by Jack L. Pyke
Giving a look at the bedroom door, Gray then got off the bed and caught up with Jack.
“Where the fuck are you going,” he said pulling him to a stop outside the bedroom. “What—”
“I got it,” snarled Jack, “I heard.” And he went to head off to the bathroom, no doubt to hide in a shower, but Gray pushed him back toward the main bedroom.
“Go and fucking talk to him. Get back in there.”
“I...” Jack groaned, slumping back against the wall and running a hand through his hair. “Gray... everything just felt so fucking good. Wanted...” He shrugged and tears were barely held back, “just wanted to feel the good for a little longer, escape all that fucking shit and just hold onto us like we used to. I... I never meant to fucking hurt him.”
Gray went in and cupped the back of Jack’s neck. “Go hold him, Jack,” he said quietly, resting his head against Jack’s. “You’re telling the wrong person.”
Jack’s hand found Gray’s neck, mimicking Gray’s touch on him, and such a long sigh was given, followed by the deepest kiss. Gray felt dampness against his cheek off Jack, and frowned.
“Please...” Jack came in a little closer. “Miss being us so fucking much, old mukka. It’s killing me.” Jack’s free hand strayed to Gray’s cock, played. “This...” Gray resisted every urge to look down and see Jack ease a stroke along his cock. “Felt you for the first time... your first time with nothing between us and.... You need this too.” Kisses came at Gray’s neck, heated. Full of need.
Saying nothing, Gray took hold of Jack’s hand and eased it away from him. The moment he did, Jack pulled back, his brow furrowing a touch.
“No,” Gray said, denying any heat.
After a moment, Jack dropped his head a touch and nodded.
“It’s not even close to other priorities right now,” said Gray.
Jack looked towards the bedroom door and a lot of hurt filtered through into his look. He gave a nod at Gray, then headed back in to Jan. Gray waited long enough to hear the bed take Jack’s weight, then dropped his head against the hall wall, shifting his stance and needing the cold to lay waste to thought as he ran his hand down the cool of the plaster.
In the heat, he’d nearly missed Jan’s struggles too.
Shivering for a moment, he gave a brief close of eyes, then tidied himself up and went back into the bedroom.
Jan was still curled to his side, but Jack had made a point of climbing in and facing him. Quiet whispers came over as Jan shivered slightly under Jack’s touch, and soft sobs punctuated Jack’s calm and tender hushes. Gray went over and eased in behind Jan. Jack watched him over Jan’s shoulder, and Gray made a point of brushing a hand at Jack’s jaw before reaching a hold around Jan and pulling him close.
“Easy, abstract,” said Gray, nuzzling at Jan’s shoulder, “it’s okay.”
“Sorry,” Jan murmured eventually in between their coaxing. “Felt so good for awhile, but....”
He didn’t finish it and Jack came in, kissing at Jan’s shoulder, then cheek. “What the fuck you apologising for, soft lad? You asked for gentle; I got rough. I should have stopped. Simple as, especially after telling you about today’s shit.”
“Not that, Jack....” A quiet sob racked Jan. “Just couldn’t breathe back there for a moment. Couldn’t fucking breathe.”
Jack closed his eyes and rested his head down on Jan’s. Jan seemed to instantly shift, snaking a hold around him and pulling him in close.
“Sometimes just gets so hard to breathe, Jack.”
“Yeah,” mumbled Jack as Gray stroked at Jan’s side. “I know it does, baby. Sorry... so sorry. Should have listened, should have backed off.”
Among the sexual frustration, anger unsettled Jack’s eyes, all directed internally and enough to have Gray reach over to try and calm and ease it. For a moment Jack pulled away, then settled, more so in body, although his eyes still carried that thin strain of something else. It cried out how this shit with Logan couldn’t have come at a worse time. How life had been tough, with screw-ups expected, but they’d started to claw their way out of the shadows, to finally breathe. Only now they were back to watching doors, to waiting to see if they’d ease open and in would come Henry, bringing a feeding tube, only to be followed by his cock forced down Jan’s throat afterwards. And through it, Jack held onto Jan a little tighter, his grip whitening his knuckles.
Chapter 15
The Invited
Logan Keal swore under his breath. Packing up the last few boxes had taken longer than he’d realised. He should have been over at Flint nightclub tonight, sorting through the staff absences they’d piled up lately. Instead he’d received a call from the estate agent saying that someone was interested in viewing his father’s detached home, and could someone be there to meet them in the morning. Meeting them wasn’t the problem, but sorting through the last personal belongings of his father was. His stepmother had already been through the expensive clothes and pawned the white-gold collection of watches and cufflinks that his father had collected over the years. All it left was the drabs, like toothbrush, hair gel, the personal basics and leftovers from the kitchen that wouldn’t fetch a bag of crisps from behind a bar. Seemed the whore had taken everything that his father’s Will had denied her.
Finished with wrapping the brown tape around the cardboard box, Logan frowned as he worked in the bathroom, maybe understanding how her bitterness had grown with the length of her sleeves, moving from showing off kissable shoulders, to full-length shirts that had her turning her face from his father every time his father’s mood darkened.
He should have asked, but there were always things to do... people to try and fuck.
Burying the darker memories, Logan slipped the tape gun in his back pocket and took hold of the last box. The en suite had that empty echo feel, and he backed out, needing to shut the door on the darkness he left in there.
He made it downstairs, to the white show-home hues of the hall. The lounge was off to his right, the kitchen beyond that, but Logan avoided the closed door at all costs. He’d refused to cross the boundary between the living and the dead, wondering if a fresh coat of paint had erased the bloodied stains that had splattered the carpet. The criminal investigations department had long since removed their touch, taking away his father’s body. The dining room chair had been pulled into the middle of the lounge, something that would had driven his father into one of those dark moods and his stepmother scurrying into the shadows. The chair itself had been taken away for forensic investigation, but the more Logan thought about it, the more he wondered if it hadn’t just been removed and taken to some rubbish tip to be burned. MI5 knew something about his father’s death; he’d been told that, but even CID seemed to drag their heels over details and the murder investigation, putting it down to a professional hit with no leads. Ranks were being closed; from the top office at MI5 down to CID and the Metropolitan Police, details were sidestepped, discussion and hearings delayed.
Through it all, not even his father’s dark mood could warrant that kind of killing: trousers down around his ankles, dick exposed, hands bound behind his back with a rope from balls to wrists to suggest any sudden movement would bring its own torture between his legs. Then the bullet in his forehead as though he had been white trash for the cleansing.
Logan glanced at the three boxes at his feet, added a fourth, then looked around the empty reception hall.
Everyone had their secrets; Logan hadn’t told his father about his interest in men as much as women. His dad wouldn’t have minded, he was sure of that; he hadn’t minded when Logan had come home with broken knuckles from hitting a man at one of his nightclubs, not when he’d told his dad the man had brought a girl looking like she’d fit better into a school uniform than that slinky dress she’d had on. Logan had gotten the man sent down and the girl into Social Services and back to her parents. He couldn’t stand men who fucked kids, or women who fucked kids for that matter. And now he needed help, there was no
one around. Why was he the only one questioning all this?
The hum off the mobile in his jean pocket forced him to shuffle and shift around the boxes as he pulled it free.
Company’s here.
Ah. So he wasn’t exactly the only one left asking questions. The phone itself was new, given to him a month ago via delivery to his door. He questioned that these messages came with a number withheld, but the person behind the calls knew a lot of details, most now deleted as requested.
Another text came through.
Vital that you keep him there. Do not let him leave. I’ll be there soon.
Kes.
Logan just about had enough time to glance back over his shoulder before the doorbell rang.
For the first time in a long while, a little fear crept in. He’d foregone bringing anyone, knowing this would only take an hour or so. Girlfriends were a pain in the ass beyond the bedsheets, and boyfriends... he just didn’t have the time for anything longer than a casual fuck. It left him pretty isolated, and in the modern-day haunted home, he suddenly felt damn stupid, knowing no killer had been caught.
But if it was a professional hit, then surely the killer would be smart enough to stay away from the murder scene? He wouldn’t ring the bell?
“Who’s there?” he mumbled eventually. When nothing came but another ring on the bell, Logan stepped over one of the boxes and reached for the front door. He hadn’t grown up here, but it had been part of his life through school, college, then a weekend stay away from University. It was his home for the next few hours now that his father had died.
Still, the handle felt sweaty in his palm as the bell rang for a third time. The caller knew how to annoy. “Fine, fine,” he said to himself, and he calmed his nerves a little by sweeping his hair from his eyes. Nobody decent called at this hour, not unless it was with bad news, so he slipped the chain on first to give him some room to see who stood on the lit porch.
“Ughh.” It was all he managed as he pushed the door shut to get the chain off in the next moment. He knew who stood outside in the rain.
“Harrison?”
Jack stood shivering against the cold, and Logan automatically shifted his gaze past Jack, checking for more... company.
Company’s here. Do not let him leave....
Logan looked sharply back at Jack, who stood looking just as confused as he glanced in, then around the hall.
“Keal’s place?” Jack tilted his head slightly to the side and the long strands of drenched black hair shifted away from his eyes, leaving water running down his neck. He wore no coat, just the blue coveralls Logan had seen him wearing earlier, and the rain had made sure they hugged his body to dick-raising heat.
“No shit,” said Logan, again looking around Jack to check for more... company. What the fuck is this? No one else was spotted. Not even Jack’s car.
“Was in the neighbourhood.” Jack gave such a cheeky smile. “Thought I’d come say hi.” He even added a small wave. “Hello there. Keal in?”
Logan wasn’t given the chance to answer as Jack pushed past, at first stopping and shaking his head and body like a dog let in after torrential rain, then automatically reaching for the lounge handle.
“Hey. What—” Logan grabbed his wrist, stopping him reaching down. “What the fuck are you doing here, Harrison?”
Jack looked down at the hand gripping his. “There are a thousand and one intimate ways to answer that.” He looked up and all humour drained from his eyes. “And it all begins with, you really need to let fucking go now, mate.”
Logan frowned, pulling his hand away. He looked so fucking different from the Jack he’d seen earlier. Pupils were fully dilated, almost removing the silver grey and adding a wired-up, drug-state stare. “Why are you here? What do you want?” What the fuck are you on?
Jack shifted slightly, easing against the door and crossing his arms. Logan felt the long look up and down his body. “Let’s talk about you for a while.” He glanced around the hall. “This place is looking in need of a little loving, yet...” The boxes took Jack’s attention. “You’re running fast and far, by the look of it.”
“Identifying your father’s body can do that to a son, Jack.” Logan leaned against the wall and copied the relaxed look Jack gave, although it didn’t quite go as deep as Jack’s obviously did.
“Oh,” said Jack and his look seemed to sharpen, deepen. “Keal’s boy, all grown up and home alone.” A smile crept up as he looked him up and down again.
“Don’t believe we’ve been introduced formally.” Jack held out a hand. “Name’s Martin. Martin Jack Harrison. Bet nobody told you, huh?” He thumbed behind him when Logan didn’t shake it. “Mind if I look around and see what memories it sparks?”
That got Logan’s attention. “You knew my father?”
“Me and your old man?” A smile was given. “Sure. Go way back, him and me. Got a few stories to tell you on how he and Cutter used to... well.” Another glance came over Martin’s shoulder. “Not get along, so to speak.”
Cutter? Who the hell was Cutter? He only wanted to know about—“Raoul? Where does he fit in?”
Martin paused, his look now on the dining room but somehow distracted. “Oh he’s into every wound.” Logan got a wink. “Or causing them. Wanna start a campfire and roast a few nuts over a story or two?”
The ringing from his mobile woke Gray first, although it took a second or two for the mugginess to clear for him to realise his mobile phone was nearly being drowned out by Jack’s landline phone. As Gray sat up, Jan stirred, giving a rub at his hair and more than looking like he’d had a night on the tiles with how shadows played under his eyes.
But as Jan let his hand rest on Jack’s side of the bed, he seemed to go still in the same moment Gray did.
Jan stayed welded there, an ear turned into the blackness of the bedroom. What did he fear would come out of the shadows? Henry? Vince?
Martin?
Jack?
Gray reached over for his phone. For his own reasons, there was too much of himself in Jan’s look, too many earlier years of waking up and finding Jack’s side of the bed cold. Too many years of waking up and dreading who might be there smirking back at him instead.
“He’s walking.” Gray heard from the phone, and the passing of traffic on the other end came through too.
“How long, Ray?” Gray didn’t move from the bed for a minute. Jan seemed caught in limbo, and despite the warmth under the covers, his hand had that winter-morning feel as Gray brushed at it. Earlier on they’d stayed in the bedroom for a good while, mostly calming life down, then food had been brought. Gray and Jack had eaten, with Jan barely touching his and echoing the quiet of the bedroom now. Jack had done what he always did, tugged Jan down on the settee with the quilt around them and put on Lee Evans. By the time the stand-up comedian had gotten around to accountant jokes, even Jan was left burying his chuckles in the covers. It hadn’t been perfect, but it was a start.
That had been a few hours ago, now the alarm clock on the unit said barely 12:10 a.m. Jan had looked fine as he’d let Jack cuddle up. Jack had looked... fine holding him. Still turned on, but then Jack was schooled to ignore heat, and his pull-in close of Jan had spoken comfort, nothing more. Jan had still looked... fine.
Gray glanced over at him. Shaking had filtered through as Jan sat there listening to the unnatural silence found in the darkness, or perhaps more the last time he’d woken in Gray’s bed and saw Martin come fully out of the shadows
“Hey,” he said gently to coax some life into Jan. A frown flicked in his direction. The dead feel of the apartment told Gray everything he needed to know too. “I need you to get dressed.” Gray wouldn’t risk leaving Jan here on his own. “I can take you to the MC—”
Jan’s gaze withered a touch. “No. You. I go with you.” He tossed the covers back and was up, tugging some clothes on over his pyjama bottoms.
“Jan.” Gray covered the mouthpiece as Ray said something. “You’ve bee
n shaken up enough tonight, and I know Martin—”
“Jack.” Jan’s hands shook as he fastened his trousers. “We go for Jack, not that bastard. Just...” He searched the bedroom for something. “Just need my jacket.”
Gray focused back on the phone and removed his hand. “How long?” He shifted and picked up his sidearm. Jan was oblivious as he searched the darkness for his jacket.
“No more than forty-five minutes,” said Ray. Gray wasn’t stupid; there was always a risk that Jack would walk, so part of the one-on-one surveillance meant overnight obs here too.
“And it took you this fucking long to let me know?”
A hard sigh was given. “You need to get downstairs, sir. Deaton’ll explain.”
“He’s not with Jack?”
“No,” said Ray, and Gray ended the call. Suit trousers, then shirt, were slipped on, phone eased into his pocket, gun holster over his shoulder, then Gray held the door open for Jan as he came over. Jan tugged on his jacket, rummaged in one pocket, then pulled out his phone from another and thumbed in a number.
“I’ll try Jack’s.” But as Jan finished speaking, Gray glanced back to the bedside unit as the light from Jack’s mobile kissed the darkness, then the ring tone came through.
Jan glanced back. “He could have just gone to clear his head... forgotten it,” he said to Gray, but Jan looked away too quickly. He had been there when they’d discussed surveillance and protocol. Jack didn’t leave without anyone knowing where he was going, and for how long. Period.
Jan frowned. “He was fine, Gray.” He looked up, still paused there in the doorway. “He was... fine. Wasn’t he? A little pissed, frustrated—” Jan stopped himself there. “I didn’t want this, I didn’t—”
