by Megan Derr
"Fragile," Jason murmured, lips brushing across his temple. "It feels fragile."
"Y-yeah," Jet agreed and kissed him, fingers pressing firmly against Jason's skin. Jason tasted like medicine and the remnants of lunch, and beneath that was the sharp, clear taste of Jason himself. Jet hummed in approval, lips sliding away from Jason's warmth mouth to nuzzle and taste his jaw, the long line of his throat.
Jason made a low, rough noise and tugged lightly at his hair. "Stop doing things like that when I can't act on it, brat. You tell me to rest then get me wound up? That's not nice."
Huffing out a laugh, Jet lifted his head and leaned up to kiss Jason's nose. "I'm pretty certain nice is not something that anyone calls me."
"I doubt that," Jason said quietly and kissed him again. Jet's fingers tightened on his skin, and he swallowed all the emotions that one stupid sentence inspired.
Drawing back only after several thorough kisses, he finally replied, "Stop saying shit like that."
Jason smiled faintly. "No. And getting back on topic, don't let anything my father says get to you. I've already put a plan in motion to take care of him once and for all, all right? I'm sure he'll try shit, but don't let him get to you. Focus on your music, tell him to shut up, and I'll take care of it, all right?"
Jet scowled. "I'm not a damsel who just leaves everything to the—" He grunted, annoyed, when Jason cut him off with a kiss.
"No one, least of all me, would accuse you of being a damsel," Jason said when he finally drew back. He gently traced the lines of Jet's face with his good hand. "But your father has only been dead months, and you've been getting all sorts of attention and harassment about the pending sale, and only days ago you found me beaten half to death. I think you've got enough stress going—"
"I'm not the one who got beaten up!"
Jason traced Jet's lips with his thumb. "I can handle one beating. I can also manage my father better than you. Focus on work, because that's hard enough. Leave me to my father. I have to deal with him anyway since I am leaving the firm. If he tries to bug you at any point, notify me immediately."
Dropping the matter for the moment, because no way was he going to agree to just stay on the sidelines and beat his drums while Jason fought family—family Jason had always defended and stuck with no matter what because he was that loyal.
"Stop fretting," Jason murmured. "You're entirely too pretty to mope like that. Get back to practice before my brother comes in here and gives me a second beating for distracting you."
Jet made a face, but relented, stealing a quick kiss before he slipped away again.
Practice went until it was well past dark and they were all ready to kill Dai. Jet threw them all out and went to forage in the fridge for a beer, deliberating between going out for Chinese or ordering pizza. Carrying his beer with him, he headed for Jason's study—and was not at all surprised to find Jason passed out at his desk again. "Idiot," Jet muttered.
Abandoning his beer, he carefully got a groggy, still mostly asleep Jason to his feet and laboriously helped him up the stairs and into bed. "Jet …" Jason stared at him with sleep-glazed eyes for a second before they slid closed again and he returned completely to sleep.
Jet kissed his forehead, carefully avoiding the stitches, and then got Jason's clothes off. When he was sure Jason was comfortable and that the meds were in easy reach on the nightstand along with a glass of water, he killed the light and closed the door then went back downstairs.
The house was creepily silent with Jason asleep and the others gone. Fetching his beer from the study, Jet went to the living room and turned on the TV just to have something to do. He immediately regretted it when the news blared, recounting the assassination, the beating, and a brief spiel about the lives and career of Jason and Forever and a Dai. That, of course, led to mention of the pending sale of his father's company to Lord Enterprises.
Jet changed the channel, landing on some dumb comedy show that, while mindless, at least filled the place with white noise. He finished his beer and stretched out on the couch, closed his eyes, and tried to relax enough he could go up to bed.
Instead, he just got more restless.
Sighing, he sat up again and combed his fingers through his hair. If he wasn't going to settle then he may as well do something useful. Clothes and more of his shit would be good. He'd brought enough for a few days, but he definitely wanted to stay longer than that. He also needed his concert-going crap, which reminded him he needed to pick up more make-up at some point.
Decided, Jet hunted down his car keys and shrugged into a leather jacket, then headed out to his car. The streets were quiet; he didn't see more than the city bus and a couple of cabs as he drove to his place. His house looked different when he pulled into the driveway, but damned if Jet could say how. Nothing had changed about it, not that he could see. Climbing out of the car, he stared at it a bit more but still couldn't figure out what nagged him.
Shrugging, he went in by way of the back door near the pool, not bothering to flick on any lights as he went. Since arriving at any and all hours was part of his life, he'd installed lights all along the base of the walls that automatically kicked on when it got dark. Given how exhausted he tended to be when he stumbled home at dark o'clock, it was nice to have light that did not sear his overtaxed eyes.
He made his way across the sitting room and through the kitchen, then up the back stairs to the bedrooms—
—And cried out in surprise and fear when he was grabbed in his bedroom and slammed into the wall, a rough, clammy hand covering his mouth. Jet couldn't see for shit in the near-dark, only enough to know the guy was big and there was someone else behind him.
"Someone wants a word with you," the man holding him said, voice kind of gravelly and full of menace.
Jet wondered how long they'd been waiting for him, how much longer they would have waited. Were they Uncle Henry's doing? The guy from the club? Someone new, because there weren't enough fucking assholes trying to fuck up his life?
He considered fighting—getting away from the big guy would be hard, but not impossible. He could probably pull something to delay them long enough he could get to his car. It had the potential to go horribly wrong, however, because although he wasn't a stranger to a fight, he wasn't used to squaring off with guys who hurt people professionally.
When the hand over his mouth withdrew, Jet said, "So let's go have a word, then. It better be quick because I've got other shit to do."
The man skulking in the back snorted. "I just bet."
"Shut up," Jet said, rolling his eyes. He rolled his shoulders as the guy let him go, trying to work out the soreness before it settled in. "Was throwing me into the wall really necessary? There are nicer ways to ask a guy to talk. Let's fucking get this over with."
They hauled him away and god he hoped they didn't leave bruises because Jason would go off and Jet had really had it with Jason trying to be a white knight about everything.
Something niggled in the back of his head, a low, sad beat and a trickle of words. Oh, fuck you, inspiration. He hummed the new tune beneath his breath as they dragged him into a black charger and drove off. Jet sighed and stared out the window, wondering where the fuck they were going. Would his uncle go to so much trouble?
He might if he wanted to avoid Jason at all costs, but it didn't feel right because he preferred his own stomping ground for being an asshole. He would have just forced Jet over to his house. It gave Jet a headache that he was wondering 'which of several people' would grab him in the dead of night instead of 'why would anyone'.
They drove for nearly half an hour, and Jet almost expected something Hollywood—a dramatically rundown warehouse or a dark and mysterious manor. He'd have gone abandoned factory, but those were at least an hour away. Instead, they pulled up in front of a building that made him think doctor or dentist office. Inside, two of the three suites appeared empty. A single light was on in the third, though there was nothing to identify who used the
place.
At a nod from the goons who'd escorted him, Jet went into the office and followed the light into a meeting room. He felt only a faint ripple of surprise to see his uncle's firm partners waiting for him—and the surprise was mostly at himself for not figuring it out sooner. "Let me guess," he said, not taking the third empty seat clearly intended for him. He stared between them, eyeing Carmichael first. "This is a stay the hell away from Jason thing."
"This is us offering you some advice you sorely need," said Carmichael. Beside him, Jones looked more tired than anything. "You seem to have a penchant for destroying everything around you—your family, your legacy, your own life …"
Jet's brows rose at that. "I haven't destroyed any of that. My family was a mess long before I was born, and it takes more than one person to do that. My 'legacy' is just fine and being sold to someone who can take better care of it. My life is a little hectic, but hardly ruined. Try harder if you want to spook me."
Carmichael smiled coldly, but before he could speak, Jones said quietly, "Your father would be devastated to know you're just giving away what he worked so hard to give to you."
"My father should have said that to me himself, then," Jet replied. "I told him I didn't want it. Giving birth to me doesn't give my parents the right to dictate my life. People would be a lot less miserable if they stopped trying to tell each other how to live."
"Spoken like a true brat, with no appreciation for real work—or all the work that so many have put in to give you the life you have now."
Jet said nothing to that because it was an argument he was tired of having. He was not beating his head against that wall. "Can we stop with the lectures on my life choices and get to the fucking point?"
"You're good at ruining lives," Carmichael repeated. "If you don't stop screwing over Jason and the firm you will ruin even more lives. Jason was on track to take the firm over someday. He has connections, friends, a life he's worked hard to obtain. Azura was beginning to trust him. Pandemonium brings him still further connections. He's going to lose all that he's gained if you continue to drag him down."
Pandemonium? What in the hell did Jason have to do with Pandemonium? Jet filed the question away for later. "Jason likes being a lawyer, but where he does that doesn't matter. I'm Jason's lover, not his manager. He's allowed to make his own choices. If this is you being persuasive, I'm kinda confused why you're a successful lawyer."
"Let me put it to you plainer, then," Carmichael said. "You will stay away from Jason. You will stop causing trouble for your family and the firm. You will give your father's business to your uncle, who should have had it all along."
Jet stared at them, eyes fastening on Jones especially, who looked away after several long seconds ticked by. "My father gave the company to me. I can do whatever the hell I want with it and I'm selling it to Lord. If I'd wanted my uncle to have it then I would have sold it to him. As to the rest, it's kind of hard to stay away from my family when one is a member of my band and the other is our lawyer. And, oh yeah, Jason is my lover. So the answer is no. Fuck you. We're done here."
"How well do you think David would handle it if his voice was ruined?" Carmichael asked in a frigid tone.
That did a good job of freezing Jet in place, his hand on the door handle. "What?" he asked, not yet turning around.
"He has such a beautiful voice. It's a shame he never went into a proper career and instead wastes it on that noise you like to think is music. Would really be a shame if something ruined it permanently. Or how about that pretty boy you have a love-hate relationship with, what's his name? The one that used to be a model. Bet his career would suffer if that pretty faced got ruined."
Jet almost laughed at the idea of his relationship with Nikko being described as love-hate. It was more like oil-vinegar. But a threat to Nikko wasn't funny; nobody harassed Nikko but him. "Touch any of my friends and I'll kill you."
The words just made Carmichael sneer. "How about Cooper Stone? Your dear cousin wouldn't be very amused if his lover wound up with broken hands."
Rage clawed desperately to get out, but Jet held it back. "So you're going to hurt them all if I don't get out of dodge and stay out?"
"Now we're on the same page."
Jet shook his head and looked at Jones again. "You know, whatever my issues between my father and me, he wouldn't approve of this kind of treatment. Given you're the one who actually liked him, I would have thought you'd respect that. Whatever. You want me to back off? Fine, here's me backing off. But don't think that means I'm out."
"Yes, you are, because if you don't leave and you try to tell anyone, we'll start hurting people and you know it." Carmichael settled back in his seat, mouth curving with triumph.
Jet wanted to punch him. Instead he left without another word and followed the goons back out to the car.
Halfway back home, the car abruptly slammed to a stop and the driver swore. Jet peered through the windshield but couldn't see shit from the back seat. The driver climbed out, still swearing—and then let out a pained grunt. The passenger door opened and the second, bigger goon was yanked out.
Jet's door opened, and Jack leaned down to say, "Good evening."
Shaking his head, Jet climbed out of the car. "What's going on now?"
"We wanted to make certain you were all right. You appeared in no imminent danger so we thought we would wait until your meeting concluded to figure out what was going on."
Jet stared at Jack as Allen as he came around the car. "I thought you guys left."
Allen shrugged, and he really looked strange without his perpetual shades. Like, almost normal instead of some weird hitman trope. "We were told to watch from afar. Azura likes Jason, and Jason likes you alive and well. What did Carmichael and Jones want with you?"
He considered not telling them for a moment, but really, that never ended well for anyone. Carmichael clearly thought he had Jet by the balls; Jet was willing to let him think so while he found a way to remove Carmichael's. "They told me that if I didn't leave town and stay away from my family and give my father's business to my uncle that they'd start hurting my friends. Explicitly, they've threatened harm to Dai, Coop, and Nikko, but I'm sure everyone else I know is on the list."
"What are you planning to do?" Jack asked.
"Hadn't gotten that far," Jet replied, wondering what in his life had led to clandestine meetings with criminal goons. He really hoped he never got to the point it was normal. God, he was ready to leave it all behind and bury himself in music and Jason and nothing else. And they wondered why he wanted to sell his father's company? The explanation seemed painfully fucking obvious to him. "I was going to get gone so he'd think I was suitably frightened and obedient and get in touch with Jason from there. He said he had a plan in motion to break free of his father; I'm hoping that'll be enough to get them to leave us alone entirely."
Jack smiled in a way that was far chillier than anything Carmichael had mustered. Carmichael had the look of a fat cat used to being in power and handing out orders that ruined lives. Jack had the look of a man used to ending a life up close and personal. "We'll take care of it. Now, let's get you home."
"What about the two in the car with me?"
Allen laughed. "They'll wake up in the car later and not dare speak up about getting their asses kicked since that would put them in a very awkward situation. Come on." He bustled Jet down the street to their BMW, then slid behind the wheel while Jack took the passenger seat.
Jet stared out the window as they drove, feeling utterly wrung out. He wanted to go back to the days where his biggest drama was calming down the lawyers after yet another crazy stunt. They were supposed to be resting after their big tour, not doing more than a few private concerts here and there.
Grief washed over him all over again as he thought of the entire fucking reason the drama had started. What would his father think of everything that had been happening? Would he side with his brother and the firm? Would he side with Jet? If he took
any side at all (besides his own), Jet suspected he would stand by Jason.
That thought should make him jealous, that his father had been closer to his nephew than his own son … but did it really fucking matter in the end? They'd both fucked up and drawn a line and firmly stayed on their separate sides of it. It didn't make a goddamn bit of difference what his father would have done. His father was dead.
And he refused to consider his mother, whom he hadn't even seen since flying home after Jason was hurt. Past a couple of phone calls he'd barely even interacted with her. He had not a single bit of doubt she was keeping her distance to avoid collateral damage. Her social standing was everything and she wouldn't want that to take more hits than it already had. Jet couldn't really blame her, not completely. Mostly it was just one more thing exhausting him, however wrong or right that was.
By the time they reached his house, he was ready to fall over.
"Sit here," Jack said. "I'll grab your things. Anything special?"
"Two navy blue duffle bags that have all my concert crap and the books and notebooks that should be stacked near them. Otherwise, just clothes and all—oh, and my make-up, it should be in the master bath."
Jack snorted softly at the mention of the make-up, but nodded and vanished. Jet slumped in his seat and closed his eyes because keeping them open had suddenly gotten entirely too difficult.
He jerked awake when he heard a car door open and the car's angry ringing that a door was open while the car was on. "Ugh. What?"
"We're taking you to the airport," Jack said, closing the passenger door before twisting around to look at him. "Like you said—get out of the way so they think you're listening. We'll take care of the rest with Jason."
Jet blew out an irritated breath. "I'm so tired of being the one pushed out of the way."
"From what I hear, you already fought your fight," Allen said. "It's all people talk about when your name comes up around here: the kid who left home, risked everything, threw away a kingdom to do things his way."
