Chapter 1

Calum Hardy dipped the needle into the black ink and pressed his foot to the pedal of Dottie, the faithful old-school coil machine he'd had since his apprenticeship in Camden. Rob kept telling him to upgrade to one of the shinier models on the market, but Calum wasn't about that life.

He liked the noise, and the weight of Dottie heavy in his hand. In a world where most things were slipping through his fingers, this felt real.

"I'm so nervous."

Calum blinked, refocusing on the client stretched out on the table. "That's normal. Just try not to tense up. It'll hurt less if you're relaxed."

The girl gave up a wan smile. "That's why I came to you. My friend told me you're gentle."

"I am, but it'll still hurt, so you have to see the needle for what it is. A tiny sliver of metal, and you're stronger than that."

"I guess."

Calum left the girl to her nerves and returned to the candy-skull stencil he'd already applied to her thigh. This moment was his and Dottie's.

He pressed the pedal again, waiting for the comforting buzz, but nothing happened. Then the lights went out, plunging the shop into darkness.

Power cut.

Great.

Third time that week.

Calum set the gun down and went to the front door of the shop. He glanced out into the street and caught the eye of the maintenance worker who'd been the bane of his life all week long.

The worker shrugged. "Sorry, mate. Give us an hour or so."

Nice of him to say, but it was already gone five. Candy-skull girl was Calum's last client of the day. Grumbling, he went back inside and gave her the news. She looked a little too relieved and left without rebooking.

With her gone, Calum lit a candle and cleaned up the shop, a job done by the receptionist in most studios, except Calum's receptionist was Rob's cousin, and she downed tools at four every day, taking no notice of Calum's protests.

Fuck my life.

Calum left the shop an hour later. Bought a cheeky bottle of rum and turned in the direction of home—a one-bedroom flat two streets away. He called Rob, but as usual, there was no answer. Rob only took Calum's calls when he wanted something. Shame, because with Calum at a loose end, they could've grabbed some dinner, a drink . . . maybe more. It had been a while since they'd had some quality time to themselves. Work, play, work again, there always seemed to be something keeping them apart.

The flat where Calum lived alone loomed into view. Rob was probably down the road in the Ship, drinking up a storm on the shop's expense account. Calum thought about joining him, then he remembered Rob's reaction the last time he'd dropped in on him uninvited and a dark shudder rippled through him.

Give him space, remember? Stop smothering him.

Damn.

When had loving someone become so complicated? All Calum wanted was a cuddle and a bag of chips.

He let himself into the flat, his mind stuck in the awkward space that came with contemplating his skewed relationship with Rob.

This is why you don't bother.

An empty mind was a happy one, right?

Wrong.

What a load of shit.

Calum dropped his keys in the bowl. His gaze fell on a pair of loafers by the kitchen door—Rob's latest fad—and beside them, a pair of chavvy Nikes that were too big for Rob.

And too big for me.

Calum frowned. Rob never came over when Calum wasn't there unless he needed cash from the kitchen drawer, and he never, ever, brought his mates round. God forbid; Calum was way too boring for Rob's clique of wankers who seemed to do nothing but snort coke and talk about fisting.

Voices drifted down the hallway—no words, just sounds that set Calum's teeth on edge, and his frown deepened. Surely not. Rob had been distracted lately, leading Calum to suspect he might have been—but no . . . not here. Rob wouldn't do that, would he?

There was only one way to find out. Calum steeled himself and trod silently down the hallway to the bedroom. The door was ajar, and unless whoever was inside was watching some hard-core porn, what he'd find on the other side was already solidified in his brain, etched on his fucking soul.

But he did look. Calum stared at the tangled mess of flesh in his bed: sweat-sheened skin, curled toes, arched backs, and scraping nails. And you know what? In another world—one where the dude getting fucked by a six-foot beefcake wasn't his boyfriend—the scene playing out in his bedroom would've been hot. But there was nothing hot about watching Rob hammer the final nail into a relationship that had been wonky from the start.

There was nothing but twisted solace.

This is your chance. Kick him out.

If only he could make his feet move, and his brain compute what his heart had known for months. That this shit was toxic. That it was killing him. And if Calum didn't get out now, he'd die in this fucked up relationship.

He backed up, trying to tiptoe away as unnoticed as he'd arrived. Fuck everything. Fuck it all. He'd go to the shop and kip there. Come back when Rob went to work and change the locks.

He'll let me go this time.

But even as Calum thought it, he knew it wasn't true. How many times had Rob told him—warned him—not to step out of line?

I'll ruin you. You're nothing without me?—

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

Calum froze, heart in his mouth, every instinct screaming at him to keep walking, but the masochist in him won out.

He turned to face Rob, who was still bent over the bed, his brawny pal balls-deep inside him, and his face curled in a smirk that showed exactly how he felt about being caught.

I fucking hate him. Calum clenched his fists. "Doesn't seem like you need me here."

"You can suck my dick if you want."

"No, thanks."

Rob's hawkish gaze narrowed, belligerence morphing to anger. "Don't be a twat."

"Me?" Calum laughed, bitter and brutal. "I'm not the twat here, but tell you what. How about I leave you to it? That way it doesn't fucking matter."

He stepped back, spun on his heel, and ran for the door before Rob got close enough to give him that look—the one that always seemed to penetrate Calum's brain and extinguish any thoughts of his own. The one that Calum had never been able to hide from, ever since the first time he'd caught Rob out in a lie.

What do you expect when you're so uptight? I'm not flirting, I'm just blowing off steam."

Calum stumbled, his foot catching the bookcase in the hallway. He hit the wall, but footsteps behind him spurred him on.

Get out, get out, get out.

"Not so fast." A cool hand closed around Calum's wrist. "Don't walk away when I'm talking to you."

"Why not?" Calum wrenched his wrist. "Looks like you're managing fine without me."

Rob's grip tightened, twisting. "So? You're not even supposed to be here. You said you were working late."

Like that made it okay. "Power cut. I can't ink in the dark."

Rob smirked. "No?"

"Fuck off." The barely veiled derision made Calum's skin itch. Rob's name was on the lease of the shop, but though he had no problem spending the profits, belittling Calum's work had always been a hobby. That Black Star Ink was booked months in advance, with cancellations snapped up within seconds of announcement, meant nothing to him. "Does it matter where I'm supposed to be? Point is you're banging someone in my bed."

"Don't be so dramatic."

Calum shoved Rob's chest. "Get the fuck off me."

"Why? What are you going to do? Run to your mother or some shit? Grow up. It's just sex. You can watch if you don't want to join in." Rob stepped closer, bracing his hand on the wall, blocking Calum's escape route. "Come on, Cal. You know I love you. I just get a bit suffocated sometimes. He's just a friend. You want me to have friends, don't you?"

Calum had fallen for that speech more times than he cared to remember, and perhaps tonight would've been no different if the friend hadn't appeared in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in Calum's duvet and laughing his over-ripped arse off.

"I'm leaving," Calum ground out. "Get back on his dick. I'm done with this shit."

Rob made a grab for Calum's other arm, but Calum evaded. He got his knee between Rob's legs and shouldered his way free, wrenching his arm from Rob's grasp.

"Calum, stop it."

"No."

"Calum."

The warning in Rob's tone prickled Calum's skin, but he didn't stop to let the weight of it reel him in. He ran for the door, Rob cursing behind him, and charged down the stairs

Outside, damp evening air hit him as he threw himself into the crowds of commuters flowing up the street to the nearby station. He'd made it to the coffeehouse on the corner when he heard his name again.

"Calum! Stop!"

No chance.Calum kept going, head bowed, shoulders stiff, until he came to the zebra crossing and the fast-moving London traffic forced him to make a choice between waiting and literal death.

"Calum."

"Fuck off." Calum didn't turn round. The traffic stopped. He strode across the road, dodging Rob's reaching hands.

"Stop."

"No."

"Calum!" Rob caught Calum's arm and dragged him off course, pulling him from the crowd and behind a nearby bus stop. "I said, stop."

"Get off me." Calum fought Rob's hold, lurching away. Rob lashed out and punched him in the face.

Bastard.

Calum's eyes watered, and he faltered long enough for Rob to grab his arm again and yank him back, slamming him into a nearby wall.

"Get a fucking grip. Where do you think you're going to go? The shop's in my name, remember? You bail on me, I'll shut it down."

"Do it." Calum fought Rob's hold on him and shoved him away. "I don't give a shit anymore."

Rob fell to the ground, drawing the attention of onlookers, like he always did when Calum found the balls to bite back, letting everyone know that his six-foot-three lover had laid a hand on his slighter frame. "You won't give up the shop. It's everything to you."

"It's nothing if it's got your name on it. I told you. I'm done."

"Done?" Rob laughed and scrambled to his feet, putting himself in Calum's face again. "Are you kidding me? Four years of your bullshit and you think you're going to walk out on me?"

"My bullshit? I'm not the one taking someone else's dick."

"Like you'd even know how. Like you'd even know how to fuck me if I asked you to. Have a day off, Calum. It's not like I screwed your best mate. I just needed something extra. Come on. We've talked about this. It's not my fault you only want to bottom."

Calum closed his eyes, fighting the poisoned logic that always swept over him when Rob got in his face. The logic that told him Rob could do whatever the fuck he wanted because he always came back to Calum in the end, put his arms around him, and said he loved him. The logic that told him Rob meant it, because no one would lie about that, right?

Another big fat wrong. "We didn't talk about it. You got wasted and decided I should fuck women so you'd have an excuse to get blown by every bloke who looked your way."

"And what's up with that? You like pussy, don't you?"

That Calum had been with women before Rob had always been a thing. You're not really gay, though, are ya, Calum? You're not one of us. "I don't want to fuck anyone else."

"Well maybe you should. Then you might be better at it."

In years—no, days—gone by, Rob's words would've cut deep, slashing Calum and what remained of his self-esteem to bits, but there was nothing left to break. He pushed Rob away again. "Fuck. You."

"Cal—"

"Fuck off."

Calum sidestepped Rob's reaching hands and kept moving. Behind him, Rob shouted, but Calum didn't stop. Didn't look round, didn't breathe, until the station swallowed him up, cocooning him in its humid warmth.

The respite was brief.

Calum's phone rang in his pocket, blaring out Rob's ringtone. He silenced it, but it rang again and again until he dumped it in a nearby bin.

He's going to follow me.

Calum jogged down the steps and ran for the nearest ticket machine. He stuck his debit card into the machine and jabbed at the screen until a ticket to who-the-fuck-knew-where printed out.

He snatched it and stumbled further into the station, waving it at a uniformed station worker.

She pointed ahead. "Platform eight. Hurry. It's leaving soon."

Heart in his throat, Calum dashed through the station. The ticket barriers appeared in the distance as someone yelled his name from behind. Calum ran harder, shoulder-barging past anyone in his way. Rob had an Oyster Card, the barriers wouldn't stop him, but they'd buy Calum precious time to make the train idling on the distant platform.

He crammed his ticket into the barrier slot and barged through the gates. Rob hollered again as the last-call alarms began to sound on the train that was still fifty feet away, and Calum gritted his teeth. Goddamn it. He'd make that fucking train if it killed him, because the alternative would do the same.

I'm done. So fucking done.

It felt as pathetic as it sounded. But Calum pushed harder, sprinting towards the platform, and he made the train with seconds to spare, stumbling on board as the doors closed behind him, snapping a sharp breeze over the back of his neck.

Head down, he sidestepped along the aisle, searching for a vacant seat. Something thumped the window, but he didn't react. Didn't blink until he found a seat and slumped into it, clenching his teeth against the surge of anxious adrenaline rushing up from his stomach.

Don't puke. Don't puke.

Damn. He needed a drink, a big one, a strong one, anything to quell the panic rising in his chest.

What have I done?

Rob wouldn't forgive this, even if Calum went back now, and he had Calum's whole life in his hands—the shop, the flat.

I've lost it all.

But as the train rumbled to life, eerie calm descended on him, like a guillotine had cut his desperation off at the neck.

I don't care.

And he didn't. All he wanted was peace . . . and quiet, and on the crowded train, with people all around, for the first time in years, he had it.

Wrecked, Calum rested his head against the cool glass and felt months of tension drain away. His messy brain told him he still loved Rob, but his heart was ominously silent. And it was the silence that held as the train began to move.

Half an hour passed before he remembered he didn't have a clue where it was going. The thought of crawling home to his parents sent a fresh wave of nausea rippling through his gut, but it felt inevitable. He'd always known that leaving Rob would send him to skid row.

You don't have to do this. Get off the train and go home.

He didn't. For the longest time, he closed his eyes.

Then he opened the bottle of rum.