Thirds: Inked 2

by SE Jakes

  Inked was taking under/over bets on Aleks and Brogan by the time he'd left work that evening. It'd been a long day, with no Brogan visits or calls, which had Becca more upset than Aleks.

  He needed to get his shit together, put himself back on track and figure out his next steps. Brogan's place hadn't yielded any real surprises, and it was still Aleks's gut instinct that Brogan wasn't involved in the underground fighting.

  Illegal underground fight clubs were everywhere. Most of them boasted consensual players who fought each other for money and underground fame. Maybe one percent of all the fight clubs were deathmatches, which made them hard to trace.

  It helped the owners of these places that most of the fighters ended up dead, leaving no witnesses who'd be willing to talk to the police. But Aleks made inroads at enough local boxing gyms to get the inside track…mainly because they all wanted to recruit him to fight underground.

  Tonight, he went into one of those gyms. It was in one of the more run-down sections of the city which made it a draw to those types of fights. He had a membership and worked out there at least once a week in order to keep current.

  Tonight, he hit the jackpot. Exactly what he'd suspected. Even though Vann had killed Harry's men, there were enough shitty-assed people in the world to populate another one of Harry's venues.

  "Special Edition," one of the men told him in passing. "Do you know anyone?"

  "I can get you some names," Aleks said.

  "Don't take too long. Spots filling up fast."

  Yeah, I'll bet. Aleks finished his workout, feeling sick to his stomach. Special Edition was code for "young fighters." Under eighteen.

  Aleks had been recruited for a Special Edition ring. And recruitment was very different from anything any of those boys had ever experienced.

  This meant that Harry was due back soon—because he brought his important clients to these fights. He was gearing up for a brand-new shiny edition of the deathmatches.

  Aleks would kill him before recruitment got underway.

  After a long, hot shower, Aleks called Vann.

  "How's Harry's cousin?" was the first thing his friend asked after their usual greeting.

  "Didn't see him today." It wasn't until Aleks said that out loud that he realized he was annoyed at that fact. Dammit.

  "Do you need to cuddle?"

  "Fuck off," Aleks muttered and Vann laughed. "Everyone at work is taking bets on me and Brogan. We went to dinner last night."

  "Dinner?"

  Aleks sighed inwardly and admitted, "I went to his place afterward. You know—for recon."

  With your dick…

  Vann paused for a long moment—his friend would never judge him, but would protect him to the death.

  Finally, Vann told him, "You're playing with fire, Aleks," and his use of the word fire was purposeful. They'd both lost everything in those flames—except each other.

  "It's the only way I know how." He paused. "There's another match I got invited to." He explained what he'd learned at the gym. "I wish we had more leads. I just don't get how none of the men admitted to starting the fire."

  "Yeah, you'd think they'd admit their sins on their deathbeds—or at least try to use a confession to get out of dying. Doesn't mean they weren't lying sacks of shit though," Vann reasoned. "Do you need my help?"

  "What, you think I can't handle it?"

  "I know you can. Question is, should you have to? Because it sounds like you like this Brogan guy and none of this is great for family relations."

  "Doesn't matter. It's not like it's serious."

  "So you're just using this guy?"

  He ground out, "Yes," and Vann gave a short laugh before telling him, "Right. Keep saying that until you believe it."

  Then he hung up before Aleks could toss off a retort. He sacked out on the couch and watched mindless TV so his subconscious could be free to formulate a plan or pick up on a sign from the universe.

  Anything, at this point—because he knew what he needed to do, and he had a time frame…and a giant complication in the form of a blond-haired, blue-eyed man.

  Aleks had compartmentalized his life into thirds for a long time. Since the cages, it had been about past and present. The third and final missing piece—future—hadn't mattered because he refused to look that far ahead. Until he did what he needed to do, he would be stuck in the past, barely noticing the present.

  And that was o-fucking-kay with him.

  And he'd keep telling himself that until he believed it.

  He'd do so, because all he had were memories, not pictures, of his brother, Berdy. When he'd gone back to the apartment they'd lived in, post-fighting, it had been rented to other people and no one had any knowledge of where his and Berdy's things had gone. Aleks knew they'd been effectively sanitized—and Vann's things had met the same fate.

  Berdy was born blind. Aleks remembered their father not exactly treating Berdy badly, but pretty well ignoring him, knowing that Berdy could never follow into the lifestyle of a Russian mobster.

  Of course, Berdy would've been a better choice than Aleks—given time, Berdy's talent for tactics would've shown through. His brother could see better than any sighted person Aleks had ever known. That gave Aleks less comfort than anything when he thought about Berdy's death…being locked away, without any stimulation but what he could hear. Berdy wasn't helpless, but he was at a disadvantage in certain situations.

  Aleks always hoped that because Berdy couldn't identify anyone, he might be let go. But fate had other plans.

  Aleks was a "poor little rich kid." At least that's how he'd been referred to on the streets. He was the son of a mafia boss who'd been killed in the line of duty for the mob. When their mama moved them out of the nest of mob neighborhoods and into a new area of Coney Island, she'd really thought things would be better. She did so to hide the fact that she had millions in offshore bank accounts. She'd wanted to get away from mob activity and instead, Aleks found himself in the center of it.

  After Dad died, Berdy would stay home with Mom, paving the way for Aleks's early life of a little bit of crime and a lot of sex.

  He'd known he was gay from the second he understood just what 'gay' meant. He'd been fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, hitting bars and gay clubs, illegal underground ones full of underage sex, money and drugs. It was all about the sex for him, but money too, because his family needed it—because his mom refused to touch those offshore millions for fear of triggering too much attention to their family. Aleks figured out from a young age that combining work and play made for an easier job.

  The most important club was the underground speakeasy-type on the corner. There, he could run messages between two of the upper echelon soldiers of the crime lord Aleks's father had answered to.

  Aleks didn't want to be on that same path, but the money was good, the prestige important to keep his mother and Berdy from being hurt. He'd always been bigger for his age, and especially in the gay underground, youth was prized.

  He was always willing.

  But then the men who ran the fight club had taken Berdy, and Aleks had gone to the address he'd been given and turned himself over willingly for a two-year sentence to save him.

  Now, Aleks closed his eyes and thought about Brogan, the fights, the cage—because they were all inexorably entwined.

  Brogan had a lankier in build back then, with shorter, dirty blond hair and blue-as-fuck eyes that Aleks had been sure he'd remember till the day he died. In that cage, he'd thought about Brogan through long nights when he couldn't sleep, when the guys around him were crying or screaming because they'd gone insane.

  He and Vann vowed early on to help each other, probably because they recognized their inner strength. Aleks knew better than to try to save the other twenty or so guys there—most of them wouldn't make it. And from there, it would be a never-ending, revolving door of new guys.

  The guys who made it through were trying to intimidate Aleks, to break him down so they'd win the deathm
atches. They were all competing for life, theirs and a loved one’s. They all had the strongest motivation possible, but Vann always reminded him that they had the strongest minds.

  He and Vann had different backgrounds but the story was similar—young boys in a poor neighborhood, surrounded by Russian mafia activity.

  Aleks's brother, younger by two years, had been taken to ensure Aleks's cooperation. Vann's first love, Lola, had been taken as well, and they’d been killed that same night Vann pulled Aleks out of the fire.

  "Do you think Berdy and Lola became friends?" he'd asked Vann once.

  "There's no way they wouldn't have," Vann told him immediately, and even if he'd been lying, Aleks was forever grateful for the answer.

  Chapter Six

  Aleks was pacing his apartment the following night. He'd gone to work, listened to everyone yammer on about him and Brogan, and he'd gone to the gym, where he hadn't been able to get out enough of his frustration.

  He was dreaming about the guy, for chrissakes—hot, torturous dreams that had him waking up hard as fuck and unsatisfied. He thought about going to X, taking another Dom—any Dom—up on their offer. Or maybe Brogan would be there…

  Or maybe Brogan's waiting for you to call him.

  "Cold day in hell," he muttered. And then he picked up his cell and dialed. When Brogan answered, Aleks just said, "Hey."

  "I thought you lost my number," Brogan said.

  "Phone works both ways," Aleks told him.

  "Want to come over?" Brogan asked without missing a beat.

  No way. "Yeah."

  "Have you eaten?"

  "Not yet."

  "I'll order some takeout. Chinese okay?"

  "That's fine," Aleks bit out.

  "See you in a few," Brogan said.

  After he hung up, Aleks stared at the cell phone in his hand as though it was the traitor who'd dialed Brogan all by itself. Then he tossed it on the table, showered and went to Brogan's.

  He didn't realize that he was stalking into Brogan's apartment, angry as fuck. He'd gotten more worked up on the way over, and all he wanted to do was forget. And that made him feel guilty because he shouldn't want to forget any of it.

  "Hey." Brogan tilted his head. "You seem…"

  "Frustrated," Aleks answered before he could stop himself.

  "I can help with that."

  Aleks snorted. "Right."

  Brogan moved closer to him, so close that he was able to lean into Aleks's cheek. "Right."

  Brogan could tell from the phone call that Aleks was wound tight, but it was painfully apparent from the way he'd stalked into the apartment. Somehow, Brogan needed to turn Aleks into the prey.

  That's what Aleks wanted anyway. So Brogan nipped his earlobe, then licked along Aleks's neck. Aleks moved involuntarily closer to him, looking for full-body contact and Brogan gave it to him, put a hand on Aleks's ass to keep him close while murmuring, "I want to put you over my knee and spank the frustration right out of you," against Aleks's cheek.

  He felt Aleks shudder against him and he'd hit on something. Whether Aleks answered with words or not, he'd given himself—his wants—away.

  "You want it—come on. Let me help."

  Aleks found his voice, said, "No" loudly as he pulled back and shook his head hard, like he was trying to deny his need to himself as much as he was to Brogan.

  Brogan let Aleks keep some distance between them. "I can wait all night. But that?" He motioned between Aleks's legs. "Probably having a tough time."

  "I have self-control."

  "Right." Brogan looked him up and down, then went to sit in the nearest comfortable chair and patted his thighs. "Come on, baby. Just give it up to me. No harm, no foul. I promise you'll thank me. I know I'll be thanking you for a hell of a show."

  Aleks's cheeks were flushed, with desire and fear and that ache of need Brogan knew so well in the pit of his belly. Finally, Aleks took a step forward. Something changed, the set of his shoulders, maybe, showed a determination, an anger…a willingness. Only Aleks could combine all three so well and still appear as in control as he was not.

  Still, Brogan pushed. "Move slower. I'm upping the amount of smacks you get every time you make me wait."

  Aleks's cheeks flushed. "Please…"

  Right. Please yes.

  Please don't make me do this was really please force me into this. Brogan had been playing the Dom/sub game long enough to tell the difference. "Is that your new safe word?"

  "No. Same," Aleks managed. "Orange."

  "Good. Come on, then."

  Aleks swallowed with a visible pull, then took his shirt off and tossed it aside. He bent down and untied his boots, sliding out of them easily. Barefoot, in jeans only, hair tousled and face angry and hopeful, and Brogan knew Aleks was the best-looking man he'd ever seen.

  Finally, Aleks unzipped his jeans and pulled them down enough to expose himself. Only then did he say, "I can't. Not like that."

  He pointed to the floor, the couch, the bed. Brogan wondered if he should let Aleks call that shot and decided positioning wasn't as important as giving Aleks a safe release for his pent-up anger. "Fine. The bed. Everything off, though. And get on all fours."

  Aleks complied fairly quickly, but there was just enough purposeful hesitation to ensure he'd get punished for noncompliance. When Brogan walked into his bedroom, the sight of Aleks on all fours, on his bed, ass facing him, was perfect.

  He went into the bathroom, put lube in his pocket and brought a towel over to the bed. He put it under Aleks, then ran his hand down Aleks's bare back, let it travel slowly down to his ass, where it rested on his left ass cheek.

  Aleks shuddered again. His head was up and he was looking straight ahead when Brogan brought his hand down firmly on his ass, an open-palmed swat that made Aleks groan and his skin redden. The second smack had him hanging his head down. By the fifth, he was breathing hard, swaying a little.

  Brogan reached into his pocket for the lube, snapped the lid open with a flick of his thumb and squirted it on his fingers. He threw the tube down and slid two generously lubed digits inside Aleks, causing him to rut against the invasion. "Good. Fuck my fingers. I'll add another if you're good."

  Aleks did as he asked and was rewarded with a third to open him and brush his prostate. And when Aleks began rocking his hips and getting lost in the rhythm, Brogan pulled out and brought his other hand down on Aleks's ass, over and over again, until Aleks was squirming and yelling and cursing…and moaning in pure goddamned pleasure. "Brogan, please… I…need. I fucking…need."

  "Don't come," Brogan told him firmly, knowing there was no way Aleks could hold back. "Don't you dare."

  But it only took two more smacks before Aleks's orgasm hit him. His body tensed and he cursed again, and he came, all over himself mostly. His arms and legs trembled visibly and the tension finally left his body, leaving him a limp, wobbly mess.

  Exactly the way Brogan wanted him. "Want to fuck you," he warned.

  "Good," Aleks muttered, his head still down.

  "On your back." He rolled a condom on as Aleks complied, and Brogan pulled him down to the edge of the bed, put Aleks's legs on his shoulders so his cock lined up perfectly with Aleks's hole. He pushed his cock inside Aleks's already slick channel and Aleks's body arched upward, accepting the invasion and welcoming it with a soft, satisfied groan.

  Brogan grabbed Aleks's hips to hold him in place as he pistoned his own hips, giving Aleks no escape from the constant pressure on his gland. It was no doubt sensitive as hell, and he watched as Aleks's expression told the story of skating the thin line between pain and pleasure.

  Pleasure won out. Or hell, maybe the pain did it, but Aleks came before Brogan. It was mainly a dry orgasm, but getting to watch his body spasm was what pushed Brogan over the edge. He pulled out, ripped the condom off and came with an aching climax all over Aleks's chest and belly, his gaze never leaving Aleks's face.

  Aleks never looked away either. And when Broga
n could fucking breathe again, he let his gaze wander to Aleks's chest, his own come mixed with Brogan's, and Brogan couldn't help but rub them together and into Aleks's skin where he already had a tattoo made up of interlocking rings, marking him further.

  After a shower, where Aleks mainly just stood under the hot water to let Brogan prop him up and wash him, the food arrived.

  He was finally, momentarily, satiated. And starving. He wore only a soft pair of borrowed sweats, and with Brogan dressed the same, they sat next to each other on the couch in Brogan's living room with the food spread on the coffee table. They ate right out of the containers, with chopsticks, passing the noodles and chicken and beef back and forth.

  "Good stuff. From Tasty Kitchen?"

  Brogan nodded. "The best takeout in the city."

  "Agreed."

  Brogan had Yuengling beer too, which Aleks always appreciated. His ass stung a little, but in that good, hot way that reminded him that he'd gotten what he'd come for.

  He felt more focused than he had before. He'd played. Now it was time for work. When he'd eaten enough, he stood, stretched and began to survey the apartment again the way he hadn't had the opportunity to the other night. Brogan sat back on the couch, not seeming to mind Aleks walking around to check out at the family photos, looking closely at the pictures of people who appeared to be Brogan's parts. Military ones. None of Harry or Harry's family.

  Now, he picked up one of the framed photos to get a closer look at Brogan, wearing his camouflage war paint, a grim expression, his rifle by his side. He was surrounded by several men, all dressed exactly the same. But Aleks could pick Brogan out of a crowd just by his eyes—so blue they glowed in the picture.

  "That was in South America," Brogan said finally.

  Aleks stared at it a few more seconds before putting it down and walking back to the couch. "I'm guessing you can't get more specific than that."

  Brogan shook his head no. "Good guys in my unit. We stayed together for four years."