Don't... 04 Backlash (10 page)

Gray grunted a
bitter smile. So Brennan was the one pushing the buttons.

Do
you regret any of it?
Trace asked.
Letting Jan in, because—

Somewhere along the line, you fell in love with him, didn’t
you?
Gray frowned,
then focused back on Trace’s message.

—
it’s
not your MO... letting anyone in except Jack.

No
, Gray
thumbed in.
I don’t
regret anything where Jan’s concerned.

Even
with what they’ve been through?

Gray’s
stomach twisted.
And
if Jan hadn’t been there? What then? It wouldn’t have changed what
Jack’s mother had planned, not with who’s out there backing her,
and Jan—

Whether Jan had
known it or not, he’d thrown something into the mix that had
unsettled them all, but something had needed unsettling. Gray had
been used to formality where Jack was concerned; Jack had become
stuck in routine: professional distance, however full of pretence
they’d both pushed it to be. Jan set all of that off-balance, but
had been there to pull them in close when they’d started to
fall.

He was still
there doing that despite everything he’d been forced to endure.

Jan
what?
replied
Trace.

He’s
staying where he is
.

And
you?

Gray glanced at
the woods, just briefly.

You
called not only Jack’s personal safe word but external security;
and for a Master to call them....
Trace left that unfinished; he’d left it
unfinished the day after Gray had told Jack and Jan to leave, when
Gray had called and asked for time away from the MC, and he could
have only have gotten that off Brennan.

What
about you?
came in
again from Trace.

It was
there, that need to bite back that:
What the fuck about me?
If Jan hadn’t been here, yes, he’d have
trusted his instinct more, known something was wrong, hell even
probably got Jack out of the fuckhole sooner. But the one element
that still wanted to call out Jack’s safe word? The one element
that still made him want to crawl back to home shores? If Jan
hadn’t been here, Jack’s mother wouldn’t have needed two weeks to
deconstruct Jack mentally and break him down. Because what they had
before, all the formality, the rules, the routine, that fucking
bullshit—there would have been
nothing
normal for Jack to hold on to. What did that make him as
Master?
What fucking
right do I have talking as a Master, wanting to collar Jack, when
it took the addition of another man to break all of that formal
bullshit?
He’d
typed that before realising, and it was probably the first time
he’d opened up away from Jack and Jan.

Easy... Has it worked?

Gray
frowned at Trace’s message.
What?

Whoring yourself out on cullin’ contracts instead of being
with Jack and Jan over these past five months? Did goin’ back to
professional distance make it hurt any less?

Gray
rubbed at his temple.
Fucking killed
.

Trace was
quiet for a moment, then,
Maybe it was too soon for the MC’s offer last night, but it
didn’t come from the Masters. You know that. It came from the
pockets of the Doms Jack’s taught, from the subs he’s mastered, and
from the Master’s subs themselves, Leif included.

Gray
frowned a touch. Jack and Leif had trained together for Master-sub
positions all those years back; Jack as Gray’s Master sub, Leif as
Shaun Brennan’s. They were both so far apart in outlook and body:
Leif and his long pale limbs ready to fit naturally into subbing,
Jack... Jack with that gypsy look, trying to give the
typical
fuck
you
to dominance,
but hiding so lousily that hug of
Fuck yes, baby, c’mere, Sir
, at the same time.

Most could only
guess that something was seriously wrong when Jack had resigned
from the MC a few months ago, but Leif, being Shaun’s collared sub,
would have been told. The private venue had been his way to let
Jack know he was in his thoughts, but to just take time with Jan,
take it alone and slow and easy...

Have
you told them yet, Gray?

Trace’s emails
had been leading up to this. Gray knew that.

Have
you told them both that you didn’t just walk away from Jack but
also the Masters’ Circle? Have you told them you resigned as a
Master with them?

Gray
refused to reply for a minute.
I’ll tell them when I know they’re ready to talk
about the MC. That isn’t now.

And
if Jack wants to get back into the lifestyle only with you... will
you run from your lifestyle there too?

Fuck
off, Trace.
The
harshness was meant that time.

So
he’s mentioned something
, said Trace.
Okay, bright eyes. Failing Halliday, and failing the MC’s
counselling, you come talk to me. And I mean talk. No cold messages
via text and Instant Messaging anymore. If you talk to me, you make
damn sure you pick up the phone. I’m here for you. Same goes with
Jack and Jan.

Trace didn’t
reply after that, neither did Gray, they’d reached a cut-off point
that they knew shouldn’t be confronted over messages. As for the
MC...?

It wasn’t the
same. The MC hadn’t felt right since he’d forced Jack to leave.
He’d instructed one scene since, but that had been from behind
security cameras, with an experienced Dom trainer who had been
chosen specifically so Gray knew he wouldn’t need much consultancy
intervention.

That had been a
week after Jack had been sectioned, and a day after that, Gray had
been officially called away on culling business. Brennan hadn’t
questioned if Gray had put out the call himself to... work. Shaun
wouldn’t have liked the honesty to his answer: he didn’t want to be
there. Jan had been right; a time out had been needed, but not
because of Jack, because...

In the darkness
of his Merc, Gray eased an elbow against the sill and covered his
eyes, jaw tensing.

When
he’s stripped bare, he’s lying next to you; he’s been under your
touch.

Jan had said
that back then. Only both of them had been missing from under his
touch; and losing both of them had scarred a part of him he didn’t
know had been left open as a wound.

Gray pushed out
of the car and made it over to the wall before he threw up. Mostly
he got to walk away from the damage, bypass the undercurrents that
pulled people down. Now it didn’t go away, how he choked sickness
as though lungs were still full with water and the drowning was
internal. Arm resting on the wall, head down, breaths became deep,
so deep. It had cost him Jack... Jan. The latter scarring his world
too, because...

Because somewhere along the line, you fell in love with him
too, didn’t you?

Gray stiffened
as a rub came at his shoulder. He didn’t expect it out on the main
road and his hand instinctively slipped to his sidearm.

“Easy, son.” Ed
pulled him away from the wall a touch. “Let me get you back, eh?”
He’d pulled the Rolls up next to the Merc, and the concern was
there with how Gray hadn’t noticed. Ed had even had time to get
out, come over, and touch.

“All those
rooms in that manor,” said Ed, a hand resting on Gray’s throat,
“and you’re still choosing to sit in your car?” Gray was eased away
and back over to his Merc. “Call it a day now, okay? You’re still
looking ill even after six months.”

Gray shut the
car door, then waited for Ed to get in the Rolls and move off
towards the security gates. Ed made the formal checks tonight, but
Gray kept a close ear on what was being said. Eventually they were
waved through, and Gray followed the Rolls up the long road to the
cobbled courtyard.

Again the
lights were on, offering that warmed welcome from autumn winds, but
again, Gray turned the engine off and sat there for a moment. It
took a knock on the window to gain his attention. A few months and
it would be Christmas. Usually around now Jack would be leaving
subtle-as-a-brick hints on how to bankrupt a millionaire, and yeah,
fire the butler in the process; that or look for places to drag the
land of soft and gullible around for possible Christmas tree
hoists.

Only the manor
remained as quiet as the interior of the Merc, all except that damn
knocking on the windowscreen.

Gray gave a
hard sigh and got out.

“Wait long
enough and they say you hear it.”

“Hmm,” said
Gray, glancing back at Ed as he locked his Merc. “What’s that?”

“
Hen
wlad fy nhadau
”
said Ed, twisting his own car keys in his fingers.
“
Land of my
Forefathers
. Are
you sure you’re not missing those Welsh mountains, the roll of the
sea, that rogue skinny-dipping you loved so much as a teen?” Ed
tried a smile and added a few extra lines to his face. “You have
that
need to go home
and get feral
look
about you.”

Gray snorted
and an arm went around Gray’s shoulder, tugging him towards the
manor’s entrance. “You’ve been around Jack too long,” said
Gray.

“My point
exactly. Let’s leave. Quickly. Before he notices.”

Gray raised a
brow at Ed as they reached the entrance. “Stop it.”

“What?”

Gray eyed him
up. “Just don’t.”

“What?” But he
had been around Jack too long, and Ed broke into the very soft and
ghost-like Welsh lyrics.

“Yeah, not
working,” said Gray, although he buried a smile hearing the old
man’s way of working his thick accent into the anthem. Everything
about home was there in those dulcet tones. “Still not
working.”

“No?” A flash
of eye. “Then in English...” His voice became even softer.

“Oh look, the
front door,” said Gray, pushing through. “Go in and shut the fuck
up, shall we?”

Ed patted his
stomach, throwing a wink over, and Gray went to follow him in, but
stopped as something made Ed pause.

“Jack, my
son.”

Christ.
Jack jerked nearly to a halt as he came down from upstairs, the
bacon sandwich he’d half-eaten stuffed in his mouth. “Hm.” Jack
took a large swallow, his gaze slipping from the door, back towards
the hall that would take him through to the kitchen. “I... I was
just going to... kitchen. I was just gonna get a, a kitchen—coffee.
A coffee
in
the
kitchen.” And it seemed he’d melt through the floor to get there,
if it got him away from Ed quickly enough.

“
Coffee?”
Ed took off his suit jacket and Gray found it handed back to him,
typical
hold my
coat, he’s mine
street fight sense. “You’re making me another one? How
very... decent of you.”

“Oh...” Jack
seemed to lose all fight to eat. “Hm. You too?” he said over to
Gray, and the look there pleaded for Gray to say he needed to talk
to Jack anywhere that didn’t include the kitchen just then.

Gray
instinctively shifted, but a grip on his jacket off Ed stopped him.
“My grandson needs to go and shower.”

“I do?”

“He does,”
added Ed. “So coffee.” He went over to Jack and took Jack by the
elbow. “How about we go make one? Unless you have a problem with
us... making one?”

“Problem,” said
Jack quickly, a little too quickly. “Made you one yesterday, dain’t
I?”

“It was an
attempt, yes. And considering I’ve hidden the antique bucket and
melted down your ice dildo—your last attempt at... making
something—you’re surely open to a few pointers from this old
man.”

There was a
painting not far from Jack, showing Owen Glendower in a rich velvet
cloak, and Jack blended in beautifully with it just then. The blush
had him looking at the floor and Ed grinning at him for it. “Oh,
coffee, lad. I think I really need another coffee now.”

Jack scowled
back at Gray as he was tugged toward the kitchen. Gray found the
first stair and buried a grin. Jack wore loose black jogging
bottoms with matching black sleeveless V-shirt, still looking like
the thug led off to a cell, and his last look back said just that.
Fuckable in every sense, in every wrong sense going, and Gray
buried the rush seeing it.

Leaving the
soft attempts at cursing drifting down the hall with Ed, Gray
headed upstairs and into the East Wing. Ed’s jacket had been
slipped in the closet downstairs, and Gray stripped out of his
before he made it into his bedroom. He made the shower quick,
needing to wash the weariness away, and opted for casual: black
trousers, white shirt with the collar undone, no shoes, no socks.
He started on the cuffs to his shirt, folding them back up to his
elbows as he headed back towards the stairs, every intent of saving
Jack, when the sound of body hitting water shifted his attention
towards his pool.

Heading through
the games’ room, he picked up how the snooker table held every
whisper of Jack having been up here, not just with a few crumbs
from white bread and the hint of bacon, but with all the
too-carefully arranged snooker cues, then its balls in a perfect
triangle. Gray always preferred the balls stored away after use,
but Jack’s order meant that snooker tables came with snooker balls,
therefore the one was ordered on top of the other.