Don't... 04 Backlash (13 page)

Gray gave a
soft chuckle. “You started off so well there, Jack.”

“Pillow talk.”
This time his kiss lingered on Gray’s lips. “I know you love
it.”

He was gone for
a moment, leaving Gray with Jack’s presence on his body. But Jack
came back a moment later with a damp cloth and towel, and Gray
stood there leaning against the wall with a soft frown as he
watched Jack take such care and attention over wiping him clean.
Three times he washed... wiped... and Gray said gently,
“Happy?”

Jack offered a
shy smile. “Just about.” He’d already cleaned himself down.

“Only twice
since I’ve known you,” Jack said quietly, “have you asked me to
trust you. And I remember the first....” A bite came at the
dampness lining Gray’s throat. “Trust and respect.” Another nip,
then a brush of lips. “You have mine. Always. You never have to
ask, mukka.”

Gray shifted,
just slightly. Breathing heavy, giving a smile, he said, “Come
fight with me.” He needed distraction, he needed a release. Not
what Jack was asking for, just... release.

Standing there
in boxers, oil still visible in places, Jack scratched at his neck,
cast a glance at the punch bag, then frowned before turning away,
towel and cloth in hand.

“Hey,” said
Gray, gently pulling him back. “Talk.”

Jack looked at
the punch bag, then found Gray again. “Just... I’m going back to
work in two days, okay? I discussed it with Halliday at our last
session.” said Jack, but he was skirting around what bothered him.
Gray could tell in how he avoided any contact with the punch
bag.

I’m
trained and he’s not... I’m a fourth Dan, for god’s
sake.
Gray eased
off, remembering Jack’s words as they’d stood in the reception hall
over six months ago. Jan had escaped Vince’s rape; Jack hadn’t, and
those grey eyes of Jack’s as they fell away from Gray spoke worlds
on just how much all of his martial art skill hadn’t made a blind
bit of difference.

Jack went to
turn away, maybe to go and hide. Then something seemed to stop him
in his tracks. He gave a look down at his hands, what he held, then
startled Gray when he came back in close and wrapped his arms
around Gray’s neck.

“That shit
scared me, okay,” he mumbled, then a kiss was stolen from Gray. “I
can’t get through a night without knowing for sure that someone is
watching; and I’m scared I won’t be able to fight if something does
happen. I check the surveillance an hour after you go to sleep
every night, mukka, just making sure people are where they say they
are.”

Gray had known
that. Ray had told him.

Jack dipped his
head into Gray’s throat. “When it came down to it,” he said, “it
didn’t matter. All the training... the Dan grades....” A tight grip
went into Gray’s hair, making sure all focus was levelled on Jack.
“But this does.” Jack’s free hand wiped along Gray’s jaw, and Gray
instinctively let his touch find Jack’s hips. “Won’t forget that
again. So much to fucking make up for, and I swore I’d start with
ordering my thoughts better than my sock drawer and telling you
what hurts.” The frown there was torn. “And fighting scares the
fuck out of me, mukka, especially you. Please don’t ask me to fight
you.”

Gray frowned at
the intensity. They still hadn’t spoken much about Jack’s time in
the psychiatric unit and what he’d remembered. But Gray did
remember the last time he’d fought with Jack, what it caused, but
any thought of even broaching the subject was stolen from his
breath with the kiss and such a long taste of Jack. Jack tongued
him deep, and Gray let himself return the heat, just for a moment,
a moment’s weakness before he reined it in again.

As he pulled
back, so did Jack, and the dirty smile Jack gave didn’t help. “Oh
yeah, you’re getting so close to fucking me, all right, mukka.”
Jack brushed the back of his hand against Gray’s jaw. “And I’m glad
you kept this.” Stubble grated against the gentleness of his touch.
“I’d do the bastard, then hold the man for a lifetime afterwards.”
And he was heading for the shower.

“Jack,” said
Gray.

“Hmm?” Jack
glanced back.

“Don’t face the
door tonight. Look at Jan as you hold him; let him look at
you.”

Jack smiled
down at his feet. “Yeah,” he murmured, then cast a look at where
the oil had touched wood floor. “I heard you the first time,
mukka.”

Gray followed
his look for a moment. “You serious about going back to work?”

Jack scratched
at his head, maybe not looking so serious now, but needing to be.
“Yeah.” Awkwardness was in his stance. “Think it’s about time I let
Sam and the guys play pin the tail on the nut job.”

“They were told
nothing.”

“Maybe,” and
there was a look there that said Sam would have dragged the intel
out of Steve somehow. There was that shrug again off Jack. “I know,
though.”

Gray went over
and took the cloth and towel off him. He knew how they’d play on
his mind if he kept hold on them for much longer. “You spoken to
Jan about it?”

Jack nodded.
“Oh yeah. He took a swim. A hard one.”

Ah
, thought
Gray. “Surveillance will be there. It is with Jan.”

Jack went to
say something, but then just came back over for another kiss.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For tonight. For Jan. For...” That
dirty smile again. “You.”

Then he was
gone, still managing to nearly slip on his way out and shout back,
“Still sexy doing this exit here, right?”

Gray laughed,
then waited until Jack left, and went over to the intercom.
“Ray.”

Quiet. “Here,
sir.”

The darkness
through the windows and the long look into the woods took his
attention. “Change in surveillance rota in two days’ time. What we
pre-arranged. You run a check on every make and model that pulls up
at Jack’s garage.”

“He’s aware he
could be being watched?”

Gray knew he’d
upset someone with denying the meeting this morning, but probably
more so over Elena. It just remained to be seen who’d crawl out of
the woodwork first, considering neither Rachel nor Andrews had
pulled intel from Reignfold himself.

“I know he
could be being watched. Jack knows how to play safe. Jan, not so
much. Just make damn sure they both stay sane.”

“Will do.”

Logan Keal sat
in the passenger side of the recovery truck, watching the reception
door to the garage as a customer came out holding keys and juggling
an MOT certificate. From what his sources had told him, Harrison
had been at work for the past five days, but Kes had texted and
told him to wait, to not rush in.

Despite the
rain, the four long roller doors spreading the width of the garage
stayed open, allowing cars to be pulled in or out on finishing a
job and leaving wet tyre marks in their wake that the mechanics
seemed oblivious to. Added to the woman in reception who was
talking to a customer, roughly ten employees worked the cold and
damp. A radio played somewhere in the distance, not loud enough to
disturb the nearby units or the customers to the garage itself, but
enough to fill the clatter and clamber of air guns, rising and
falling ramps, and the occasional rattle of engine hoist as it was
manoeuvred in to help handle the bulk of the latest workload.

The car he’d
used was attached to the recovery truck, a Jaguar, sleek silver
grey and rarely prone to cutting out. Another mechanic had timed it
to do just that today, along with using registered plates that
would trace back to a lovely family who lived on the outskirts of
London. The weather itself was important: it had mostly stayed dry
over the past month, only offering a light drizzle. He needed it
heavier. As harder and larger patters hit the window screen,
threatening a bruising as well as a drenching, Logan grabbed his
umbrella from by his feet, ignoring the dirt on the bottom of his
jeans he’d caught from waiting by the roadside for a recovery
truck. That could be traced too. Which he figured would be
happening now with the black Mercedes that sat in the corner of the
car park. As he glanced over from his hooded Mackintosh, the Merc
windows were tinted, hiding the occupants he’d been warned were
concealed inside.

Easing
the door cab open, he let the black umbrella and hood of the long
Mac jacket protect him from the worst of the rain as he got out and
said his thanks to the driver. He was looking out at the rain, his
look saying
shit
wasn’t worth a soaking just to unhook a Jag
. Leaving the recovery man to it, Logan
checked his hood against the rain and pulled the umbrella down a
little closer when a gust of wind tried to drag it away.

He kept his
walk brisk, and the push through into Harrison’s reception area
offered a warmth he didn’t expect. A brief smile was offered from
the pretty receptionist as he rested the wet umbrella away from the
door, but kept his hood up. A dispenser of hands-free antibacterial
wash slept just a few feet away, and he frowned at it as the last
customer brushed past him, nudging him slightly. Shouldn’t the hand
wash be kept on the work floor? Seemed strange to him.

“Sorry, mate.”
A man looking heavy enough to need a winch to tug him out of his
car was talking to him and Logan focused.

“No worries.”
Logan offered a smile and saw the larger man’s features ease
slowly. After waiting for the door to close, he headed over to the
reception desk.

“Hey...” The
name tag on the receptionist’s blue blouse said Sue, and she was
the sort he’d shut his nightclub door’s to in order to walk
headlong into Happy Hour. “Sue. I’ve—”

The door came
open behind Sue and another man eased through from the back,
carrying two coffees. Obviously Logan’s charm was slipping, seeing
Sue move over by the other man, grabbing at a mug and saying thanks
while ignoring him.

“You should
have gotten Sam to do it, Aid,” she said and Aid jerked a look back
as though expecting something to come bounding through.

“Nah. I’ll skip
that, thanks. He’s—” Aid glanced over and Sue seemed to remember
there was a customer.

“Apologies,”
she said, bringing her coffee back. “It’s not looking good out
there.”

Logan offered a
smile back, almost envying her hold around the cup. She had
warm-looking hands, good enough to cup cold balls and bring some
life to them. “My Jag broke down,” he said, shifting and pointing a
thumb back the way he’d come. “I was wondering if Mr Harrison could
take a look at her for me.”

He saw Aid
sneak a look over his mug, then start punching some keys on the
computer. “He has a job on at the moment.” Aid took a sip of his
coffee. “Do you want to leave your keys and come back later? He’ll
be about two hours.”

“The recovery
truck’s just brought me in... I... do you mind if I wait?”

“Sure,” said
Sue. “Take a seat and I’ll get you a coffee.”

He’d noticed
the coffee machine in the corner, but this was an offer of a proper
mug from the back. Maybe his charms were working after all, or,
with the warm smile she gave, it was just that he looked so sad
being soaked. “Thank you,” he said to her before he turned and took
a seat on the comfy leather bench. “Ah.” He glanced back before he
managed to sit. “Can I have a word with Jack, at all? He knows this
car and asked me to let him know how she handled the suspension
from last time.”

Glancing over,
Aid took another sip of coffee. The look was too long, too probing,
and it only further set that anger bubbling beneath the surface.
Why were so many protecting this bastard? But it was Sue, not Aid,
who answered.

“I’m sorry, Mr
Harrison’s just working on the shop floor for a few weeks. Mr
Carter is manager.” She nodded back to Aid. “I’m sure he can help
with any issues you have.”

Yeah, he was
warned they’d close shop. Logan pulled out a business card instead.
It wasn’t fake. “Could you just give him this, please?” He handed
it over to her. Aid reached it first and offered a small smile.

“I’ll take
that.”

“It’s just...”
Logan tried a smile and gave a scratch at his roughed-up hair under
the hood of the Mac. “It’s like with a barber: I trust the same one
I always use.”

Aid nodded and
put his coffee down. “Okay, I’ll hand it over and see what Jack
says.”

That was all he
needed. “Thanks.” He took a seat as Aid pushed on through to the
shop floor. The door was timed to shut with the minimal of noise,
and he cast a look into the main garage floor to see Aid work his
way to the far end and tap someone on the shoulder.

A look was
given down at the business card, then back over into the
reception.

Hands were
washed once, then again, Aid standing there and watching too, then
the business card was taken from Aid just as the door shut.

“Here.” Sue
came over and handed Logan a coffee. He took it, welcoming the
warmth as the door from the shop floor through into reception was
pushed open again.

A small
smile was offered over, then Jack—Logan had seen the photo, there
was no mistaking that this was Jack—went over to the reception
windows and twisted the cord on the blinds to let in some of the
fading light. Jack wore blue coveralls, and where Sue would have
good hands to warm a cold pair of balls, Jack had a look to tie
them up and torture them for a few hours. Both looking good enough
to whisper a quiet
morning
to
as he woke in bed next to them.

Only Jack
didn’t look so friendly. But then, Logan guessed, his look wasn’t
exactly
morning,
love
either.