Don't... 04 Backlash (26 page)

“Easy...” Gray
pulled him in close, at the same time slipping the vial from Jack’s
hand back into the pocket left exposed and ruffled through.

Jack held on
tight enough to hurt, his breath hot on Gray’s neck. “He hasn’t
wanted to undress, and when he did, he hid the crease of his arms.
Fuck, Gray. When we touched him, he hid his arms underneath the
pillows, and when he got undressed in the hall, he folded his arms.
Did he shoot before he came home? He looked so full of life.
Fucking buzzing.”

As Gray let
Jan’s jacket find a natural setting in the closet, the details were
already running fast through Gray’s mind, the loss of memory over
the painting details, needing to take the jacket when they went to
go and find Martin, the fear on Jan’s face sitting in the Merc, not
wanting to go in and face Jack with the possibility of Martin being
there. Then Jan had done just that after Gray had left him alone
and—

“No judgement,
Jack,” he said as he tugged Jack out of the closet and closed the
door. Jack stifled a groan, pulling Gray in closer.

“He was raped
repeatedly next to me, Gray. I won’t fucking judge him for hurting.
I just... just... I didn’t know. I didn’t fucking see it. Jan...
he’s been... Jan, maybe a little dulled in colour, but... Jan. And
I didn’t see the marks.” It wasn’t anger at Jan, just anger at
himself. “I should have looked at him properly from the start.”

Gray closed his
eyes. It brought in questions over Jan being a user prior to the
rape, but he couldn’t see it. In his gut instinct, he couldn’t see
it. And that hit worse. Gray knew where Jack’s head was going with
this. Did Jan start using after the rape, or after hearing when
Jack was to be released from the psychiatric unit? Making which
worse for Jan: the rape, Jack—or Martin?

“He loves you,
stunner.”

“Under his own
steam or through this shit?” Jack suddenly snarled and pushed away,
but Gray pulled him back, knowing he couldn’t risk letting Jack get
near Jan on the back of Martin. “You find out who’s been feeding
it,” snarled Jack. “Who’s been fucking taking his money when he
should have been left to heal alone, to lie with us—”

Gray rubbed a
hand at Jack’s shoulder to stop the hurt. “Easy.”

“What the fuck
do I do, Gray?” Jack held out his hand, more questioning where the
vial had gone. “How the fuck do I help him when I’m what’s making
him cry out now?”

“You do nothing
but give Jan the space to come and talk,” said Gray. “Let him come
to you.”

“No,” hissed
Jack. “Like fuck is this the time to play mind games.”

“Like fuck is
this the time for you to confront him over this after last night,
Jack.” That jolted him slightly.

“I
wouldn’t—”

“I know,” Gray
soothed, but he held Jack’s hand up to show the shaking going on.
“Let him come to you, Jack. No games.” It wouldn’t take long to
find out who Jan’s dealer was. He’d only been here, work, and at
his mother’s. Only Jan hadn’t seen his mother for two weeks now,
and this vial wouldn’t last a user that long. His source had to be
coming from work. But as Gray went to shift, the door opened next
to Jack, and Jan came in, rubbing the autumn wind out of his hair.
Craig followed him in a moment later, and Jan lost the ease in his
smile as he saw Gray and Jack, more so with how close they stood to
the closet door.

“Hey.” Jan
paused for a minute, then came over. “Everything okay?” His look
switched between them, to the door.

“Jack needs a
run and is after his MP3 player.” Gray reached for the closet door.
“Just needs your keys to get it.”

“Here.” Jan
slipped in, throwing a small smile back to Gray. “I’ll get it for
you.” He came out a moment later with his car keys and a jacket for
Gray. “I didn’t think you were going in today?”

There was a
shimmer of worry there, a shift to go back over by Craig.

“Just for a few
hours, nothing more.”

Jan nodded a
little, then kissed lightly at Jack’s cheek. Jack almost chased it,
turning to brush lip against lip, but Jan moved away, leaving Jack
frowning at his ghost. “Good to see you awake, Jack.”

Jack went to
speak, but Jan looked over at Gray, at the jacket Gray slipped on.
“When... when will you be back?”

Gray could have
been looking at the Jan he’d met over a year ago. That shy, worried
smile, hands going in jean pockets and ready to let his heart slip
off his sleeve, all so he could offer it over with a small “please,
don’t break me” sign in the middle.

Somewhere along the line, you fell in love with him, didn’t
you?

Gray looked
down at his feet.

Talk
to him, you bastard. He’s still there crawling around in the
darkness.

He looked up,
and Craig shifted back, nearly knocking the display case over that
sat close to the door, and breaking a little of the tension as Jan
bit back a small smile. Gray raised a brow seeing Craig give a yelp
and try to steady the case as he looked over.

“Sorry...
sorry,” said Craig, his Hulk-bulk trying to steady a case that
homed a very rare Japanese katana. “Sorry.”

Gray
offered a
doesn’t
matter
smile over,
but it didn’t seem to help things much as Craig knocked the display
case again. It had been the one that Jack had pushed over in the
reception hall just before Gray had gone to interview Jack’s
mother, and the case was whimpering under the
why me
tag it seemed to have
acquired.

“Sorry.” Craig.
Again.

“
Don’t
sweat it,” said Gray, although a bead of sweat had already escaped
free from Craig’s forehead and ran off with a firm cry of
You’re on your own here,
mate.
Jan was next
to Craig then, offering another small laugh as he helped him back
away from the case.

“You’re both in
good hands,” said Gray, casting a look at Jack. “I’ll try and keep
it as short as possible.”

Jan gave a
stiff nod, a brief look at Jack, then—“Dinner,” he said to Craig.
“You okay to stick around?”

Craig winked
over at Jack. “Tough lad owes me a few missing papers. So, hell
yes. I heard he was a good cook.”

Giving a smile
that didn’t quite touch his eyes, Jan led Craig in the direction of
the kitchen.

“Jan.”

He glanced back
at Jack.

“We okay?” Jack
said eventually. “You and me?”

There was a lot
of hurt in Jan’s look, then a brief shift towards the closet
door—“Always, Jack. Just... just keep talking to me and letting me
know what’s going through that head of yours, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack
said quietly. “Talking’s good.”

Gray watched
Craig and Jan head off into the kitchen, then reached in the closet
again and took the vial from Jan’s pocket. “Stay within sight of
the closet whilst I’m away, Jack. I doubt Jan will go near it if he
sees you close by.” He kept his eyes on Jack. “I’ll call Halliday
as soon as possible to discuss a heroin detoxification program,” he
said. “He can bring in all the professional help needed. But we
watch, we wait; we’ll be there in the fallout, but we help get
Jan’s head as clear as possible by exchanging this for some
methadone. He’s just given the time he needs to come and talk on
his own.”

“Don’t play
games with him, Gray.” There seemed such an angry tone to that.
“The fallout from heroin could kill him. And he’ll know that
something is wrong anyway. I’ve come off enough drugs and meds over
the past six months to know the shit he’ll go through in the next
twenty-four hours. Why this way now? I mean, the whole reason
you’re going early now is to find Jan’s dealer, right?”

“Because he’s
Jan, because he’s scared, because he’s been pushed into the shadows
and wants to stay there and hide all his anger, his hurt—his
frustration. Force him out of there, it’ll hurt, Jack.”

“
And
this
won’t?”

“I fuck up
going in heavy-handed with him; we give him the room to fall,” he
said more heatedly than he intended. He forced a calmness he didn’t
feel. “Trace will be here tomorrow; he’ll make sure you don’t walk,
and that Jan doesn’t look for drugs away from here. You both stay
here. I need you safe here.”

That fight was
still there in Jack’s eyes, but it carried a little of Martin too.
Gray eased back. “You saw how Jan was around you with Rob’s death.
Make allowances, but you back away if he looks like he’ll break.
Don’t fuel it.”

“I controlled
his fall after Rob’s death.” That was said through gritted teeth.
“Jan’s not a threat—”

“He was there
when you were found with Vince, Jack. He smashed a baseball bat
into Vince’s skull.”

All the anger
drained from Jack. He hadn’t been told about this, and Gray very
much doubted he’d remember Jan being there when they’d gone after
Vince.

It cut
deep; Jack’s silence showed just how much “soft lad” was drowning
now, and Gray hooked an arm around Jack’s neck, pulling him close.
“You can’t stop someone loving you, Jack, but you can help when
they’re hurting because of it. You wanted to face him? You do so
now when
he’s
ready,
not you. Please. He’s being stripped to the core and is too afraid
to speak.”

Jack nodded,
anger filtering out of his gaze. “We’ll get him through this.”

“And you
promise to back away?” He needed Jack to repeat this; it was one
issue that Jack couldn’t risk forgetting.

“I promise to
back away.” Jack frowned. “But I hope to God he doesn’t ask me to,
not now.”

The Rolls-Royce
tentatively crunched gravel as it pulled to a stop outside of the
manor. Tightening the knot on his bandana, Trace flicked a look at
Gabe Hunter when he missed what Gabe had said. “What?”

“All this.”
Gabe thumbed his point, how out of the Rolls’ window, the manor sat
lit and alive against the darkening backdrop. “I said it’s a bit
much.”

They’d made a
slow trek alongside the Thames with Trace noting how enough
tourists were dressed like Gabe: jeans, white T-shirt, sneakers.
But where Gabe’s casual look belonged in the more natural setting
of his photography business and dark room, the London “look” of the
casual lot here still cried business suits and bankers.

It was a
generalisation, Trace knew that, and despite the business class of
the streets, none could go home without a level of dust and dirt on
their hands. Some from the surroundings, some from whatever banking
system bled dry the middle and lower classes. That never changed
from scene to scene, nor the ease in how hands could be cleaned at
the end of the day.

Trace
understood Jack’s OCD. London left you with that need to clean.

Sat next to
Gabe in the Rolls, Dare Grealey shifted forward, managing to knock
knees against Gabe no matter how small the movement from the larger
man. “I’m still getting over the warship they keep in the
Thames.”

Trace had seen
the sights years back, when he’d been training as a sub under
Nicholai, the Master Dom who had also been overseeing Gray’s
training as a Master Dom. He hadn’t liked the sights much then; he
hadn’t liked them when he was here a month ago looking to talk to
Jack and Jan. He’d hired a motorbike a month back, with Nicholai
providing an MC safe house on the outskirts of London. Gray hadn’t
returned any calls or emails. His mood was clear enough and Trace
knew when to leave it alone with him. Jack’s silence was different,
in part enforced by the MC psychiatric unit, in part by Jack
himself. It showed that Jack and Gray were cut from the same cloth
on that score. But Jan?

Trace eased
into a smile.

Jan was the
unknown, or so Gray had admitted many moons ago.

“Who puts a
goddamn warship in the middle of the Thames?” muttered Dare.

Giving a
smile, Gabe reached for the door. “The same people who put a ferris
wheel in the middle of London, call it the London Eye, then forget
the whole
Lord of
The Rings,
Middle
Earth, and the Eye of Sauron thing.”

Dare laughed as
Gabe got out. Trace’s biker boots made more noise on the gravel as
he followed and went around to help with the cases. Gray had asked
him to pack enough for the week, with a budget provided for
expenses for that and beyond if needed. The offer of money was an
insult; none of them were here for the money, but this was Gray’s
world, where everything was taken care of and fully funded to ease
the damage. It’s why he liked Jack in his own small way, and Jan.
They weren’t part of Gray’s world; Jack happy to live under a car,
Jan happy to sit counting digital money he’d never earn in his
lifetime. It was probably why they’d gotten on so well with Gabe
and Dare. No airs, no graces, just moving past formality and living
and partying, working-class style.

“
I’ve got
these,” Trace said to the chauffeur who was about to haul the three
cases out of the trunk of the Rolls.
Boot, it’s the goddamn boot of the car
here.

“It’s okay,
sir,” said the chauffeur, his suit jacket scraping the trunk as he
reached in.

Trace stopped
his efforts. “No.” He couldn’t have said that more flatly. “It’s
okay.”

“Oh.” The man
pulled back, stepped away. “Okay.”

Trace smiled
thinly as Gabe and Dare grabbed at their cases and hauled them onto
the gravel.

Off to
Trace’s left, Gray had kept that
Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe
lamppost outside of the
entranceway to the manor, throwing Trace back to the first day he’d
been invited back here. Made him wonder what world he’d step into
if he took those first steps. Although by then he already knew.
Gray had fucked hard a few times away from the MC, some penthouse
apartment he kept closer to Thames House. It had been strange how
“rough fucking” had changed into something else once he’d stepped
through and into here.