Don't... 04 Backlash (15 page)

“Maybe.” He
wasn’t exactly sure, other than running with gut instinct over this
starting after Elena was taken. And he knew Jack watched him
now.

“I know my
mother, how she doesn’t leave important information around when it
comes to paperwork. How did you get the codes, Gray? When did you
get them?”

He’d always
swore that if Jack asked, he’d tell him, and—“Look, Jack—”

“You know what?
I really don’t give a fuck.” And it was there as he focused on the
traffic ahead. “The shit bowl is always easier to clean once it’s
been flushed. You don’t need to know who’s sat and caused the
stench.” He frowned back at Gray. “Jan—”

“He needs to
know, I know,” said Gray. “He was due at the garage for lunch in
half an hour, so I’ve asked security to take him home instead, but
not put any undue stress on him with any explanation other than
having dinner at home.”

“Has he had any
trouble off Logan?”

“You’d have
heard, Jack.”

“Yeah. Just...
I need to see he’s okay, all right? My home, though.”

“Yours?”

Gray got a nod.
“Can you let security know?”

Doing just
that, Gray then took a right at the lights, easing off on the
clutch when Jack tensed at his more aggressive nudge into heavy
traffic.

“Fuck.”

Gray offered a
smile, then let his hand rest on Jack’s as he squeezed Gray’s thigh
enough to cause a wince. For a man who loved cars so much, and
who’d pocket the keys to a stray one here and there, Jack was a
by-the-book driver. “Certificates,” said Gray, shifting gear. “I
get them for advanced MI5 driving courses.”

“They do
refresher course?”

“Continuously.”

“Good,” said
Jack, “because if you get any closer to that car in front, the
driver’ll be sticking up a sign asking you to climb up through the
back window and give him head before you fuck him up the ass, is
all.”

Gray managed a
chuckle. “You could have just asked me to slow down.”

Jack’s knuckles
were white as he gripped Gray’s thigh, and Gray took the hint and
eased off the gas.

Gray had been
to Jack’s apartment four times now. Three of them Jack knew about,
the other, he didn’t. The apartment kept a good vantage point of
the London scene by sitting at the top of the apartment building.
It wasn’t exactly a penthouse, but then Jack wouldn’t have come
here if it was.

Gray took his
long coat off and slipped it over the back of the dining chair
before pulling out his mobile. He had already had equipment
installed that made sure all calls from here couldn’t be overheard
and traced. Gray let his phone ring three times, then cut the
call.

A reply came a
few minutes later. “I’m clear to talk,” said Andrews. No “sir” came
from his end, but this wasn’t an official call.

“Reignfold’s
client, Logan Keal, made threats to a witness today. This started
after 639’s paperwork was retrieved two months ago.”

“There’s a
definitive connection between Keal and the encryption codes?”

“I won’t know
for sure until their source is traced and we know what they stand
for, but Reignfold has witness names known only to those who were
involved in 639’s activity. Also Logan’s involvement and setting up
meetings with lawyers and SSTP would have taken well over a month
to arrange. I need to know who gave him my name.”

“I’m matching
the codes through MI5’s database. But they were juxtaposed on file.
It’s taking time, so too is tracing if these codes were originally
on 639’s hard drive. I’ve also been following Reignfold for the
past few days but all communication and meetings had been with
traceable sources. Whoever gave Logan Keal your name must have been
contacted prior to the meeting, with nothing else since.”

“Still keep
tabs on him. I put a trace on Logan’s phone activity just after the
meeting, but he could be using another Pay as You Go number from a
different address. Whoever is behind him will no doubt suspect
surveillance, so do this via tech only. Get Mike involved.” Mike
was ex-A-Branch, tech support for MI5, and although tied more to
the MC, he came in for business outside of MI5. “I’m available only
by phone for the rest of today.”

“Understood.
I’ve got an idea on the computer that I need to run by Mike
anyway.”

“Good. Get on
to it.” Gray cut the call, distracted as he looked around. Gone was
Jack’s semi-detached home in a shoulder-straight line of terraced
houses, and Gray sniffed, almost missing the familiarity of the old
place as much as Jack.

The two-bedroom
apartment spoke of Jan’s class and managed to ground Gray. Jan had
kept it simple: laminate flooring throughout, white walls,
everything given its place and following Jack’s OCD flawlessness,
including antibacterial hand wash in every living space. A painting
had been given a home on the main feature wall in the lounge: an
engine taken from a classic Jag. It spoke of both of them: Jack’s
love of cars, Jan’s love of art.

The lounge
didn’t interest Gray now. He had schematics of every room,
accommodating for most access points, including the windows and
access to the loft above. He’d had to compromise on CCTV
installation. The first night they’d stood here after Jack had been
released from the psychiatric unit, Jack had gone quiet over the
mention of surveillance equipment being installed in every room.
Gray had backed off knowing where Jack’s head had taken him. Jan
had found security in having the cameras installed at his, although
he’d requested cameras that had no red lights to show the
connection was live. They’d both been filmed during the rape and
torture, with movements watched doing the most basic needs,
washing, showering... Cameras had pretty much been a part of Jack’s
life up until his kidnap; the MC scenes needing the CCTV
surveillance to make sure a sub’s safety was always primary focus.
Even that had been twisted.

Gray headed
into the kitchen and switched the coffee percolator on.

Jan had gone to
the other end of the extreme, going from hating having his privacy
broken to needing the security. He’d also arranged the sale of
Jack’s old home and this place, handling something that was as hard
for him to look at as it was for Jack.

Gray cast a
look out the kitchen window. The view was better here. Close enough
for the city life protection, but still far enough away to make
London a landscape painting from the window.

The coffee
finished its cycle as the sound of some 90s rave track came through
from one of the bedrooms. A king-size bed kept some inbuilt
wardrobes company in one, but as of yet, the new sheets and duvets
hadn’t seen any use.

Food was always
kept stocked up, just in case, and Gray pulled together a sandwich.
It was touching dinnertime, and he doubted whether Jack had eaten.
He’d take care of Jan when he got here, but until then.... He took
the coffee and sandwich through to the dining room and headed past
the main bedroom to the shower. Jack had said he was heading in
there, yet no steam swept the tiles.

The door to the
second bedroom stood ajar and music caused Gray to wince as he
pushed on through. Rave had never been his scene. But what Jack was
caught doing? That was something else entirely.

Jan had turned
the spacious spare bedroom into a sparring room for Jack, including
adding a detachable punch bag that could be stored away when space
was needed to spar. It had remained stored and unused in the
cupboard space. Now Jack had taken it out, attached it to a hook in
the ceiling, and was laying into it.

With his
T-shirt removed. blue garage coveralls were pulled down to his
waist, the arms fastened loosely around Jack’s hips as he moved.
He’d been in here for less than ten minutes, but with the ferocity
of each hit into the bag, it already worked up a sweat that
trickled down his shoulders and into the dimples on the small of
his back. He hadn’t worked out properly for seven months and
minimal amount of time combined with maximum effort showed that.
But his hits and a rib-breaking roundhouse kick to the bag were as
precise as ever and highlighted his Dan grading within
Shotokan.

Gray didn’t
disturb the fight. Jack seemed lost to the tough workout and music,
and Gray watched it play out as he put Jack’s coffee and sandwich
on a bench close by.

It hadn’t gone
unnoticed that Jack had asked to come home today. It certainly
hadn’t gone unnoticed how Jack hit out at the punch bag,
either.

I’m
not a fucking ponce, Gray.

Resting against
the wall, Gray frowned at the call for independence. He looked damn
good. A fast run of kicks hit the middle of the bag, followed by a
hard turn in body that saw his heel smack into the top, rocking it
on its hinges and leaving Jack grunting from the effort.

For a moment
Gray glanced towards the window, on anything but the sights and
sounds being offered and—

“
I
can taste you on Martin’s lips.
What did he do, mukka? Did he find a way to get to
you too?
”

Gray
focused everything on the London scene outside and brushed
distractedly at his hip.
“Shall I show you how fucking peachy real bastards get, you
fuck?”
He’d needed
to hurt Jack so badly back there. Sometimes he remembered nothing,
and not remembering.... Gray stroked at his hip again. It had
nearly killed Gray for a while.

“Here.”

Gray looked
away from the window hearing Jack speak. Breathing heavy, Jack had
stopped, now hugging the punch bag with sweat running down his face
and drenching his hair.

“Stay with me,
mukka,” he said softly. “Leave the past out there.”

Gray looked
down at his feet, a look that had Jack coming over and slipping his
hands inside Gray’s suit jacket, hands resting on hips, then on
Gray’s ass. The perspiration lining his body carried a worked-out
heat of its own, not helped by how Jack added a little grind of
hips into Gray’s, garage coveralls roughing up the cut of finely
tailored suit trousers.

The kiss came
as hard as a hit on the punch bag, nearly causing Gray to suck in a
breath before he had it stolen from him. He tasted a thin lining of
sweat on Jack’s lips, then tongue found tongue, slip-sliding and
asking for a more brutal remake of Bambi’s attempt to mount Jack.
There was no tentative play here; they both came with full-on
knowledge on how to get dirty, quickly.

Jack broke the
kiss, but lips stayed dangerously close. “Wanna take me down?”

Gray stared
long and hard at Jack.

“Here? Now?”
The light in his eyes came with such a decadent need, and Gray got
a smile when no answer was given.

“Because I
remember,” Jack said in a hushed voice, body shifting against
Gray’s. He kept switching his look between shared gaze and garage
coveralls on suit trousers. “The first time we fucked.”

Gray controlled
his breathing as Jack traced the curve of his hip, coming to rest
on the buckle to his leather belt. And still those lips were held
inches from his.

“You watched.
As I lay there playing a blade across my body on your bed, you
watched.” With a frown, Jack rested his head against Gray’s. “Fuck.
Your bed, mukka. All... all I could smell was you on those black
silk sheets... you took the knife from me.” Gray felt his belt
buckle slip free and the clasp to his trousers eased open.

“
Then you
came down on me.” Jack shivered as a slow and long pull came on the
zip to Gray’s trousers. “Fuck...” He shifted slightly, almost as if
to crawl into Gray’s skin. “You lay there by me when I was so
fucking scared of falling, and you eased life by saying submission
wasn’t defined by the weight of the chains that held the sub down,
or the control of the Dom above him.” A tug came at Gray’s shirt,
then stomach muscle contracted as Jack brushed the thin line of
hair running navel to pubic hairline. “You said the art of
submission, the
beauty
of
submission, it came from the sub himself, how he could sub with no
chains present.”

A kiss brushed
Gray’s lips and it took all of Gray’s willpower not to groan into
it. “And take away the chains,” Jack mumbled as Gray let his
breathing match the slow stroke that came above his pubic hairline,
“would you still lie beneath me?” added Jack. “It’s what you said,
remember?”

Yeah. He
remembered. “Don’t do this to me, Jack.” It was a warning, and a
clear one. Jack had shown plenty of signs that his body was crying
out for some crawl back to normality, but they’d not discussed
anything. Jack hadn’t looked ready to discuss anything about even
attempting any D/s between the sheets, so—“Look, Logan—”

“You offered me
your whole world right there as we lay on your bed that night.”
Jack gave a sad smile. “And I called you old friend for it.”

Gray
stalled. The name didn’t matter. It hadn’t mattered. The distance
had kept them safe over the years. Jack’s fall was controlled,
damage... limited. Because when it came to this, when it came to
holding Jack
like
this... it fucking killed.

Jack softened
his gaze into something else entirely as he watched Gray. “You
remember... I say mukka now”—a kiss brushed Gray’s lips—“know that
I mean I’m in love”—a slight clash of tongue came, almost a lick,
Jack’s quiet degradation—“know that I mean I’m in love with you.
Know that—”

Gray shifted,
suddenly pinning Jack against the wall, taking his hands above his
head and holding them there. He’d done it before he’d realised, and
instantly eased off, loosening his grip, letting his hands slip
down Jack’s arms, skating down the thin sheath of sweat, and
tracing Jack’s sides.