Present Day
The alarm clock blinked a timid 5:30 a.m. as Gray made sure it stayed quiet, easing his touch over the reset button as he fought down the usual sickness hitting his stomach. He cast a look at Jack and Jan, cuddled up asleep in bed together.
The position was odd. Usually, Jack would have slept between him and Jan, his pious throwback to science lessons and that test to see if ink would mix well with water, if only he was allowed to move and stir both up, therefore losing even the slightest schoolboy innocence he swore he had. Now Jan took his place in the middle, Jack there, coming in close from behind. Both eased into sleep with the same look of... listening for something, facing the bedroom door. Sometimes Jack was relaxed enough to look away for a few moments, but his attention always drifted back to the crack of light falling across the soft carpet, watching to see if it would widen in the darkness.
Security was there; Gray was there, but that look in their eyes just before they eased into sleep, that one instance where pretence eased away and relaxed into fully dilated and exhausted honesty, it showed how Gray hadn’t always been there, not when it mattered. The look wasn’t intentional, both just faced ghosts that carried on haunting no matter the location, and it showed most when they dropped their guard and held on to each other as if nothing existed beyond the bed.
Easing away, Gray lost his battle to keep hold on the bile twisting his insides, and quiet footfalls took him over to the en suite before he threw up.
Three quick and fast vibrations came off Gray’s mobile back in the bedroom, and when the caller didn’t get the hint to quit it after the fourth attempt to get his attention, he went and took it, discreetly hit reject, then let the phone rest back in his pocket. Trace got in touch via instant message, Thames House through a beeper, so this meant someone else, and that someone else needed to learn pretty quickly to disappear.
He needed privacy, and someone’s bollocks would be put in a horse twitch for interfering with home life again.
A glance back saw he hadn’t disturbed Jack and Jan, and wiping a hand over his mouth, he shifted over to the double wash basin. The one next to his took his attention as he reached for the toothbrush, and he frowned. With Jan staying here, too, a third basin would no doubt find its way in here after some interior designing. Jan had the option of another room, as Jack did, but neither of them took to it.
The phone made its presence known again in Gray’s pocket, and this time he eased back a touch when four discreet vibrations came through, then went dead.
That changed things slightly. When the same pattern was repeated, Gray picked up. “Sut mae?”
Quiet, then—“Shw mae.” There was little difference between the phonetics of the two; Gray’s how are you? marked a greeting from North Wales, the male caller’s hello came from the South. Both sounded like the same interrogative, but few would recognise the difference away from Welsh shores. Not even Trace.
Gray kept an eye on Jack and Jan in the bedroom.
“You’re getting a visit at 9:00 a.m. this morning.”
The caller got all of his attention. “Someone I need to worry about?”
“Perhaps. There’s a call to lift the Exclusion Order over information surrounding MI5’s involvement with Ryan Keal’s death.”
Surprising. Usually the exclusion orders were enough to waylay public interest. This was the next step up and suggested the Security Service Tribunal panel was getting serious. “My office or the district-general’s?”
“District-general’s.”
Now he winced. That was a little more than serious. “Who from the SSTP?”
“Thomas Reignfold.”
Gray didn’t recognise the name.
“He’s a friend,” said the caller.
“Enough of a friend to get him into the director-general’s office in an attempt to lift the ban?”
“No. I said he was a friend; you’re business. I won’t entertain the two together.”
He liked this man, and that was a rarity. They’d met only once and this caller’s attention was demanded with four rings off a mobile, something that even sent him quiet and still. But Gray always knew where he stood with him, and likewise.
“Watch your back.” The Welsh accent was very soft now but evident. “This meeting with Reignfold stains the air with connections.”
The irony there was laughable. As high as both UK and European Parliament, the caller himself set the precedent for “connections,” although his name was only mentioned behind closed doors when tied to the cullers. Both Field Marshal and Chief of the Defence Staff, the man and his military coalition with MI5/6 was rivalled by only one other intelligence/military-led agency: Israeli’s Mossad. Those who briefly came into contact with this caller’s team knew them as cullers, but the official name within the military and the Secret Service was Sicarius. Gray worked for MI5, but when it came to handling domestic and foreign business beyond MI5/6 control, his orders came from the British military, a call to business that the district-general for MI5 had no jurisdiction over. By the time Sicarius were called in, there was only ever one order: catch and cull. So Gray didn’t laugh at the irony over hearing how Reignfold’s investigation stank of connections: he was speaking to one. “Understood.”
“No game-playing here. I’ll have a Public Interest Immunity Certificate mailed to your office by the time you get there. SSTP need to back down now.”
A PIIC... and in a few hours? “Any idea who’s behind Reignfold? Who’s calling for Ryan Keal’s file to be opened when it was made clear enough it was to be remained shelved?”
“Logan Keal.”
“And Keal’s son pushed for an investigation into my actions specifically?”
“Yes. I don’t like how your name has been mentioned now. Use the PIIC and get the panel and his lawyers out of the picture. Somebody is pushing for this. Are personal issues dealt with?”
Gray glanced back into the bedroom. “No.”
“Understood,” said the man. “Same procedure applies as with Keal: a call within an hour of the finished contract if it needs to be called. But get this with the SST panel wrapped up and find out who’s pushing Logan Keal’s buttons, and why. He’s getting your name from somewhere. Nos da.”
“Nos da,” said Gray, flatly, and he couldn’t have made that goodbye sound any more neutral.
The phone went on the unit and Gray buried a second wave of sickness that nearly burned its way up to his throat. Mouthwash only managed to twist his stomach a little more, and Gray’s grip on the basin tightened.
Movement from the bed broke his grip, and hooking his thumbs in his waistband, he slipped the silk of his pyjamas over his hips, then down his thighs. Clothing found a home in the laundry chute before the shower was switched on. As steam breathed over the cool of black granite tile, Gray stepped under the fine spray of water.
Cleaning became mechanical, just a process, or a means to drown out everything beyond the fall of water and the turn of stomach. Dipping his head, feeling water pelt harder into his neck and shoulders, he reached up, gripping the showerhead and focusing on the white noise going on around him.
Jack and Jan found whatever peace they could before nightmares kicked in. Over the past month, Gray had chased after the rare sparks of laughter off both of them, but the twisted part of his soul, the darker part that knew how someone wasn’t broken fully if they had the energy to cry out, he’d willed their cries on when they closed their eyes, needing to see them fight beneath the sheets.
Because what came between those polar opposites, between the laughter and cries...
Bile had him screwing his eyes shut. The silence took away the ghosts in hiding and left him needing to crawl back in bed with them to make sure they were still there.
He’d been brought up to face both sides of the social fence, playing in muddy streets and skinny-dipping in Welsh valley pools with other teens his age one day, then fencing behind private schooled gates the next. A deliberate lesson from his father: play both sides, son, and don’t be afraid to play them both just as dirty. He’d learned to play dirty, and fuck up so many people in the process, enjoying the process. Part of that was what drew him to Jack. Jack could be the knife-edge digging into any Dom’s groin, wanting to tease the blade one moment, then fuck the Dom over with the knife when Jack’s world crashed and Martin crept in on the next breath. And as for Jan...
Somewhere along the line, you fell in love with him, didn’t you...?
The quiet Vince had caused... it called out a deeper fear of walking out of the en suite now and finding the bed empty, that hold and calmness taken away.
The slide open of the shower glass partition distracted him slightly, but he kept his head down, eyes closed. A draught fell over his shoulders as the door closed, and he waited, just listening. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of water soaking flesh, then a body came in close, shaping his from behind. A gentle brush of nose came to Gray’s shoulder, just a slight nudge, asking quietly for a response, and Gray felt his entire world slip with it, back to harder times, darker moments....
Six Months Earlier
“Hurt you real bad, didn’t he, Richards?”
In the darkness of his bedroom, Gray just about caught Jack’s words, but his head was too full of exhaustion to place whether it was fading dream or waking need. Then—
“Head fuck,” whispered Jack so hard and fast in the darkness. Lying next to Gray in bed, Jan began to shiver. He faced the darkness, but someone was there, crouched next to him and sharing the shadows. “So fucking bad, Jan,” mumbled Jack. “Love you both so much. But it hurts. Everything fucking hurts. You know. You’re hiding from it too. Stupid... say stupid fucking things. Wasn’t you back there, wasn’t us, never fucking us except when I kissed you on the floor, when it hurt more being pulled away from you. Just... my head. It’s everywhere and I can’t ground it long enough to stay with you. I want to so fucking badly, baby. Just... just please hang on in there, stay with me. Please—”
“Jack?” Gray jolted, easing up, but instantly regretted it seeing Jack suddenly jerk back, away from the bed, nearly falling onto his ass. It was there in his eyes, the threat of a black gas mask easing up from behind Jan... the rape... the feel of burning skin... of having Jan lie next to him in their own bed before being raped side by side.
Gray was up, shifting over Jan, then reaching to try and help pull Jack up as Gray hit the floor.
“Fucking don’t.” Jack carried on scuttling back, that cry in silver eyes calling out two weeks of hell, of somehow still being held captive there, never to be fully released.
Jack pushed up to his feet, back pressed firmly against the wall, trying to look for a way out. Gray shifted up against him, body pressed in close, needing to stop the fall.
“Easy, stunner.” Fuck. He could feel how badly Jack shook, and it matched his own. “Easy.” Gray played his hands around Jack’s face, just gentle swipes with thumbs against jaw, anything to keep focus away from the shadows of the room that seemed to shift and reshape the cries bleeding into Jack’s gaze.
“Easy,” whispered Gray again, and Jack calmed, his breathing less panicked.
“Nobody touches you again,” said Gray, trying to get in closer and keep the rest of life away from who he now held. Jack didn’t shift his gaze, and that natural instant was there with Gray, where private communication went beneath words, beneath spoken hurt, where he could ask to be allowed permission to calm... to ease... to touch. He ran his nose along Jack’s jaw, a quiet demand to be allowed to comfort, and Jack let out such an unsteady breath before shifting slightly and allowing Gray access to his throat. Jack was shaking like hell, so Gray kept to brief brushes of lip against throat. No marking, claiming, just tender nuzzling to let Jack know he was here, and Jack’s uneasy sigh gave way to a soft murmur, his shivering easing into calmer, deeper breaths.
“Miss you, kid.” Being so close, yet still so far fucking away, it killed. “Miss you so fucking much.”
Aware of the pressure between their bodies, how it could hurt Jack’s branding mark, Gray shifted slightly. But the moment Gray let his hands slip down to Jack’s ass, give a gentle pull to get Jack to move away from the wall so he could ease Jack’s silk pyjama bottoms down to check it and—
“Cunt.”
Gray grunted as Jack pushed him off, then in one movement pinned Gray up against the wall, an elbow digging into Gray’s throat. Gray controlled his reaction as anger sliced through hurt and fear in Jack’s eyes. That need to tear heads off before sex became a conscious thought came through in his cry, and Jack even dug his elbow in a little farther, making it impossible to swallow. But something changed. Jack faltered, dropped his roughness, and confusion laced his eyes with how his hard-on dug into Gray’s thigh.
Jack cried out, shaking off Gray’s touch, then slamming Gray’s hands up against the wall, he moved in close.
A bite came at Gray’s throat, enough to draw blood and force him to wince against the onslaught. Full of heat and every need going, any other moment, any other time where Jack would draw in close and trace his cock over Gray’s thigh, wanting intimacy, it would calm everything in Gray. But now...
Gray looked away, focused on the colours of the hall, how shadows seemed heavier and holding on that little more, pulling Jack away from him that little more...
Jack rubbed his tip against Gray’s exposed skin, the need for release panted out. Then grunts and frustrated growls took over. He was so hard, but he stroked himself against Gray with one hand and wiped away tears with the other, trying to find some comfort in old habits, in Gray, but getting nowhere fast.
“Oh Christ, Christ,” groaned Jan, hands going on his head.
Gray buried his, although the grief came easy enough as—
“Us....” Jack cried out, taking Gray’s breath as he forced his body in close in an attempt to find release. But his cock had softened, half-semi in his hand, against Gray’s thigh. “Not Vince, not Cutter, just you. Just fucking you... me.”
Gray ducked slightly as Jack punched the wall.
“Fucking put me back together again, Gray. Please. Trust.... respect—fucking control.”
Gray suddenly shifted, slamming Jack up against the wall. “Put you back together?” he snarled into his ear. “Like this?” He pinned Jack’s arms above his head, body now crushing in close. “Through BDSM?” He made sure Jack couldn’t move and nearly cried out with how he was forced to hold and calm him now. “Let’s see how ready you really are for it, then, Jack. Let’s see how much your head really fucking needs a Dom’s control in any way.” After reaching over to the unit, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Take a good look around you, Jack,” he snarled into his ear, and he flicked one of the handcuffs around Jack’s wrist. Gray knew exactly what was going to happen, who this would wake, but—“You fucking remember what it looks like. Then when we’re done, don’t ever ask for my control like this again, not to ease a disorder.”
Jan started to back away as Jack snarled and bucked, fear crying out Jack’s panic as the cool metal touched his wrist. Then as that first cuff clicked into place, something switched in his eyes, and Jack became very, very still.
“Now you’re scaring him, Welsh.”
Gray went motionless hearing the name, hearing the psychological switch.
“Not nice,” said Martin. The change in voice was different, slower, each syllable given a hard bite, but the switch had come so quick compared to earlier that night when Martin had been caught with two Doms, close to sleeping with them, as he had fucked them on two previous occasions. Everything that was Jack, now given over so easily to Martin, to hide... to hold. “I think we really need to fucking play now.”
Martin smiled, then Gray staggered back, grunting out hurt as Martin head-butted Gray, smacking into his cheekbone. Then he defended another blow as Jan scrambled back by the bed, sinking to the floor, and covering his head.
Martin caught hold of the drawer that homed the cuffs, and a front glass panel of the wardrobe shattered as he slammed the drawer into it once, twice, the third time with Gray ducking splinters of broken drawer as it scattered into the bedroom assault.
Glass digging into the pads of his feet, Gray kneed Martin in the ribs, careful of the branding staining Jack’s hip, then twisted Martin’s arm behind his back and spun him back towards the bed.
Martin hit hard, knocking into the frame and making Jan cry out and try to scramble farther into the shadows.
Gray went cold and pushed Martin down on the bed. Pinning his free arm behind his back, the cuffs still swaying from his other wrist, he grabbed Martin’s hair and forced his look up into the corner. “Look at him.”
Martin snarled and writhed.
“You see this, Jack?” Gray shouted at him. “You fucking hear Jan, how Martin’s tearing him up an—”
Martin headbutted Gray again, this time splitting his lip; then Gray ended up amongst the debris of broken glass and splintered wood as he was shoved off the bed. He missed the first kick to the ribs, but caught the second, kicking at Martin’s leg and bringing him down too. Gray clawed his way up Martin’s body, slipping an arm around his throat and forcing him to keep focus on Jan.
“Look at him, you fuck,” Gray snarled again as Jan cried out against Martin’s struggles to get free. “Stop fucking hiding, Jack—look at Jan. Look at what this is doing.”
“Stop. Stopstopstop,” whispered Jan over and over again, curled so tightly into a ball. Martin cried out, then Gray grunted as a bite bored deep into his arm.
“Jan....” The terror there was Jack’s, but the way he fought put Jack back under Vince, how Jack would have broken free from Vince and bloodied Jan for coming over him. It wasn’t a good cry, more full of disgust, hate. “Let me go. Up—”
Gray pulled him to his feet and pushed him away from Jan. He couldn’t risk Jack getting close to Jan, but Jack had worked the cuffs off, spun around, and a fist caught Gray, forcing him to stumble. He kept a hold of Jack and made sure Jack stumbled with him, away from Jan. Jack grunted as his back hit the wall. Then he hit the floor hard, on his ass.
Gray waited a moment to see if he’d get up. Seeing nothing but buried head in arms, he backed up and eased down to the floor, ribs aching, blood dripping onto his chest, but mostly tired... just so fucking tired now and needing Jack.
As shattered glass glinted against the hall light, everything fell quiet for a while. Jack sat to one side, looking like he was waking from one nightmare into another, subdued, tired, tear marks at his wrists where the handcuffs had been torn free. Jan sat to the other, only now lifting his head to the debris and those left behind in the fallout. Gray rested his arms across his knees as he watched Jack. The bedroom was wrecked, glass-fitted wardrobe kicked, beaten, and broken into pieces, leaving huge splinters of glass running up the walls as well as the broken glass on the floor. The bed had been pushed a few feet out of place, the covers now on the floor. A lamp twisted as heavy breaths fought to gain control.
“Jack,” Gray said eventually, and the look in grey eyes saw Jack’s tired pull out of swimming pool look as they fixed on Gray. “I remember Martin from the fallout over Cutter,” he mumbled quietly. “You don’t. Not properly. So control?” He buried a groan. “Don’t ever ask again for me to Dom you when you run and hide from me in Martin. I’ll give you anything in this fucked-up world that you want, but Martin? I can’t fucking stand that bastard. Okay, kid? I’m here for you, when you’re ready, not him.”