Page 77 of Nothing But the Night (Basic Instincts 2)

“It’s beautiful,” he said, almost choking on his pain.

Jason put a gentle hand on his thigh and squeezed encouragingly. “It can sometimes take the worst to bring out the best of people.”

The mood this evening could have been a lot more hostile, where it not for the fact that Chantelle had been apprehended. She’d been caught at the Port of Tyne the day after the fire at Soloman Archer’s office, attempting to board a ferry to the Netherlands on a passport she had stolen from her housekeeper. The housekeeper had fared better than her other victims, having beendiscovered by the police beaten, tied up and gagged at her home. But, unlike the others, she was alive.

Chantelle had been charged with five counts of murder, two attempted murders and arson with intent to endanger life. After a brief appearance at the magistrates’ court, she’d been remanded in custody and would appear at Blyham Crown Court in a few weeks’ time. There would inevitably be a trial. Marc harboured no hope that she would plead guilty. A trial would mean recounting everything that had happened all over again. What did he care about that? He would tell his story a million times over if it meant that evil woman spent the rest of her life in prison.

The crowd in the square continued to swell and showed no sign of stopping. There must have been several thousand people there already. As the sky darkened into dusk, the candles and tealights took on a more poignant, ethereal aspect.

As touching as the display was, Marc would give anything to have his brother back instead. For each of the victims to be alive and enjoying the love of their families and friends.

The emotions he’d managed to keep a tight lid on all evening suddenly broke. As a sea of lights flickered in front of him, the tears poured down his face.

Jason put an arm around his shoulder and leaned into him.

He didn’t need to say anything, his touch was enough.

* * * *

Three hours later, Marc stood on the balcony of Jason’s apartment, staring at the cityscape. His eyeswere cried out and his throat was raw from all the sobbing he had done. The vigil had unleashed so much pent-up grief. As he’d broken down before the crowd of strangers, he’d realised it was the first time that he’d truly missed his brother. He hadn’t even cried at Theo’s funeral. He’d had to keep it together for the sake of his family and to ensure that all their wishes had been fulfilled that day.

And afterwards, he’d carried on as normal. Back to work. Back to his routine.

If it hadn’t been for Nadine threatening to expose Theo’s lifestyle, would he have continued to get by, content in the knowledge that his brother had been killed by a hit-and-run driver who would likely never be caught?

It pained him to accept that the answer was yes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking to the night sky. “Little brother. I should have done so much better for you.”

The door behind slid open. Jason came onto the balcony carrying two crystal tumblers of whisky. He raised a tired smile in the evening light. The last few days had been hard on him too. Marc was not the only one choked with grief. Ryman had been more than just a business partner to him, more than just a friend. They had been like brothers themselves.

Despite his exhaustion, Jason looked incredibly handsome. Like Marc, his eyes had been cried dry.

Marc gratefully accepted the glass.

“Are you okay?” Jason asked.

He nodded. “I don’t think it will get easier just because we know the truth, not for a long time, but uncovering the truth is a start. Right?”

Jason came close. He leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. “We’ll get through it. We’ll do it together.”

Marc smiled. They stood side by side, gazing at the city. He leaned into Jason, careful not to put too much pressure on his injured torso. “Together, I like the sound of that.”

Jason raised his glass to the sky. “To Ryman. To Theo. To Dan. To Tyrone. To Soloman. Rest peacefully.”

“Rest peacefully,” Marc said.

They both took a long, slow swallow.

Later, close to midnight, they lay naked beneath the covers. Jason was on his back, his head and shoulder propped on pillows. Marc was on his side, his fingers trailed through Jason’s chest hair, circling his nipples. His skin was dark and mottled with bruises. Now Chantelle was behind bars, Jason would at last be able to heal, without further injury.

Sex had been a necessity. A life-affirming act in the face of so much death.

“What do you think will happen next?” Marc asked softly. “After today?”

“Do you mean for the city? It’s got to get better. At least I hope it will. After the last two years, things can’t get any worse. There’s a lot of trust to be rebuilt. I’m not sure the police will ever repair the damage they’ve done.”

“There was a strong sense of community tonight. All those people came together because they cared. It should count for something.”

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