Don't... 04 Backlash (55 page)

A gentle draw
of breath across his cheek forced more white-hot pain bone-deep
into his skull, and blue eyes came briefly into view. He was dying;
the deep-sea gaze that held his merely counted it down, drawing him
down into the drowning.

“Muh-muh-muh—”
Kes repeated, trying to get Mosquito device out, but his mind and
mouth couldn’t fit around the words, and all he could manage was,
“Muh-muh-muh—”

“Nos da.”

No sound came,
Kes read it on those lips.

“For them.”

In the
background, Kes caught sight of light grey eyes, also the smirk
hidden there.

“For him,”
breathed someone closer.

Kes nodded,
hating how this had been made personal. The device didn’t hurt in
his head anymore, but the anger didn’t fade: how he’d lived by
business but now faced death looking at a whore, one who was petted
by a man who had enough class to know when the bad in life should
be culled.

But in with
that class, the grip around Kes’s throat said that Raoul liked to
play sides; somewhere along the line, he’d lain down with only one
over the years.

And the look of
one animal bled through into another, always making this personal.
He hated how all of this had turned personal on his final draw of
breath....

Andrews reached
over from the passenger’s side and opened the back passenger door
for Gray. Making sure Martin kept his head down, Gray pushed him
into the back seat, rechecking the cuffs securing his wrists. When
Gray got behind the wheel, Andrews slipped the specialised Mosquito
device back into the little box at his feet, his look on the small
supermarket.

Gray knew the
original device was back in place, same covering, same three dents
where youths had thrown bricks at it to shut it up. Andrews had
installed the replacement during the night, but it had been by
Gray’s design.

“Doesn’t
surprise me that France uses these,” Gray heard him say as he
slipped his seatbelt on. “Suburban ghettos offer dense
populations.” Andrews looked out the window. “Especially this one.
Mosquito devices are the shop owners answer to everything
nowadays.”

The
anti-loitering device usually found a safe place behind a security
cage, but it looked as if the supermarket owners hadn’t been able
to afford the extras. The cast zinc casing was pretty durable,
enough to withstand the reaction of the smarter teen who knew what
these devices did. Anti-social behaviour in general cost the
taxpayer thousands in revenue, so the Mosquito device came into
play. Unless the listener hadn’t undergone age-related hearing
loss, those over the age of twenty-five couldn’t hear the frequency
and duration of the high-pitch sound wave. To a young adult it was
like tinnitus, sometimes leaving them with a headache, but enough
to cause discomfort in general and disband the clusters of youth.
The ethics behind it was always questionable: did it infringe on
human rights? Did it prejudice against a certain age demographic?
Could it cause damage in early childhood? But it was
counterbalanced by the right to run a business and keep customers
safe. Not many in the UK knew it was used on their streets too.

Gray didn’t
care too much for the politics. The Mosquito device just served its
purpose today. Amplification in any hearing aid can cause extra
loss of hearing, but tie it into a device that already has the
potential to cause internal harm, ask A-Branch technicians to go
wild with making sure it targeted a specific hearing aid, then
cause haemorrhage and burn a few brain cells in the process—

“Accidental
death,” said Andrews, pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket.
“Although it will be grudgingly given by Mossad, especially as
you’re officially in Wales for the holiday, sir. Shame you missed
out on this.”

Gray turned the
engine over on the beaten-up Renault, then took the envelope off
him. “Who gave you this?” said Gray, turning the unmarked envelope
over as Andrews lit up a smoke.

“He said you’d
know.”

Gray felt along
the ridges and frowned at the shape he fingered. He opened it up
and caught the coin that slipped out.

He thumbed
distractedly at the silver, lined with Welsh inscription.

Andrew’s raised
a brow. “Payment for the Ferryman? Who from?”

Gray
slipped it into his pocket. It was his father’s trademark as head
of MI6: crossing
his
agents’
palm with silver once the job was done. Or as Andrews rightly
stated: Payment for the Ferryman now he’d crossed life over to the
other side, and come back unharmed.

It was as
good as
job well
done, son.
A
message had now been sent that what Kes had done wouldn’t be
tolerated, but it couldn’t come from MI6. Mossad would know they
were behind it somehow, but for the damage done, plus how they’d
gotten what they needed with the death of the MI6 ops... Kes’s loss
of life would have already been judged as... unavoidable. Or so the
unofficial communication would state: Business.

The return kiss
of accidental death merely let others know the Kidon signature mark
was known.

Gray felt the
press of the coin against his thigh, not for what was done but
where it had come from.

“You’re
smiling, sir.”

“Hmm?” Gray
glanced at him.

“You’re in a
goodish mood. Scary.”

Gray snorted a
smile. “I’m just ready for home. More than ready for home now.”
Then he fished out a note from the envelope, along with something
else he’d already caught in there: a cigar.

Martin was
wrong; Gray had smoked many years ago. Lately he took his kick from
kissing Jack and stealing his habit. Giving a frown, he tugged out
the note.

A
son? You’re a father? Congratulations.

Movement came
from the back of the car and Gray heard a sniff before Martin
peered over his shoulder.

“Oooh.” He
yawned, the rattle of handcuff keeping him grounded now making
itself known. “A boy...?”

Gray got such a
wicked smile.

“Is he...
legal?”

Gray
shifted into gear, forcing a curse out of Martin as he was jostled
about. “Jan’s waiting at the hotel. You remember that, right? And
he said
You’re
welcome, Mart
.”

“Don’t start
that head-fuck shit. I’m healing here.” Martin lost his smile a
touch, instead opting for sniffing and looking out the window. “He
never fucking shuts up, sits there, and never fucking shuts up
about Jack and gives those... those sad eyes, I just wanna pull
them out of his face with a fork.”

Gray found a
smile. “Progress.” He glanced back at Martin. “And mention anything
to do with my son again, and I’ll show you just how tough real
bastards get.”

“Yeah...?”
Martin leaned forward. “Bring a few armed bastards like your friend
here. That’ll really get the fuck-fest started, right?”

Gray glanced in
the mirror to Martin. “You just get me from here on in. Keep that
heads-up real close.”

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The ending to
Backlash
kind of snuck
up on me. After the finish of Antidote, I really wanted to see
these three guys settle and be happy, and the alternative ending to
this saw them head towards just that. But the one element that
really played with me was Martin.

There are no easy cures for Jack’s disorders,
and that in turn has to go for Martin too. So to have them all
together and face Martin, potentially allow him the space to heal
and see that Jack’s in a good place, with the best kind of lovers,
it hopefully opens up a whole new form of healing for both Jack and
Martin.

But whether Martin plays ball with that or
not is another question!

It means the series itself has almost come
full circle. Gray’s in much the same position as he was when he
first handled Jack in Jack’s teenage years, facing all of Jack’s
complications through Martin, only Martin is so much darker than
Jack. The saving grace for Gray now is Jan.

Jan... he’s such a sweet and soft-hearted
soul, but there’s that hard bite of strength, too, as he’s gained a
stronger footing and started to piece his life back together. By
the end of
Backlash
, there’s that core unit there between
him and Gray that Gray’s own quiet reserve feeds and takes strength
from, and vice versa for Jan. There’s that sense that they know
Martin, and that they’re prepared for any angle he may pull in
their future.

It’s also been my time for the shared world
project, with the very talented Ms Lynn Kelling and her
Deliver
Us
series. A trip over to the states in Kelling’s
Forgive
Us
saw Jack, Gray, and Jan introduced to Ms Kelling’s world,
and
Backlash
now sees a return visit from Lynn’s characters
in the
Don’t...
world. I don’t think Trace, Gabe, and Dare
could have come at a more perfect time. Gray has a lot to deal
with, and I think it’s what keeps him going, but a lot of that
intent is misguided with just how much confidence he’s lost with
being around Jack. Trace, Dare, and Gabe become his buffer zone,
giving him a clarity and emotional stability he wouldn’t ask or
expect from anyone else. Kelling’s characters have a strength of
their own, Trace being a good focal point. Overall they’ve been
such an ABSOLUTE pleasure to handle, and I’m going to thank Ms
Kelling (so deeply) for agreeing to share her characters with me.
Thank you!

Trace, Dare, and Gabe come from Ms Kelling’s
Deliver Us
series, and couldn’t be a more highly recommended
read on my part.

As usual, I’ve also had such stunning help
from various sources, especially insights into certain specialist
fields: Dr. Kaufman, who specializes in
fictional
psychological character profiling over at Archetype writing; Dilo
Keith, erotica author and BDSM consultant, who still shows stunning
patience and stays with me to continue to provide absolutely
excellent conceptual and technical guidance into Jack and Gray’s
world; also the staff at Forbidden Fiction, especially my editor,
Rylan Hunter, who... well... he knows when things get tough....
Three really special mentions have to go out here: to Vicki Howard,
who, as always, is a tireless line editor, dark content consultant,
and general good friend who always pushes me forward when I feel
like stepping back; and to a new member to my consultant team, one
who’s knowledge on Government protocol, specialist equipment, and
computer terminology still leaves my jaw dropping—the scarily
knowledgeable: HP Strangelove (M/M author). You’ve been tireless,
HP! Also to Amanda, Abby, and Natalie—my Welsh-language gurus!
Thank you! I get the best of help!