Rule of Thirds (A Mirror Novel Book 1)

by Stephanie Tyler

  “You’ve got too many clothes on,” Jacoby murmured. “Come on—please.”

  Ward complied, because Jacoby was too far gone in his pleasure-haze to worry about Ward’s scars. He unzipped his jeans and Jacoby helped yank them down. He managed to pull his shirt off before Jacoby grabbed him and held him close, writhing underneath him. “Fuck, that’s good, J.”

  “Not gonna last,” Jacoby warned.

  “I never told you to hold back.” Ward stroked him, bit his nipple and Jacoby surged against him, wet come rubbing between their bare skin. And Jacoby never closed his eyes, just watched Ward watching him.

  Jacoby was still hard. He stretched his arms up over his head again, still needy. But the contentment of that first orgasm had taken the edge off and allowed him to savor every single touch, lick, murmur…

  Ward kissed him as he dragged Jacoby’s hips toward his, rubbing their cocks together again. Groaning into each other’s mouths.

  God, he’d missed this, the way Jacoby’s body shuddered at his touches, the moans that escaped the back of his throat…

  Jacoby always seemed surprised by them, even to this day, like he hadn’t thought himself capable of the pure enjoyment and escape sex could bring.

  Ward made it his mission to get Jacoby as loud as possible every single time. He had a lot of making up to do. “You were a goddamned baby the first time I fucked you.”

  “Yeah, right,” Jacoby scoffed. “I knew more in bed than you did, old man.”

  “You wish,” Ward muttered, although he couldn’t deny that Jacoby was very sexual—and a total turn-on—from minute one.

  Jacoby took a hand off the headboard and reached between Ward’s legs and then gave him a self-satisfied smile.

  In response, Ward said, “You ever want to see it again, get to work. There’s lube in my pocket.”

  “Prepared,” Jacoby panted as he brought his other hand down, stroked Ward and squeezed lube on Ward’s waiting fingers at the same time. “Like a Boy Scout.”

  He stopped talking when two of Ward’s fingers entered him.

  “How’s that? Am I earning my badge?” Ward asked in low, dangerous voice.

  Jacoby’s answer was a thrust of his hips and a long, stuttered groan. His face was flushed and he was spread and waiting for Ward to take him. So compliant—and bed was the only place that happened.

  “Love that sound,” Ward growled, adding a third finger as he lubed his cock up, then stopped. “Shit. Condom.”

  Jacoby’s hand latched onto his wrist. “I’ve been tested. Six months, then three. There’s been no one since then.”

  Ward blinked. Smiled. And as he moved to enter Jacoby, Jacoby realized it meant that Ward hadn’t been with anyone since Jacoby had left.

  Jacoby put his hands on Ward’s shoulders. “It wasn’t…there wasn’t anyone who meant anything.”

  “You don’t owe me an explanation for your needs,” Ward told him.

  “What about yours?” Jacoby whispered.

  “You’re the only one who can satisfy them. I didn’t bother trying.”

  Ward was smart—Jacoby’s one-night quickies were nothing. Nothing compared to the way Ward touched him, took him, fucked him. “Come on—fuck me.”

  Ward entered him and Jacoby cursed at the bite of pain that accentuated the pleasure. Ward studied his face, unmoving and patient. “You’re so goddamned tight.”

  “There hasn’t been anyone since you,” he managed. Because Ward had been the only guy who hadn’t paid who Jacoby had ever let top him…the only man he more than willingly bottomed for.

  Ward slid inside him and Jacoby gasped as his body adjusted to the girth. “So good, Ward,” he groaned and Ward bit the side of his neck by his collarbone. “Leave a mark—leave a goddamned mark.”

  Ward intended to, obviously, mark after mark as he fucked Jacoby into the mattress.

  “Ward!” Jacoby’s lower body was wrapped around him like a vise, although his arms remained above his head, his hands grasping the headboard as it—and the bed—moved with their intensity.

  Their skin was slick with sweat. The bed shook from the force of Ward’s thrusts and they vibrated to Jacoby’s soul.

  Ward didn’t let him up for air, pistoned his hips so he could hit Jacoby’s prostate with each and every thrust, because he loved watching Jacoby come apart, forgetting everything except Ward’s cock.

  Jacoby held him so tightly when he came, practically howled with pleasure, that Ward orgasmed barely a minute later, unable to hang on to his carefully cultivated control. Because Jacoby turned him into something primal and fierce…and that was a place Ward knew he belonged.

  Chapter Eight

  In the semi-darkness, Jacoby’s attention turned to what he hadn’t seen, thanks to Ward’s immediate and effective methods of distraction.

  Ward’s scars.

  They were still there. All of them. Including—and most importantly—Jacoby’s name. His real name, his birth name…

  It can always be worse.

  A matched set to his in so many regards.

  Ward’s hand ran across the back of his neck, and he looked up to see Ward watching him. “You didn’t…”

  “Have them covered up? Taken off?” Ward finished after several long moments of Jacoby’s silence. “Why? They made me who I am. And yes, I learned that from you.” He reached out and traced the scars on Jacoby’s chest.

  “Survivors.” Jacoby spoke the word like he was trying it on for size.

  “Yes.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I’ve given up on telling you what to do.”

  “Out of bed,” Jacoby added. “And we both know that’s about as bullshit as me saying I’ll follow your orders…out of bed.”

  “I guess we need to stay in bed, then,” Ward told him.

  Jacoby couldn’t think of a goddamned reason to argue with that logic.

  *

  An hour later, Ward had Jacoby stay in bed while he answered the door for the food. How the guy had it all delivered, plated and looking like they were actually in a restaurant instead of typical room service fare, Jacoby had no idea. But hell, he liked being spoiled by Ward.

  They were from different worlds—different planets, really, and even though Jacoby could fake it with the best of him, he could pass, he wasn’t born into it.

  For Ward, none of it had to be faked. His job as an agent was messy and complicated and so unlike Ward and his whole life. But Ward was good at his job.

  Ward passed him a plate and sat across from him at the small table next to the large window that overlooked the back courtyard. It was well lit all night, and as secure as any five-star hotel could be, but Jacoby knew he wouldn’t be able to stay here long.

  But he didn’t want to think about that. Not now. “How’s your new sup?” he asked Ward instead.

  “Not a bad boss.”

  “Why didn’t you take that job?”

  “And ride a desk, hold meetings ninety-nine percent of the time? How old do you think I am?”

  “Lot of rumors that you’re not ambitious enough.”

  “I’ve heard those. No one has to live my life. I don’t live theirs.” Ward paused. “They also speculate that I’m destroyed by what Jessica did to me. That I’ve been labeled emotionally unstable.”

  “But they still let you chase killers.”

  “Right. I’m too crazy for them to stop me.” Ward’s smile was shark-like. “I don’t mind the rumors. I’ve even started some myself. It’s fun—try it sometime.”

  “Don’t need rumors—I’ve got access to the real thing.”

  Ward gave a crooked smile as he brushed a heavy hand through Jacoby’s hair. “Yes, you do.”

  They ate in comfortable silence for a while, until Jacoby asked, “Is the same team working this case?”

  “Yes. My new sup’s the only addition. And even he doesn’t know your connections to Jessica beyond you being an agent on the case.”

&nbs
p; “Well, we know it wouldn’t be Leo or Jude helping her,” Jacoby ruminated. He’d only met Jude a few times, but he’d been brought in as an agent on Jessica’s case by Cullers after Jacoby left. According to office gossip, Jude was buttoned-down, trustworthy and a damned good shot. Jacoby figured Jude didn’t know who Jacoby really was—at least not yet. “It could be your new boss feeding her intel.”

  “If someone on the inside is helping her…that means she’s looking for me, not you. For her to discover what you do.”

  “Maybe it’s time she did find out. She can’t rip apart the FBI to find me.”

  “She could,” Ward pointed out. “But she’s concentrated on a different area. She doesn’t care about your career—she concentrates on your relationships. You haven’t found her because you don’t know what you want to do with her—kill her or send her to jail.”

  “Lock her up,” Jacoby said hollowly. But he couldn’t even make his tone believable to his own ears. Because he knew she’d escape—or hurt guards. She wanted him back with her, and he’d thought about complying with her wishes more than he cared to think about. Even though he’d never shared that with Ward, Ward knew.

  Dammit. “And stop fucking pitying me,” he added.

  Ward snorted. “You know me better than that, Jacoby.” He paused. “So your life story will be revealed. But no one knows you are the brother. You’ll still be protected.”

  “And she’ll be more of a cult figure than she already is.”

  “If she’s behind this. Could be someone looking for his fifteen minutes.”

  “And if Jessica’s not associated with him, she’ll kill him when she finds out what he’s doing.”

  “Why should that be our problem?”

  Ward was right. No matter how callous it sounded. The guy posing as Jessica’s brother wasn’t committing a crime…that they knew of. “So we just let this continue?”

  “I don’t see any way around it. The bigger deal we make of it, the bigger it will be,” Ward reasoned.

  “So we hope for a flop,” Jacoby muttered. “I hate that plan. We’ve got to get the information Bren’s getting.”

  “He’s got a lot of built-in safeguards in his emails and computers. He’d know. Plus, I think he’s writing on a non-connected laptop.”

  “Paranoid bastard.”

  “Obviously, with good reason,” Ward said wryly with just the hint of a smile.

  “You need to make him give you intel—or, at the very least, listen into the informant’s calls.”

  “Under this administration? Good luck—everything’s so PC our hands are tied. You just don’t realize it because you’ve never followed rules.”

  “Maybe you should take a page from my book.”

  “And get taken off this case?” Ward asked pointedly.

  Jacoby pondered that. Ward was right—he needed to keep an eye on this. He was the only one who could be trusted.

  But that didn’t mean Jacoby couldn’t barrel-ass his way through Bren’s life. “What about bugging all the lines going into his house?”

  “You know I’ve thought of it. And you know why I won’t risk it. She’s smart,” Ward said. “I don’t want to lose this connection.”

  Jacoby looked at him, the surprise undoubtedly showing on his face. “You really think she’s behind it.”

  “With every fiber of my being. But I didn’t tell Bren that.”

  “You think he’s in on it?”

  Ward shook his head. “Jasper might be, but Bren? I think he’s a pawn. A willing one, but a pawn nonetheless.” He looked angry for a brief second before his placid expression returned.

  Jacoby had spent years systematically working to wipe the anger off Ward’s face, a desperate need to break his calm, see that emotion for longer than a second. He’d succeeded many times, but at a cost.

  His family had prepared him for that, and they’d obviously been right—there was always a price.

  *

  Ward had known from the first that Jacoby was always the exception, because there was always one for every rule. If his life was written about, well meaning Amazon reviewers would point out that Jacoby having the job he held was impossible.

  Ward would tell them that they didn’t know half the impossible shit that happened, and that was no doubt the only reason the general public slept at night. “You need to prepare yourself.”

  “For what? The book?”

  “What the book might bring.”

  “You mean my sister?” He shrugged. “It was never trying to hide from her. What’s the point of that?”

  “So you’re not in danger, right?” Ward asked, his tone heavily laced with sarcasm.

  Jacoby’s was serious. “You expected a name change to stop her?”

  “We do what we can.”

  “It’s not enough. Never was, but I’ve always known that.”

  So had Ward. His own secrets went in layers so deep and dark the thought of sifting through all of them was as daunting as it was terrifying. He kept it together because he didn’t deal with it, just kept everything tucked away in neat little compartments.

  Jacoby let more light into his world than Ward had ever thought possible. Ward had been as afraid of overwhelming Jacoby with his darkness as Jacoby had been about bringing his troubles to Ward. But together, they cancelled each other out. “Why are you here?”

  “You were watching me. Figured you wanted to see me.”

  “Right. That’s exactly why I stayed away.”

  Jacoby grimaced. “I know what you want, Ward. I’ve known it for a while. That’s why I stayed away.”

  “Don’t pretend to know what I want.”

  “I used to know.” Jacoby sounded defiant, angry and sad, all at once.

  The problem was, Jacoby still did. On the surface, they were a study in contrasts—Ward, calm and cool to Jacoby’s frequent explosions. But in reality, they were more similar than different. With Jacoby, Ward allowed himself to show it, and that in and of itself was a miracle. Because both men were loners by nature—suspicious, paranoid bastards. Both believed in holding themselves in tight, and only exploded when they had their safety nets—each other.

  Like had found like, and the combo was explosively perfect. “Cutting contact was the best thing to do,” Ward said finally.

  “Right, and you got to make that choice.”

  Ward stared at him. “You realize you’re not a part of this case, right?”

  “I haven’t been assigned to anything else so…” Jacoby shrugged.

  “Because you took leave,” Ward pointed out.

  “Oh. Right. So I guess I really don’t have a hell of a lot to do other than hang out.”

  “You’re going to leave Bren alone, right?”

  “Sure,” Jacoby told him in his most unconvincing tone ever.

  Ward just sighed and only smiled when Jacoby turned away.

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning, an hour after Ward left him in the hotel, Jacoby was watching Bren through the same goddamned open window, the same goddamned way he’d been doing for the past couple of days. Bren was sitting at his laptop, in the now-familiar chair in his office, where Jacoby had planted the bug yesterday in hopes of catching some goddamned clue as to who Bren’s source was. He’d done the same in the agent’s office, and the editor’s, and granted, it’d only been twenty-four hours but so far all he’d gotten there were a lot of complaints about authors (and really, they sounded like a bunch of whiny pain in the asses who couldn’t hand their books in on time if their lives depended on it) and agents courting other agents’ authors on the QT.

  And Bren? The guy did a lot of staring into space. And talking to himself. And eating. And watching TV and playing on the internet. In fact, the thing he did the least of was writing, which, for all intents and purposes, was his goddamned job.

  How did authors get away with this shit, and where could he sign on? Hell, he was moody enough. “I mean, come on,” he muttered after Bren t
yped a sentence—a single sentence of maybe five words, one of which he deleted three times and added four, before getting up, stretching like he’d put in an entire day’s worth of hard labor and went to work out.

  Bren’s phone records had shown no long phone calls. Emails? Jacoby could break in easily, but so could Ward. Which meant Ward had and found nothing, or else he’d have shared.

  He’d thought about staying away from any interaction with Bren for several days, figuring confronting the guy again wouldn’t do any good.

  But fuck it. He was already here. And what could Ward really do to him?

  Bren opened the door and practically groaned in his face. “What do you want now?”

  Jacoby gave a fake wave and smile. “I’m just checking in on you.”

  “That’s Ward’s job. Now you’re my sitter?”

  Jacoby shrugged. “Ward needs time off every now and again.”

  Bren frowned. “Okay, well, I’m busy.”

  “Right. The book.” Jacoby leaned against the doorjamb and, reluctantly, Bren waved him in. They went into the office, where Bren settled behind his desk, much the same way he’d been for the hours Jacoby watched him and would probably continue to do, and Jacoby paced a little, staring at Bren’s bookshelves. “How’s the writing going, anyway?”

  “It’s all right. Writing is…” Bren searched for the word. “Hard.”

  “Sure, I can see that.” Jacoby attempted to sound as sincere as possible.

  “Really? Most people can’t.”

  “Well, I mean, you’re alone all day. That in and of itself would drive some people to the fucking nuthouse,” Jacoby offered.

  Bren snorted. “Most people say writers are halfway there on a good day.”

  Won’t get an argument from me. “You said this is your first non-fic book. Is that what’s making it so hard? Or are they all difficult?”

  “This one’s harder than the others,” Bren admitted. “I’ve been trying to reframe the serial killer theory.”

  “What do you mean, reframe?”

  Bren leaned forward across his desk. “I know the FBI has their theories on serial killers.”