It was nearly noon before Alex finally rested on the beach, after three hours in the waves. The secluded cove was more crowded than usual, mostly guests staying over at the Musician enjoying the September sun on the private beach. Then Alex noted a familiar face "Michael?"
The famous london photographer turned to look at a young man, it took a couple of seconds to recognize the teenager in the wetsuit. "Good God! Is that stunning surfer, Alex Rider? Were you at the party last night? I don't remember seeing you. I heard people talk about you and some old fart that was nailing you."
Alex shrugged with a half grin on his face at the description of his love as an old fart, Sergei would not be amused about that. "The old fart was my lover Sergei, Sergei Rushkov. No, we have not been invited back to the Musician's house since we were invited over in August". That fact had not surprised Alex, he had hardly been sintilating company, even if Sergei had been his charming usual self. It was Alex's hatred of crowds and people that had made him act like a frightened child.
The rumours at the Musician's house had not been at all nice about Rushkov and his obsessive and controlling relationship with a fragile and disturbed teenager. "Well, yes. So where is this Sergei then?"
"Half way to Iran, I think. He left at 6am" Alex not really wanting to talk about this. Looked at the calming waves and then closed his eyes and relaxed with the hot midday sun on his face. His high factor sun cream, meaning he would not be covered in awful freckles.
"So you're at a loose end?" Michael questioned.
"A bit" said Alex shrugging again.
"You up for some work or too busy surfing." With a billionaire boyfriend, Alex was definitely in the category of kept boy.
"I like surfing. Work whats that anyway." Alex smiled cheekily and did not add that he was a published poet in his own right. A slim volume of works was being edited by Anna Mostova. She was sure the work would be well received. Advance copies had already gained good reviews.
"Get in the water boy. I want to photograph you." ordered Michael as he lifted his camera.
Alex picked up his board "So I'm you're muse now?"
"Too right. Move it."
Alex ended up teaching a group of models the basics of surfing, the whole group being photographed. Michael watched a very different young man to the angry, guarded teenager he had met nearly two years ago, nor the talk of a shy, withdrawn submissive who attended Jean's party last month. This Alex was hardly a shy waif, even if he was in the thrall of the big bad arms dealer. No Sergei had definitely calmed Alex down.
With nothing to keep him in Nice, Alex followed Michael to Paris, where Michael was contracted to undertake a shoot for American Vogue. Alex worked as a sort of assistant to his assistant photographer, so rather than loading films, checking exposures, light and distances, Alex mostly carried bags and got drinks. Alex had become firm friends with the Russian model Michael was hired to photograph, Olga Stepanova. She was nineteen and quite unlike any girl Alex had met before. She smoked, drank champagne all hours of the day and night like it was water and actually read the Moscow Literary Review. Olga had read and loved Alex's poems. "Sasha, darling, write a poem for me."
She and Michael knew how to party. Alex was experiencing a wholly different side of Paris. The party fast track of the famous and all bright young things. At a club the night after the first day of the three day shoot, Olga asked "Alexander, can't I turn you straight."
Alex thought about it. "I used to like girls. You're very beautiful, funny and intelligent. I like you, but not sexually. Not that I'm experienced in relationships. I've only had two lovers. I did have a couple of dates with girls at college in Chichester, we just didn't click."
"Have you even slept with a girl?" Olga asked, guessing neither of Alex's lovers had been female.
"Do you think it would make any difference? I really do prefer cocks." Alex stated, admitting the truth to himself. He like girls, but did not want to get down and dirty with them. Even a fantastic young woman like Olga.
The model smiled like a Cheshire cat showing a mouthful of perfect white teeth, l"Same here Alexander, I prefer cocks also."
The scary lady from New York arrived for the last day of the shoot, set up at the courtyard at the Louvre Palace. She droned on that she had seen Michael's photographs of Alex and loved them. Strange woman thought Alex. She loved Alex and Olga together. Michael got them both to strip to the waist in front of the Louvre and photographed them. Beauty and the Freak as Alex dubbed them. Olga asked why Alex had not had surgery to lessen the scarring. "Why would I hide who I am? The scars on the outside reflect those inside." Alex guessed most of the photographs used would be of Olga, lets face it Alex was just a failed experiment.
The after shoot party was typical a restaurant meal which involved very little food. Champagne, cigarettes and when they got to a exclusive club, involved lots and lots of drugs. Alex helped himself to a line or two of cocaine allowing the chemical high to take over.
Alex stood at the ATM and did not understand his bank balance. There was far too much money in his account. He'd invested the money Edward had given him, as he did not need it straight away. Michael had paid him a basic wage of thirty euros a day. He was living at Olga's so did not need to waste money on a shitty room. It then clicked and Alex then phoned Maria.
Without even a hello or how are you, Alex practicxally shouted down the phone at Sergei's assistant "Please tell me that Sergei has not put a shit load of money in my bank account."
"Oh, Alex. Sergei wanted to make sure you had enough money to tide you over after you left Nice."
"I'm perfectly capable of getting a job. I have qualifications and everything. He put 20 grand in my account. I don't need nor do I want his money. I told him that before we fucked. I just wanted him."
"Alex darling, whats the problem. Just enjoy yourself."
Alex knew he should not be upset with Maria. "Its like he's paying me. Like I'm a whore. I have enough problems over my self image. Yassen made me feel like an unlovable freak. I guess he was right."
Alex had switched off his phone and proceeded to utterly destroy it.
"Enjoy myself. Yeah I can do that" muttered Alex darkly to himself.
Two days and nights of partying later. Alex woke to find that he was lying on the floor of the sitting room in Olga's apartment suffering the after affects of too much vodka, and his experimentation with chemical enhancement provided by his new best friend, Olga's drug dealer, Christo. He had woken to the sound of an alarm blaring in the next building, splitting his head in two. Alex made it to the bathroom to vomit, stumbling past two girls also passed out on the sofas. Some of Olga's friends Alex guessed, with no clear recall of most of the night before. He was the only one up. He showered, used mouthwash to get rid of the foul taste in his mouth and went in search of breakfast.
Two streets from Olga's, with a mouthful of croissant and slurp of coffee Alex noticed a familiar smirking shadow.
Alex followed the shadow and sat next to the blond Scorpia operative at the small exterior table at a back street cafe. The tall, impossibly graceful and deadly assassin opened the conversation with "I thought I told you not to get involved with Mr. Rushkov. You have no common sense, Little Alex." Alex shrugged as he looked at Yassen with a bored nonchalance. Yassen then continued, detailing the fact he had kept close tabs on his little protege. "I'm not surprised Sergei did not want you to meet my former associate Major Winston Yu".
"Former as in ex-Scorpia?" Alex asked feigning interest, but more concerned with his own hangover.
"Just ex. A corpse, dead, deceased, ummm pushing up daisies" a smile on his face at his play on words on his specialism, making people cease to breath.
"Did he stumble into the path of two bullets like Herod Sayle and my uncle Ian?" Alex asked finishing his second cup of coffee.
"No single bullet to the skull, just like your father taught me in the Amazon many years ago. His skull split like a melon." Yassen sat back and looked at Alex. "What have you been up to, Little one? I've seen better looking cadavers."
"I've been enjoying myself." Alex closed his eyes and faced the sun.
"Children these days." Yassen chastised. "You really must get in contact with your godfather."
"Is that a suggestion because I thought you did not like Ash?" Alex knew for a fact, as Yassen had taken great delight describing how he had gutted Ash like a fish in 1987.
"The man is impossibly paranoid. I think he'd like to see you Alex. He could reminisce about how he sold out your parents."
"Is this something I have to do straight away?" Alex asked opening his eyes and taking in the the russian's face and body language intently. Yassen was giving nothing away.
"No just for my own personal amusement. Poor Ash has not been having a good time lately. Such a shame." Yassen said drinking his own coffee, not taking his eyes off Alex.
"Is everything a game to you, Yassen?" Alex said feeling every bit as dodgy as he looked.
"How could you think that?" Yassen smirked and then added "I am not the man I was when we met. I have taken charge. I no longer just take orders. I now create my own future. Life is more chaotic but definitely more satisfying this way." The defining moment for Yassen had been his decision not to kill the son of his friend John. The complete U-turn in his life had come of the chat in the plane with Alex when the boy had told him his parents had died in a plane crash on they way to their new life in riral Brittany. John had not died on Albert Bridge and Scorpia had killed his friend not MI6. All the lies had been uncovered by Yasha and he was exacting revenge. The russian then leaned over "Collect your stuff and come and stay with me for a few days. You look like you could do with a break." John's son was in need of what little comfort and support the assassin could offer.
No one had yet stirred at the apartment. Alex left a note with a short poem for Olga detailing her beautiful smile. It took five minutes to collect his things and then he walked out into the noon sunshine and into Yassen's car.
Alex did not mean to sleep but the rhythmic sound of road noise lulled him into unconsciousness. He woke when the car pulled to a stop on a gravel drive. He looked outside to see Yassen walking around to check the location. It was an isolated small house. No lights visible from any neighbours.
The two men ate a simple supper in silence. Alex drank wine and watched the fire Yassen had lit. It was a lovely September evening. Yassen was watching him intently before asking "What is wrong, Little Alex? You are too quiet and withdrawn. Are you depressed or just suffering from overindulging?"
Alex looked into the assassin's eyes before confessing "I feel so dirty." This simple statement caused Yassen to clasp the younger man's hands. Alex stopped the other man before he could speak "Sergei says he loves me. How come I feel used and ashamed? His actions make me feel I am nothing more than a rent boy exchanging sex for the comfort his wealth provides." Alex had no problem with the fact the man mixed pain and pleasure in the bedroom, but Sergei casual attitude to the actual relatoonship was that it was only on his terms. "He likes to think he is in control of me fully ." Tears formed in Alex's eyes. "I am not weak so why is the fact that man seems to enjoy subjugating me, then casting me away, thinking me pliable and love struck. " Alex gulped and gripped Yassen's hand. "I think I should have listened to your warning, but instead I let my hormones do all the thinking."
Yassen looked at Alex, still so young and relatively sheltered. Alex had successfully returned to normal life, making sure MI6 played no part in his actions or decisions, "Return to England, little one. Talk to your psychiatrist about Sergei. He will recommend you take a break from such a self destructive and dangerous relationship."
Alex snorted in amusement. "Really, Yasha. The same shrink that told me my feelings for you are 'Stockholm Syndrome' ". Alex suddenly felt like ending the games and replacing the words and hurt with actions and intensity. If not love, Alex would settle for sex. Sex with Yassen was just that, the young englishman knew he would never melt the russian's heart. Yassen was attracted, maybe even fond of Alex, but their relationship would never be what Alex wanted or desired. Stolen moments were better than no moments at all.
"Little one. You are such a contradiction. Strong and gentle. Broken and hard. We are more alike than I wish to admit. Come let us drop our masks for a short while. We are safe here." Yassen stoked Alex's face, his own mask dropped to show genuine concern and softened that he too needed to relax fully with one who had seen his own broken soul.