Antidote (Don't) (49 page)

I looked into the darkness of the bedroom now everything had been quiet for a while. Jack sat in one corner, looking like he was waking from one nightmare into another, so subdued, tired, tear marks at his wrists where the handcuffs had once been. Gray sat in another, breathing heavy, blood pouring from his nose and split lip as he watched Jack, arms rested on his knees. The bedroom was wrecked, units and glass-fitted wardrobes were kicked, beaten, and broken into pieces, leaving huge splinters of glass running up the walls, and the contents pulled out and spilled around us. The bed had been pushed a few feet out of place, the covers now on the floor. It looked like Gray had pinned Jack still on there for a few minutes, only to lose his hold, his grip on Jack, before he’d been tipped off. Although it was dark, the spinning of a lampshade on the polished floor could still be heard as heavy breaths fought to gain control.

“Jack,” Gray said quietly, and something seemed to clear in Jack’s eyes hearing Gray say his name. He looked up, focusing for a few moments. “I remember Martin from the fallout over Cutter,” Gray mumbled quietly. “You don’t. Not properly. I didn’t touch you for two years because I loved the hell out of you, because I knew how torn your head was back then. So control? Don’t dare ever ask again for me to Dom you when you run and hide in Martin from me. I’ll give you anything in this fucked up world that you want, but Martin? I can’t fucking stand that bastard. Okay, kid? I’m here for you, when you’re ready, not him.”

“Kid?” Something tore through Jack’s eyes. “Fucking man.” He was up, making a break for the door, and I caught up with him, pinning his arms at his sides, coming in behind him and holding him tight, shaking right along with him. “It’s okay, baby. It’s—”

“
Fucked up,”
snarled Jack.
“So fucking fucked up. Dirty... only men get... Only men...
” Shaking me off with a cry, Jack was out of the door before either of us could stop him. I rounded the corner, hands on head, but it was already empty, with Jack having disappeared from sight.

“Fuck.” Briefly closing my eyes, easing back against the wall for a moment, I headed back into the bedroom. “Gray.” Whatever I was going to say was lost as I saw him.

Kneeling down, I tried to lift his head now he’d buried it in the arms across his knees. “Not you, for fuckssake.” I gave up and just wrapped my arms around him, holding him there. “Please, Gray. Bloody look at me.”

Gray gave a wipe at his nose, at a tear, then I was forced to steady myself, just stop falling on my ass as Gray shoved me away. Now to his feet, he headed for the door.

“Where the hell are you going?”

He never even looked back. “
To find someone to fucking
hurt.”

And that was it, Gray was gone. I sat knelt there on the floor for a few minutes, the cold creeping into my knees finally making me conscious of how I was still staring. Hearing doors slam in the distance, I scrambled to my feet and followed the corridors down to Jack’s room. Without Gray here, that fear that Jack would bolt again made me slam the door open to Jack’s bedroom. Moonlight shaped the bed and I saw Jack jolt under the covers. Again just fine black strands to his hair were visible on the pillow, everything else firmly beneath the white covers. Everything hidden, out of sight. Not tough—not so fucking tough.

Letting the panels scrape my back, I sat on the floor. “Still here, Harrison.” I wiped a few tears on my arm. “It gets better and—” Head resting back against the door, I closed my eyes. “And I’m here for when it isn’t, okay? Even if it means sleeping here by the door so you can’t catch my scent.”

Morning came, and I sat there staring into my bowl of cornflakes, the silence of the manor a deadweight that wouldn’t allow me to lift my head. The golden flakes had long since soaked up the milk, almost offering the perfect adhesive if left for much longer. Or so my mother had always joked as my sisters and I had sat with legs swinging, sometimes kicking each other under the table. I snorted. Maybe I could use this stuff to glue our lives back together, the perfect paste to accompany the morning paper that offered no respite from how hard life was lately.

Almost—almost a hard life. I’d seen some of Jack last night. I’d seen
our
Jack last night. What followed?

Only real men get dirty...

Elbows on table, I let my head fall into my hands, refusing to go over the details again. Gray hadn’t returned; Jack was still up in his room; Ed... Christ knows what had happened to him this morning. Grunting away my loneliness, I pushed the cornflakes away, only to have something land on the table in its place.

“For you,” came a voice. “You look at it, remember it, then Ed destroys it.”

I couldn’t find the will to look at Gray, not long enough to tear my gaze away from what had landed inches from my cornflake bowl.

The gold watch still looked cheap, still just as nasty with parts of the gold plating chipped off in places around the clock face. It ticked, still counting the time, almost matching the clock on the wall with a synchronized heartbeat. Maybe it should have stopped, considering what it represented. Head down, I finally found my voice.

“For you too?” I looked up at Gray. He wore a long black overcoat, black jeans, and shoes. I just took it for granted that he wore a shirt, his black coat was fastened, no doubt against the rain outside. His hair was wet, neck damp, but a lot of the edge had gone out of his eyes, even if the bruised and battered look was still there. Now he just seemed tired, maybe a little lost, always very distant.

“No,” he said quietly. “The last bastards. They’re for me.”

“Your people have Leamore on a wanted list?”

He nodded.

“Good.” Not touching the watch, I looked back at Gray. “Can I ask how?”

Gray moved over to the coffee machine and flicked it on. “You can try,” he said. Then he glanced back at me. “He won’t touch you again, Jan. That’s all you need to know.” He spooned coffee into two cups. “Jack?”

I looked up to the ceiling. “Not awake yet.” It was still only touching five in the morning. Gray had had no sleep. I hadn’t fared much better. Maybe at least Jack was finding some bliss in oblivion. The scent of coffee brought my nose back down, and I saw a mug there in place of the watch. I snorted a cold smile. Here one minute, gone the next. All evidence removed.

Gray sat next to me, rubbing at his forehead as I took a sip of coffee. “Do you need anything for that?”

Gray looked at me. “Hmmm?”

“Your headache?”

He shook his head. “Just sleep,” he said quietly. I toasted that with my mug of coffee and went back to quiet sips.

“Martin.”

Gray looked at me.

“He knew your nationality, that you’re Welsh.” I frowned at him. “How can Martin know and not Jack?”

Gray sniffed and looked down at his coffee. “Because he’s a bastard.”

“But it’s still Jack, right?”

Gray gave me such a hard look. “Nothing like Jack at all. Jack...” His face screwed slightly. “Jack survives in his own bubble, and when that tumbles, Martin kicks in.”

“Pity he didn’t kick in with Vince,” I said, the coffee taking on a bitter taste.

“Oh no,” said Gray, snorting a flat smile. “Martin mostly likes to come out after the shit hits the fan and then just stir things up.”

I went quiet for a moment. “He knew your signature mark as an interrogation’s officer,” I said quietly. “Gray, have you eve—”

“He’s a bastard, Jan,” Gray replied coldly, cutting me up. “A very fucking clever and psychotic one at that. And trust me, he’s certified as such.”

I nodded. Frowned. “Can you answer me something else without resorting to silence and quips?”

Gray frowned at me.

“Brennan.” Giving a sigh, I rested my mug on the table. “He said his department was police, CID to be precise, back when we were in the warehouse.” Gray just looked so bloody tired. “What the hell is the Master’s Circle, Gray?” I knew my own tiredness took any fight away. “You said your trained Doms are sent overseas, you didn’t just mean to BDSM clubs, did you?”

Not answering my question for a while, Gray lost himself in his coffee as he turned the mug in a slow circle. “No,” he said eventually. “They’re not only sent to BDSM clubs. If they pass, the majority are sent on tours, some with missions with the likes of MI6.”

“Tours?” I frowned. “You work with Ministry of Defence, as well as MI5—MI6—
and
police departments?”

Gray finally looked at me. “You know yourself the physical, psychological, and emotional stresses that come from being a Dom or sub. Recognising those attributes is a more specialist way to focus and prepare.” He snorted. “The Army is a recent addition. They fucked up a few years ago by supposedly letting some recruits be filmed during naked combat training out in the woods, so Carr and her associates came on board.”

“Carr?” Christ, she didn’t look the type. But then, what the hell did I know? I avoided combat let alone any
naked
combat involving women. “So that makes the Circle what?”

“Fully funded,” said Gray, managing a smirk.

My eyes widened a touch. “As in fully
government
funded?”

“As in providing extra specialist training for most departments, ergo providing training on both extracting information and being forced to give it. Whether it be a tendency for a Dom or sub inclination, it’s important to recognise both elements and temper them within a recruit.”

“But not all are government personnel,” I said quickly. “Ben, the trainee who was with Jack those months back... you said he was a psychology student.”

Gray nodded. “We also cater to ex-military personnel, providing employment opportunities in many departments once they leave the service, the same for the MOD, CID, etc.”

“And the Dom clubs like the one we went to see in America?”

Gray took a sip of coffee. “It’s a Dom club in America.”

“Trace?”

Again there was a ghost of a smile. “You know perfectly well that Trace is something special, Jan.”

I snorted, the role reversal winning a small smile. “You work with a lot of ex servicemen, or those from MI5. Some of the terminology Ed uses, he—”

“Ed’s family.”

“MI5?”

Gray choked, then tried to control it. “No. Ed’s my grandfather.”

Something didn’t register here. “Hang on, you have your grandfather as the
butler
?”

“Have I ever introduced him as the butler?” said Gray.

“Well, no, but Jack—”

“Jack what?”

“He... hmmmmm. He takes a while to notice th—” I stared at Gray. “He’s your what?”

Gray let his mug rest on the coffee table. “When Jack first came to the manor, my grandfather had been due to go to an evening fund raiser meal, so he was dressed in the required black suit and tie. He met us in the reception hall just after we’d arrived home, and Jack, well.” There was a ghost of a smile there. “Jack had been sitting outside a house for a while and his jacket was soaked. He threw it at my grandfather and slipped some loose change into my grandfather’s hand with the comment ‘In your own time, like, mate, chop chop.’”

“Ouch.” I even winced. Gray was almost laughing, but he seemed to sober up quickly as I said, “Is that what the whole hate-hate issue is from your grandfather? Because Jack hasn’t stepped outside of his head long enough to see the wider picture?” Gray’s hands seemed to take comfort from the warmth of the mug and I narrowed my eyes. “Because your granddad thinks Jack needs to wake up to you too?”

Gray sighed heavily. “The fact he hasn’t told Jack and put him straight, it’s been an argumentative point over the years between us many a time.”

“But you still haven’t told Jack yourself? Why?”

“Because Jack gets there eventually. He just needs...”

“Time?”

Things fell a little quiet for a while. “Yeah. Time.”

“So this place, is it his home?”

“Hmmm?”

“You grandfather. Is this his place?”

Gray shook his head. “Our family home is in Wales. This is mine. My grandfather followed me from Wales, or more, he followed Mrs. Booth and her backgammon skills.”