Don't... 04 Backlash (20 page)

Gray’s Merc was
parked around back, and as Gray eased onto the main street, he
pulled something out of his dashboard and attached it into place. A
push of a few buttons brought a low run of fast tracking noises,
and Jan frowned.

“What’s
that?”

Jack’s
coveralls came to mind. “Safety’s way,” he mumbled flatly.

“You stuck a
tracking device on him?”

Gray followed
the device and headed left at the lights.

“Gray. A
tracking device? Honestly?”

Gray snorted.
“Well, it’s better than those yellow sticky labels you suggested
tagging to his ass, when we first met. And Brennan overruled my
suggestion over chip’n’pinning him.”

“
What
?”

“Joke,” said
Gray, looking over. But when he saw the direction that the tracking
device moved in, Gray pulled over and came to a stop.

“Problem?”

Gray tapped the
screen. “That’s left down St. Andrews.”

“And?”

Gray looked
back over his shoulder, then put the car in reverse. “Well, unless
Jack’s nicked a twenty foot pole and taken to high jump, I’d say
even he’d have difficulty getting over a wall that big.”

Jan leaned in
closer as if it would give him a video link to where Jack was.

“He knows about
the tracking.” Gray gave a hard sigh. “There’s restaurant bins
there. He’s used a decoy, most probably a domestic animal.”

“To go where?
To do what?”

Gray’s first
thought was Logan, the threat he’d made and just how much it had
unsettled Jack. But where Jack knew Logan, Martin didn’t. So where
the fuck would he go?

“Did Jack ever
ask Halliday for the notepad off DC Sanders, where the DC took
Jack’s statement and made notes about Vince, Henry and the rape?”
Gray looked at Jan.

“Not since he
was released from the psychiatric unit, no.”

“But the
notepad was around Jack when he blacked out in my office? When he
wrecked the gallery.” Gray thought about it for a few seconds.
Martin could have had access to the case details via the notepad.
But it still left the question of where he would go.

“There would
have been details over Elena,” said Jan. “Vince, Henry, the
warehouse...”

Gray felt a
hollow pit hit his stomach. “Martin’s damn smart. He’d work out
that Elena would need intel on where to get in touch with rapists
like Vince and Henry.”

“Ryan
Keal?”

Gray
nodded.

“But not to
state the obvious here, Keal’s dead anyway.”

“Yeah.” Gray
turned the wheel. “Only Martin doesn’t know that. And Martin knew
Keal from his Cutter days.”

Jan gave a
shaky sigh, a relieved one. “Keal’s place has been on the market
for months. It’ll be empty. Logan doesn’t live there, does he?”

“No.” Gray
didn’t like that Jan had been keeping tabs, but the sense behind
his words was there. And an empty house would give them a good
place to get Jack back into a better frame of mind. Not taking any
chances, he put a call through to Halliday.

Jack had been
right earlier: going after Logan now would point too many fingers
in their direction. Gray could handle any backlash, but what he
couldn’t stand was Martin sending Logan or his friends into hiding.
And if Martin could fuck something up for the sheer thrill of
fucking something up, then it just left Gray clearing up the come
stains afterwards.

Martin moved
through to the dining room and was midstream dragging his fingers
along the windowsill, his look a little distracted as he glanced
out the window. Annoyed, Logan came in, hands digging into his
jeans.

“What the hell
are you doing here?” He slipped his phone from his pocket and set
it to record. “You want to tell me about Raoul?” he said. “Is that
why you’re here?”

Martin watched
the rare dribble of traffic outside. “Welsh been playing you up,
has he?” He glanced back, heavy ringlets of wet hair dripping down
over his cheek, almost like a string of tears. “Give him some
matches next time. Don’t... get him going.”

Logan scrunched
his face, not liking this... cockiness. He physically pulled back a
touch. Martin frowned, then came over and pushed past Logan. “I’m
sorry. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.”

“Hey—”

“Try living
with the bastard,” said Martin.

“What the hell
are you scared of, Jack?”

“Martin.” He
grunted a smile and the tear that mixed with rain had Logan easing
off, now just resting a light touch on his arms. “Gray calls me
Jack... please, don’t call me that.”

“Martin?” Logan
caught his look down at his pocket.

“You record
this, he’ll find out,” said Martin. “Switch it off, please.”

Logan dug the
phone back out of his pocket and switched the phone off, seeing how
it seemed to have taken all of Martin’s bravado.

Logan searched
his face. “Look. I know people who can look after you, who—”

“And do what?
Go to the cops? MI5? You got any idea how deep his touch goes...”
He seemed to give up there, and Logan had to stop him from leaving
with that grip on his arm.

“Martin,
please, I just need to know what happened to my father. Why it
happened.”

Martin’s face
creased and a hand reached up to Logan’s cheek. “He burned you
too... fuck.” Logan frowned as he brought their foreheads together.
“So you’d protect me how?” he said quietly. “He knows how to get at
you.” A sigh. “He’s got to you.”

Hell... the
shaking going on with his hand as Martin slipped it around Logan’s
neck had Logan reaching up to try and steady it. “Why don’t you
like him calling you Jack?”

Martin shifted
slightly, unzipping his coveralls. Logan tried not to follow the
slow pull as Martin slipped one shoulder out, then arm, and....

Fuck. Half of
his abs were exposed, offering a walk over to the dark side of the
moon: some dark beauty never seen. Logan was a shoulder guy, and as
an arm was pulled free, toned muscle defined just how much Jack was
used to working with his hands. He followed the offer, up to the
curve of his throat, how a slight tilt of head had water slipping
over the half-cast skin tone and fine cords.

Then as Martin
inched the edge of his coverall over his hip, Logan took a step
back. No boxers were visible, just a scarred and ragged square
stained his hip. One edge bled, or had been picked away recently,
and Logan went back in, his fingers brushing the damage.

“He did
that?”

That grey gaze
never met his, only a shiver that unsettled more of the soak from
his hair.

“He did that,”
Martin said flatly, then he looked up. “Keep trying to get away,
but he always finds me.”

“Was he
listening in? That day at the garage?” It made sense. Martin would
need to show some loyalty or—

“So you’ll
protect me how?” Martin said softly.

Logan chewed
his bottom lip. Kes would be here soon; he needed to keep Martin
talking. Kes would want to talk to Martin in his own way. But Logan
knew he was losing him. The fear and branded hurt said he was
losing him. He couldn’t afford that. Logan needed to know what
Martin knew, what he knew about Raoul, and from the hurt on
display, Logan could pretty well imagine just how Raoul used
him.

If it meant he
had to use him like that too for a little while longer, then he
would. Okay, in the bedroom he wasn’t exactly Mr Control, but
Martin had the information he needed.

Logan shifted
his touch away from the scar, running now to his outer hip. Martin
frowned, but Logan went in close, cupping the back of Martin’s
neck, kissing at his cheek.

“Let me try and
take care of you.” Logan nibbled at his ear and caught Martin’s
soft groan. “Let me show you how you’d be taken care of
properly.”

Logan eased
Martin against the wall, reaching up to the coverall covering his
other shoulder, then gently slipping it down. He felt lousy for
what he was doing, but what he got to touch... it made it all so
damn easy.

He bit at the
exposed collarbone, then fingered a nipple, his cock more than
glitching as Martin murmured. He shivered so much beneath Logan’s
touch, Logan forced his intimacy to slow right down, taking his
time to breeze down over abs and find a way into the bunched
coveralls.

“Hmm.” He
rested his head in the curve of Martin’s throat. Martin’s cock was
so fucking hard. Logan dug his hips in, wanting to feel it close to
his own, feel cock rub off against cock. Breathing was reduced to
pants, and Logan undid the buckle to his belt, needing to ease the
torture of tight jeans on a strangled cock and—

A snarl, he was
shoved roughly to the side, away from Martin. Martin shifted from
the wall, hand running through his hair, head down as if he had a
headache. “Always takes the lead. Always fucking hurts....”

Logan wasn’t
given time to frown as Martin pushed him against the wall, crushing
lips against lips, hands sneaking under Logan’s T-shirt before
bites came at his throat. “Hurts so much with how he rough-fucks
his way in... Don’t.... Don’t... hurt me like that.”

“Easy...
hey...” Logan forced his eyes closed as Martin undid the clasp to
his jeans and found a way in, pulling him free.

“Please... I
can’t take it rough anymore.”

Logan stroked
at the long black hair. “I’m not gonna force you to do anything you
don’t want.” That shaking was back in Martin’s body, half heat,
half something else, and Logan set his jaw tensing. Any other time,
he wouldn’t see a man reduced to this... begging to be touched but
torn apart with fearing what would happen if he was. Why the hell
would Raoul reduce a man to this? Part of him wanted to stop, to
give Martin all the space he needed; he looked like he needed the
space of a desert to heal, but then there was this heat... If he
pushed him away now, would Martin leave? Would he look to burn it
elsewhere? Would he go back to Raoul? And how pissed off would this
Kes be if he turned up and Martin wasn’t here?

Logan eased the
belt from around his waist as Martin ran slow strokes down his
cock. The moment Logan held the belt up, one end of the leather
fisted around his palm, Martin stilled.

“It’s not to
hurt,” he mumbled. Christ, those eyes said he’d tasted a whipping
before, so many times. “It’s an offer of safety around me.”

Martin’s frown
was so serious.

Logan roped the
belt through the buckle, then slipped one hand through it. “No
hurt,” he said gently. “Your lead.” He felt a little easier with
sharing the control anyway.

A tear slipped
over Martin’s cheek and Logan smiled softly. “One hand only,
tethered to any place you need. But at least an offer for us to
touch with you in control.”

Martin looked
down at Logan’s bound hand. Fingers brushed against his palm for a
moment, then Martin took his hand. The blush there was
heart-melting.

“He really
never let you top him, hmm?”

Not answering,
Martin took Logan’s other hand and backed his way up to the table,
taking Logan with him.

“You topped
anyone?” Logan got a kick out of picturing Martin trying to find
the right pace as he lay on top of him, body hot, damp, and needing
to burn himself away. He didn’t usually like breaking a man in with
a first time at anything, but Martin’s innocence needed
stealing.

“No, not topped
before,” said Martin, his body and blush looking more relaxed now
as he ended with a shaky sigh. His touch of lips to lips was
anything but shy, and somewhere Logan briefly questioned just how
much Raoul had tempered this explorative side, why he’d want to
temper and not let Martin have the freedom to go with the flow and
just enjoy what life threw at him. He was eased around, his ass
finding the table, then as Martin encouraged him down, hands
drifted down Logan’s body, coming to rest at his jeans. Martin
eased them off his hips, but didn’t take them lower. Grey eyes said
he liked what he saw, but a kiss at Logan’s cock, then gentle
nibble at the length, complemented the look.

“Thank you,” he
heard murmured.

Logan had the
words ready for a reply, but as lips slipped over his cock, taking
him to the root, then dragging slowly back up, his only reply was a
rise of hip and groan.

“Fuck.” Martin
knew how to use his mouth. Muscles were relaxed, the back of his
tongue used to massage and coax at the same time. Logan’s balls
were still hidden in his jeans, but the tight confinement and dig
of zip into them only fuelled his need to fuck into that
experienced mouth. But still he held back, letting Martin retain
most of the control.

The rush of
needing to spill came quickly, and Logan warned Martin off with a
stroke of his hair. A brush of lips graced the inside of his thigh,
then Martin was up, leaning down for a kiss. Logan tasted himself,
his own excitement, and he grabbed at Martin’s neck to pull him
deeper, get at what lay beyond that.

After giving a
shy smile into the kiss, Martin pulled away, resting his head down
for a moment, then tapping at Logan’s leg to get him to lie with
the length of the table. It was much larger than he was by two
lengths, and Martin wanted him close to the head of the table. A
kiss at his forehead allowed an upside down view of Martin, and
Martin didn’t pull back this time as Logan reached up and palmed at
his cock through his bunched coveralls.

Martin’s head
dipped for a moment, hands gripping at the edge of the table, just
running with the offer of attention, and again that jolt came with
Logan’s cock. He started playing with his own cock just before
Martin took his hand via the belt, to the top of the table leg.

“Would you ride
me, Mart?”

The gaze that
met his in that moment was so dark. “Ride this?” Logan’s cock was
fisted and twisted so gently. Then the warmth of a breath again
brushed Logan’s lips, and Logan met the demand for entry with his
own tongue.