Chapter 5

Petter hung around for a couple of hours. I mopped the floor, and put his jeans and underwear in the wash, then the dryer. We drank coffee and ate toast. We didn't talk much. I told myself I couldn't change my opinion of him. He was still the president of our rival that we were trying to do a deal with. Just because I'd fucked him and he liked it, we weren't suddenly friends. But it didn't stop me wishing things were different. That I was free to do this with him whenever I wanted. That he wasn't a family man who apparently fucked men on rare occasions. I wanted to ask him about that, but I doubted he'd answer me. It wasn't the time to talk about anything personal, if it ever would be.

I drove him back to the bar to collect his motorcycle, and he exited the car without a word. Then I went home and worked in my office for a while. I didn't want to be around the others. All I could think about was Petter Hill's body, and the fact that I'd had sex with him. I wanted it again, so fucking badly. It had only been—I glanced at my watch—three hours since I left him outside the bar, and damn, I wanted to see him again. I had to get that thought out of my head. It was done. There would be no going back for more. I'd got what I wanted, and I had to forget it.

Two days later, the newspaper had an article on the second page entitled "Local Gang Member Found Castrated and Shot." The grainy black and white photograph showed a fair-haired man in a Mobsters jacket. The few paragraphs of writing told me he was Erik Odder, aged twenty-four, a junior member of the Mobsters motorcycle gang. The police had no leads and could only assume he had fallen foul of a rival gang. The case was closed.

I went to the top of the stairs and looked down. A moment later, Laura walked down the corridor and I called to her. "Laura, come up here, please."

Immediately, she changed direction and hurried up the stairs towards me. I held the door of my office wide, and she stepped through. I followed, closed the door, and sat behind my desk.

"How are you?" I asked.

"I'm okay, thank you, Davor." As usual, she stared at the floor.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you. Have some pride in yourself," I said, not sternly.

She raised her head and stared at a point around my chin, her face flushing. I pushed the newspaper across the desk, folded to show the article about Erik Odder. "Is this him?"

She gasped and bent to read the article. When she straightened up, she met my eyes for the first time in two years. "That's him. Did you do that?"

"No. One of his own did when they found out what he'd done. You never have to worry about him again, okay?"

"Okay." Suddenly, she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, her gaze still locked with mine. "I want to join the Family," she said. "I'm not a victim. Or at least, I don't want to be. I want to learn to be like the others. Like Pawel, and Jovan, and Stefan. Can I do that?"

I smiled. "I think that can be arranged. You're a good girl, Laura. I think you'd be an asset to us once you toughen up a bit."

"Thank you." She nodded and left the room.

I turned the newspaper around again and reread the article. Had Petter done this himself? I wanted to talk to him, but that would be impossible. I had to forget the stupid idea I kept having about getting my hands on him again. I had to put him out of my mind and find someone to be with. The only contact I should have with him, was about business.

I went out to a bar a week later; not the one where I met Markus. I was extremely wary about being out in a place like that at all. I had my gun under my jacket, and I didn't let my drink out of my sight for a second. I looked at every guy who came near me as if they were a potential rapist, or sex-trader. I probably looked dangerous and no one approached me, apart from one drunk guy who wouldn't have been my type even if he was sober. I left after an hour.

I'd parked my car down the street, and I marched to it in a temper of frustration and annoyance, mainly at myself. I wasn't a weak man, but my experience had made me weak, at least in relation to picking up men. I would have to find some other way to hook up, although doing it via the Internet had never appealed.

I slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door closed. A second later, I had the muzzle of a gun in my ear. I froze.

"Drive." That was all he said.

I started the engine, flicked on the lights, and pulled the car away from the kerb. "Where are we going?" I glanced in the rear-view mirror. Petter's face was half hidden in the shadows, but I could still make out the smirk. My pulse quickened and suddenly I felt hot all over. I lowered my head so he wouldn't see me grin.

"Your place."

"You know, you could have called."

"And said what?" He paused. "Maybe I thought you deserved some payback."

"I thought we were about even. Your man hurt my girl. You—I presume it was you—taught him a lesson. What happened in between—well, it seemed like we both enjoyed that."

Petter withdrew the gun. "I wanted to make sure you knew I dealt with it."

"It was in the paper," I reminded him. "Was it you?"

"Of course not. I wouldn't dirty my hands with something like that. One of my men did it."

"Okay. We covered that. You still want to go to my place?" We were almost there, I realised, as I turned into the street.

"There's something else I wanted to ask you about."

"What? The deal? Because we need to sort that out."

"Let's get inside. I've been freezing my arse off for an hour, waiting for you to come out of that fucking bar."

I chuckled. "You could have come inside."

"A gay bar? Not fucking likely."

"How do you meet men, then?"

"Online, and not very often."

"Okay." I parked the car and got out. Petter got out too. There was no sign of his gun now, and I guessed it was in the back of his leather trousers under his jacket. My heart pounded as we rode up in the lift. I wondered if this was going to go the way I hoped it would. Had he liked it so much he wanted more, and couldn't stop himself? I fucking hoped so.