Jack: Grime and Punishment: The Brothers Grime, book 1

by Maxfield, Z. A.

  Why didn’t I see how he turned every spoken word into foreplay? Why didn’t I see that sex always led to sleep or abandonment?

  Why didn’t I see how manipulative he was?

  How could I be so stupid?

  Jack found out the truth at the bottom of a pile of vicious bullies, and after that he’d never given his heart to anyone again.

  Until now he’d believed it was because he’d learned his lesson, but in Nick’s room in Sunny Hills, Jack had learned a different, more awful truth.

  Jack had never gotten his heart back from Nick, and now he never would.

  It’s probably time to cry now.

  When Jack started to sob, Tasha jumped into his lap like she was trying to distract him. Jack couldn’t have stopped crying if he’d wanted to. He swiped at his seemingly endless tears and the snot that streaked his cheeks, and asked himself all the questions he still couldn’t answer.

  First he cried like a man without a safe place to vent his rage, and then he cried like a man who’d been horribly betrayed.

  Finally, he cried like a boy who’d lost his first love.

  Jack had three choices.

  He could back out and let Ryan do the job alone. Ryan would understand if Jack told him he wasn’t up to it. If bitter memories and a sleepless night—if his physical infirmity—made doing the job impossible for him.

  Or Brothers Grime could send a team to help Ryan clean. His guys would realize that Ryan needed closure. They’d help him suit up, and give him some job to do. Eddie was a good guy. He’d make it work.

  Or Jack could put aside his unhappiness, swallow his pain, and find a way to move past Nick Foasberg once and for all.

  Tasha head-butted him in the breadbasket hard enough to get his attention.

  “What?” he growled at her.

  Her reptilian eyes shone in the darkness. She watched, sphinxlike, as if to warn him life’s lessons could come at a high price. Jack had dodged most of the really hard lessons so far, yet he’d learned two very important things tonight.

  One, pain mortgaged to some future date comes due with interest; and two, cats—even snotty, damp, cried-on cats—smell way better than clean, dry dogs.

  Chapter 7

  Jack took a cab to pick up his van. Gabe was already in the front office with three of their employees: Paco, Jerry, and the only woman in the firm, Kim, who referred to herself as “Token Chick” and talked in the third person.

  Eddie Vasquez, Grime’s third owner, was all ready to lay on the sarcasm. “Nice to see you looking so well rested.”

  Jack adjusted his sunglasses unnecessarily. “I’m taking one of the panel vans.”

  Gabe and Eddie glanced at each other. Gabe wore his khakis and a uniform polo, but Eddie was dressed in a pair of slick black trousers, a fancy red dress shirt, and black tie. He had big, broad shoulders and narrow hips, and when he moved, it seemed impossible someone his size could be so graceful. He must have been the bastard offspring of a gangster and a dance instructor. He looked like a deadly tango master or a grim-faced mambo ninja.

  “Where are you going dressed like that?” Jack asked.

  “My sister’s kid has a thing at school.”

  “Right. No way you’re going to a kid thing dressed like that unless you’re hot for teacher.”

  Eddie colored furiously. “Shut it.”

  Gabe looked Jack over. “You sure you gotta do this, coz?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Eddie wrote something on his magic clipboard and held out a set of keys. When Jack reached for them, Eddie drew them sharply away. “Don’t go parking in dark places with boys, and be sure to fill it with gas before you come back.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Jack snatched the keys and followed Gabe to the warehouse out back to check over his equipment.

  “Like your mother ever gave you car keys.”

  “You’re right. She knew me better than that.”

  Years with the fire department drilled a particular sense of pride into a man. Jack insisted the trucks be kept spotless. Every team checked equipment off on a manifest, then rechecked that against the needs of each individual job, making certain they’d have everything they’d require when they got to the job site.

  The warehouse space housed three white Nissan panel vans all emblazoned with the Brothers Grime logo and URL, their phone number, and the slogan, “Life is not a fairy tale.” Two box trucks they kept parked in the lot completed their fleet. Jack got there just as someone rolled the heavy metal door up.

  Bright sunlight streamed into the work area, blinding Jack, reflecting off the sides of the vehicles. Glare washed color out of everything inside and made it hard to see.

  Jack was glad for his sunglasses, and not just because he didn’t want Gabe and Eddie to see his red eyes.

  Everyone seemed to be watching him. Maybe because he rarely spent time in the warehouse, and when he did visit, his employees expected a white-glove inspection.

  “Token Chick is doing her job, oh mighty Payer of Wages.” Kim smiled from behind her tusklike lip piercings.

  He smiled back at her. “Hail, worthy minion. The wage gods smile on you this day.”

  “Not on you,” Gabe guessed. “I bet Dave a hundred bucks you’re doing the job for free.”

  “You’d lose. But I admit I gave it away cheap. It’s just—”

  “Something you have to do. I know.” Gabe sighed.

  Jack checked through his supplies. “I’ll need a basin wrench and some basic plumbing tools. The bathroom has a claw-foot tub.”

  Gabe took a toolbox down from one of the shelves. “You have to move it, huh?”

  “Only if I want to clean around it.”

  “I could send one of the kids with you.” He gestured toward Paco. “We’ve only got the one other job this morning.”

  “No.”

  “C’mon, Jack. You’re not being reasonable. You’ve only been in the field a couple of times in the last six months.”

  Jack closed the van’s back doors with a bang. “I’ll see you later.”

  “It’s not a crime to call if you need help. Drive careful.”

  “I will.” He climbed up into the driver’s seat. Before he shut the door, he said, “It’s going to be okay, Gabe.”

  Gabe muttered something else, but it was lost to the noise of the engine. Jack pulled out of the warehouse carefully, then waved.

  Whatever Gabe said, it was probably closer to You’re a fucking dick than I guess a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

  On the way to Ryan’s place, Jack turned on the radio for the noise. He stopped to get a couple of coffees in case Ryan didn’t have any made, and pulled up in front of Ryan’s house at almost exactly ten on the dot.

  There was a car in the driveway that hadn’t been there the day before, but the house looked quiet—until a man Jack didn’t know stepped out the front door.

  Whoever he was, he turned, and then Ryan appeared behind him. They stayed pressed together, hip to hip in the doorway like lovers, saying good-bye.

  Jack waited in the car, trying to look like he was busy with something—writing or taking a call. He didn’t want to intrude, yet he couldn’t tamp down his curiosity. He was absolutely not trying to see what they were doing when Ryan motioned for him to come up to the porch.

  Jack grabbed his cane and got out. The way up the walk seemed miles longer than it had the day before.

  Jack had dreams like that all the time, where seemingly short distances lengthened out before him—where hallways grew longer and destinations pulled away even as he struggled and struggled, trying to close the gap.

  Jack felt Ryan and his friend watching. He couldn’t help wondering what they were thinking, if they were judging him. If they were losing patience with each slow step he took as he made his way to the house.

  “Jack,” Ryan said. “This is Kevin.”

  Jack lifted his chin to acknowledge Ryan’s words, then took a look at Kevin. What he saw sur
prised him. Whatever he’d imagined Ryan’s boyfriend would be like, this man with his sharply defined features and thin, angular face wasn’t it.

  Kevin’s eyes were overly wide, and his mannerisms too intense for the early hour. Jack had seen plenty of drug users before, and it looked like Kevin was one of them. He wasn’t circling the drain by any means, but he was pretty obviously riding the waves in the basin. Jack guessed cocaine.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Jack lied. He held out his hand anyway, just to man up.

  “You too.” Kevin shook Jack’s hand, but not before assessing and dismissing him as a potential rival. He turned to Ryan. “Babe, are you absolutely sure I can’t talk you out of this? This is some freaky shit. I don’t mind telling you—”

  Ryan preempted the argument. “No.”

  Kevin danced on the balls of his feet, turning to Jack to shore up his argument. “You don’t think Ryan should do this, do you?”

  “No, I don’t,” Jack answered honestly.

  “I know, right?” Kevin’s head bobbed. “He sees enough sick shit at work.”

  “I agree.”

  “See? Cleaning dude agrees with me.” Kevin caught the belt loop on Ryan’s low-slung jeans with his index finger and pulled him forward by his hips. Their groins rubbed intimately, and for a second Jack’s gut tightened with longing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shared that kind of intimacy with anyone in the light of day.

  Currently, Dave was his go-to guy for sex, and Dave always left as soon as it was over so he could wake up in his own bed. Period. He showed not a whiff of interest in Jack where anyone but their closest friends—people like Gabe—could see.

  It was clear Kevin had the right to morning-after familiarity with Ryan.

  It wasn’t clear exactly why.

  “Stop.” Ryan pulled away. “You need to go.”

  “C’mon, Ry.” The man rubbed his lips over Ryan’s. Whether Ryan didn’t like it because Jack was there, or whether Ryan didn’t like it at all, the act resulted in him standing on tiptoe as if to avoid being licked by a dog.

  “Stop, Kev.”

  “Don’t be like that,” Kevin coaxed.

  “I’ll talk to you on Thursday if you stop by work at lunchtime.”

  “All right.” Kevin frowned but dropped a last dry-looking kiss on Ryan’s cheek. “I’ll be there.”

  “Call your sponsor,” Ryan ordered as Kevin headed for his car.

  “Yeah. Got it. On it.”

  Ryan and Jack stood in some kind of limbo while Kevin got in his battered Jetta. It took him a minute to start the engine and back out. Talk about a walk of shame.

  “Awkward silence.” Jack pointed out the obvious.

  Ryan folded his arms across his chest. “I had a crime scene in my house. I needed a distraction.”

  “I’m not judging you.”

  “That’s good. I get enough of that from the voices in my head.”

  “I brought coffee.” Jack motioned toward the car. “I could use some help carrying shit.”

  Ryan stepped out and headed down the path. He wore jeans and a faded T-shirt, but his feet were bare. Jack noticed they were nicely shaped with high arches and long, slender toes. Against the rough brick landscaping they looked oddly vulnerable. Jack was momentarily mesmerized by the desire to protect them.

  “You should put on socks,” he said as he followed. “I brought boots for you that I think will fit.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Jack opened the passenger door and took the coffees from his cup holders. He handed one to Ryan and leaned against the door frame to drink his.

  “Still steamy. Good. I didn’t make any yet.”

  Jack snorted. “Kevin didn’t need the caffeine.”

  “Meow.” Ryan leveled a shrewd look at Jack over his cup. “Just saying.”

  “Sorry.”

  Ryan shrugged. “Kevin’s a work in progress.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Jack looked down at Ryan’s bare feet again. “Anyway, I spoke out of turn. It’s none of my business. Nick was in my life for a lot of years, and maybe I get a little lost around you because you’re so much like him.”

  Ryan stepped back, aghast. “I’m nothing like Nick.”

  “Wait.” Jack tensed. “You look like him. That’s all I meant.”

  “He and I couldn’t even have a two-minute conversation without running dry.”

  “It’s the physical resemblance I’m talking about. It’s hard to wrap my head around.” Jack put his coffee down and walked to the back of the truck where he opened the doors and started pulling out his gear. “He’s dead. But here you are, and you look—”

  “I like to think I’m more adaptable than Nick was, at the very least.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  “Nick didn’t give me the time of day until he needed a place to stay.”

  “I don’t follow.” Jack stopped what he was doing. “I thought you were cousins? You weren’t close?”

  “We may have been related, but Nick didn’t hang around with his”—Ryan made air quotes—“‘homo cousin Ryan.’ Not unless I had something he needed.”

  “That’s harsh.” And such self-loathing bullshit on Nick’s part. “I’m really sorry.”

  “I was used to it.”

  “And you still let him live here?”

  Ryan pulled unhappily at the hem of his shirt. “He was family.”

  “That’s mighty nice, considering.”

  “I do volunteer work with substance abusers and hospice, and I’m an ER nurse at a hospital called St. Jude. What can I say? I’m a magnet for lost causes.”

  “I apologize in advance if I’m a lost cause too. You sure you’re up for this?”

  “Well.” Ryan lifted one of his eyebrows even as he heaved a dramatic sigh. “Even if the road leads nowhere, it’s nice when the scenery changes.”

  Chapter 8

  Once they’d donned their gear—hooded Tyvek coveralls, chemical-resistant work boots, gloves, respirators, and goggles—Ryan helped Jack carry his equipment and tools into the house.

  Well, mostly Ryan carried the gear, and Jack cursed the fact he could only carry half of what Ryan could.

  Curtains twitched open as some of Ryan’s neighbors grew curious, but fell closed again when Jack glanced up to see who was watching. Across the street a woman in pajamas and a terry-cloth robe stared until Jack stared back, and then she picked up her newspaper and hurried inside.

  “Is all this really necessary?” Ryan asked, looking down at his coveralls. “I feel like we’re tracking an outbreak of Ebola virus.”

  “It’s necessary,” Jack answered.

  In his kind of cleaning business, they handled human tissue, bodily fluid and waste, mouse and rat droppings, animal carcasses, and who knew what all. When Jack and Gabe started the Brothers Grime, they agreed the most important part of their business was keeping their employees healthy while their employees kept the public safe.

  Did Jack like dressing like he was an extra on the set of the film Outbreak? No. Would he take any chances with his body, his employees, or God help him, Ryan Halloran?

  Hell no.

  “How did you even get into this business?” Ryan asked as he lugged a pump sprayer filled with disinfectant into Nick’s room.

  “I had to find something I could still do after the accident, and I had too many scars to go into porn.”

  “I think scars are hot.” Spoken from behind a respirator, it was like getting hit on by Darth Vader.

  Jack’s face warmed up. “Yeah, but then I failed the flexibility test.”

  Despite the situation, Ryan laughed. That could be a good thing. Jack’s kind of work required a strong stomach and a good sense of humor. Eddie, who trained new hires, had a wicked wit. His humor often made the difference between a trainee getting sick and quitting the first day out, and a valuable employee who could work and earn alongside them.

  “Next
, we’ll put paper down so we have a path to and from the back door. There’s a roll of tape in my bag.”

  Ryan left the disinfectant outside the bathroom door where they’d staged equipment. While Jack got out a roll of thick, plastic-backed paper, Ryan located the tape.

  “If we’re careful, we can use this paper and a small amount of low-adhesive tape without ruining your floor. Can you tape while I unroll?” Jack asked.

  “Sure.”

  Starting at the bathroom door, Jack started spooling out brown paper. Wide as the doorway and a little unwieldy, the paper was tough enough to stand up to foot traffic. Jack was forced to admit he needed Ryan. There was no way he could kneel on the hardwood floor to tape.

  No way he could have done this job alone.

  “This reminds me of prepping for painting.” Ryan tore a segment of tape and stuck it down. The long line of his strong back and the curve of his ass made Jack swallow hard.

  Jack cleared his throat. “I thought of starting up a painting business. The physical labor wouldn’t be any more intense, and the start-up costs were similar.”

  “But crime scene cleanup won out?” Ryan glanced up at him, blue eyes interested beneath long, coppery lashes.

  “I guess I thought this would be more satisfying.” Jack fussed with the paper roll unnecessarily. He had to stop looking at Ryan like that.

  “How so?”

  Jack shrugged off the attraction. God, was this ever the wrong place, wrong time. “Anybody can paint a house.”

  “Some painters are better than others.”

  “Painting is all about attention to detail. Same goes for cleaning, but this job lets me help people out of really traumatic situations. It’s almost like I’m still with the fire department. We respond to a crisis and do what we can. I can stomach it. It’s a good fit.”

  Ryan’s gaze went from Jack’s face to his knees and back again. “Seems like.”

  Jack felt his ears warm up. Was he telling Ryan his whole life story because he was nervous? Because he was putting off the horror that waited on the other side of the bathroom door? Or because the man intrigued and attracted him?