
“This isn’t Platoon, fam.”
“It’s not Waitrose either, and you made me do this with you for a reason. Cos you knew I was the only person who wouldn’t walk into it blind. So either listen to me or take this food in there your own damn self.”