Waylaid

Kitty Winter hadn’t been sure whether to attend the grand reopening of the Marigold Cinema until it was announced the evening’s screening would be a double feature: Body Heat and Serial Mom.

The cinema had caught fire last year, nearly burning to the ground; an extensive reconstruction was announced almost immediately, and the new owners clearly wanted to rebuild the place exactly as it was. Unfortunately, that meant the toilets were still inexcusably tiny; Kitty spent most of the fifteen-minute interval between films standing in the queue for the ladies’, which left just a scant few minutes for a smoke before the next feature started. She hurriedly ducked into the alley behind the cinema to find someone already there—a man, and one she recognised.

There were people who had a place in your life not because they were friends or family, but simply because they shared a corner of the world with you. Sebastian was one of those people. Within the past three years, there were very few times Kitty would step away from one of her escort jobs for a smoke and not bump into him.

As he usually did, Sebastian acknowledged Kitty’s presence with a friendly nod.

Kitty’s disposable lighter was on its last legs; she thumbed the trigger in vain for a few seconds before Sebastian said, “Here,” and drew his own lighter from his pocket. It was the reusable metal sort, dinged and tarnished; Sebastian dressed well, wore an antique watch in impeccable condition, and yet insisted on using a lighter that looked like it had been through the wars.

It did, however, light up on the first try. Kitty stepped closer and lit her cigarette off the small orange flame, taking a long, slow drag. “Thanks.”

Sebastian snapped the lighter shut. “You working tonight?”

It was a simple question, without judgement, and one he’d probably guessed the answer to already. Kitty usually wore her hair in a bun when she was on the job, with a little black dress and pumps—all the better to blend in with her clients’ high-society peers. Tonight she’d left her curls loose, gone a little overboard with the makeup, and opted for an outfit that made her look like a business-casual witch; she was going out alone, and had nobody to impress but herself.

By now, Kitty had trained herself out of the habit of shaking her head; the pins in her spine didn’t allow for much movement in her neck. “Not tonight,” she said. “I just love movies about evil women. Especially when they’re Kathleen Turner.”

There was a knowing air to Sebastian’s smile. “Makes sense.”

Kitty raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“She has a way of talking with her eyes.” Sebastian gestured to his own eyes, cigarette still held between two fingers. “You do the same thing.”

“I may,” Kitty said archly, “have worn out a tape of Romancing the Stone when I was little.” She took another drag off her cigarette. “Are you working tonight?”

There were stranger places to meet clients, although Kitty would be hard-pressed to name more than five. Sebastian, however, shook his head. “I was supposed to be here with my partner, but he—” something complicated flickered across his expression. “—he couldn’t make it.”

It wasn’t exactly a shock to hear Sebastian mention a male partner; he’d never once looked down her top, despite multiple opportunities to do so. It was more surprising to hear him mention a partner at all.

They weren’t exactly friends. Sebastian hadn’t asked when he surely noticed Kitty couldn’t turn her head anymore, and Kitty hadn’t said anything when Sebastian appeared at a reception with a set of fresh scars across one side of his face.

She exhaled a lungful of smoke in lieu of speaking.

Sebastian sighed and checked his watch. “Interval’s almost over,” he observed, and stubbed out his own cigarette on the heel of his boot.

Kitty groaned; the next time she was out of cigarettes, she knew she’d hate herself for not finishing this one. She reluctantly dropped it to the pavement, grinding it out with her shoe.

Sebastian held the door for her as they slipped back into the cinema.

---

A crowd lingered in the Marigold’s lobby after the second feature wrapped up; it was just a few minutes from midnight, and those who’d attended the reopening in pairs or groups were all deciding where the evening would take them next.

Kitty, meanwhile, had come alone. And her neck and back were both approaching their limits for the day.

She passed Sebastian on her way out; he was talking to one of the staff, but had his jacket over his arm—clearly on his way home as well. She gave him a small wave, and he spared her a brief nod in response.

It was less than five minutes to the nearest tube station at a normal stride, but a bit longer in the three-inch heels Kitty was wearing. The walk was nice enough, down a wide street in Soho with row upon row of old Victorian shopfronts to either side. Then she descended the stairs into the underground, and the arched, white-tiled tunnels closed in around her. The station was nearly empty this time of night, the steady click-click of Kitty’s heels echoing from every direction.

After a moment, several other sets of footsteps joined in.

Kitty couldn’t look over her shoulder without turning her whole upper body into the movement; instead, she casually reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. She switched on the front camera, angling it to check the tunnel behind her.

A loose group of three men ambled along about five meters behind. All of them were looking at her.

Kitty’s gut twisted into a knot. She kept walking, eyes firmly forward.

“Oi!” a man’s voice called out, loud and echoing and faintly mocking. “Oi, Kitty!”

Kitty’s heart rate lurched into high gear. She clenched her jaw and sped up her steps; if she ran outright, that might only provoke them further.

One set of footsteps hurried to catch up. A large hand grabbed Kitty by the arm and spun her around, shoving her into the wall of the tunnel.

Kitty’s hand darted back into her purse and, this time, emerged with a handheld cattle prod. It didn’t do much through clothing, but worked a treat on bare skin; she jabbed the prongs into the man’s neck, just where it emerged from the loose collar of his shirt, and pressed the trigger.

There was a sharp crackling sound; the man swore as he staggered back, releasing his grip on Kitty’s arm. Kitty pushed away from the wall, kicked off her shoes, and ran as fast as she could.

The other men were shouting now, their voices and footsteps clattering down the length of the tunnel. Kitty wasn’t as fast as she used to be; she could hear them getting closer.

A sharp tug wrenched her head back; one of them had managed to grab her by the hair. It bent her neck in ways it didn’t bend anymore, and sharp pain lanced all the way down to the base of her spine. Kitty gasped, muscles seizing as her legs crumpled under her.

Even with her back and neck fused into one long column of agony, Kitty managed to roll until she was sitting on the floor, cattle prod held in front of her as a barrier. It was enough to make her pursuers hesitate; the one she’d shocked was still hunched over, clutching the spot where she’d tagged him.

There was a blur of movement from behind the men. One of them cried out and crumpled as something hit him in the back of the leg; a knee to the base of his skull sent him sprawling and dazed onto the floor. The other two turned to face the new threat. One immediately took a strike to the throat and doubled over. His companion managed to swing a punch at their attacker’s head, only for the blow to be neatly blocked, turned aside, and countered with a backhanded slap to the ear.

The man who’d been knocked to the floor staggered to his feet, but whatever bravado led him to attack lone women in empty underground stations didn’t extend to fights with trained opponents. He fled down a side tunnel, and his two companions quickly followed.

And then Kitty found herself looking up at Sebastian, tall and imposing as he stood over her. He was breathing slowly, deliberately, and in his eyes Kitty could see something feral and dangerous being shoved back into its cage.

“All right?” Sebastian asked, with forced calm.

Kitty folded her legs under herself and tried to stand, but the attempt jostled something in her neck; she gasped and slumped back down to her knees. “Not really.”

Sebastian stepped forward, extending a hand.

With a slow breath, Kitty reached back and gripped his hand tight. Sebastian moved in to pull her up until she was standing, clutching Sebastian’s elbow to stay on her feet.

Sebastian considered Kitty’s hands around his arm and said, “You all right to get home?”

Her platform wasn’t far, but once she got off the train there’d be escalators, and more walking—and every step would be hell until she got home and took her painkillers.

“No,” Kitty admitted with a sigh, “I’m not.”

---

Sebastian couldn’t help but be impressed by Kitty’s grip. She’d practically cut off the circulation in his arm.

He’d been about to hail a cab outside the Marigold when he saw a small group of men detach from the loose crowd around the cinema and amble away down the street, the same way Kitty had gone. Instinct pushed him to follow—and, unfortunately, this time he wasn’t just being paranoid.

Kitty’s fingers clamped down harder as she noticed they were heading up, not down. “I can’t afford a cab,” she said, tight and pained.

“It’s fine,” Sebastian replied gently, as they emerged back onto the street. “I’ve got it.”

There were still enough taxis on the street that it didn’t take long to hail one. Kitty’s neck didn’t seem to enjoy the movements necessary to fold into the seat, and Sebastian helped her in before circling around to the other side. She rattled off her address to the driver, and then they were moving.

Even as infrequently as they crossed paths, it was hard for Sebastian not to like Kitty Winter. But roughly this time last year she’d stopped showing up at events he’d have expected to see her at—events her usual stable of clients were still attending. Sebastian didn’t have her phone number, or any other contact information at all. And Kitty’s clients weren’t likely to respond well if he asked about her. He’d started to wonder if he’d never see her again, and never know why.

Then, a few months ago, Kitty reappeared—quiet and subdued and obviously in pain from whatever had happened to her neck. She didn’t tell him why she’d vanished for so long, and Sebastian wasn’t sure he had the right to ask. He got little snapshots of her recovery, ten or fifteen minutes at a time, weeks or months apart—but, over time, she’d gradually returned to something resembling her old self.

There was something careful and guarded about her, though. Something that wasn’t there before. And now here she was, frightened and hurt again, sitting stiffly in her seat with arms wrapped protectively around herself.

It was nearly fifteen minutes before Kitty managed to relax, although her posture remained carefully rigid.

“I’m going to guess,” Sebastian said quietly, “that you can’t go to the police about this.”

Kitty gave him a weary look. “No.”

“Did you know those men?”

“Not exactly,” Kitty said. “But I think I know who they work for.”

“And who’s that?”

Kitty was silent for a moment, as if considering where to start. “With my neck, I can’t do much escort work anymore,” she said. “And my photography has never made all that much money. So I set up a SecretStar account to bring in some extra cash.”

Sebastian had never heard the name before. “A what?”

Kitty gave him a dubious look. “You don’t know what SecretStar is?”

“Imagine for a moment,” Sebastian said dryly, “that I spent most of the past decade on aggressive overseas camping trips with dodgy internet access.”

“Right, well … basically, it’s a site where people can pay money to see pictures of you.” Kitty paused a moment before adding, “Naked.”

“I’d guessed that last bit.”

Kitty rolled her eyes. “But if you want good money, you can’t just post photos. You’ve got to do the social media thing, exclusive events, paid chats … it’s a lot of work. And a little while ago, this bloke got in touch—Jack Woodley. He said he could handle all that for me, for a cut of the money coming in.”

“It didn’t work out,” Sebastian guessed.

“Right away he acted like he was in charge,” Kitty said. “He had my login for the account, and I was supposed to send all my photos to him before they could go up. He started telling me I needed to do sexier things on camera, to bring in more subscribers. Then he switched out the bank details on the account, so he was paying me instead of the other way around.” She was irritated now, her old fire breaking through the pain. “Anyway, all that work he was supposed to be doing for me? Turns out he farmed it all out to people abroad, working for pennies. One of my old clients is a solicitor, and I got him to look over my contract with Jack. He said it was a joke—completely unenforceable. So I changed all my passwords and told Jack to get fucked.”

Impressed, and suppressing a smile, Sebastian said, “I think it’s safe to say he didn’t take that well.”

“He did not,” Kitty confirmed. “Started sending me threats—he wanted control of the account back. I suppose since that didn’t work, he’s sending thugs after me.”

The cab pulled up outside a row of slightly rundown, Regency-era terraced houses in Pimlico. With a low noise of relief, Kitty opened the door and planted a foot on the pavement.

Sebastian caught her by the arm. “Does Woodley know where you live?”

Kitty blinked; then, her eyes widened. “My address was on the contract.”

Sebastian peered past her toward the building. The front door didn’t look to have been forced, but that was no guarantee someone hadn’t slipped inside. “I can come in with you,” he offered.

A look of relief flitted across Kitty’s face.

Sebastian quickly paid for the cab and circled around to help Kitty out. She lived in a flat on the first floor of the building; her door opened into a small, pleasantly cluttered kitchen that looked like it hadn’t been meaningfully remodelled since the nineties.

Motioning silently for Kitty to stay by the door, Sebastian swept the flat. The bathroom was just off the kitchen, with a tiny window; clearly, nobody had made their way in there. The other end of the kitchen opened up into a studio, surprisingly roomy despite the photography equipment crammed into every available corner. There was enough floor space for a double bed along one wall and a chaise and desk beneath the windows, and the flat even had its own fireplace.

No sign anyone had broken in. Kitty was safe, for now.

Sebastian circled back to the door. “It’s clear,” he said, and helped Kitty limp inside.

She staggered through to the studio and sat stiffly on her bed, digging around in the drawer of her bedside table until she found a box of pills. She downed two with practised motions, washing them down with a mouthful of water from the bottle she kept by the bed.

Something about the ritual felt uncomfortably personal, and Sebastian let his gaze wander the room to give Kitty some semblance of privacy. Nearly every inch of wall space was covered with art: paintings, posters, and prints, eclectically framed and arranged with precision.

One piece in particular caught his attention. It was a high-contrast photography print, depicting a woman—a model, but probably not Kitty—naked with her head tipped forward. Most of the photo was effectively black and white, but there was a pop of bright colour where the woman held a mask to her face; it was pieced together from shards of blue and white china, mortared together with vivid gold.

“That’s one of mine,” said Kitty, startling him from his study of the piece.

Sebastian glanced at her, still sitting on the bed, then back at the print. “What’s it about?”

“Survival,” Kitty said plainly. “Building something new out of the broken pieces.”

Old fear and pain ached deep in Sebastian’s chest. He shoved it down and turned back to Kitty. “Are you going to be all right from here?”

“Should be. The drugs’ll kick in soon.” Kitty leaned back against the pillows piled up at the head of her bed, and her expression softened. “Thank you.”

It was a goodbye as much as it was gratitude. Sebastian nodded and made for the door, then hesitated at the threshold of the studio. “Jack Woodley,” he said. “Where would I find him?”

Kitty regarded him with a long, flat stare. She knew what he was really asking—and what would happen if she told him.

“I only ever talked to him online,” she said slowly, still deciding as she spoke. “There’s an address on the contract, but it’s his business address. I don’t know where he lives.”

Jay had found people with less information than that. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Sebastian said.

---

Sebastian was almost certain Jay was avoiding him.

He hadn’t seen him in person since his discharge from hospital three weeks ago, following the clusterfuck at Medway Castle. Jay was still responding to texts, but any time Sebastian tried to make plans or invite him over, Jay begged off and said he was “busy.”

Sebastian headed straight to Camden Town from Kitty’s flat. There was still some street activity this time of night, and he attracted a few wary glances as he stood outside the converted warehouse where Jay lived, hand hovering uncertainly over the call box by the door.

There was every possibility that Jay really was busy.

Before he could think better of it, Sebastian pressed the button for Jay’s flat.

A few rings later, Jay’s confused, wary voice crackled through the speaker: “Yeah?”

Sebastian took a slow breath. “It’s me.”

The next few seconds passed in agonising silence. Then there was a click from the speaker, and the door buzzed open. Sebastian forced himself to take the stairs up to Jay’s flat at a normal pace, pausing to brace himself outside the door.

It swung open before he had a chance to knock.

Jay was wearing a pair of joggers and a loose t-shirt; his hair was mussed, like he’d been running his hands through it, and his eyes were wide and worried. He grabbed Sebastian by the arm and dragged him into the flat, leaning briefly through the doorway to scan the hall outside before slamming the door shut.

“What’s wrong?” Jay’s eyes searched Sebastian’s face before scanning the rest of him; his grip on Sebastian’s forearm was painfully tight. “What’s happened?”

Baffled into silence, Sebastian glanced around the flat, desperate for context. The blinds were closed, the bin in the kitchen overflowing with takeaway containers; Jay obviously hadn’t been out much in the past few days. He’d been working on his laptop, and a familiar computer drive sat next to it on his desk: the drive he’d managed to steal out from everyone’s noses at Medway Castle. The one MI-5 could never, ever find out he had.

“Sebastian,” Jay said, short and sharp, drawing his attention back.

“I’m fine,” Sebastian replied. Jay’s shirt was too big because it was one of Sebastian’s shirts; its collar had slipped to the side, revealing a stretch of soft, vulnerable skin where Jay’s neck met his shoulder. “Nothing’s happened, I just—”

He couldn’t be sure who kissed who first, but within the blink of an eye Jay’s lips were on his.

Sebastian breathed a soft moan into Jay’s open mouth as all the tension and anxiety of the past few hours melted away. His arms went around Jay, drawing him in close and soaking up the feeling of his body, his kiss, all the little noises he made as they fell into each other, slow and indulgent.

They parted briefly, panting for breath, and Sebastian murmured, “I missed you,” against Jay’s lips.

Jay made a noise almost like a sob, quiet and devastated, and lunged forward to kiss him again. This time it was deep and hungry and urgent, Jay’s hands clawing desperately at Sebastian’s shirt, twisting in the fabric.

Whatever had kept Jay away, he hadn’t stopped wanting Sebastian. A shiver of relief went through Sebastian at the thought, and he broke away from the kiss with a gasp, mouthing briefly at Jay’s jaw before dipping his head to taste the exposed skin at his shoulder.

Jay gave an encouraging moan and clutched at Sebastian’s waist, sliding his hands down to grab his arse and drag their hips together. Sebastian groaned into Jay’s skin, grinding against him through jeans that were now uncomfortably tight.

If things continued in this direction, it was entirely possible Jay would fuck him right here on the floor. Sebastian, unfortunately, was no longer an age where that was a good idea.

Reluctantly, he pulled his mouth away from Jay’s neck and backed them both toward the bedroom.