Backlash

by Jack L. Pyke

“Not your fault, Jan. Jack walks for a whole host of different reasons.” Gray rubbed at Jan’s arm and pulled back when he jolted. “C’mon. He won’t have gotten too far.”

  Buried beneath everything else, the look in Jan’s eyes called Gray out on letting Jack slip through his touch again, but Gray hadn’t risked that happening a second time.

  They made it into the hall outside and headed for the lifts. The lift attendant nodded as Gray took out his wallet. “You see this man leave in the last forty-five minutes?”

  The lift attendant shifted the glasses off his nose and leaned closer. “Jack?” He smiled as he pulled back, straightening his trousers. “Yeah, took him down to the lobby about...” He checked his watch. “Forty minutes ago.”

  “Did he say where he was going?” That came from Jan and Gray bit down looking at him with how ill his voice sounded. He hadn’t wanted to step into the lift. As they reached the bottom, he didn’t look like he wanted to get out.

  “Just said he was going for a drink.” The man smiled. “Gave a smashing tip.”

  “In coveralls?” asked Gray.

  “Sorry?” said the attendant.

  “He was going for a drink, but wearing his work coveralls?” said Jan.

  Jan gave Gray a frowned look. Jan hadn’t picked up that Jack’s work clothes hadn’t been in the bedroom. Maybe he was working with the knowledge that he’d seen Jack in them earlier, but either way, it showed his cognitive process was a little skewed.

  The attendant shrugged. “Likes his cars a lot. I doubt he’s much comfortable in anythin’ else.”

  “And he gave you a tip?” Gray scratched at his stubble.

  The attendant patted his suit pocket. “Same as always.”

  Considering Jack hadn’t been here that often, the “always” tag sounded more wishful thinking, more a make sure you tell Jack I like his tips confession. As they waited for the doors to open, Jan glanced over. The question was there over asking about the tip, but Gray knew it would click soon enough.

  “Oh, remind him to leave my belt at the reception desk later, okay? I’ll pick it up in the morning.”

  “Excuse me?” said Gray, looking back as they got out.

  The attendant again twisted his trousers, offering a small and awkward smile. “Lad was at a loss with forgetting his belt....”

  “Wearing coveralls?” said Jan, brows raised.

  The man thought about it, then shrugged. “I thought he needed it when he got changed.”

  “He was carrying an overnight bag?”

  “Sorry?” He glanced at Gray.

  “You said you thought he’d change. So he was carrying a bag that suggested he’d get changed at some point?”

  “Well, no.” He scratched at his head. “Didn’t really question it. He just looked sad that he didn’t have a belt.”

  By the time they made it outside, another five minutes had passed, leaving Gray glancing at his watch before looking across the road to the black Merc parked there on display. Another car had pulled up behind the Merc, and Ray was leaning down into it, occasionally drawing back and not looking happy. He would have called someone else in to look after Greg as soon as he heard there was a problem. Jan and Gray waited for the night traffic to clear, then went over.

  Gray glanced down at the belt Ray held. The last notch was stretched, suggesting a heavier frame usually wore it. At the moment, though, Deaton sat in the Merc, rubbing at the red marks around his wrists and suggesting a new calling for the belt.

  “He was just Jack,” said the big man, looking up, and Gray eased back a touch. “He got in the back saying he needed a lift to his old man’s.” Deaton pointed at the radio. “I didn’t mind him getting in. It was raining, and he was getting soaked. So I let him in and went to radio Ray to let him know I was heading over to Mr Harrison Senior, then...” He rubbed at his wrists again. Both were marked, but it was how his suit jacket was wet at the elbow that suggested Jack had used the advantage of being in the back seat and tied the big man’s hands to the headrest behind, leaving his one elbow exposed to the rain.

  “He has a knife.”

  That drew Gray’s attention to Ray.

  “He mark you?” said Gray to Deaton.

  “No,” said the big man, scratching at his throat. “Just, just a quick fucker with it.”

  “Still armed too,” said Ray, carefully. “He took a car farther down the street. The owner isn’t aware yet. Deaton got the licence plate number, so I’m just about to go and talk to the owner and let them know.”

  Gray nodded. “If there’s any damage or the car is irretrievable, let them know it will be compensated for.” Gray found Jan, how he was looking down into the darkness of an empty road. “Jan, go back with Ray. Please.”

  There was a slight pause, then Jan looked back—“’M’okay. I... I stay with you.”

  Gray tensed his jaw, hating that desolation in his eyes. It was a look that said he didn’t want to be lost for a second time, not like Jack. “Okay.” He was back with Ray. “Get Deaton back to the MC. Let Brennan know Jack’s walking.”

  “Do you need anyone else called in?”

  Gray turned away. “Yes, but I’ll handle it.”

  Gray’s Merc was parked around back, and as Gray eased onto the main street, he pulled something out of his dashboard and attached it into place. A push of a few buttons brought a low run of fast tracking noises, and Jan frowned.

  “What’s that?”

  Jack’s coveralls came to mind. “Safety’s way,” he mumbled flatly.

  “You stuck a tracking device on him?”

  Gray followed the device and headed left at the lights.

  “Gray. A tracking device? Honestly?”

  Gray snorted. “Well, it’s better than those yellow sticky labels you suggested tagging to his ass, when we first met. And Brennan overruled my suggestion over chip’n’pinning him.”

  “What?”

  “Joke,” said Gray, looking over. But when he saw the direction that the tracking device moved in, Gray pulled over and came to a stop.

  “Problem?”

  Gray tapped the screen. “That’s left down St. Andrews.”

  “And?”

  Gray looked back over his shoulder, then put the car in reverse. “Well, unless Jack’s nicked a twenty foot pole and taken to high jump, I’d say even he’d have difficulty getting over a wall that big.”

  Jan leaned in closer as if it would give him a video link to where Jack was.

  “He knows about the tracking.” Gray gave a hard sigh. “There’s restaurant bins there. He’s used a decoy, most probably a domestic animal.”

  “To go where? To do what?”

  Gray’s first thought was Logan, the threat he’d made and just how much it had unsettled Jack. But where Jack knew Logan, Martin didn’t. So where the fuck would he go?

  “Did Jack ever ask Halliday for the notepad off DC Sanders, where the DC took Jack’s statement and made notes about Vince, Henry and the rape?” Gray looked at Jan.

  “Not since he was released from the psychiatric unit, no.”

  “But the notepad was around Jack when he blacked out in my office? When he wrecked the gallery.” Gray thought about it for a few seconds. Martin could have had access to the case details via the notepad. But it still left the question of where he would go.

  “There would have been details over Elena,” said Jan. “Vince, Henry, the warehouse...”

  Gray felt a hollow pit hit his stomach. “Martin’s damn smart. He’d work out that Elena would need intel on where to get in touch with rapists like Vince and Henry.”

  “Ryan Keal?”

  Gray nodded.

  “But not to state the obvious here, Keal’s dead anyway.”

  “Yeah.” Gray turned the wheel. “Only Martin doesn’t know that. And Martin knew Keal from his Cutter days.”

  Jan gave a shaky sigh, a relieved one. “Keal’s place has been on the market for months. It’ll be empty. Logan doesn’t l
ive there, does he?”

  “No.” Gray didn’t like that Jan had been keeping tabs, but the sense behind his words was there. And an empty house would give them a good place to get Jack back into a better frame of mind. Not taking any chances, he put a call through to Halliday.

  Jack had been right earlier: going after Logan now would point too many fingers in their direction. Gray could handle any backlash, but what he couldn’t stand was Martin sending Logan or his friends into hiding. And if Martin could fuck something up for the sheer thrill of fucking something up, then it just left Gray clearing up the come stains afterwards.

  Chapter 16

  Chemical Play

  Martin moved through to the dining room and was midstream dragging his fingers along the windowsill, his look a little distracted as he glanced out the window. Annoyed, Logan came in, hands digging into his jeans.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” He slipped his phone from his pocket and set it to record. “You want to tell me about Raoul?” he said. “Is that why you’re here?”

  Martin watched the rare dribble of traffic outside. “Welsh been playing you up, has he?” He glanced back, heavy ringlets of wet hair dripping down over his cheek, almost like a string of tears. “Give him some matches next time. Don’t... get him going.”

  Logan scrunched his face, not liking this... cockiness. He physically pulled back a touch. Martin frowned, then came over and pushed past Logan. “I’m sorry. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Hey—”

  “Try living with the bastard,” said Martin.

  “What the hell are you scared of, Jack?”

  “Martin.” He grunted a smile and the tear that mixed with rain had Logan easing off, now just resting a light touch on his arms. “Gray calls me Jack... please, don’t call me that.”

  “Martin?” Logan caught his look down at his pocket.

  “You record this, he’ll find out,” said Martin. “Switch it off, please.”

  Logan dug the phone back out of his pocket and switched the phone off, seeing how it seemed to have taken all of Martin’s bravado.

  Logan searched his face. “Look. I know people who can look after you, who—”

  “And do what? Go to the cops? MI5? You got any idea how deep his touch goes...” He seemed to give up there, and Logan had to stop him from leaving with that grip on his arm.

  “Martin, please, I just need to know what happened to my father. Why it happened.”

  Martin’s face creased and a hand reached up to Logan’s cheek. “He burned you too... fuck.” Logan frowned as he brought their foreheads together. “So you’d protect me how?” he said quietly. “He knows how to get at you.” A sigh. “He’s got to you.”

  Hell... the shaking going on with his hand as Martin slipped it around Logan’s neck had Logan reaching up to try and steady it. “Why don’t you like him calling you Jack?”

  Martin shifted slightly, unzipping his coveralls. Logan tried not to follow the slow pull as Martin slipped one shoulder out, then arm, and....

  Fuck. Half of his abs were exposed, offering a walk over to the dark side of the moon: some dark beauty never seen. Logan was a shoulder guy, and as an arm was pulled free, toned muscle defined just how much Jack was used to working with his hands. He followed the offer, up to the curve of his throat, how a slight tilt of head had water slipping over the half-cast skin tone and fine cords.

  Then as Martin inched the edge of his coverall over his hip, Logan took a step back. No boxers were visible, just a scarred and ragged square stained his hip. One edge bled, or had been picked away recently, and Logan went back in, his fingers brushing the damage.

  “He did that?”

  That grey gaze never met his, only a shiver that unsettled more of the soak from his hair.

  “He did that,” Martin said flatly, then he looked up. “Keep trying to get away, but he always finds me.”

  “Was he listening in? That day at the garage?” It made sense. Martin would need to show some loyalty or—

  “So you’ll protect me how?” Martin said softly.

  Logan chewed his bottom lip. Kes would be here soon; he needed to keep Martin talking. Kes would want to talk to Martin in his own way. But Logan knew he was losing him. The fear and branded hurt said he was losing him. He couldn’t afford that. Logan needed to know what Martin knew, what he knew about Raoul, and from the hurt on display, Logan could pretty well imagine just how Raoul used him.

  If it meant he had to use him like that too for a little while longer, then he would. Okay, in the bedroom he wasn’t exactly Mr Control, but Martin had the information he needed.

  Logan shifted his touch away from the scar, running now to his outer hip. Martin frowned, but Logan went in close, cupping the back of Martin’s neck, kissing at his cheek.

  “Let me try and take care of you.” Logan nibbled at his ear and caught Martin’s soft groan. “Let me show you how you’d be taken care of properly.”

  Logan eased Martin against the wall, reaching up to the coverall covering his other shoulder, then gently slipping it down. He felt lousy for what he was doing, but what he got to touch... it made it all so damn easy.

  He bit at the exposed collarbone, then fingered a nipple, his cock more than glitching as Martin murmured. He shivered so much beneath Logan’s touch, Logan forced his intimacy to slow right down, taking his time to breeze down over abs and find a way into the bunched coveralls.

  “Hmm.” He rested his head in the curve of Martin’s throat. Martin’s cock was so fucking hard. Logan dug his hips in, wanting to feel it close to his own, feel cock rub off against cock. Breathing was reduced to pants, and Logan undid the buckle to his belt, needing to ease the torture of tight jeans on a strangled cock and—

  A snarl, he was shoved roughly to the side, away from Martin. Martin shifted from the wall, hand running through his hair, head down as if he had a headache. “Always takes the lead. Always fucking hurts....”

  Logan wasn’t given time to frown as Martin pushed him against the wall, crushing lips against lips, hands sneaking under Logan’s T-shirt before bites came at his throat. “Hurts so much with how he rough-fucks his way in... Don’t.... Don’t... hurt me like that.”

  “Easy... hey...” Logan forced his eyes closed as Martin undid the clasp to his jeans and found a way in, pulling him free.

  “Please... I can’t take it rough anymore.”

  Logan stroked at the long black hair. “I’m not gonna force you to do anything you don’t want.” That shaking was back in Martin’s body, half heat, half something else, and Logan set his jaw tensing. Any other time, he wouldn’t see a man reduced to this... begging to be touched but torn apart with fearing what would happen if he was. Why the hell would Raoul reduce a man to this? Part of him wanted to stop, to give Martin all the space he needed; he looked like he needed the space of a desert to heal, but then there was this heat... If he pushed him away now, would Martin leave? Would he look to burn it elsewhere? Would he go back to Raoul? And how pissed off would this Kes be if he turned up and Martin wasn’t here?

  Logan eased the belt from around his waist as Martin ran slow strokes down his cock. The moment Logan held the belt up, one end of the leather fisted around his palm, Martin stilled.

  “It’s not to hurt,” he mumbled. Christ, those eyes said he’d tasted a whipping before, so many times. “It’s an offer of safety around me.”

  Martin’s frown was so serious.

  Logan roped the belt through the buckle, then slipped one hand through it. “No hurt,” he said gently. “Your lead.” He felt a little easier with sharing the control anyway.

  A tear slipped over Martin’s cheek and Logan smiled softly. “One hand only, tethered to any place you need. But at least an offer for us to touch with you in control.”

  Martin looked down at Logan’s bound hand. Fingers brushed against his palm for a moment, then Martin took his hand. The blush there was heart-melting.

 
“He really never let you top him, hmm?”

  Not answering, Martin took Logan’s other hand and backed his way up to the table, taking Logan with him.

  “You topped anyone?” Logan got a kick out of picturing Martin trying to find the right pace as he lay on top of him, body hot, damp, and needing to burn himself away. He didn’t usually like breaking a man in with a first time at anything, but Martin’s innocence needed stealing.

  “No, not topped before,” said Martin, his body and blush looking more relaxed now as he ended with a shaky sigh. His touch of lips to lips was anything but shy, and somewhere Logan briefly questioned just how much Raoul had tempered this explorative side, why he’d want to temper and not let Martin have the freedom to go with the flow and just enjoy what life threw at him. He was eased around, his ass finding the table, then as Martin encouraged him down, hands drifted down Logan’s body, coming to rest at his jeans. Martin eased them off his hips, but didn’t take them lower. Grey eyes said he liked what he saw, but a kiss at Logan’s cock, then gentle nibble at the length, complemented the look.

  “Thank you,” he heard murmured.

  Logan had the words ready for a reply, but as lips slipped over his cock, taking him to the root, then dragging slowly back up, his only reply was a rise of hip and groan.

  “Fuck.” Martin knew how to use his mouth. Muscles were relaxed, the back of his tongue used to massage and coax at the same time. Logan’s balls were still hidden in his jeans, but the tight confinement and dig of zip into them only fuelled his need to fuck into that experienced mouth. But still he held back, letting Martin retain most of the control.

  The rush of needing to spill came quickly, and Logan warned Martin off with a stroke of his hair. A brush of lips graced the inside of his thigh, then Martin was up, leaning down for a kiss. Logan tasted himself, his own excitement, and he grabbed at Martin’s neck to pull him deeper, get at what lay beyond that.

  After giving a shy smile into the kiss, Martin pulled away, resting his head down for a moment, then tapping at Logan’s leg to get him to lie with the length of the table. It was much larger than he was by two lengths, and Martin wanted him close to the head of the table. A kiss at his forehead allowed an upside down view of Martin, and Martin didn’t pull back this time as Logan reached up and palmed at his cock through his bunched coveralls.