Don't... 04 Backlash (23 page)

He was eased to
the floor with Craig keeping a careful eye on the angle of Jack’s
tethered wrist and—“Out,” he said just after he checked Jack’s
vitals.

After looking
back at Logan, Gray found Jan. “Go with Craig and get Jack back to
ours.”

Jan seemed
unwilling to move.

“Jan,” Gray
said gently and soft brown eyes found his. “Can you look after him
for me, please?”

That shivering
was still there and Gray wondered why Jan hadn’t worn his jacket
when he’d hunted around for it earlier on. But then such a
sharpness came to Jan. He glanced back over at Logan, then nodded
at Gray before going over to help Craig. Craig glanced up, but Gray
ignored him as he waited for Jan to find a way to cut Jack
free.

“Back to the
manor?” said Jan, now helping to take Jack’s weight as they found
their feet.

“Yeah,” said
Gray. He waited for them to leave, then started to gather up
Logan’s clothes. His hand had been forced now. This had to be dealt
with tonight, even if it pushed Logan’s contacts back into the
shadows.

Fifteen minutes
later, Logan was fully clothed and no doubt rolling off some
serious language into the gag as Gray pushed him into the back of
his Merc. Logan’s mouth was still taped, but now with a more
professional gagging that kept his airways clear to allow the
basics of breathing. Hands were tied behind Logan’s back, the cut
bandaged and given basic triage, and Logan himself was pushed down
to lie flat across the seat with rope around his throat that made
sure he stayed down. Logan’s fight and anger had fallen into thick
silence. Jack’s knife was taped to Logan’s inner thigh, making sure
he kept his legs still too. Angled perfectly with Logan’s cock,
taped still to ensure it, any movement would make sure urethral
insertion came DIY in the back of a car. Logan seemed to take the
threat well, in a choking silence way.

Fucking peachy, that, as Jack would
say
, thought
Gray.

The house Gray
pulled up to was similar to Jack’s old home: the last in a long
line of semi-detached houses. Away from finance and general
business, the locale was chosen specifically because of the
neighbours’ ability to not give a damn who tainted their streets.
All the more better if any newcomers did a moonlight flit, thus
leaving their homes and any goods they couldn’t carry in their rush
to get out open to one and all.

MI5 had a
number of safe houses across the UK, ranging from office buildings
that were used as secondary command points down to basic
one-bedroom flats, where both domestic and foreign ops could keep
their head down when needed. And from these, connections could be
made to front companies, garages, and underground channels that
were associated with MI5 Secret Service ops.

And of course
there were “spies” who weren’t attached to MI5 but who loved to try
and arrange spy sites in London too. The district-general had a
list as long as the dead for foreign safe houses that had been set
up in and around London, including those going back to the 1930s
and the Russian spies who’d set up base in Regent Street. MI5 had
taken control of that for a while, whilst more local businesses
laid claim to it today.

Spies. London
writhed with maggots when it came to spies.

Gray eased a
look over at the semi-detached house and caught the light on in one
of the back windows. He’d given the address to Andrews in a text,
and it looked like he’d already arrived.

After parking
the Merc in the only drive, and Andrews already given access to the
back, Gray loosened the rope tethered around the backseat bracket
on the floor, then tugged Logan out, feet-first from the car.

“The knife you
feel?” he whispered into Logan’s ear as he pulled him back to him,
an arm now around his throat. “It asks for quiet. You speak without
being spoken to”—he nudged Logan’s knee, snapping his leg forward a
touch, and the gag buried Logan’s whimper as the knife no doubt
kissed a soft head—“It’ll hurt. We clear?”

Hard breaths
came through the tape, and Logan gave a very quick nod of head.

“Good man.”
Gray made sure they kept their footsteps small but quick as he took
Logan through the back into the kitchen. The blinds had already
been pulled down, and a laptop sat on the table. One chair was
available in the kitchen.

Standing behind
Logan, Gray slipped a hand down Logan’s jeans and found the handle
of the knife. As he pulled it free, making Logan yelp into the gag
as he lost a good patch of dark hair on his inner thigh, Andrews
came into the kitchen.

The MI5 op
stayed quiet as he leaned against the door. Then when Gray offered
the knife out, he came over and took it. Gray’s look said enough on
where he wanted Logan to be, and Andrews grabbed the man by his
shirt collar and forced him down into the chair.

The laptop took
his attention. This safe house hadn’t been chosen to take a step
away from society but more to get access to Thames House files
without actually stepping foot inside his MI5 office.

Andrews wore
the same leather gloves. One hand rested on the back of Logan’s
head, and as Gray finished pulling up what he needed, Andrews
pushed Logan’s face a few inches short of the laptop.

“You do not
move from that position,” said Gray, and he caught Logan’s cock of
ear, one that said he’d expected Gray to speak from the left, not
the right as he did now. There were two people by him.

Andrews let the
knife he held slip against the back of Logan’s neck. Logan didn’t
push back, in fact he sat there, tears sneaking underneath the
blindfold, and shivering.

This was
the one and only chance to see if the son was nothing like the
father. Gray tugged off the blindfold, then crouched down. At first
he didn’t speak, just let the images play out as he watched Logan’s
changing expressions. Some witness statements flickered up and they
went back fourteen years, details noting how mothers and daughters
had been fucked next to each other for trying to outrun Keal’s
sex-trafficking; their torture broken down into a few bullet points
hardly doing their ordeals any justice. Keal had a particular hate
towards the LGBT community, and some statements came from men who’d
had their scrotum cut through, his will to show they might as well
not have any if they weren’t
fucking like men should
. Or the lesbian who had her lips sliced
through because she’d fallen in love with another sex-trafficked
woman, and who she’d been caught kissing. Each file mentioned
Keal’s name, mentioned Logan’s father, and Logan had the same look
as Jack, as though he wanted to be sick.

“You touched
Jack.... Did your father know about your sexual preferences like he
did with those you’ve just read, Logan? Did you ever get around to
telling him?”

Mouth still
taped, Logan frowned.

“Strange where
our instinct takes us,” Gray said quietly. “Always so much to say
but never really the right opportunity to give us that freedom.
Sometimes there’s a reason for that.”

Gray stopped
the play of files after a few minutes, then brought up a video.
This one he knew off by heart, every twist and cry away from
Vince’s branding iron that Jack made. The volume was set to quiet,
but Jack’s agony as the branding iron touched down, and Jan’s cry
seeing it, could have been playing full bass for how it tore Gray’s
insides.

Logan was into
rapid eye movement, not fully understanding the run of images or
the brutality behind it, but he recognised the man on screen, and
the confusion was obvious. He tried to mumble something, started to
twist away, and a grab at Logan’s hair made sure that he found
Gray.

“I took the hit
out on your father for touching mine, and, yes, he died in a lot of
pain.” Gray gripped harder at Logan’s hair and ripped the gag off.
“Find whatever peace of mind you need from that because you’ve just
touched mine too.”

Gray forced him
to look at the laptop.

“Whoever your
new-found friends are, they’re pushing you to continue tearing up
people I care for. And I won’t... fucking... play anymore.”

“He said it was
you.” Logan groaned. “He said you branded him.”

“Who said?”

“Mart...
Martin.”

Gray wiped at
Logan’s cheek. “He told you what you wanted to hear, then,” he
said. “You like them shy and vulnerable, hm? You wanted Martin shy
and vulnerable, used it maybe to keep him there?” Something flared
in Logan’s eyes and Gray gave a small smile. “Who were you keeping
him there for?” No answer came and Gray let him go, now easing to
his feet. After taking out his firearm, Gray placed it inches from
Logan.

“
You
mark, and you remember. The last person to exploit and touch Jack,
he was buried by your hand a few months back. All the friends
you’ve gained lately, all the friends you
think
you’ve gained lately, they will not stop me doing
the same to you if you breathe by my sub again.” Gray shut the
laptop. “They’re not here now, are they?”

A look was
given over to Andrews, then a nod. Logan was pulled to his
feet.

“You know where
my firearm is, Mr Keal.” Gray took a walk over to the sink and
glanced outside. “It’s fitted with a silencer so nobody will hear
it.”

With a slip of
a Stanley knife, the tape on Logan’s hands were cut.

“You have my
word I will not use it if you decide to walk out of this house and
back to yours. That offer is there because there’s the knowledge
that you’re not like your father, and you wouldn’t use it on me.”
Gray glanced over. “Despite what I’ve told you here.”

Logan glanced
at the gun, then almost overstepped the line by trying to glance
back at Andrews. It earned him a cuff up the ear and a clear
warning where his attention was supposed to stay focused. Andrews
wasn’t to be seen.

“But you get
the closure on why your father was killed, who did it and why.”

“There’s no
proof that my father was behind... behind that shit.” He pointed at
the laptop. “What... please... what fucking proof is there that my
father would do... that?”

Gray folded his
arms and gave a hard sigh as he looked down. “You’re looking for
reasons not to believe, Logan, you’re not asking for evidence to
prove his guilt. Jack’s gay, though Martin, he also caused some
serious grief for your father via Martin. Listen to why you’ve
never told your father of your interest in men.”

Logan looked at
the gun, now rubbing at his wrists, giving a wince over the bandage
that wrapped his hand.

“You’ll need to
get that stitched at hospital.”

He went to
speak, then looked away, back at the table and where the blindfold
lay. Logan offered it blindly back to Andrews.

“Tell him I’m
sorry,” said Logan. “Martin...”

“Jack.”

Logan nodded.
“Jack.... I didn’t.... I just wanted to know who....” His face
screwed as he looked toward the kitchen door. “Know who.” He
glanced back at Gray. “The contact is always via text. The
messenger goes by the name of Kes.”

Gray stayed
where he was.

“Kes,” repeated
Logan. “He knew you. Mentioned your name specifically.” Logan made
to pull something from his jean pocket. Andrews stopped him,
instead fishing around in his pockets for him and pulling out
Logan’s phone.

“Check whatever
you need to.” Logan looked really sick as Andrews handed the phone
to Gray. “I was sent that via the post. I still have the packaging,
but I already checked for a post mark and return address and found
nothing.”

Gray glanced at
Andrews and Andrews nodded. He’d get that off Logan.

“No doubt
you’ll be able to get access to any phone records and...” Logan
rubbed at his head. “My dad... he...” That serious frown. “Fuck. I
didn’t want to know this.”

Gray gave a
short nod to Andrews, and Logan stayed still as he was blindfolded
again.

“You give me
your word nothing will happen to me once I walk out of that door
with this blindfold on?”

“You have my
word,” said Gray.

“And if... if
Kes tries to get in touch again? What do I say?”

Gray was
thumbing through some of the messages. He rested on the very last
one.

Good
evening, Mr Raoul. A pleasure to meet you. May I have the two codes
that Mrs Fortello wasn’t able to list down?

“He won’t
contact you. He’s contacted who he wanted.” Gray set his jaw
tensing.

Codes not on
the list?

And
you may call me Kes.

He had a name
now too. Gray caught the second message. But missing codes? This
“Kes” thought he had the intelligence close to hand to find the
rest of the list.

You
have 72 hours, Mr Raoul. At which point I will contact you again.
Take care of Jack and Jan in the meantime.

A photo came
through at the end of the message.

Hands bound
behind his back, Jan was caught curled up close to the toilet in
Jack’s makeshift en suite. Vince stood close by, his back to the
camera in the screen shot that was captured, but his piss stream
was caught bouncing off the toilet. A few stray specks showered
Jan’s face as Jan kept his head forced into the floor tile.

This wasn’t the
branding scene that Elena had sent through the post, this was
unseen footage. Vince’s daily routine where he’d stripped and
washed Jan after Henry had forced his cock down his throat.

Gray buried a
groan.

There was no
doubt about the connection now.

One
photo per day until I have those codes. Then the photos will be
sent to Jack and Jan. Have their cries stopped yet, Mr Raoul? Do I
need to hold them again?