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

by Jo Raven

I catch up with him inside the living room. He’s standing still as if he’s forgotten what he’s doing here. It scares the fuck out of me.

  “Hey, look.” Don’t push, Raine. Don’t you fucking push him before he’s ready. “Have you had dinner? I’ve got some pulled pork and slaw, and I swear it’s delicious.”

  He looks sideways at me, and presses a hand to his stomach, but not before I hear it growl. I wonder if he ate all day, but I shut my mouth and wait.

  He glances at the kitchen, and I can see indecision and hunger warring in his gaze, and fuck… his pride won’t let him say anything, will it?

  “Come on.” I take his hand, and he lets me lead him to the kitchen, turning the lights on over the counter. I leave him at the small table and start taking the food out as he takes a seat. “I make a mean pulled pork sandwich. Just wait and see. Pickles?”

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  A quick glance shows him sitting there stiffly, his mouth pressed in a line, those normally expressive eyes blank.

  Even when I put the plate in front of him and pull two beers from the fridge, he barely looks up. He murmurs a quick thanks and inhales the food, then gulps down the beer before I even manage to finish half of mine.

  “Sandwich was that good, huh?” I ask, trying to break the ice.

  “Yeah. I’m gonna turn in.”

  He’s distracted, distant. Cold. Something’s seriously off. I mean, this is the guy who undressed me and sucked me off in the dark, and now he’s barely speaking to me.

  “Okay. Good night.”

  He makes no move to get up, though. He’s sitting there, hands in his lap, staring at nothing. A thin line of blood has run from his eyebrow down to his cheek, and is that a new bruise on his neck?

  Probably realizing I’m staring at him, he finally moves, planting his hands on the table and pushing to his feet.

  But his face pales, and he sinks back down, a hand pressed to his side.

  Holy fucking shit. I jump to my feet. “Jase! What’s wrong?”

  I’m by his side and peeling off his tank top before he has a chance to speak. His whole side is black and blue. That’s the imprint of a goddamn boot on his pale skin.

  He tries to shove me away, his expression blank. “I’m okay.”

  “The hell you are. Who did this? Who…?” That look in his eyes. “Simon Gomez.”

  “Let go, Raine.” He fights me as I try to check what other injuries he’s hiding—and I find a seeping cut on his hip. “Stop.”

  “Need to clean this out.” I stand up, not sure if he’ll bolt the moment I duck into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. “Come.”

  He resists at first, then sighs and leans on me to get up. How didn’t I realize he was so hurt before? I was right, he’s too damn proud to ask for help. He’s unsteady on his feet, and I hope it’s just the food and warmth doing a number on him, and not that he’s badly injured.

  I prop him against the bathroom wall, fish out the kit, and then lead him back to the bedroom where I pull off his tank top and finally get a good look at him in bright light.

  At his ink, his bruises, and fuck, his scars.

  I try not to stare, but as I trace the new hurts—more boot imprint and bruises, another wound on the thigh where someone clearly cut through his pants and flesh with a sharp blade—I catalogue everything and my skin crawls.

  These aren’t self-harm scars, like I thought they might be. They’re high on his forearms, and on his chest and back. Clustered together, parallel as if a beast raked its claws over him.

  He isn’t the one who put them there, no way. They were carefully done. Deep. Intentional. White and old.

  I swab disinfectant over the cuts, and he doesn’t even hiss or flinch. But when I sit down beside him and clean up the cut in his brow, he shivers.

  I turn his face toward me. “Talk to me. I’m not gonna run away from this. From you. Okay? What happened today?”

  He rubs listlessly at his arm. No, the inside of his elbow, at a small bruise there. “What do you think?”

  Fuck, fuck… If I find Simon Gomez, I’m gonna make him choke on his own fucking dick. “Did he inject you? With drugs?”

  He nods, two spots of red on his cheekbones. His eyes are too bright. “Look, if you want me to leave, I’ll understand.”

  That cuts through the red haze of fury. “What? Why would I?”

  He stops rubbing at the inside of his elbow and swallows hard. “Soon he’ll crook his little finger, and I’ll jump like a circus dog. He’ll say fetch and I’ll run. That high…” His chin drops to his chest. “I’m no good.”

  God, he’s out to break my fucking heart to pieces. I slip an arm around his back. “You’re an amazing person, Jason Vega. And I’m fucking in love with you.”

  It’s as if someone cut off the strings holding him upright. He falls against me with a groan, and I gather him in my arms.

  “What are we doing?” he whispers.

  “I don’t know.” I kiss the top of his spiky head. “But I don’t wanna stop. I can’t. I need you, Jase.”

  His arms are around me, his face buried against my chest. “You’re breaking me.”

  “You’re not broken. Be with me.”

  He lets out a huff of a breath, like laughter, or a sob. “Are you asking me to be boyfriends again?”

  “You bet. Again. And again, until you say yes.” I close my eyes and rest my chin on top of his soft hair. “Say yes.”

  But he doesn’t. Instead he says, “Simon Gomez won’t let me go.”

  “Why? What does he want from you?”

  “We have… history.” He spits the word like it’s snakes and scorpions. “He wanted me to join him, and I refused. I thought I could refuse, back then. I didn’t realize how far he’d go. I knew when he assaulted Jesse Lee. It was to get back at me, to punish me. He trasfered his obsession to Jesse, and I realized he wouldn’t let him go.”

  “What did you do?”

  I know it before he says it. “To let Jesse Lee go, not to harm him or his friends, Simon Gomez asked for something in exchange.”

  “What?”

  “Me.”

  I close my eyes. I knew it. “Dammit, Jase…”

  “It had to be me. It’s me he’d wanted all along. It was that, or hurt everyone I cared about.”

  I frown as his words sink in. “Wait—”

  “Raine.” He lifts his head, straightens and I open my eyes to look at him. “This is a one-man war. I can’t win against Simon and his army. And I’m not taking you down with me.”

  “The hell you say. You’re not alone. I have your back. And I’m not alone, either. We’ll beat Simon together.”

  His eyes widen. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Trust me.”

  “Stay out of it, Raine. Nobody else gets hurt because of me.”

  I grab his arms. “Stop trying to fight him alone.” And I frown, since the words might as well apply to me, and my attempts to fight my father. “There’s strength in numbers. Let me help you. Let us help you. Don’t go back to him. Don’t go back out. Stay here.”

  “You can’t win against him.” He’s shaking and raw fear shadows his eyes. “He’s got the Mexican mafia at his back. He’s got guns and men and money, and no compunction about using it all.”

  “I said trust me. We know people, too, we have connections. We’ll take the bastard down. I promise it’s possible.”

  I see the moment cautious hope enters his gaze. It lights up the dark like a flame. “You’re serious about this.”

  “Like never before in my life.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Jason

  I’m in a fucking daze. I wake up time and again to find myself in Raine’s bed, in his arms, and his words echoing in my ears.

  Trust me.

  I love you.

  I promise it’s possible.

  I eventually fall in deeper sleep, drifting through dark rivers and seas with blades and blood and dead
faces flashing, hush little baby, hush…

  …and come awake with a start to find deep blue eyes an inch from mine.

  “Holy fuck.” I jerk back, but don’t get far because his hand is on my shoulder. “Whoa.”

  “Relax. You were dreaming.”

  No shit. My scars still ache, like they often do when I wake up, and I can never tell if it’s the cold or the memories.

  “Want to talk about it?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “Are you all right?” He trails his hand down my bare arm, rubbing over the scars, and I hiss. “What is it? What did you dream of?”

  “My family.” His touch burns through my skin. It hurts, but then it soothes. My eyes close as I sink into the sensation. “I think my family did things…” I suck in a sharp breath. “I’d never allow anyone to go through the same. When Simon hurt Jesse Lee, I knew I had to stop it.”

  “What did your family do to you, Jase?”

  My eyes snap open. Dammit, he always distracts me, and I say things I shouldn’t. “Nothing. It was just a dream.”

  “Like hell it was.”

  But I can’t talk about it. That particular can of worms is too terrifying to touch right now. “I need a shower.” I hesitate, but I’m still in my pants and socks, and I stink of sweat and fear. “If that’s okay. You—”

  “This is your home now, too. No need to ask.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but decide against it. Instead I give a quick nod and get off the bed. “Thanks.”

  Hurrying into the bathroom, I undress and turn the water on, leaving it to warm up. The steam rising turns the Plexiglas opaque, and I pass my fingers under the water, aware of how easy it is to get used to comfort. Warm water, towels, central heating.

  Safety and quiet.

  “You know you can use my shampoo and soap,” Raine says from the bathroom door, and there he is, dressed in his gray sweats and nothing else, all hard angles and beautiful smooth skin, one muscular arm braced on the doorframe, the overhead lights catching honey streaks in his hair.

  He’s watching me, and it makes me feel hot all over. I guess he’s expecting me to say something, but my mouth is dry and my dick feels heavy between my legs.

  Then he steps inside and places a folded towel on the rack. He gives me a crooked smile, his gaze raking over my body, lingering on my half-hard dick. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Stay.” I grab his hips, pull him to me and start pushing down his sweats. “Take what you want. We can try it in the shower—”

  “Jase, stop.” He grabs my hands, those clear blue eyes darkening. “We don’t have to have sex.”

  I step back. “You don’t fucking understand.”

  I can’t pay him back for this in any other way. This has always been the one thing I really own, even when everything else was taken away from me. My body is my currency.

  “I understand,” he says quietly. “But you don’t get to pay for being at home. And you don’t get to pay for what I feel for you. This isn’t business.” He takes that one step that brings us back chest to chest. “You can stay, or you can go, and it’s all up to you, I swear. No strings attached. No payment due. I just hope you decide to stay.”

  Some time later, smelling of apples and milk soap, the towel wrapped around my hips, I step out of the bathroom.

  Still confused. Still unsure.

  “Your home.” He’s said it so many times. As well as that… other thing that I don’t dare believe.

  He’s asking me to trust him. Hell, I’m trying. I keep thinking I’ll need to pay back for everything. That nothing’s for free, and last night’s blowjob can only cover that much.

  Yeah, and I just don’t wanna admit to myself how much I wanted to taste him until I had him in my mouth. And how grateful I was to crawl back in here after the day from hell that I had, after all the terror and pain, where it’s warm and safe and he’s with me.

  Damn.

  Will Raine’s buddies really take care of Simon’s threat? Adam left three days ago. I’m the last one. He can’t hurt my friends anymore. Is it possible that it’s all over?

  Raine’s in the kitchen, dressed in blue jeans and a black T-shirt, flipping perfect golden omelets. He says he doesn’t know how to cook, but he’s obviously not telling the whole truth. The aroma makes my mouth water.

  He shoots me a grin and pushes a plate toward me, piled high with omelet and bacon. “Breakfast.”

  Will I ever not be suspicious of everything he offers me? Will I ever be enough for him with so little to offer? Sex. Blowjobs. Back-alley ninja skills. An interest in food shows.

  Everything a man looks for in a partner.

  Crazier still the fact I’m asking myself the question. As if there’s a chance this might work out.

  He takes his own plate and a wooden board with sliced bread and sets them on the table. “Coffee?”

  I nod, then turn to look for the coffee maker, only to find the coffee already brewed. Fuck, I don’t know how to make myself useful. Plus, I feel oddly naked without my clothes and makeup on.

  I go to grab two mugs, telling myself that tomorrow morning I’ll come in here first to get breakfast ready—and then freeze with the mugs in my hands when I realize the implications of that.

  I’m planning on being here tomorrow. And the day after that.

  Holy shit.

  I return to the table as if sleepwalking, set the mugs down and sink into my chair. Then I catch Raine’s gaze on my pierced nipple, and I feel the odds even out a little. At least there’s no doubt he wants me. I’m on solid ground there. I feel like I’m on a raft in the sea, and I cling to this tiny bit of certainty as everything else I’ve ever known tumbles past, vanishing in the waves.

  “Not hungry?” He’s adding milk to his coffee, and I stare down into the murky depths of mine.

  I put the mug down and dig into my breakfast. It’s damn good, and I wonder why I’m not wolfing it down like always, until I remember the injection yesterday. Normally after I come down from a high, I’m not hungry.

  My mind keeps churning. Faint images from the dream, memories, the hellish hours at the Club yesterday haunt my mind. The cuts on my leg and my side itch. My bruises ache. I’m bone tired, and yet restless.

  He puts his fork down, tucks a strand of shiny dark hair behind his ear. I want to do that for him, brush his hair off his forehead, feel it slide between my fingers. Is it normal to want this? Would it be something a boyfriend would do?

  “I have to go to Collateral today,” he says. “We have this two-day event with Soul Stain, a tattoo shop from Chicago. Come with me?”

  I shake my head. “Nah. Your brother and Jesse Lee think I use their money for drugs and booze. I doubt they want to see me there.”

  “Jase.” His hand sneaks over the table and grabs mine. “No. They never thought that. Those doubts… they were mine.”

  What the hell… “I thought…” All this time I thought they didn’t trust me. I try to pull my hand away, but he won’t let me. “Shit.”

  “Don’t.” His hand is crushing mine, but I barely feel it. “This is my fault. I should have made sure it was clear they never said anything like that. I was going to, then with everything going on I forgot. I screwed up, Jase, and what I said back then? I did lots of things I’m not proud of, and I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

  His eyes are wide, honest. Tinged with remorse.

  He did hurt me. Weird how I can feel the pain now. Anger made me numb before, but now that anger is fading away and I feel it. I feel everything.

  “Jase.” He gets up and drags me to my feet. He puts his arms around me. “Say something.”

  I’m still in his hold as thoughts crash through my head, one on top of the other, and I realize something very important.

  He’s not perfect. He’s not some flawless guy who knows everything, who knows what he’s doing. He’s fumbling, just like me. Hell, he’s younger than me. I keep forgetting that. Younger both in age and exper
ience with the world.

  And as for his anger… it’s not his privilege, this rage against the unfair world. We share it. We’re much more alike than I ever thought. I like his anger, since it’s my anger, too. And if I caught the brunt of it before, I saw it turn to affection, and so I know it’s possible.

  It’s possible to turn the anger into something else. Something better.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper and realize I really mean it. I summon my last shreds of irritation, struggle with them. “But please don’t ever fucking do it again.”

  There.

  Or not? I’ve no fucking clue what to say anymore, who to be. If I let him help me, if I don’t go back to working the streets, then…

  Then what will I do?

  He pulls back and kisses me. “I promise. No more anger and misunderstandings.” He kisses me again, and I melt against him, losing the thread of the conversation. “You sure you don’t want to come to the event with me?”

  I nod.

  “Okay. You’ll be all right here. Stay inside, don’t go out. We need to talk when I’m back, make a plan.”

  A plan.

  I don’t want to go to that event, even if it was all a misunderstanding. But he can’t leave yet. I’m still not sure where I’m standing, what I’m doing. What we are. So I do the only thing I know: