by J. M. Dabney
“Yeah, just hold on.”
He went to an old metal locker sitting in the corner of the structure. He pulled open the door, getting the grate and pan, also tugged out the extra sleeping bag he kept there for winter.
Taking deep, even breaths, he calmed himself and made his way outside. Two steaks that still looked partially frozen laid on some aluminum foil.
“The freezer bag worked really well. Dinner might take a bit longer than I expected.”
He took a seat in the camp chair and set the requested items beside Dem who knelt beside the fire. Dem had his long, wavy hair tucked behind his ears.
“You didn’t have to go to the trouble.”
“Just like you didn’t have to go to the trouble of modifying your bike to take me out.”
“It was no big deal.”
“Yes, it was. I don’t think anyone else would’ve done it. Especially when I know you didn’t really want to go out with me. Is it because of my…if you’re not attracted to me because of the crutches I can take it, you know?”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
“Thanks.”
“Fuck, that’s…I’m broken and damaged goods. I’m not worth the effort.”
“I don’t think that at all.”
Dem spoke without looking at him.
“My friends know not to come out here.”
“I got all the warnings. Sin and Saint were just crazy enough not to care and thought it was so romantic.”
He snorted. “They would.”
“I can call them in the morning to airlift me out.”
“You’re here, and I was planning on leaving in a few days anyway. I got jobs waiting.”
“Why did you kill him?”
He wanted to scare him off, and the story he had to tell was gruesome enough to do that.
“My mother was thirteen when my…Garnet cornered her on her way home from school. He bent her over the seat of his truck and raped her, took her back to his cabin, did it again and again. I found her journals when I was twelve, and I read them all. Every last word of what he’d done to her for nine years. It was her rage, the only way she could get it out. The fucker dropped her off like it was a fucking date…like he hadn’t left her with physical scars inside and out.”
“Jackson, you—”
“You wanted to know. She disappeared after my eighth birthday. They said she just left, but he killed her, I know he did. I wished she was still alive, maybe found happiness elsewhere.”
“She loved you, I’m sure she wouldn’t have left you willingly.”
“She probably didn’t. I still hope she’s alive, but thirty years is a long time to stay away.”
“Did he do that to you?”
He noticed Dem pointed toward the deep grooved scars around his wrists…there were more. There wasn’t much of his body that didn’t bear the marks.
“He tied my wrists down when he smashed my fingertips or removed my nails.” He looked down at his hands, they had more scars from working as a mechanic, but the worst were the ones Garnet gave him. “I got so used to the pain, that he needed to up the stakes. I could take it, I was a professional at surviving the torture. He wanted to make me a man just like him.
“I knew about the abuse, I wasn’t stupid. I knew he took out his anger on my mom, but when I read what he’d done…all the pain she survived. He came home one night, drunk and started his usual bullshit. Instead of taking it, I started hitting, and I didn’t stop. I was told the Sheriff found me wandering covered in blood. Garnet’s face was destroyed. They charged me, I was in prison until my twenty—”
He flinched as he had a lap full of man. Full lips pressed tender kisses to his face. His eyes closed and there was a gentle brush to his lashes, then to his cheeks. Then Dem’s mouth hovered against his. The lush curves trembled against his thinner lips.
“You don’t want to do this,” Joker said, but even as he did, he raised his hand, his fingertips barely skimmed Dem’s cheek. The wetness under his touch had his eyes opening.
“You want to hear something stalkerish?”
The question was odd after what he confessed, but he was curious, and hopefully it would be a distraction. He nodded.
“I thought you were beautiful the first time I saw your picture on Gideon and Harper’s mantle. I even pulled it down when I’d get home from work and look at it.”
“That’s creepy.”
“Shut up, it’s romantic.”
“Whatever you say.”
“So, I’m going to kiss you, and you’re going to let me.”
“I am?”
Dem made a sound he took as an affirmative, and then Dem pressed their mouths together.
A moment of panic tightened his chest, he started to pull away, but strong hands curved around the back of his head. He understood pain, could protect himself against it. This was something else, he held still…and waited.
“This works better when you participate, baby.”
Dem whispered against his mouth.
“No one touches me.”
“Too damn bad, I want to touch you and often.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re worth it.”
It was all Dem said before the kisses started again. Just gentle nips at his lips. Just once he wanted to know what his friends had, that was all, so he followed Dem’s lead. He sucked at the softness of Dem’s bottom lip, and it earned him a moan. Something about that sound urged him on, he wanted more of them. Those deep groans, sweet and needy, and he increased the pressure. His kisses turned rougher, more dominant, and he combed his fingers through Dem’s soft hair. He tugged, and Dem gasped. He dipped his tongue passed Dem’s parted lips.
His cock hardened and jerked, pushed into Dem’s hip. Dem whimpered and shook on his lap, he must be doing something right to have Dem react the way he was. Then a tiny rumbling body pushed between them.
“Killer, me and you are going to have problems. He’s mine too.”
“Who says I’m yours?”
“I do,” Dem said and kissed him again. “I’m going to finish making dinner. That monster down your thigh is a bit…yeah, not talking about cock, nope,” Dem mumbled to himself as Dem slid off his lap.
He rubbed Killer’s head as she burrowed under his shirt, it was her favorite place when he didn’t have his hoodie on. She curled into a ball on his stomach and huffed loudly.
“She’s going to have to learn to share.”
“Just because we kissed you don’t get—”
“You’re mine, I’ll give you time to get used to it.”
Dem seemed to ignore him after that statement, and he watched Dem focus on cooking steaks, cutting up potatoes, then everything started sizzling in the pan. He looked down at the still thick bulge in his jeans and tried to remember the last time he got a hard-on. He despised touching himself. His jerk off sessions were quick and pointless, he never got off. The few times he had, once he’d felt the scars under his hand, his dick went limp.
The man hadn’t seen him yet. Not the patchwork landscape of his body, the deep grooves from whip and blade. Most had gotten infected and hadn’t healed the way they should’ve. A secret part of him craved pleasure, someone soft and gentle, someone who wanted to make him feel good rather than suffer. Could he even do it?
He’d allowed Dem to sit on his lap and didn’t push him away. He’d allowed the man to kiss him. But could he be normal? He couldn’t see passed his rage most days. Existing in a chaotic vortex that pushed him to fight—to hurt. Dem would give up when he learned just how broken and sick he was. No matter how much he wanted to experience pleasure, there was something about the pain—the familiarity of it. He been born of violence, destined for it, and he was trapped. The man would run. He just needed to wait him out.
EIGHT
Damn, Dem was Cold
The thick padding of the sleeping bag did nothing to keep out the night chill. He didn’t expect the south to get that cold, but there he was
shivering. He tossed onto his back then his side to watch Jackson sleep. Last night he’d done the same thing. His man had his sleeping bag as far from his as the walls of the shack allowed. He wasn’t hurt by it…much. The kisses they’d shared were more than he’d expected. He savored the memory even as he craved more.
His face flushed as he remembered the minute Jackson had lost a bit of control. Jackson strong fingers had fisted in his hair and tugged. He’d never really thought about someone being rough with him. No one was ever anything but gentle with him. Over the years, he’d quickly grown tired of the lovers he’d had. The are you alright questions. Even in the middle of sex, he was made to feel different—less than.
He slammed his eyes closed and tucked deeper into the bag.
“Are you going to sleep anytime soon?”
“I’m sorry, I’m cold.” He hated that it sounded like he was whining, but he was.
There was a deep, sexy growl from Jackson, then the man was on his feet and headed his way. He let out an unmanly squeak as he was manhandled, flipped this way and that. He hugged himself when the sleeping bag was unzipped, and he watched as Jackson fastened their bags together. His head rested on Jackson’s bicep, then Killer was suddenly pushing under into the bag and curled up against his stomach.
“Sleep.”
“How the hell am I supposed to sleep?”
“Close your eyes and sleep.”
He sensed Jackson tense more than felt it when he tucked his head under Jackson’s bearded chin. A beard and mustache that were thicker than they were two weeks ago. He liked the burly facial hair but had a feeling Jackson would trim it as soon as he got home.
“You’re not going to sleep, are you?”
“No, I want to ask you a question.”
“I won’t guarantee I’ll answer.”
“Do you think I’m weak?”
“No, why would…you’re fine.”
“Other men I’ve dated…” He smiled at Joker’s possessive grumble. “They treated me different.”
“Then they’re assholes, got nothing to do with you.”
“I want to touch you.”
“You are.”
“No, like…” He slid his left hand under Jackson’s hoodie and t-shirt.
“Don’t.”
“Please?”
Jackson remained stiff, but he didn’t push him away, progress.
He touched the flat plane of Jackson’s stomach, felt the dips and ridges of scar tissue. His eyes burned, but he suppressed the tears. He couldn’t even imagine the pain Jackson went through. He didn’t care what Jackson thought, he wasn’t disgusted by the scars, only by what caused them. Some of the marks felt bumpy, others were silky smooth, and he was curious what they would feel like under his lips and tongue. Turn the memory of pain into pleasure, but he knew Jackson wouldn’t allow it—yet.
“Did you ever try to find her?”
“If she wanted to be found she would’ve contacted me. Why would she want to look at me? I look like him.”
“I’m sure she loved you.”
“If she ain’t dead, then she’s somewhere happy. It’s all I care about.”
He let it go, but maybe he could talk to Linus. It wasn’t like Jackson had to know. Thirty years is a long time to stay hidden, maybe it was best that she did, but he needed to try. Maybe it would take away some of Jackson’s bad memories.
He rested his hand over Jackson’s heart and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to push his luck with Jackson too much.
“Dammit, I’ll carry you out.”
He grinned at Jackson as the man mumbled curses under his breath. Jackson had made Sin and Saint land the helicopter instead of the twins staying at a safe distance and lifting him out with a safety harness.
“I’ll be fine, the twins are certified and everything.”
“Of course they’re certifiable.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What happens if they—”
He pushed a quick kiss to Jackson’s mouth, and he laughed at the drawn out aw’s behind him, but he didn’t miss the momentary gasps beforehand.
“Dem got the D, wait until—”
“Saint, if you want to live, which is questionable after dropping him out here, then I wouldn’t finish.”
“Come on, Joker,” Saint whined.
Even as twins and nearly identical, you could tell them apart, especially their voices. Sin had a huskier tone than Saint, who’s voice was quiet and sweet.
“No, this shit goes nowhere else.”
“So, you got the D instead of—”
Jackson lunged for Sin, and he barely held Jackson back. He felt if Jackson wanted to get passed him, the man would.
“Quit, you know he’s busting your balls on purpose. I’ll be fine. I’ll be home before you even pack up and hike out. You’re staying a few extra days?”
“How—”
“You need time. Can I sleep at your place until you come home?”
He knew he’d interrupted Jackson’s thinking time, and he wouldn’t begrudge Jackson a few more days to himself. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to be in Jackson’s space. It was also a huge risk on Jackson’s part. The man was obsessive about his space and things. He wondered how little Jackson had of his own over the years. The time with an abusive parent, in prison, and he wanted to be Jackson’s, yet knew it wouldn’t be as easy as saying so.
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Say yes, Jackson, and give me a damn key.”
Jackson was so cute when he growled and glared, he wondered if there was some bite with that growl. Okay, so not the time for that.
“It’s never locked, no one fucks with me.”
He pointed at Joker. “Behave and be careful.”
“Behave?”
“Yeah, don’t be picking up single, hot hikers on your way home.”
Jackson rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Shut up and go.”
“Yes, dear.”
Sin and Saint rushed forward, grabbing his bag and the wrapped parachute. The twins avoided getting anywhere near Jackson, but he couldn’t miss the mischievous little smiles that curved their glossed lips. Jackson stepped back, and he suddenly didn’t want to leave. Just because everything in him screamed Jackson was his that didn’t mean the man was ready to give in.
As Sin helped him into the chopper, the young man leaned in.
“He yours yet?”
“He was always mine, he just needs to admit it.”
Sin and Saint just grinned.
He secured himself onto the bench seat and tucked his crutches between his thighs. He peeked out the still open door and watched Jackson stare at them as they took off. Killer’s tiny frame leaned against Joker’s ankle. It was almost painful to leave. He’d spent two days in Jackson’s company—just the two of them. There were cuddles and kisses, and Jackson told him things he was sure Jackson never told anyone.
In his gut, he knew Jackson only did it trying to scare him away, but Jackson didn’t know him well enough yet. He was his mother’s son, like she got her man, he was determined to get Jackson.
“You really staying at Joker’s place?”
“Yes, I am. But I need to go home and pack a bag first.”
“Wow, you do know Joker is possessive of his things? We heard the rumors about his old man. It’s said Joker had a bare mattress on the floor and nothing else. Kept him chained—”
“Jackson will tell me all that when he wants. It’s not my business.”
It was completely his business, but he didn’t want to give away Jackson’s secrets, no matter how close the reality was to rumor. He wanted the stories from Jackson himself—given freely.
He also had plans, and he needed Jackson gone for a few days. It might get him a spanking which he was looking forward to, but he was going to do it anyway. He’d listened to every story their mutual friends shared about Jackson, got a feel for his likes and dislikes. S
o, they were going to work on Jackson’s boundaries and knocking those fuckers down.
He smiled at the plans forming, the thoughts of sleeping in Jackson’s bed, and knowing that Jackson was allowing him into his private space. He was going to make sure Jackson didn’t regret it. Coming there might have been temporary, but no longer. This was home, and he was going to settle in, whether Jackson like it or not.
NINE
Peaches Needed to Stop Busting his Balls
“Please, for everything unholy in the world would you put on some fucking clothes,” Joker growled as he looked everywhere but at his naked lawyer. In the end, he focused on her bare toes, that seemed safe enough. He wrung his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt and disturbed a sleeping Killer which earned him a menacing growl.
His dog was a little pissed at him for using her a little too much as his security blanket the last month. He knew she needed her space even if she still stayed curled up in his hoodie to be near him.
“Shouldn’t have come to my place at midnight. Besides this is a nudist friendly house. What the hell do you want?”
“I didn’t want to go home…there’s someone there.”
Peaches gasped and spun, he glanced up and realized his mistake as he slapped his hands over his eyes. The woman laughed her head off at him.
“Why is there someone in your trailer? Are there things you’re not telling me?”
He removed his hands from his eyes, but to be on the safe side, he kept them closed. He loved the woman, he did, he just couldn’t take seeing her naked again. It would be like seeing his mother naked. It wasn’t right.
“Ghost’s friend, Dem.”
Okay, he wasn’t positive Dem was still at his place. But what he knew of Dem, he could almost be sure that the man wouldn’t let him get away easily. He didn’t understand, he was a bastard, he wasn’t even that attractive and to be honest, even if he was, the amount of scar tissue covering his body would deter any normal person.
“Sexy fucker that Demetri. He likes you?”
“You don’t have to sound so shocked by it.”
