Chase - Flora Dain

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takes one look around him and his eyes fill with tears of rage and frustration. ‘For fuck’s sake, Darnley, what’s the fucking matter with you? These are friends of mine. Film people. I got a possible film deal here, man. My first big break. And you have to go shit all over it with your fucking goons, you fucking megalomaniac control-freak.’

      His voice is shrill now, his face contorted like an angry toddler taking home his ball. I half expect him to stamp his foot.

      He may be outplayed but he still has the power to wound. His eyes flash. ‘And next time you torture your girlfriend while you’re boning her at least have the decency to treat her to some fucking Band-Aids afterwards, not solid freakin’ gold cuffs. Then maybe she’ll freakin’ heal, you freakin’ perverted freak.’

      Darnley stands very still, his face stony as his men gather round us in a silent, solemn ring. From the house we hear protesting cries as more unseen visitors are rounded up and herded down the steps towards us, swelling the crowd.

      All eyes instantly fasten on our little group, Darnley at its centre, his controlled fury like a force field.

      In the tense silence he turns slowly to face me, his expression unreadable. ‘Go to the Lincoln Suite and stay there. This won’t take long. I’ll catch you later.’

      I quail at the rage I sense building under his calm surface. I’m scared to speak in front of all these people but I give a faint nod to convey to him that I get he has things to do – Wolfe things – and our loving reunion must wait.

      Unexpectedly he folds his hand slowly round my neck, tilts up my chin with his thumb and kisses me on the mouth. ‘See you later.’ His look is so intense, his touch so gentle, we might be alone here.

      The others look on in silence.

      He releases me slowly. His touch lingers in a statement of power, some kind of primitive signal to everyone here about territory or ownership. I’m unfamiliar with the finer points of male stand-offs but I feel a tiny spark of pride that he’s marked me out for this one.

      As I make my way to the Lincoln Suite I’m already winding down when I hear voices. What?

      In the doorway to our rooms I stand very still. There are three women in here. Two are casually eyeing up the Kandinsky, the other is sprawled on our bed. Her bright kaftan and fluorescent headband look outlandish, Greenwich Village going on Woodstock. They stop talking and look me up and down. One of them flicks a cigarette into a flower vase where it smoulders unpleasantly.

      ‘What do you want?’ A tall girl with sandals and a jutting chin scowls at me.

      ‘You’re in my room,’ I say evenly.

      She arches an eyebrow. ‘Oh, yeah? Who says? We got here first. Go find one of your own.’

      Just then Bullen, Darnley’s driver, pushes past me.

      ‘Security alert, ladies. Everyone’s to report outside.’

      They look affronted but Bullen’s blank stare and prominent holster are very persuasive. He turns to me and lowers his voice.

      ‘Two gunmen spotted heading this way, ma’am. One may be in the woods, one in the house. We’ve been ordered to clear the area.’

      I make an effort to keep a straight face. Gunmen?

      The women look scared as he herds them towards the door and sweeps the room with a professional two-handed gun pointed into corners, cupboards and even under the bed. Another guard appears and looks on in silence as Bullen checks the other rooms in the suite and then comes back to the door, his face solemn.

      As I watch something clicks: G2. Two gunmen? Was that some kind of code?

      The women push past me in their haste to get away. The other man follows them like a watchful sheepdog, ensuring they stay in line.

      Bullen lingers in the doorway for a moment. ‘It’s OK, ma’am, it’s safe for you. I’ll send one of the maids to clean up.’

      ‘Thank you, Bullen. I appreciate that. Er, G2?’

      His cliff-face settles into its familiar stony mask. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

      While the maid’s changing the bed I watch from the window as the unscripted visitors are herded out onto the driveway and driven away. Eldon looks on helplessly, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Finally he and Darnley walk back into the house, Eldon still muttering angrily, Darnley in tight-lipped silence. They head for the sitting room and slam the door. I hear angry voices.

      This may take a while.

      Some three hours later, it’s well after midnight. I’ve washed and showered, filed my nails and applied some scent, caught up on some emails and checked over some lessons for the new semester, but Darnley’s still a no-show. What’s taking him so long?

      I’m desperately sorry for him. He was looking forward to seeing Eldon again. Things between the brothers have always been stormy. Now it looks like they’re set to get a whole lot worse.

      I get into bed, switch off the light and try to sleep.

      Much later I can still hear voices. With a sigh I slip into a wrap and tiptoe downstairs. I frown at a sudden burst of laughter from the sitting area. Quietly I peep round the doorway and hold my breath at the scene before me.

      Eldon’s stretched out on one long sofa, hands behind his head. He’s partway through some joke, a pretty filthy one by the sound of it, his voice low and slurred and thick with laughter as he closes in on the punchline.

      Darnley sprawls opposite, long legs straight out before him. The low table between them holds several beer cans, some upright, others at crazy angles. They roll on their sides, glinting in the low, flickering light from the fire. There are more empty cans on the floor.

      As I watch, Eldon’s punchline arrives in an explosion of laughter from them both. Darnley leans forward and cracks open another can.

      I tiptoe silently away, smiling now. I’ve lost my lover for tonight but it’s in a good cause.

      Darnley’s found his brother.

      I wake up in a shaft of sunshine, my face rammed into my pillow. The glare of the snowy linen almost hurts my eyes so I close them and drift off again. My arms are stretched around something. The dream is fading now but I strain to call it back, I was enjoying that … I was dreaming I was with Darnley, my face buried in his chest.

      Something else hurts too. It takes me a few moments to work out what.

      It’s my bum. It stings and burns in the hot sun. Someone’s stroking it, their firm touch turning the cruel stripes I got yesterday into burning, fiery gold.

      I can almost smell him, his dark, animal aroma that lurks under his crisp aftershave like a predator, firing me into pounding arousal whenever I least expect it.

      ‘Hey.’

      Shit. He is here. My eyes snap open and now I’m fully awake and his hands are on my backside, warm, stroking, sending waves of pleasure through me even though they remind me of the ferocity of that switch. That hurt. And what was more, if I’m completely honest, that was hot. And now his loving caresses are lulling me back to dreamland …

      ‘Wake up.’ To make sure of this he slips his hand deep between my legs and presses, his fingers searching into my private places, his touch, like his closeness, sparking instant arousal. Everywhere down south starts to throb.

      Fully awake now I slide my arms out from under the pillow I’ve been hugging. I blink, dazzled, and then snap to attention.

      I’m still wearing the bracelets. He keeps the key but he’s not removed them.

      His low murmur flows around me, rich and dark. ‘I told you to wait up. Sleeping on duty? Disgraceful. You’re a very bad girl.’

      He grins as he hauls me over him and finds my

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