Page 19 of The Quarterlands (Dark Water #4)

The hacienda was fully staffed, too, with a cook, housekeeper, and gardeners.

There was the ever-present security as well, lest Alex think he could somehow escape Tyler’s clutches here.

Spain didn’t recognise the British IS scheme, but they had no wish to interfere, either; this country had its own problems.

“Mr Tyler, sir.” A tall man with a completely bald head appeared, his skin dark and smooth. He was dressed in a long black robe, clearly bearing the Tyler livery, although he wasn’t an IS. “How lovely to finally welcome you to your hacienda.” He had a rich, deep voice and a Spanish accent.

“Alex, this is Jabir. He’s the major-domo here.” Tyler introduced them. “It you want anything, ask Jabir. He’s a local.”

Jabir shook Alex’s hand, an expression of profound pity in his eyes. His gaze lingered, momentarily, on the ID tag hanging from Alex’s necklace, and Alex caught his little moue of distaste.

“You are very welcome here, sir,” Jabir said, bowing slightly. “I hope everything here will be to your comfort. Now, I’m sure you are both hungry after your journey. I have laid you a meal out by the pool.”

Jabir led them back to the infinity pool, overlooking a glorious blue bay. The food was delicious, and as the sun went down, they swam together in the warm pool, looking out at the lights of the boats in the harbour below.

Later, Tyler made love to him in front of the fire pit, both of them wet and gleaming in the light of the lanterns Jabir had lit.

It was the single most romantic moment of Alex’s life, but he felt nothing.

If all this kept Tyler from hurting him, needling him, and trying to see inside his soul, then that was the best he could hope for.

It wasn’t much of a holiday. He was confined to the house, and beautiful though it was, there wasn’t much to do.

Tyler took trips out, but not with Alex, presumably because if he managed to slip away, then Tyler couldn’t compel the Spanish authorities to give him back.

The security around the house was impregnable, though, and as it was situated on a remote clifftop, there was no way out.

Tyler’s ubiquitous smartwalls watched his every move and armed guards patrolled outside.

Alex was as much of a prisoner here as he’d ever been in the UK .

Tyler was still a workaholic. He encouraged Alex to swim and relax, but he spent hours holed up in his study working.

“Go and enjoy yourself,” he’d order, and Alex would slip away, grateful for the respite. He didn’t dare do any yoga – that had been forbidden, and the smartwalls would pick it up – but he lost himself in repetitive lengths of the pool, repeating his song in his head as he swam.

He fell in love with that pool. It was surrounded by flowering shrubs that scented the air and the views were stunning. As he swam towards the edge, it felt as if he’d fall into the harbour far below, an optical illusion that never failed to enchant.

Spain didn’t feel real. Left to his own devices for large chunks of time, he felt himself drifting further and further away.

He’d wanted space and respite, but it didn’t seem to be helping.

He recognised that he was depressed, his nerves shot to pieces, and could only watch, almost as an observer, detached from himself, as he sank further and further into a foggy lethargy.

He knew that Gideon would chide him, but somehow, he couldn’t help it.

Lying in the pool, floating, he gazed at the sky and blanked out.

He spent whole days this way, his flesh mottled and prune-like when he finally hauled himself out.

He resented every second Tyler spent with him because it meant he had to concentrate when he longed to drift away into nothingness.

It was harder and harder to stay in the moment, to live life constantly on the edge in the way that being with Tyler required.

He was no longer afraid that he’d snap and give himself away.

He was more worried that he’d simply disappear, shrivel into himself and cease to exist.

At first, Spain worked its magic on Tyler. He relaxed in the sun when he wasn’t working, and ate a healthier diet. He lost that cadaverous look and the shadows beneath his eyes disappeared. Alex noticed all these things without caring.

The sex, which had once been so passionate, was now almost always violent, and Alex had the bruises to prove it.

Mostly on his wrists but also on his thighs and arse, where Tyler grasped him too tightly when fucking him, as if he was terrified Alex was going to escape.

How? Where would I go? He’d tried that once before, and whenever he thought of it, he saw Peter lying by the side of the road, heard Joe’s raw howl of grief, and looked down into Solange’s dead eyes.

Escape wasn’t an option. Look what happened last time…

No, it was best to just swim and float and swim… and fuck.

Fuck. His cock, which had once been so revitalised by his lust-filled hatred of Tyler, was now experiencing the same lethargy as the rest of him.

Yet, Tyler demanded an erection from him every time as some kind of twisted evidence of his power over him.

He had no access to the blue pills anymore, so he had to force himself to give Tyler the proof he required.

It became more and more difficult, until the day finally came when nothing happened… his cock remained resolutely flaccid.

Panicked, he fell back on an old fantasy and imagined being here with Joe, being himself again – snarky, sometimes bad-tempered and petulant, sometimes charming and fun, but above all real.

Not this strange, watered-down version of himself that he’d become.

In his fantasies, Joe was a passionate and forceful lover, but also tender and caring.

When he was being bratty, Joe picked him up and threw him in the pool.

Then he jumped in beside him and kissed him as the water caressed them both.

Forgive me for using you this way, Joe… But it was the only thing that made him hard now.

He tuned out Tyler, gazing at him emptily, and thought only of Joe.

He was spent. He had nothing left to give.

Maybe Tyler had won after all. He felt as insubstantial as the wind.

When the sex was over, he took to creeping out and jumping into the pool. Only there was he free, swimming naked, cocooned in the warm, gentle kiss of the water.

As he disengaged from Tyler, so Tyler became increasingly frustrated by him.

Where was the sassy Alex he’d enjoyed tormenting?

The perfect IS, the chatty dinner companion he’d once been, interested in floating cities and all aspects of Tyler’s business, delighted and turned on by a trip in a flying duck?

Now, it took all Alex’s strength to listen and ask questions, and he had no energy for more.

His conversational abilities declined and their dinners were more often than not silent.

One night, as he forced himself out of the pool and back into the bedroom just before dawn, he saw lights flashing in Tyler’s study.

He tiptoed towards them and saw Tyler, sprawled in his office chair, gazing repeatedly at Elliot’s two holopics as they swirled and moved around him.

One was his mother, looking up, smiling, and walking.

The other was himself, caught in that quiet moment, turning and looking straight at the holocam, his eyes visibly draining of personality.

Tyler stopped the hologram, placing it on pause just before the mask went on, and Alex knew what he was looking for, because he could see it himself.

Alex Lytton was still in there, and Tyler wanted him.

Tyler clicked the hologram and it began to move again, its light passing through the illumination from his mother’s, the two of them performing a strange, twisted dance.

Alex backed away. The expression on Tyler’s face was sad, angry, and frustrated…

These Lyttons were a mystery he wanted to unravel, to control and possess absolutely, but he never could.

When he came back to bed half an hour later, he reached for Alex and entered him so hard that he had to chew on his pillow to stop himself from screaming.

Alex ached all the time now, throughout his body but also in the very depths of his being.

It was an ache that exhausted him, leeching out every last ounce of energy until there was nothing left.

Tyler shouted at him frequently, but he could barely hear him over the white noise that seemed to play permanently in his ears.

If only he had his song, maybe then he could tether himself better to reality.

As it was, he struggled to care. He ate like a bird, uninterested in food.

He barely slept. He just floated in that pool, gazing at the edge and at the bay far below.

If only he could float over it and be dashed on the rocks, but the pool cradled him within, and Tyler’s security men watched his every move, so that was never a possibility.

Then it happened. His erection failed to materialise, despite his best efforts to think about Joe.

Tyler was angry as Alex’s body gave him the evidence he’d been looking for all along, that he was being played, that Alex didn’t care about him.

Alex was aware of the sharp sting of slaps on his skin, but didn’t feel them, aware of Tyler’s rage without caring.

He knew he should care, for Solange’s sake, but it was all too much effort.

Tyler shook him like a rag doll, then left the room, retreating to the holopics in his office that gave him what he wanted.