Jagged Edge: Jason and Raine - M/M Gay romance

by Jo Raven

  Shane is staring at me. He’s not Mr. Congeniality either, and I wonder now if he called me over because he sincerely believes I have better taste.

  Ethan wipes a hand over his mouth, grinning. “You’re a funny guy,” he says, and yeah, sure. I’m the heart of every party.

  Whatever.

  “It’s just black or red,” Shane grumbles, lifting up the T-shirts. “I’m not asking you for a fucking essay. Pick one, junior.”

  God, I hate when they call me that. “Black,” I say. It’s my go-to color when I pick up clothes. Black goes with black, always.

  “See? Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

  I could punch Shane in the face, but then he’d pummel me into the wall. Or worse, he wouldn’t do anything at all, and I’d be the biggest jerk in history.

  “Who did your tattoo?” Ethan asks before I turn away once more, this time determined to go. “The band on your arm. Let me see.”

  Punching Ethan isn’t a good bet, either. He’s a guest artist, and Rafe will kick me out faster than you can say idiot. But dammit, my fist is itching to.

  “It’s a convict tat,” Shane says.

  Ethan’s eyes go wide.

  Oh man, I should have punched Shane after all. “Bullshit. It’s just an arm band. Celtic.”

  “Hidden symbols in it,” Shane nods sagely. “That’s what I meant. Ocean did it for him. They’re brothers.”

  “Since when are you so chatty, huh?”

  Shane gives me the finger, chuckles, and ambles off to find something to do with the damn black T-shirt I picked, leaving me alone with Ethan.

  He’s frowning. “Did I step on any toes? Sorry, man, hadn’t meant to.”

  In the face of his disarming smile, I stand down. “Nah, it’s fine.” I rub at the inked band on my arm, and I swear the matching ink over my heart hums and itches. There are hidden symbols all right, words in fact, disguised as your typical Celtic band.

  But I don’t feel like talking about it to Ethan. Or anyone here. If there was one person I’d tell all about it, had he asked… that would have been Jason. I’d ask about his tats, his scars, and I’d tell him about mine.

  But he never asked. And it’s not gonna happen anyhow.

  “Did you do time in prison?” Ethan asks, and God, I’m gonna go after Shane and hit him hard, I swear.

  “Ignore Shane. His sense of humor is sick. Never been to prison. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

  “So Riot didn’t come for you?”

  What the fuck is he talking about? “I thought Riot and company came because Corey dragged them along. You know. Because the guy has a crush on you.”

  He looks startled. “Who, Corey?”

  “Erm, yeah?” Oh come on… How could he miss it?

  Ethan looks past me, and I turn, following his gaze to where Corey is standing together with Seth and Riot’s girl, Paxtyn, talking. He’s dressed in gray pants and a white button-down shirt, his blond hair glinting like pure gold in the overhead lights. He laughs at something Paxtyn says.

  Then his head swivels our way, slowly, as if he’s felt our gazes on him.

  He smiles and nods.

  “I didn’t think…” Ethan jerks his gaze down to the pile of T-shirts on the table. The tips of his ears are turning red. “I mean…”

  Cute. “Not your type?”

  “It’s not that.”

  I study the handsome Corey as his smile falls and his mouth settles into a thin line. “You’re not into men?”

  Ethan chokes again. It’s a miracle I haven’t killed the guy today. “It’s…”

  “Sorry, man. None of my business.” I lift my hands. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “No, I like… men. That’s not the issue.” He frowns. “There’s another guy.”

  Oh! Okay. Shit. “Better break it to Corey gently, then.”

  At least Corey will know where he stands, then.

  “Yeah.” He nods, and I decide it’s time for me to make myself sparse before I do any more damage.

  Still… “You said you thought Riot was here for me. What did you mean?”

  Ethan blinks, then looks up at me as if he’d forgotten all about me. “He’s here to check on something about an MC that’s out of line.”

  I take a step back, feeling as if he just swung a sledgehammer at my chest. “Seriously? What’s Riot to do with gangs? Isn’t he a gym owner?”

  I thought Rafe had said as much.

  “Riot used to be a member of the Hellfire Fighters. Underground fighting club? And through them, he got an in with the Russian Mob. We were told you guys needed help. That’s all I know.”

  Shit. I wonder who asked for their help, and how much they told them. If it’s about my father, or about Simon Gomez.

  Or both, since they’re somehow connected. Connected to each other—and to Jason. What the hell is the plan, and how will it affect him?

  Goddammit, I need to talk to Ocean.

  “You talked to Dad.”

  Ocean starts at the sound of my voice. He looks up at me from where he’s been flipping through an album of tattoo designs. Not his own, I notice. It’s a very different style, bolder, with thick lines and colors. “What?”

  “I said, you talked to Dad and didn’t tell me about it. Just like you forgot to inform me that you invited a Russian mafia member to do… what exactly, Shun?” I slam my fists on his table, feeling like a bull in a China shop but unable to stop. “I feel this concerns me, too, don’t you think? When were you gonna tell me?”

  “Whoa, slow down.” His chair screeches as he gets to his feet, eyes shadowed. “Come on, let’s take this outside.”

  Seething, I follow him through the shop and out onto the busy sidewalk. Ice scrunches under my boots as we hoof it around the corner where the wind’s bite is gentler.

  “So spill.” I shove my hands into my pockets—both to keep from hitting him and because it’s damn cold. “You went behind my back and made arrangements—with the fucking mafia? Didn’t it occur to you to keep me in the loop?”

  Ocean whirls on me, his blue hair sticking up in all directions. “You’re one to talk. You kept your phone calls with the old man from me. You even went out and met him and almost got killed in the process.”

  Fuck, he’s right. “So this is, what, payback?”

  “No, R.” The heat in his gaze tells me he’s telling the truth. “It’s not fucking payback. Jesus, man. I thought Rafe told you about it. Or that we told everyone in one of the meetings.” He sighs. “You know. The ones you keep skipping.”

  “What meetings? You all go out for drinks and pool. That what you mean?”

  He shrugs. “Whatever.”

  Hell. I kick at a soggy piece of trash that was probably a hotdog tray once. “Okay, so why don’t you fill me in now?”

  “We don’t have a solid plan yet. All we know is that dear old Dad is somehow in business with Simon Gomez’s MC, because you told us so.”

  My turn to nod. “Fantastic.”

  “I know. Anyway, we asked Riot to check in with his connections about Simon Gomez, and it seems that, as we thought, he’s loosely connected to the Mexican mafia, but not enough to guarantee their protection.”

  “So he’s fair game.”

  “He is. Which is good news for us.”

  “Good news, how?”

  Ocean looks out, across the street, and I know he’s not checking out anything in particular. His eyes don’t track. He’s thinking. “We need to gather more info. Find out who Dad was in contact with, if it was Simon Gomez himself—and who else has power in the MC apart from Simon.”

  He’s right. These are all things we should find out. But that’s not what worries me the most.

  “What’s on your mind?” Ocean’s gaze is now on me.

  “Jason. I need him safe.”

  His gaze narrows. “We all do. Hey, R…” He rubs the back of his neck. “What I said the other day, about Jason. He’s a good guy. Never meant to make it sound dif
ferently, you know that, right? This plan isn’t just about Dad’s threats, although they have to stop, or else we’ll never find any peace, you and me. But it’s also for Jason and his people.”

  “That’s the thing. Jason has been sending his people away. Something’s going down, but he won’t tell me.”

  The scrutiny intensifies, and I pretend I’m not squirming underneath it. No clue what’s going on through Ocean’s head, but he’s my big brother, and I can’t help but be nervous.

  “You really care for Jason,” he says, and it isn’t a question. “Does he know?”

  I hesitate, then shake my head.

  Ocean nods, a scowl on his face. “We don’t want innocent people harmed, and especially not Jason and his gang. We want Simon Gomez gone from his position of power, and preferably thrown behind bars. You need to convince Jason to get his ass out of that mess while the going is good.”

  I shrug. “I’ve tried telling him that. He wouldn’t listen to me.”

  And I fucked up. Pushed him too hard. Pushed him away.

  “I’ll tell Jesse Lee to locate him, tell him. Maybe he’ll listen to him.” Ocean nods to himself. “We’ll help him get off the streets and put distance between himself and Simon’s gang before it all goes down.”

  I glance back at the shop, unsettled at the thought that Jason might listen to Jesse when he won’t listen to me. Then again, Jesse was never an asshole to him like I was. “Let me know how it goes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Jason

  “You’re such a bad boy,” she moans. “Oh yeah, so bad. Give it to me.”

  “I’ll give it to you, baby,” I whisper, snapping on the condom. She’s old enough to be my mother, and the wrong gender, but beggars can’t be choosers, right? “Ready?”

  I sink into her, my eyes closed, imagining it’s someone else.

  Raine. Every night, every time, I imagine it’s Raine. How fucked up is that?

  But there’s no other way I can get even semi-hard, if not for imagining him. Thank God she’s so wasted she doesn’t seem to notice I can’t get it up for her for real.

  We’re in the stall of a club, and she has her legs wrapped around my waist. Someone is banging on a stall a few feet away, music is booming through the speakers, and I think I’m gonna puke.

  Letting strangers fuck me for money is bad enough. Fucking women… that’s a whole different level of hell for a guy who isn’t into women at all. It’s a desperate measure reserved for desperate times, and these are looking pretty grim. Over these past few days, since the police decided to crack down on prostitution in a series of massive raids through town, working the streets became too dangerous. I need to stay low.

  But Simon still wants his money. Like that’s a big fucking surprise. And he’s keeping a close eye on me, his goons following me around.

  It means I’ve had to put off sending Adam away and work the seedy clubs, pretending nothing’s out of the ordinary.

  It’s killing me.

  “Harder,” she moans, bucking her hips, and fuck, my hard-on has wilted to almost nothing. I’d forgotten for a second where I was and what I was doing.

  Joy.

  I do my best, though, bracing one arm on the stall wall and shifting so that I can push in deeper, and again my stomach roils, threatening to upchuck its meager contents.

  A heavy hand starts banging on the door of the stall, scaring the living shit outta me. “Betty! Goddamn you. Come on out!”

  Ah hell, you’re kidding me.

  “Is he your boyfriend?” I pant. “Hey. I said is he your boyfriend?”

  “Husband,” she slurs.

  Oh, fucking hell. “And what, you forgot about him?”

  “You’re cute.” She pouts, runs a red nail down my cheek. “And he’s an ass.”

  I pull out, set her down and drag up my pants. Jesus. “Pay up.”

  “Honey, I got no money on me.” She points at the door where a fresh round of banging has started. “He got the money.”

  Fuck. Me.

  The guy’s now kicking at the door. That flimsy lock won’t hold. Things are getting hairy, but that’s par for the course in my line of work.

  Not that I know a way out. But I’m used to life playing nasty tricks on me.

  For some reason that makes me think of the one guy I’ve been trying to forget.

  Raine Storm.

  And the next second the door crashes open, throwing me back into the stall wall. The husband’s a bear of a man, shaggy and tall, looking pissed. He grabs me by the front of my tank top and drags me out of the stall, leaving his wife sitting on top of the toilet, looking dazed, her panties on the floor.

  I hate my fucking life.

  Bear-man slams me against the door of another stall, then drags me out of the bathrooms before I have the chance to get my feet under me, my head spinning.

  He’s probably planning to drag me out to the alley and punch the shit out of me. But that’s a good thing. Better outside than trapped inside the bathrooms. I let him shove me through the bar, through the crowd drinking and dancing and yelling.

  The moment I feel cold, fresh air on my face, I twist in his hold and elbow him in the gut, then kick at his shin and slam my foot down on his foot.

  Not a stellar move, but he’s shocked enough that it works. He lets go of me, and I start running before his fingers have slipped completely off my arms.

  Holy shit, that was close.

  I run and run, skidding on frozen puddles and tasting ice on the air. The stitch in my side turns into a twisting blade, my lungs struggling to draw oxygen as I race down street after street in a blind panic.

  Slow down, I tell myself. It’s over. You’re okay.

  Am I, though?

  I come to a halt in a back alley, slam a hand into the brick wall and bend over, feeling sick. I mean… you fucking kidding me? I screwed a woman and for what? Didn’t even get paid, and…

  Bile rises in my throat, and I retch on the filthy ground. If it’s from running like a possessed man or from the memory of fucking her, I couldn’t tell you. Both. I dunno why tonight has hit me so hard.

  Christ.

  Raine. God, I miss Raine. I’m slipping to my knees in the vomit and muck, and I don’t fucking care. I avoided him and told myself this was for the best.

  He hasn’t come looking for me again this past week. I may be plying my trade in clubs, but I still sleep in the same spot. Raine knows where to find me.

  I know what this means. He doesn’t want to.

  Why would he want to? I told him not to try and save me. I told him not to come after me. He was good to me.

  Too good.

  I slowly get back to my feet, zip up my jacket. He’s broken me, as I feared he would. And it’s not about eating dodgy burgers from the street after the lasagna his sister-in-law prepared, or sleeping in the cold after the warmth of his arms. No, it’s everything. It’s having sex with strangers. Guys other than him.

  How can I touch anyone who isn’t Raine? Any guy or woman who pays to use me, who doesn’t give a damn about what I want, what I need. I can’t do this anymore. It’s killing me inside.

  In fact, I dunno how much longer I can keep hustling. And this doubt ain’t new. It’s just that before I’d never even considered an alternative, good or bad. An ending, a stop to the pain.

  Simon.

  I stop in my tracks. If I push Simon enough, he could end the pain permanently. The thought scares me, but it’s also a relief. A solution.

  Yeah, that would end it.

  I breathe out, stare at the bright lights of a bar, at the people going in and out.

  God, I wanna see Raine again. One last time. Is it too much to ask? The key he gave me is burning a hole in my back pocket. I have to return it to him. It’s the right thing to do.

  The only thing left to do.

  Tonight.

  The snowflakes are falling fast and hard by the time I get off the night bus and start trekking towar
d Raine’s place. The brittle icy air stings my lungs and the damn cough is back, so that I have to slow down to catch my breath.

  After I finish hacking up my lungs, my breath rasping in my lungs, I remember the small bottle of whiskey Mayleen gave me before she left. I fish the bottle out of my pocket, surprised it’s still in one piece, unscrew the top and take a long swig. And another. By the third swig, the bottle is over. At least it’s washed the sick out of my mouth.

  Then comes the sound of approaching police sirens, and I tense, ready to turn and run. Shit. I don’t know if I look like a hooker in the dark, but I can’t afford to get arrested. I wait, my heart in my throat, until a few moments later the sound fades away.

  I start walking again. I’m going fast, hoping to outpace my doubts, but they keep up easily, drilling holes through my courage.

  I’m just returning the goddamn key, and all its consequences and implications. All its promises. That’s all. Before I go, I’m severing the last tie, putting an end to all of this, as it was meant to be.

  Doesn’t stop my feet from dragging, though.