Page 44

Jack had long perfected the art of keeping still, holding any emotion in check.

Not specifically for the purposes of playing cards but when any movement could be a tell, it was a useful skill.

After fifteen minutes playing blackjack, Jack had almost doubled the money he was prepared to bet.

He decided he’d played enough. Any longer and he’d draw the wrong sort of attention.

He threw a chip to the dealer and left the table only to see Al-Shuaibi and a couple of his guys standing right behind him.

Ah. It couldn’t be helped. Turning round when playing would have been a mistake.

Jack put a smile on his face and moved the chair in Al-Shuaibi’s direction.

“Voudriez-vous vous asseoir, monsieur?” Jack asked. Would you like to sit down?

“Merci. La chaise me portera-t-elle chance?” Will the chair bring me luck?

“Absolument.” Jack laughed, and double patted his backside.

The guy laughed and Jack kept eye contact a fraction too long before he walked away.

Had he done enough? He wasn’t sure so he didn’t leave but looked for a poker game to lose. He set himself a limit and sat down.

By the time he’d lost half his chips, he was bored with not trying so he changed tactics.

The other players weren’t much competition.

More importantly, Al-Shuaibi and his minders were standing on the other side of the table.

Jack made sure not to look at them. As soon as he’d won back what he’d lost, he tossed a chip to the dealer and stood up. “Merci.”

As he walked towards the cashier cage, he wondered if he’d be approached. If not, he’d come back tomorrow. If not then, he’d rethink. Maybe climb onto the yacht and shoot him? Jack had just put his money in his backpack when someone grasped his shoulder.

“Monsieur?”

“What do you want?” Jack jerked free and looked around as if searching for help.

The guy took a step back and held up his hands. “Sorry. You’re English? American?”

Neither. “English.” Jack made sure he still looked wary.

“My boss like to ask you for drink.”

“In here?”

“Club upstairs.”

“Who’s your boss?” Though he knew.

The guy gestured and Jack saw Al-Shuaibi smiling at him.

“He make it worth your while,” the man whispered.

Yes, he will. Jack walked forward with his hand out.

The minder followed him. “English,” he said to his boss.

“And speaks perfect French.” Al-Shuaibi shook Jack’s hand longer than was appropriate, but Jack didn’t pull away.

“My French teacher would be pleased to hear that,” Jack said.

Al-Shuaibi chuckled, and beckoned for Jack to follow him. A big guy stood at the bottom of a flight of stairs and Jack guessed access was only allowed to a chosen few.

It was quieter upstairs. Jack and Al-Shuaibi sat on their own, the minders within view but not within hearing. Soft music was being piped through speakers. Jack was surprised they’d not searched him.

“You’re a good player,” Al-Shuaibi said.

“Thank you.”

“Your seat did not bring me luck.”

Jack winced. “Sorry. Maybe you need a lesson. I’m pretty good.” There was the bait.

“Maybe I do. Are you in Cannes on your own?”

“Yes. Clearly, you’re not.” Jack nodded towards the two guys. Where were the other two? Maybe they’d stayed on the yacht.

Al-Shuaibi laughed. “That’s true. What brings you here?”

“I’m on holiday. I like gambling. Winning makes me…excited.”

A waiter appeared at the table.

“What would you like to drink?” Al-Shuaibi asked.

“Lorina, please.”

Al-Shuaibi frowned. “What’s that?”

“Lemonade.”

“Lorina and a Jack Daniels,” Al-Shuaibi ordered, then turned to Jack. “You don’t drink? How old are you?”

“Twenty. I’m not a big drinker.” Pointless lying. Jack was pretty sure they’d have found a way to access the scan of his passport. In any case, Al-Shuaibi was hooked.

“Do you work?” the guy asked.

“I start my last year at Cambridge in October. I’m studying history. Do you work?” He smiled.

“Businessman.”

The drinks arrived and Jack drank his quickly.

It was hard to know how much to push, how much to wait for.

Maybe this could be done tonight and he could be on his way back to Zeph within a few hours.

He made the assessment that the Saudi wanted someone young and innocent, rather than a guy who’d been paid to be with him.

He could be wrong, but he leaned in. “I didn’t like being told you’d make this worth my while. ”

Al-Shuaibi scowled. “Yusuf said that?”

Ah, not Al-Shuaibi’s instruction, then. “I don’t want him to get into trouble. Please don’t say anything. He’s just doing his job looking after you. But I have no need of money.”

The guy laughed.

Jack shrugged. “My father’s rich. I have a trust fund. I could gamble and make a living at it. I get…bored sometimes. Even with winning. You’re different.”

Al-Shuaibi stared at him. “So are you.”

Jack leaned in again. “Like to fuck me or want me to fuck you? Either’s fine. Though I’d like to fuck you.”

It was a risk, but judging from the way the guy’s eyes widened, it had paid off.

“You want to come on the yacht for the day tomorrow? We could go out to sea.”

No. That was too long in this fucker’s company and too far out to sea was a problem.

“I can’t tomorrow. My father and stepmother are flying in. My father expects me to be waiting at the airport.” He rubbed his forehead. “You think you could get me some water?”

He made his hands shake.

“Are you all right?” Al-Shuaibi asked.

Jack groaned. “Yes, but how freaked out are you by medical stuff?”

The Saudi furrowed his brow.

Jack pulled his backpack onto his lap and within a second, Yusuf was in his face, grabbing it from him.

“I need to test my blood sugar,” Jack said to Al-Shuaibi. “I’m diabetic. My kit’s in my bag.”

Al-Shuaibi took the backpack from Yusuf and pushed it towards Jack.

The test was easy to fake. Jack had it all set up.

The indicator to show he had low blood sugar, then a syringe of water to inject into his stomach.

Jack wanted them to see the kit, for them to think there was no danger because he didn’t want to be on that yacht with no drug and no gun.

The other thing he did was swallow Viagra with the water they’d brought him. He put everything away and leaned back.

“You okay?” Al-Shuaibi asked.

“Yes. Sorry. Too much lemonade. It’s type one diabetes, newly diagnosed, and I’m still adjusting to what I can drink and eat. It pisses me off. I should have checked before I drank. I’ll be fine now. We haven’t even introduced ourselves, have we? I’m Sebastian Green.”

“Saad Al-Shuaibi. Sure you’re okay?”

Jack nodded.

“Would you like to see my yacht?”

“I would love to see your yacht.” Jack grinned.

Al-Shuaibi asked him more about the diabetes on the way back to the marina. Jack was well versed on what to say.

“When I get hungry and shaky, or develop a headache, it’s a sign I need to check my blood sugar. I’ll adjust. If I don’t, I’ll develop worse health problems. I wasn’t planning on dying young.”

“That would be a shame.” The Saudi had his hand on Jack’s thigh and was massaging gently.

Fortunately, the marina wasn’t far and Jack followed Al-Shuaibi and Yusuf down the pontoon to the superyacht. The other guy brought up the rear. It was impossible not to be impressed. Jack had no problem admiring the craft and gathered information as he asked questions.

“How many people does it take to crew something this size?”

“As many as fourteen, but I only need seven. There are eight cabins, space for sixteen guests. A media room, a pool—as you can see—a gym, lots of toys: water skis, wakeboards, kayaks, inflatables. Three tenders.”

“It’s beautiful.” Jack took off his jacket and unfastened his bow tie, leaving it loose around his neck.

“Not the only thing that’s beautiful,” Al-Shuaibi whispered in his ear.

The engine came on and Jack started. “We’re moving?”

“Just offshore for a while.”

“Right.” Damn.

A female crew member in a white uniform brought over a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

“Will you have some?” Al-Shuaibi asked. “Can you?”

“A little.”

Al-Shuaibi opened the bottle so Jack knew it was safe.

“What period of history are you studying at Cambridge?”

“Next term … heresy in medieval southern France and consumer culture in the United States, among other topics. I want to do my 10,000 word dissertation on the influence of Western powers on Saudi Arabia during the 20th century.”

“Really?”

“You can be research.”

The guy laughed.

Jack was relieved when the yacht stopped moving. They were further out than he’d have liked, but that was only an issue if he had to swim back injured.

“Is there a bathroom I can use?” Jack asked. “I’d like a shower.”

“Let me show you.”

The Saudi spoke in Arabic as he passed Yusuf. We are not to be disturbed.

Jack followed him to what was clearly the master suite.

Al-Shuaibi’s clothes were strewn on a chair.

The doors to the balcony were open and Cannes lit up the sky.

How far away? A mile? As Jack stripped, the Saudi dropped onto the bed to watch.

Maybe Jack would be lucky and he’d have a heart attack without him having to do anything, but he somehow doubted it.

Fortunately, Jack’s cock was already swelling.

The bathroom was better than the one in the hotel where Jack was staying. As he’d expected, Al-Shuaibi joined him. Jack wasn’t in the least bit turned on which was an issue but he leaned back against the tiles, wrapped his hand around his dick and began to massage himself to full hardness.

When Al-Shuaibi reached for him, Jack wrapped his fingers around the guy’s thick cut cock, leaning into him so his face couldn’t be seen.

He heard Al-Shuaibi’s breathing catch. The guy was muttering in Arabic, his head thrown back as his cock was worked.

If Al-Shuaibi came first, there was a better chance of Jack getting on top of him and injecting him. Assuming that he was up for bottoming.