Page 4 of Judging Duke

I washed up and ran a hand over my face, feeling the roughness beneath my fingers.

Any time I thought I had was gone. It was now or never.

Sticking around wasn’t an option.

“Time to go,” I said to myself. I’d message my parents when I got to Liverpool. Would they understand my reason for running?

Probably not, but it was a chance I had to take. Maybe I should leave a note.

Avoiding my parents, I made my way back to my room, slipping inside.

I scribbled a quick note.

Something bad happened tonight. You’ll hear about it soon enough. I can’t stay. Going to Aunt Debbie’s for a bit. I’ll call when I get there.

Duke

No time for long explanations.

I chucked it on the dresser where they’d be bound to find it and pulled out my bag from underneath the bed. I tucked the money from the box inside.

Did I have everything? Probably not, but I had no space for anything else. Spying the small blue teddy I’d been given by the hospital when I was born, I placed it carefully in the side pocket.

I glanced around the room, an unsettling thought that I’d never see this room again filling my head.

Of course I’d be back again. It was only for the summer, until it all died down.

How wrong I was…

CHAPTER ONE

DUKE

FIFTEEN YEARS LATER

Irubbed the warm oil between my hands, inhaling the scent of geraniums and lavender, with just a hint of marjoram, before massaging it into the ageing skin of my current client.

She groaned as I rubbed her neck and shoulders.

“You have the most wonderful hands, Duke,” Barbara said, her voice thick. “Your massages are just so relaxing. Cyril loves it when I come here.”

She giggled, and I rolled my eyes, almost knowing what she was thinking. Barbara had been my client for the past two years and refused to let anyone else touch her.

Cyril was her long-suffering husband who paid for her twice-monthly massage at the exclusive health spa where I now worked.

“I know he does, Barbara, so let’s make you as limber as we can. Don’t want you pulling a muscle.”

She tittered again, and I carried on working out the knots in her back, hearing her sigh, my hands gliding easily over her tanned body.

She was seventy-five if she was a day, and as much as she liked to look after herself, the many years she’d spent sunning herself in the South of France told a story on her skin. I knew for a fact she’d had a few surgeries to remove some odd-looking moles and a few blemishes. Fucking cancer. I’d warned her many times.

It didn’t stop her, though. Despite my numerous cautions about sun damage, she still spent six months of the year there.

She’d invited me to visit a few times, and I knew her intentions weren’t purely platonic. There’d been the odd occasion I’d had to remove her wandering hands, and she’d mentioned more than once how she and Cyril liked to play with others.

I would never be one of them.

Many moons ago, I’d been likened to a young Lenny Kravitz, but I’d shaved my head, removing my locs. I’d say my good looks had served me well, first on the streets of Liverpool, then as a masseur to the rich and famous. They wanted handsome. I had that in spades.

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