Don't... 04 Backlash (40 page)

Now Trace
looked worried.

“Get a call
through to Steve, Jack’s manager,” added Gray as calmly as
possible. “Tell him to take Carol and the kids away for a few days;
make sure he gets the funds to cover expenses. I’ll arrange cover
from the MC for Jack’s business and the Strachan side that Steve
oversees. Tell him he’s not to come back into London for another
forty-eight hours. You make that as clear as possible and make damn
sure no one follows you here when you pick Greg up. He’s to see me
before he gets to talk to Jack or Jan. Clear?”

“Understood.”

“Disable your
stop-start function on your Mercedes, just in case.” He doubted at
all whether it was that, but it took it out of play as an option.
“In fact, take Jan’s classic Jag. For now I want you driving
nothing that has an onboard computer, with IBS as standard.”

“I have an old
110 Land Rover, should be a good talking point for Greg.”

Gray managed a
small smile. Ray was ex-MI5, where small details would be picked up
and noted for later use. “Thank you.” He cut the call and looked up
at Trace.

“So this fuck’s
been doing this to get to Martin?” Something washed through Trace’s
gaze. The same cognitive process Gray had been over a dozen times
since talking to Kate. “For how long, Gray?”

Gray snorted
coldly. The rape, the psychological reconditioning... long before
that. Rob had been killed only when Jack and Jan had got together,
sparking Jack’s spiral out of control. Elena had gone in thinking
she was calming Jack down, curing him of disorders, but Kes, he
knew there was no antidote. In fact, like Cutter, he’d done nothing
but call it out, pushing and tearing at Jack for one thing.

Martin. For
what he’d seen twelve years ago? Or what he’d taken?

And Martin...
he’d attracted one hell of a dangerous player.

“He changed
tactics, though,” said Trace. “Kes. He’s mostly been pushing for
accidental cause with Martin. What’s got him out in the
limelight?”

“639,” said
Gray, and he didn’t realise he’d taken the whiskey until he took a
sip. “He knows 639 took a list of codenames. And from the knowledge
Kes has, they’ve met him.”

“So he’s
suddenly got his foot on the gas in case they talk before he has
chance to get to Martin and the rest of the codes?” Trace ran his
hand over the mobile. “Who’s 639, Gray? Who’s your source?”

“You wouldn’t
like the answer.” And he left it at that.

“But not giving
Kes what he wants, you keep those remaining MI6 ops safe. What
about Jack, though. You can’t protect everyone that Jack knows. Not
forever, not—”

“
I’m
not fucking waking Martin.”

Trace jolted,
and Gray calmed in the same instant. It’s what all this was about:
break Jack, get to Martin, but get the dog handler to control him
long enough to get the lost codes.

“Okay,” said
Trace. “So we close ranks, we—”

Ringing from
the phone got Gray’s attention and he reached over and picked it
up. “Raoul.”

“I put a call
through to Jack’s manager Steve,” said Ray on the other end. “He
said he will send his wife and family away for a few days, but he
can’t go anywhere.”

“I’m not
fucking about over business now. Tell him—”

“It’s not about
business. He said he’s just had a message off Sam.”

Gray
paused.

“It was meant
to be passed along to you. Sending it through now, Mr Raoul.” A
beep came through Gray’s mobile, and Gray shifted and pulled his
own out of his pocket. It wasn’t a text.

A dirty rag was
jammed into his mouth, keeping Sam quiet. Blond hair had kissed the
floor at one point, picking up dust and debris. The same side was
also tinged red, as though he’d been hit in the face and blood had
ran as he’d hit the floor. The dried blood crusting the insides of
the nostril gave a blow point, but there was also a cut on the
cheek, a half moon shape that spoke of a broken bottle. The dust
gathered on his face was tear-streaked, the tracks caught mid-flow
to map the chaos in his eyes. He held a newspaper in his hand,
showing day, date, and breaking news. But it was the words written
on the wall that caught his attention.

You
have the night with them, Mr Raoul. Then I come for them again,
after I’ve finished with the boy. They’ll lie with his body, with
the knowledge you weren’t there for them a second time. Or you can
wake Martin for me. Your choice, Mr Raoul. We’ll speak again in the
morning.

“Who’s that in
the picture?” Trace took the phone from him. “Christ.” Gray didn’t
answer until Trace said his name again.

“A kid from
Jack’s garage; Sam.”

“He close to
Jack?”

“He’s close to
Steve, who’s been close to Jack since Jack needed a leg-up into the
nearest warehouse job. And Jack would swear he hates Sam, but Sam’s
too much of a chaos train for Jack to offer too much protest.”

Trace raised a
brow. “So taking him—”

“I can’t touch
Jack.”

“Gray....
You’re going to have to knock on his door and—”

“
I
won’t fucking touch Jack and bury Jack and Jan in the process. I
don’t give a fuck about who gets caught in the backlash. We
clear?”

Trace turned
his head away from the shout, and Gray slammed his chair back and
the door took some of his frustration as he thumped his way out and
let it slam shut behind him.

Gray made it to
the pool room en suite, then lost everything he could stomach. It
hurt, the constant tear of his insides took its toll and blood from
his stomach lining laced the toilet bowl.

He hadn’t got
them both back to lose them again. If he took Jack down, he’d lose
Jan too.

“
You’re a
bastard, Gray.” Someone stroked at his back. “But you’re not cold
enough to let Sam pay the price for this. And I know your instinct
is there to get those MI6 ops to safety too.” Gray rested his head
against the cool tile of the bathroom, wiping blood away from his
mouth, and Trace came in close. “You broke Jack before,” he said
quietly. “You did it and you got him back.” There was a lot of
kindness there in the hold around his waist. “You got that mouthy
shit to calm and testify against Cutter, and after you woke Martin,
you made him appear a few times during the court case in order to
show the judges just how much damage had been done, and you still
got Jack back after all of that.” Quiet. “What about when you first
met Martin? You made him face what he’d done to Jack’s dad over the
years and you
still
got
him back.”

“I had to
fucking burn Martin out of him, Trace.” Gray groaned and nearly
lost his stomach’s contents again at the smell of burning skin.
“Love them both so much....”

“Yeah, I know.”
A rub came at Gray’s back. “I see that. So you do what you need to
before that kid in the photo gets to go through what Jack and Jan
have. You worry about Jack, you worry about Jan, and you keep focus
on how Jack’s hiding behind anything that Martin can throw up.”

Gray pulled
away, giving a wipe at his nose... fingertips then to his eyes.

“Sam won’t be
touched until tomorrow.”

“Can you be
sure of that?” said Trace.

Gray eased
around and Trace shifted back, handing him a towel. “Yeah, because
it’s what I’d do. Killing Sam now leaves too much scope for
thoughts on running. So he’ll be kept alive to keep us grounded
here. I’ll put in place a missing person’s with MI5 and Brennan’s
department. They will do what they can to try and trace Sam’s last
footsteps. They might hit something.”

“But you doubt
it.” Trace checked Gray’s face, wiping beneath his eye. “How the
photo was set up, it looks like standard ransom terrorist
activity.”

Gray shook his
head. “He’s just making a point that there will be an execution
come the end of tomorrow. The writing was in English on the
wall.”

“So what do you
want to do?”

Gray looked out
towards the swimming pool, how tired he was of drowning. “One
night,” he said quietly. “If I lose Jack... if I lose Jan through
what I do to Jack... then I lose having held them my way.”

Trace stopped
him before Gray pulled away. “You need to see a doctor. That’s
blood there.”

Gray rested his
head against Trace’s. “I need time with them, Trace, nothing more.
If I lose them after tonight, then this time I lose with them
knowing exactly how I goddamn feel about them.”

Jack and Jan
looked confused with the polite request off Gray to get dressed,
but after Gray took something out of the safe in his study, Gabe
was the one who took the longest to get dressed. He came jogging
down the stairs, tucking himself in as Trace raised a brow. “Did
you find Gray’s photography studio and you needed... time alone
with the equipment?”

Gabe chuckled.
“I haven’t gotten laid properly in days. The size of this place,
you’d think we’d manage to find somewhere, equipment or no.”

Dare grinned
over, earning a ghost of a smile off Jan as he stood talking to
Jack in the reception hall. Jack seemed a little more detached, but
whatever Jan whispered in his ear kept bringing him back. Jan
occasionally conducted his soft conspiracy with a rub to Jack’s
arm, and lure him an inch closer into Jan because of it. The last
time they’d been seen together, news over Martin being in the same
office space as Jan had nearly torn them up, but now it looked like
the worry over Kate and Martin wasn’t being allowed to come between
them, despite how Jan still looked ill enough to let the slightest
cough take him off his feet.

Gabe had a
couple of things in his hand: one a black Beanie hat, which he
slipped on and complemented his black V-neck T-shirt perfectly. The
tight fit of the latter, baggy jeans, and good-sized belt
accentuated his slim hips. As Jack held the door open for everyone,
Gabe shrugged on a jacket, then looked a little frustrated when the
package he held wouldn’t fit in his pocket. Jack tossed him his
Merc keys, too, which didn’t seem to help either. “You’re driving.
Can you handle batting for the other side... of the road?”

Gabe waggled
his eyebrows, the corner of the package now held between his teeth.
“You know where we’re going yet?” he managed to mumble.

“Just ‘out.’”
Jack glanced back as Gray and Jan headed for the Rolls-Royce. “It’s
what I was told, anyway.” Jack found car keys thrown in his
direction off Gray.

“You’re up
front too, stunner. No playing dodge’ems with Gabe on the way in.”
Gray winked over. He’d changed into a suit, having asked Jack to
wear something loose, Jan a suit. The “asked” part had been
interesting to Trace, especially the soft colour to Gray’s cheek
when he’d spoken to them in the bedroom. But that same quiet blush
and something else seemed to catch Jack’s eye as he looked Gray up
and down. Giving a frown, he headed over and reached up to Gray’s
collar.

Trace saw Jack
tug a necklace free. For a moment Jack just watched it play in his
fingers, twisting the black rope, then running his fingers over a
silver cross with a smaller black cross nestled neatly on top.

“Bad memories?”
asked Gray.

Jack shook his
head and his faint smile was soft. “I remember the alley, the
bastard that made me lose it, the man it let me see....” Jack cast
a look at Gray. “We started there. So looks good. Looks damn good
there, Gray.” He let the black rope necklace rest back against
Gray’s throat, then eased in and kissed at his neck, one below the
necklace, one above, both the look of a sub seeing his Dom wear a
public display of being in an exclusive relationship with his
sub.

Trace didn’t
understand the relevance, but it must have meant something to all
three of them as Jan was lost to his long look over at Jack and
Gray, gaze looking calmer, sharing something that spoke of better
memories, or maybe rebuilding damage.

Jack kissed
Gray’s lips, making it hard and rough enough to leave Gabe raising
a brow at Trace, then Jack pulled away, looking reluctant, but
adding back to Gray as he came over to them—

“You’re driving
on the way back, mukka.” He slipped on a jacket, then stopped as he
saw Gabe dance around a little, trying to find a pocket to put the
package in.

“Could you keep
this for me, Jack?” Gabe hardly gave Jack much choice as the
package slapped into his chest.

“You want me to
hold your skirt up for you, too, Daisy, just whilst you make it
over to the car? It’s raining a little this evening.”

“You need to
see if I’m wearing tights too, Jack? Kinky.”

“Hey, I wear
them because—”

“Oh no,” said
Trace, trying to pull Gabe towards the Merc, “you can’t use that
excuse anymore. You’re father said he knew nothing about any
tights.”