Backlash

by Jack L. Pyke

  “Jesus, mukka,” Jack said so quietly, all breathing out of control and grief dampening his cheeks. “They didn’t have to fucking hurt him too. Soft lad, such a fucking soft soul.”

  On screen, after the branding, Jack was pinned to the floor and Henry came in with a knife, pressing it against Jack’s fingers. Gray remembered Kes’s image, the writing that came with it of—

  “Christ, Vince. Stop him, for fuckssake.”

  Jack cried out hearing an echo of his words, of his own denial of Gray, of choosing the rapist over two lost lovers. “Didn’t mean it,” he rushed out into Gray’s ear. “Didn’t fucking mean it, mukka—”

  “I know... I know—”

  “Just needed to stop it hurting, just needed—”

  “Not yours, never fucking yours,” Jan cried from the DVD, and it was probably the first time Jack had heard it because he fought so hard to get free, to run now and get at Jan as Jan cried it out again into the hall.

  “Not fucking yours, you bastards.”

  And all to Vince’s whisper of, “Still think he’s yours...? Gray’s? That he gives a fuck about you outside of a dream?”

  “Time out,” Jack whispered heatedly, and it tore Gray apart to shake his head. “Tell me your safe word, it stops.”

  And it was there, bleeding into his eyes, pupils so wide and taking everything in, the shaking going on his body. “You don’t let that bastard near him, Gray. You hear me? You keep Jan safe.”

  “Do you need this to stop?”

  “No.”

  The fight there forced Gray in close, and he dug a hand into Jack’s hip, where the tattoo still burned, and he forced a cry out of Jack as he hurt skin. “This, it’s such a good fucking hurt. You remember that, because I’ll be there when we’re coloured into your soul, stunner—”

  Such a rough kiss came, one that took every breath, life, words of threat and promise, and made it linger and play with all of Jack’s.

  “Bleed... make them fucking bleed, baby.”

  A sob choked free at Jan’s change from crying hurt to calling out murder, then it fell deathly quiet as Jack suddenly broke away. “Stop.”

  “Stop?”

  “Fucking stop.” Pupils weren’t dilated, just filled with heavy confusion. “Can’t do this.”

  “Safe word?” said Gray, the abrupt change a concern.

  “Mercedes-Benz.”

  Gray eased back and nodded over at Trace, at Craig, and Gray picked up the remote and switched off the video as Craig came over and started to check Jack over, running through a set of questions they both seemed to know by heart now.

  “Name?”

  “Jack.”

  “Age?”

  “Going on fifty by the...” Another dig of fingers into his head. “Feel... feel of things.”

  “Where are we?”

  Jack shivered. “Hall. Gray’s manor, London, England, planet fucking Earth.”

  Craig smiled. “Today’s date?”

  Jack seemed unsteady and he gripped Craig’s arm, pushing up his sleeve slightly. “Friday, 12th.”

  “Okay good.” Craig glanced at Gray. “I’m calling enough here; his heart rate is tachycardic. He needs to get his head down.”

  Gray nodded. “Get him up to my room. I’ll be there in a minute. You know where you’re going, right?” Craig nodded, and Gray gave a rub at Jack’s arm and a kiss to his cheek that Jack turned into, made sure the kiss lasted. Gray pulled back slightly at the brush of tongue. Then he headed over to Jan.

  “Jan. Look at me.” As Jan did, Gray pulled him in close, feeling Jan’s fast heartbeat match his own. “You okay?”

  “No.” And the shaking going on with his body cried it out. It wasn’t so much grief, just pure anger that needed a release point.

  “Gray, where does this leave Sam—”

  Jack had pulled away from Craig, out of the hold on his arm, and a look at them, he came over, frowning at Jan.

  Gray put a hand out, stopping him. “Sleep.”

  “Hm?” That confusion still laced Jack’s eyes as Gray levelled his gaze on him.

  “You said you needed sleep.”

  He nodded at Gray, but his look was at Jan, for Jan. All Jan.

  Gray was back with him too. “We find out another way to see what codes Martin saw. Mase was there in that garage, too, along with his father. Whatever happened, it must have been after Martin fucked Mase, after he let him and his father go and saw your mother in a back room. If we find out what codes Martin saw after that, what he did with them, we get to Kes, the one behind yours and Jack’s rape.”

  Jan looked at him a little strange, as if not understanding why he’d said all that. Jan knew all that. “If we don’t?”

  “If we don’t, Kes finds out this trigger didn’t work either, so he’ll, if he is a he, he’ll make sure Jack doesn’t walk away from the next time they rape him. We still have a lead, though; the name of the man who recommended you to Jack. Who was it again?”

  Jan’s anger was only amplified. “James Matheson. I told you that.”

  “Good.” There was quiet, then a glance back saw Craig pull Jack away. “Craig, just hang on a minute.” The man stopped, then frowned as Jack carried on.

  “What?” said Craig. When Gray didn’t answer and Craig went to push through the doors again, after Jack, Gray said the same thing, “Wait a minute.” Again Craig frowned, not understanding. Then Gray called Trace over as Jack disappeared.

  “Problem?”

  Gray shifted and pulled Jan into Trace.

  “You look after him like your life depends on it. That goes for Greg and Ed too.”

  Trace frowned, then he seemed to catch on the same time Jan did. “Do I need to get them to the Oval?” said Trace.

  Gray nodded. “Take Craig. He has methadone for Jan. Anyone but me approaches, they’re not friendly. Clear?”

  “Okay. How long do we stay there?”

  “Until the morning. You hear nothing from me, you take Jan with you back to America. Clear?”

  “What?” Jan sputtered, and Gray instantly went in for a hard kiss.

  “Stay safe, Jan. Please. I need to sort this, but I need you to stay safe and out of harm’s way to do it. Are we clear?” Gray pushed away, unable to see Jan answer. He gave a nod at Craig as he left him frowning at the door.

  Chapter 37

  Martin

  The shuffle of wood against wood came from the reception hall, and Gray paused to listen for a moment before heading on in from the lounge. Resting against the doorframe, he watched as a touch sorted through the mail desk close to the door. A heavy sigh came, then a body was straightened as a look went to the door, then back to the floor. Again that confusion laced grey eyes, maybe tinged with being a little pissed off now.

  “You moved the Mercedes keys from the hook here.”

  “This morning,” said Gray. “Despite all of my security, Jack’s never been happy with leaving them in close proximity to the door.” He gave half a smile. “That was a pretty lousy party trick with needing to look at Craig’s watch to get the date.”

  Grey eyes found his and all fear bled away. “Damn. You got me. How you doin’ there, Welsh?”

  Gray folded his arms. “Fucking peachy.”

  Martin laughed softly. “You’ve been fucking Jack for too long. You told him about us yet, by the way?” That wicked smile. “You want me too?” Gray felt something slip as black hair fell across Jack’s look just then, despite such a slight smile at the corners of those lips. “Was it the kiss at the end of it? Y’know, back there in the hall?” Martin came a little closer, then a little more, then Gray let Martin step in really close. A look stayed on Gray’s lips and Martin licked at his own. “Too much tongue?” More of a flicker of a smile. “Not enough?”

  Gray removed the touch that started to sneak into his suit jacket. Martin shook his head, pulled his hand away from Gray’s, then gave a deliberate shift back under Gray’s jacket. The sigh was contented, and a breat
h brushed Gray’s neck, starting from the back of the ear down to the curve of his neck.

  “Did I ever say I was sorry?” A single soft kiss brushed just above his collar, pausing for a moment before he tongued his way along Jack’s necklace. “For following you to Wales after fucking you with that knife?” He could sense Martin’s smile. “You tell Jack about that too, or is that just between you, me, and the twisted darkness of Welsh home shores? How the real bastard in you came out to fuck with me?”

  “Keys to the Merc are in my top pocket, Martin.”

  “Fuh—” Hands stopped their play, now resting on Gray’s hips as a hard sigh was given, the heat of breath still pressing close on his neck. “You changed that too, huh?”

  “Years ago, you asshole.”

  Martin gave a shrug, then a chuckle. “Worth a grope or two away from the maddening crowds, though, right? You’ve picked up a few friends too. How the fuck did you manage that without supervision via a court order, cage, and prodding stick?”

  A shove at Martin’s shoulder sent him back a pace, then Gray twisted him back to the wall, his firearm withdrew and pressed into his forehead.

  That dead look was back in Martin’s eyes. “Bet you’d like that,” he said quietly, and he came in, pressing harder against the barrel of the gun and forcing the muscles in Gray’s arm to counterbalance the pressure. “Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fucked with my head. I mean, my knifing you was purely self-defence, if you evaluate the logic. Burn... burn or self-heal, baby....” Another shift, this time a lick came at the barrel, then a tongue played around it before his head tilted up and the barrel slipped over his jaw, down his throat.

  “Jack’s tone, when he safe words,” Gray said quietly. He tilted the gun, now controlling the drag of its tip across Martin’s throat. “You asked for my Merc, you weren’t saying please, Sir, stop.”

  “Would you like me to say please, Sir, stop?”

  Gray eased the gun gently along Martin’s lips, back down to his jaw. “You wouldn’t mean it.”

  Martin shifted, allowing the gun more room to play. “And wouldn’t you rough-fuck me more, knowing it.” Martin kissed at Gray’s hand, then licked at the fingers pressed against the trigger. “Pull it....”

  Martin traced a touch down his own body, sneaking under his T-shirt and playing along tanned abs. “Pull it.”

  Gray let the barrel dig into the tender skin below his jaw, forcing his gaze up and....

  Click.

  Martin flinched, eyes widening slightly at the sound of an empty chamber. Gray smiled, loving the reaction. “Next one won’t warn. Give me the codes you saw.”

  “Fuck.” said Martin, and he dragged a harder touch along his abs, marking the skin. “Almost came then.” All humour failed as he held out a hand, his look shifting to Gray’s throat for a moment. “Keys.”

  “Why? Somewhere you need to be?” Gray dug the gun a little further leaving a depression in the skin.

  “Oh come on.” Martin found him. “You didn’t give me all that information to coat your walls with my... rather stunning grey matter.” He made a point of keeping a finger on the barrel as he pushed it away. “You’re looking for a little help, Welsh. Go on, say it. Please... Sir, help me.”

  Gray kicked at the back of his knees, sending Martin down. As he hit the floor, he straddled Martin, pinning his arms still with pressure from his knees. A grab of hair forced Martin’s head to the side, then Gray withdrew his lighter and flicked the flame into life.

  “Uncle,” Gray said softly. “Do you remember how this game goes?”

  Martin hissed and tried to turn his head. Gray brought it too close for comfort against his throat.

  “You’ll fucking burn him, Welsh.”

  “Not him,” said Gray. “You.” He took the flame close again and watched how Martin struggled to get free. “He hides, Martin. Mostly because of me, from me.” Again he took the flame closer, pulling away only when Martin cried out. The look that settled in Martin’s eyes had him bringing it back and holding it there for a second longer than he should.

  “Yeah, you like it too.” Gray came down close to Martin’s ear, then bit gently at it. “But you know what...?” He smiled against the taste of skin. “I like it more.”

  “Yeah. I remember you from Wales.”

  Gray shivered, and the bite at Martin’s throat came harder, enough to bruise. “Either you focus me on Kes,” he whispered, “or I’ll find new ways to make you burn.”

  “And hurt Jack in the process?”

  Gray briefly closed his eyes. “I’ll take his last breath if it comes to the choice. And guess how I’d make damn sure he wasn’t at home so he doesn’t feel any hurt or see it?”

  Martin relaxed completely. “You offer to hold me in the best moments in a man’s life.” That smile creeping back in. “First fuck... the final kiss. No wonder Jack cries in the shadows, all alone.” He tried to struggle and Gray focused his attention with a grip that nearly tore hair from scalp. “And as much as I’m... getting a hard-on with this fuck someone over side of yours—which, by the way, how come I don’t get a badge to go with my psychotic tendencies?— I won’t remember a thing until I see that garage again. I didn’t keep a hard copy of the codes.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Maybe. Do you really have the time for another torture session?”

  Gray eased off a touch, at least letting the pain level lower in Martin’s eyes.

  “There we go,” said Martin. “Common ground. So, let’s face the balls of the issue here. I don’t have a photographic memory, but it’s, well, almost seems like yesterday that I was there, so to speak.” He winked. “Jack really should let me out more. For now, I need something to jog my memory.”

  The look in his eyes called bullshit on that, and it made Gray force a cry out of him as he brought the lighter back, this time by his cheek.

  “Where I go after I get that intel remains to be seen,” laughed Martin, a tear running over where the burn threatened. “But I’ll get you to Kes. Promise.”

  Gray slipped his lighter in his pocket, then reached for some handcuffs. After slipping them on Martin, he pulled him to his feet and pushed him through the kitchen, and into the garage. Martin tried to shift for the Merc, but Gray made sure he found his way, face first across a work bench. A kick at his legs had Martin opening them, and before he could shift and cause serious damage, Gray tethered one ankle then the other to the legs of the unit with tow straps. Martin tried to pull up, but pressure on the back of his neck made sure he stayed down.

  He didn’t like being tied down. He didn’t like being tied period, and Gray ran his hand down the slip of hip and fine curve of ass that shaped the fall of his workstation.

  Martin stilled.

  “Scared?” said Gray.

  “Bored.” But the shaking running through Gray’s touch saw damage that ran so deep. Jack had time to deal with his; Martin was still caught in the time slip. The hurt was there, but the anger outweighed it, out-shivered it. “Get your fucking hands off me, Welsh fuck.”

  A drawer in the workstation had Gray’s attention, and he reached over and pulled something out. Andrew had brought the electronic tag over last night, one taken from the storerooms that wouldn’t be noticed missing for a few days. After crouching down, Gray shifted the jeans up on Martin’s leg and fastened the tag in place, making sure the electronics worked. This one came with an extra kick, done to Gray’s specifications. No hand-holding necessary. It was done to make sure Martin wouldn’t stray too far from the second device Gray held, but also because—

  “Off. Get that fuck off me.”

  It still played deep with Jack. Deep enough to unsettle Martin and give him something else to let loose and crawl under his skin.

  And that was just fine with Gray.

  “You fuck,” he snarled. Gray eased to his feet now that he’d untied Martin’s.

  “Right.” He tugged Martin up. “How about you and me go for a long r
ide?” As Gray took him over to the S-class coupe, hearing a wolf whistle off Martin, Gray pulled his mobile phone free and thumbed in a number.

  “Andrews here,” came the reply on the third ring.

  “I need you as shadow.” He gave him an address. “Keep close surveillance; keep out of sight and make note of who follows.”

  “Understood.”

  Martin kept quiet for the manoeuvre through the London’s midmorning traffic. Hands were kept cuffed behind him as he sat in the passenger seat, but his look was on the life passing them by. Or more, Gray suspected, street names and get out routes.

  They’d just turned onto the Old Kent Road, bypassing Jack’s old terraced house and the archway and its alley near it. Past Walworth Academy, farther down on the left, slept Mina Road. The road itself was shoe-box size compared to the main Old Kent Road and its three-lane traffic. Back in Jack’s teens, it had homed mostly units and garages. A few had been disused, or, like the one Martin had taken Mase and his father to, used for storage of bikes and work tools belonging to the garage owner. Now only two working buildings remained in the thin bottleneck road that then opened up to high-rise flats. The flats congested the bulk of the road beyond the thin opening, pushing at each other to get some more space and breathe in the wider context of London. The garage they needed was on the immediate left of Mina Road with a little community hall watching over it from the opposite side. It had been a good way from Steve’s, but then Martin had a car that night.

  He looked like he needed one now.

  “The electronic tag has a perimeter of twenty feet. Go beyond that, a timed device laced with enough sedative to knock out an elephant will make sure you don’t get past twenty-one feet. Tamper with it, it’s designed to do the same.”

  Martin didn’t shift his gaze from the window. “Fuck me, they built a Tesco on Dunton Road. They’re bloody everywhere nowadays. Pretty shit for Bermondsey Square Antiques Market; it’s gotta hit them hard—they still do that? The Market?”