Chapter 1
Beads of sweat trickled down the back of Joshua's neck, as he bent over the pump, and ran onto his back and into the crevices of his spine. As he straightened up, out of the shadows, the roaring sun beat down on his slowly bare skin and he flinched as his arm brushed the boiling metal of the car.
It was the beginning of summer and already the annual heats had arrived. Joshua had been working at the gas station for a month, since his first year at college had ended. He was working to earn money to pay for his next year of college, but it wasn't going well – the gas station was the only place he could find a job, and filling cars didn't earn a great pay. Regardless, he had to keep on working, as there was no chance of finishing his education without any extra cash.
With a lazy wave – even small movement was difficult in this thick heat – the driver of the car pulled out of the station. As Joshua watched the car accelerate down the road, he ran his hand across his sweaty brow and pushed back the flop of wavy brown hair. He glanced at the large clock above the door of the staff's booth – it was barely past midday, he had another five hours of this hard tedious work to do. Already his body was aching and dripping with sweat; he'd taken off his soaked shirt a little over an hour ago and he could feel his skin burning.
The noise of a pretty big engine caught his attention, and he turned to see a shining, silver Mercedes pull into the station. He couldn't help but roll his eyes bitterly – how could some people afford to cruise around in sports cars all day while he was stuck doing manual labour for no pay? Silently, he prayed that the Mercedes wouldn't pull into his pump's bay, but there was no such luck.
Unenthusiastically, he walked to the driver's window, which slid down as he approached.
"Hi. How can I help you?" he asked, dipping his head to the window. The man driving the Mercedes looked like the first comfortable person he'd seen today – he wore cool, white trousers with a matching linen shirt, open at the collar so that sparse salt-and-pepper chest hair was just visible. The car's efficient air conditioning kept the sticky heat outside. The man's dark sunglasses looked expensive.
"Yeah, diesel please," the man replied in a deep, melodic voice.
As Joshua finished filling the Mercedes, a he suddenly felt as if he was being watched. Quickly, he stood up and looked through the back window into the rear-view mirror of the car in which, he could have sworn, the man was looking him up and down. But the man was still wearing sunglasses and it was hard to tell. He shook his head to dispel the strange feeling.
He replaced the pump and returned to the driver's window.
"$110 please, sir." The man picked his wallet out of the well next to him and fished out the notes, handing them to Joshua.
"Say, what's a fit young lad like you doing working at a gas station?" The man's question took him by surprise, and it took him a moment to answer.
"Trying to earn a bit of cash to pay for college," he replied, "it's not going so well though."
"Hmm," the man murmured, and a thoughtful look clouded his face. Slowly, he pushed his sunglasses onto his head to reveal large, dark brown eyes, which began to roam across Joshua's body. Now he was sure of it – the man had been looking at him earlier, with this same unnerving, but not entirely unpleasant, piercing look. He felt as if the older man's eyes were taking in everything – his glistening, smooth, muscular chest, the faint outline of his strong abs, the curly, matted hair beneath his arms. Finally, they made contact with his own set of bright green eyes.
"Say, what's your name," he asked.
"Joshua Stevens."
"Well, Joshua" he said, "if you need some extra cash I've got a job you can do for me. I pay well," he added, with a glint in his eye.
"I could do with the money," Joshua admitted. He would not usually have considered an offer like this from a total stranger, but there was a strange draw about the man, and his offer was intriguing.
"Come along to this address this evening if you're interested," continued the man, drawing a card from his wallet and handing it to Joshua, "I'll tell you more about it."
On that note, the conversation was ended. The man thanked Joshua, bade him a good day and drove out of the station.
Joshua heard the sound of his engine, and the man's face and offer remained in his mind, long after the Mercedes disappeared around the bend.
*
It was just gone 8.30, the sun had dipped into the horizon leaking red light across the sky and the temperature had dropped a little. Joshua stood, awestruck, in front of two wrought-iron gates, which had opened as he had ridden up onto the magnificent estate where the man he'd met earlier that day – Henry Crowe, as it said on his card – lived. A plaque to the side of the gates identified the estate as 'Pleasure Manor.' Joshua frowned at the oddness of the name.
He stood his bike up against a stone pillar holding the gate and began to walk up the gravelled drive, at the end of which he could see the familiar Mercedes parked in front of the house.
The estate was about 3 miles out of town, in a beautiful, remote area. The great stone mansion in front of him was fronted by period, stone walls which revealed manicured gardens either side of the drive. The house, as he walked towards it, reminded him of old, Gothic castles from movies, but without the towering turrets and haunted wings.
When he reached the high, dark wood double doors, Joshua reached up and pulled down on a long rope-bell to his left, which incurred a resounding ring. Expecting the double doors to swing open, he was surprised to hear the swing of hinges to his right. He turned to see a small side-door opening and a tall, muscular, olive-skinned man come out. He was wearing a smart open-neck shirt and light, plain trousers. He smiled apologetically,
"Sorry, Mr Crowe doesn't like using these main doors," said the man, with a hint of a Spanish accent, "he thinks it makes him look like a snob. Rich coming from a man who owns a place like this," he added with a smile. Joshua laughed politely. "I'm Stefan, I work for Mr Crowe," he continued, "you must be Joshua."
