The Driver Read online

  THE DRIVER

  by

  HEIDI AUSTIN

  Copyright © 2020 Creation Publishing House

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations, places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.

  Warning: This book contains M/M sex and explicit language.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  A heartbeat of light flashing before my eyes in the dark. A silent pulse of monotonous movement. That was my everyday, and I loved it. Or at least, I had loved it until recently.

  I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable in a suit that I’d been sitting in for too many hours and a shirt collar that felt tight around my throat. I wanted my bed, I wanted repeats of bad television shows, but most of all I wanted some peace for a few, blissful minutes.

  “Hey, John-boy?” I suppressed the urge to swerve the car off the bridge we were crossing and held back a violent sigh.

  “Yes sir?”

  “Hear that? Calls me ‘sir’ and everything.” There was a titter of laughter from the back seat where my latest charge was entertaining for the fourth time that week. I couldn’t even remember whether it was more than one girl. I had started not to notice. He barked out some orders about going to a high-end restaurant and I changed lanes in order to head east. I had been in this job for nearly fifteen years. I was used to doing as I was told.

  The faint hum of the intercom clicked off and I glanced in the rear-view mirror. I couldn’t see anything, but it was force of habit. My eyes lingered on the privacy screen and a part of me wished that I could see just what the little brat was up to, but a large part of this position was to ignore and be ignored. I was good at that; it was all part of the service.

  If you spend a large portion of your life doing something, and you’re lucky enough to have a choice in what that is, then I say do something you love.

  I enjoy driving. I have always enjoyed it. I even like driving at night. It’s quiet, and it relaxes my mind. It’s also a bonus when the car is a Phantom Rolls Royce VIII. It wasn’t mine, of course, it came with the job, but it was definitely a perk. It was a stunning car to drive. Unfortunately, that type of car and the kind of wealth it attracted always had its down sides.

  When people ask me the inevitable question of what I do for a living, I answer truthfully "I’m paid to drive around the rich and famous.” If the response I get is positive I talk their ear off with stories. If it’s derogatory I have reached a point in my life where I’m long past caring what other people think of what I do, so I happily move on.

  I tend to get a mixed reaction when discussing my career. A lot of people like to talk down to me because they think I’m wasting my life and what I do is ‘unskilled’. Let me tell you, driving through London in rush hour and getting your screaming client to a meeting on time, despite two stops to pick up a contract from a bunch of uptight lawyers and grabbing a coffee en route is skilled work.

  My first client had been a Japanese businessman named Hiroshi Nakamura. He was an extremely wealthy but unassuming man, who got stuck in a lift with me for three hours when I worked as a finance analyst in his company. After hearing me wax lyrical about cars for twenty minutes, he managed to talk me into becoming his driver. In hindsight, a large part of that was because it was a convenience for him to have such a naïve, awe-struck kid at his beck and call. The other part was that he got to fuck me whenever he wanted, which worked out well, because he was great in bed.

  Mr Nakamura and I had had a clear and defined understanding when it came to our relationship. I had been his driver for three years, and then he really did have to marry his fiancée, before the rumours started flying in earnest.

  I still heard from him occasionally. He called me up from time to time, usually while I could hear his screaming kids in the background. It was sad that I still enjoyed feeling needed by him, but I never stayed on the phone long. The first call, right after his wedding, he had tried to talk dirty to me over a dodgy connection while on his honeymoon and I’d made it clear I wanted nothing to do with that side of his life any more. He had chosen his path, and I had chosen mine. After that he usually just called me up to complain about his family, which made me both sad for him but also amused – Hirsoshi could spin anything to sound hilarious.

  When our contract finally came to an end he was able to set me up with another, very lucrative, deal, with an extremely traditional CEO at one of the UK’s major charities. Her name was Irene Mathison and she was known as a dragon, but treated me like I was her lifeline, so we got along brilliantly. I never mentioned my sexuality to her and she wouldn’t have cared if I had. I became such an asset to her that she began to rely on me as a confidant as well as a driver, and when you keep your mouth shut in this business it can take you places. She knew everyone and when she emigrated to New Zealand, she recommended me to some of her closest friends and business associates and I never had trouble getting work again.

  Nakamura had always advised me to be discreet with any relationships I ever conducted around my clients, and I have lived by that rule ever since. I have my fun, in private, and I keep their secrets. It keeps them happy and keeps me reasonably rich. Significantly richer since this idiot got into the back seat of my car, and I wasn’t too proud to accept a paycheck from him because, unfortunately, I really needed the money.

  I was used to people with a heavy cash flow having a certain arrogance and entitlement about them, but at the tender age of thirty seven I was being told what to do by a twenty four year old who thought I was old enough to be his father.

  His attitude toward me was as the hired help and I was rather more used to clients who were aware I was doing them a service. Not since Nakamura had I actually performed a different kind of service, and I intended to keep it that way. It just complicated everything, and I had enough complications in my life.

  I was pretty sure he had a gaggle of girls in the back with him. I could feel the usual nausea as I thought about the likelihood of seat belts being worn. I hated putting anyone in danger and I hated it even more when young people were blasé about their lives. I listened, with half an ear, to the chatter in the back. It was muffled but I could hear what sounded like my name being mentioned several times. What was with this guy? Why did he have to constantly undermine and belittle me in front of people?

  “Hey, John-boy,” the intercom snapped into life again. God, how I hated that nickname. He’d picked it up pretty much straight away when he met me. Or rather, when his pompous arsehole of a father had introduced us with the perfunctory “This is your new driver, Cal. Don’t make him crash, this time.” Cal had given me a long stare and raised his eyebrows, asking his father’s retreating back why he had hired a grandpa to drive him around; I think at that moment I was already hating him a little bit.

  “Yes sir,” I replied quietly. There was less laughter now.

  “I need to get rid of some excess baggage.”

  I sighed.

  This happened so often I was even able to avoid the guilt on behalf of the women who he used.
He would get bored and drop them off at some street corner on our route. It would usually be near a good part of the city, and in true Cal-style, he would give them plenty of money as a kind of twisted apology for his own failings as a human. Most of them tottered off and seemed pretty happy.

  It didn’t sound like he was happy this time though, he sounded seriously pissed off.

  “Yes sir.”

  “What is he, like, your bitch?” A high pitched, nasal voice cut in. “Don’t you call me baggage, you piece of sh-”

  Cal clicked off the intercom. I felt irritation rise full-force now. I had assumed it was a group in the back with him, but it was now very clear it was just one woman. The poor girl had barely been in the car more than thirty minutes. He’d met her in a club I couldn’t remember the name of, and she seemed very happy to accommodate his every whim, fondling the front of his trousers quite openly in front of me. I wondered whether she had really known what she was getting herself into. Did any of them? I didn’t recall a single sincere word coming out of his mouth to date, so it was unlikely he lured them into the backseat with any modicum of truth. He seemed permanently laid back, permanently cocky, and infuriatingly dismissive of anyone who passed through his life.

  He might have had her blow him in the time she had been in the car and now he was chucking her out. Christ. What kind of man could pick up women this fast, get off and get rid, without any kind of remorse?

  I pulled the car over after a few tense minutes of very obvious silence behind me. We were next to a good bar I knew Cal favoured, and I waited for them to get out. There were the usual thuds, as though someone was about to get out of the car, but I knew as soon as there was a pause that she was going to cause trouble.

  I got out, giving a weary nod to Gerry, the bouncer outside the bar, a man I’d known for years and who had been watching me and my latest client with great amusement over the past few months.

  I rolled my eyes at his knowing grin and walked to the rear passenger door. I waited. I listened. There was a sharp slap and I felt the handle compress beneath my fingers before I could even think.

  “You get the fuck away from me, shithead,” came the venomous fury of Cal’s latest plaything. A plaything that wasn’t happy at all. She had one shoe off, her stiletto gauging into Cal’s neck.

  I leaned into the back of the car. She lunged at me, her arms stupidly wide, as though she expected to attack me with her arms round my neck. I slipped my arms beneath hers and yanked her effortlessly, but not roughly, out of the car.

  I was a lot stronger than her and I felt a moment of genuine concern. If she got into the wrong car and someone really wanted to hurt her, she was tiny, not strong, and they would have no problem overpowering her.

  I glanced behind me, and saw that Cal’s neck was bleeding. I felt an irritating wash of panic flood through me at the idea of that cocky little shit suing me.

  I set ‘Stiletto’ on the pavement gently, and she righted herself, very unsteady from the single shoe and the shots she had clearly been downing in the back of the car.

  “Mr Emerson would like to make sure you’re safe,” I said, swallowing back the familiar bile. I indicated Gerry behind her, hating every word coming out of my stupid mouth. “He’ll make sure you’re given a V.I.P booth and free booze all night.”

  She looked at me like I was scum, and right then, I felt like it, but I just stared back, unmoving.

  She glanced behind me at the car. “He get you to suck him off, too?”

  Not for the first time the idea of getting between Cal’s long, beautiful legs, flitted through my mind, but I made sure she didn’t see a flicker of emotion cross my face. I was damned good at discretion.

  “Not my thing,” I replied coolly, “I like my meat mature.”

  She went completely still for a second and I thought she might try to slap me, as well. Then, to my surprise, she burst out laughing. It immeasurably improved her features and she actually relaxed. Gerry, who had been approaching us with as much stealth as a bulldozer, backed off slightly, which I appreciated. I loved Gerry; he was an enormous, mountain of a man who got away with intimidation as a bouncer because of his size but I knew his secret. He had two Chihuahuas at home, who he doted on and liked to take bubble baths with his beautiful boyfriend while listening to Kate Rusby of an evening. He was the biggest wet blanket I had ever met.

  The girl shoved her shoe back on, then cocked a hip out and looked at me with her head to the side, assessing me. Her long brown hair cascaded over her shoulders. She was really quite gorgeous and I found myself smiling.

  “You’re funny. You should get a new job working for someone who’s not a wanker.” She said blithely, all anger gone from her body language.

  “Maybe you’re right and maybe you should pick your men more carefully. You can do better, believe me.” I was amazed to see her look as though she really thought about it for a moment. She shifted uncomfortably on her five inch heels and straightened her dress.

  “Will he pay for a cab home?”

  “Of course.” I was authorised to get rid of people pretty much straight away if Cal wished it, and he hadn’t even stuck his bleeding head out of the car to protest, so I thought I was on safe ground. I glanced behind her. “Hey, Gerry?” The giant came up to us. The girl took one look and cowered away from him, but I rested a reassuring hand lightly on her shoulder. “This young lady - ”

  “Kayla.”

  “Kayla here needs a cab home. Please add it to Mr Emerson’s tab for the next time he visits. The cab takes her wherever she needs to go.” I turned to Kayla. “Gerry will give you his number and you will call him to tell him you got home safely, you understand?” She nodded dumbly. “Take care of yourself, Kayla.”

  “Thanks. Seriously. You’re nice, get a job that doesn’t involve driving round this douche and his tiny dick.”

  I laughed and nodded at Gerry who smiled at me and rolled his eyes. I would owe him a pint for that one.

  I went back to the driver door and got in, not bothering to check on Cal. He was going to go apeshit and I didn’t want him to do it outside the bar with a queue of people listening in. I was wondering with some concern now, whether or not I still had a job, but I was beyond caring. There had to be more to life than this. In fact, I knew there was.

  I closed my door and took a deep breath, started the car and drove away. There was silence. A very long silence that made my palms sweat. God, he was going to fire me, I just knew it. I waited until I had been through four sets of lights and came to a stop at the back of a long queue of traffic before I finally relented and clicked the communicator.

  “You alive back there?” There was more silence. I started to think that maybe I should have checked him over; she might have kneed him in the balls or something, which wouldn’t have been a good start to the evening, knowing his propensity for fucking everything that moved.

  I thought about turning on the radio but I had never done that while driving him before and I thought it might seem a little suspicious.

  Then there was a click. “Why did you say that?”

  I breathed out. “Say what?”

  “That I was immature.”

  I flexed my toes inside my shoes and frowned.

  Since when had he given a flying fuck what I thought of him? I had said plenty of stupid stuff to get rid of women and make them think they could do better. I was certain I’d called him juvenile, ridiculous and antagonistic more than once. Maybe he had been too drunk to notice the other times.

  “Are you under the impression that picking up a girl at a bar, getting her to suck you off and then throwing her out of the car thirty minutes later is something mature people do?”

  I stopped. Shit. I never, ever, commented on his activities, and my opinion now was not going to help me keep my job. I very briefly closed my eyes in despair as the traffic moved slowly forward. I didn’t have any right to make judgements on his life, just as he didn’t have the right to do it to me. Fuc
k. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “She didn’t suck me off.”

  The words ‘suck me off’ coming from his mouth made an irritating, involuntary shiver run down my spine, but to my surprise I felt something in my shoulders loosen. “Okay,” I muttered as I flicked the intercom on again, “well I’m not surprised she was angry, but I was trying to get her to feel better about herself. It wasn’t a reflection on you, specifically. I didn’t think I could make a worse impression on her than you already had. Make them laugh and make them leave, thought that was the point.”

  A thoughtful silence followed that sentence. The button was still pressed and I could hear him breathing and the gentle chink of ice in a glass. I wondered whether I would need to re-stock the refrigerator again. He loved vodka. I mean really loved it. A bottle every couple of days loved it.

  “She was being a bitch.” His voice had taken on the whiny tone I hated and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I turned into one of London’s busier streets. I had no idea where we were going, I never did. After he was done with business for the day he would just wait until we were in an area he liked and then he’d tell me to stop and wait for him until he wanted to go home. “Girls are always bitches to me.” His voice was low, almost as though he expected me not to hear him.

  “Maybe you should be nicer to them,” I grumbled and then remembered the intercom was still on.

  “I had no idea you talked so much.” Then he went quiet and flicked off the switch and I continued on.

  I watched the endless lines and the lights passing us by. I loved cities and busy towns, especially London. We rarely went out of the city, other than to go back to the family mansion. It was more of a castle, really, but Cal joked that his Dad downgraded it to a mansion for tax purposes.