Page 15 of The Quarterlands (Dark Water #4)

His song filled his head for the next few hours as they toured the factory.

He concentrated on reciting it as he walked around with Tyler, listening to his plans for the place, nodding and enthusing wherever it seemed appropriate.

The factory workers had turned out in force to look at their new owner, and he could see the astonishment on their faces as they watched him go past, Tyler’s hand resting proudly on his arse.

He was beyond caring. Let them look. He was what he was.

On their return to Ghost Eye, Tyler made love to him repeatedly, still on a high from his moment of glory.

When he finally fell asleep, Alex slipped away to the gym, needing his yoga more than ever.

He’d kept his mask in place all day in the face of the most impossible provocation.

It had been an act of superhuman will and had taken everything he had, and now he desperately needed to recharge and find that place in his head where he could lose himself.

Alex Lytton was too present, full of too many feelings. He had to be erased.

“Play Make Me a Channel of Your Peace ,” he ordered the gym smart speaker.

“That song is not available,” came the unexpected reply.

Alex whirled around in confusion. “What? Why?”

“That song is not available on the orders of Mr Tyler.”

Alex took a deep breath, then another, trying to find a way to process this.

He needed that song to survive. He relied on it.

Had Tyler somehow figured that out? He could at least do the yoga without it.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t know the song off by heart; he could hum it to himself as he put himself through his poses, but it wasn’t the same.

The song calmed him. It was his anchor. How was he supposed to survive without it to ground him?

Yet, what could he do? Ask Tyler to restore it?

For what reason? And how could he do that without giving away all that it meant to him?

He performed his yoga, but the questions continued buzzing around in his head, and it didn’t help as much as it usually did.

Finally, he gave up and returned to Tyler’s bed.

He was exhausted but couldn’t sleep. Beside him, Tyler snored happily, lost to the world, but Alex just lay there, trying to process the day’s events .

At least his father was okay, if penniless.

He hoped Tyler hadn’t rubbed Noah’s nose in his loss too much, but that was unlikely; if George Tyler was going to bail out Lytton AV, he’d want his pound of flesh.

First, he’d taken Noah’s wife, then his son, and now his company.

Alex shivered; it didn’t do to forget what a powerful and committed enemy Tyler was.

The next few days were a struggle as he tried to manage without his song.

Tyler was upbeat and cheerful, still riding the wave of joy from his acquisition of Lytton AV.

Alex tried to suppress his thoughts, but he was restless, full of anxiety for his father and brother, and full of remorse for his part in their downfall.

The sleepless nights began to add up and he thought he was going mad.

Every night, Tyler fucked him, revelling in the Lytton in his bed, just as he revelled in being the new owner of Lytton AV.

His victory was complete. Every night, he turned over and fell asleep, leaving Alex lying there, burning up inside with too many feelings.

He gazed at Tyler lying next to him. Should he do the world a favour and smother the man with his pillow while he slept?

He had this thought on a nightly basis and wrestled with it endlessly.

Was it what Joe would do? No. Joe would challenge the man to a fight, give him a fair chance.

Alex was an artist, not a soldier; he knew he couldn’t do it, and he was by no means sure he could take on Tyler in a fight.

He was young and strong, but Tyler was fit and also strong.

Besides, Tyler’s security team was right outside the door.

The thoughts were taking over his mind and he needed a coping mechanism to stop himself from going completely insane. So he slipped out of bed and walked down the hallway to the gym… only to find it locked.

“Problem, Alexander?” a voice asked silkily behind him.

“No… I just… couldn’t sleep.” Alex turned to face his houder. “I thought I’d work out, but the gym seems to be locked.”

“On my orders. I don’t want you doing yoga anymore.

” Tyler’s eyes gleamed as he spoke. “You have a personal trainer to put you through your paces, and you’re looking a little sharp around the edges.

” He traced a finger over Alex’s cheekbones.

“No more yoga. Not in the gym or anywhere else.” He leaned against the wall, gazing at Alex searchingly, still looking for the chink in his armour.

“Of course. Whatever you wish, sir,” Alex replied softly, but inside he was screaming. How long could he keep up this veneer of being the perfect IS without his coping mechanisms? Gideon hadn’t given him any guidelines for this .

Tyler put an arm around his shoulder. “You’re cold – let’s go back to bed. You know, I’ve often wondered about the significance of that song you keep playing,” he murmured, pushing Alex back along the hallway.

Alex swallowed hard. “It’s about service. It reminds me to be humble, so I can be the devoted IS you deserve,” he replied softly. “It reminds me that my own needs aren’t important. I must dedicate myself only to you and your happiness.”

“Ah.” Tyler gave a little laugh. “Well, that does sound noble, but I’m sure you don’t need a song to help you do that if you are, indeed, the changed person you keep insisting you are.”

“No, of course not. It’s just a reminder.”

“And the yoga?” They reached the bedroom, and Tyler slipped into bed, pulling Alex in beside him.

“It’s a discipline. It keeps me in shape.”

“Yet there’s a ritualistic element to how you perform all those poses. Watch.” Tyler brought up footage from his yoga sessions on the smartwall.

Alex gazed at the wall glumly. It seemed that Tyler had finally found his Achilles heel.

He watched himself going through his poses, his song playing over and over again, his mouth soundlessly repeating the words.

He watched as he gazed at himself in the mirror, saw himself visibly blanking out all aspects of his true personality until there was nothing left.

“You know, it’s an interesting trick,” Tyler murmured.

“It seems to me that when you arrive at the gym, you’re agitated.

There’s this sense of pent-up energy.” He rewound the footage and showed it again, pointing.

“Then the yoga and the music soothe you. They calm you, and by the end, you’re entirely blank.

That’s what I’m seeing, at least.” Tyler turned to face him. “Care to explain?”

Alex felt like he was in a field of snakes and didn’t know where to place his feet. He was acutely aware of how very dangerous everything had become.

“At Belvedere, they taught us to put our houders first. I’ll admit that didn’t come easily to me. This was a way of learning that lesson,” he replied eventually.

“Well, I expect my best IS to be able to do that without props.” Tyler turned off the footage. “No more yoga, Alexander, no more song. Let’s see how well you get on without them, shall we?”

Alex was reminded of that picture in his father’s study, of Holmes and Moriarty teetering on the edge of the Reichenbach Falls together, locked in a deadly embrace.

That was how it felt being with Tyler. They were going over the Falls together, and they’d both die in the process.

It was surely the only possible outcome.

Alex was no Sherlock Holmes. He had no clever plan to escape. His one plan relied on him remaining mentally strong enough to carry it out, and now he’d been deprived of the tools he relied upon to keep him sane, he wasn’t sure that was possible.