Joker (Executioners Book 2)

by J. M. Dabney

  He pushed away those thoughts and focused on better ones. Jackson and dinner. When he'd come to Powers, he hadn't thought about finding someone there. One look at Jackson's scowl in the single picture and knew the man was special. He didn't know if it would go anywhere, and no matter how much he wanted it to, he had to get Jackson to let him in. Everyone left the man alone, let Jackson stay in the past, but he wasn't going to do that.

  Jackson Webb was his, and soon the man would know it.

  Heidi yelled order, and he got to work. He caught Jackson leaving and smiled at the lunchbox tucked under Jackson's arm. Good boy.

  “What the hell is this,” he asked several hours later as he pulled open the door and threw his bag inside. It landed almost on Jackson’s scuffed tactical boots. He’d known getting his man wasn’t going to be easy, but Jackson needed to stop being an asshole.

  “I left your bag on the steps.”

  “Don’t be obtuse. How was your day?”

  He slowly ascended the steps. His legs were tired and his back hurt, but that was normal.

  “Same as always.”

  “Did you eat your lunch?”

  “Yes, I ate my lunch.”

  Jackson was acting strange, not unusual and he knew having him around was new. His man didn’t do well with things outside his comfort zone. He was more than willing to be patient. He took a seat on the couch but kept distance between them in case Jackson was not in the mood to be touched. He’d give anything for the man to touch him.

  Patience wasn’t a virtue he possessed, and it had gotten worse since he’d met Jackson.

  “Why do you let them call you Joker? I know you don’t like it.”

  “My friends are idiots, except for Harper, she’s perfect.”

  A thought struck him, and he needed to know.

  “Why didn’t you ever hook up with Harper or have you?”

  He choked back a laugh at Jackson’s slow pan toward him. He tried to keep his expression as serious as possible.

  “She’s like my sister, that’s fucked up.”

  “Most of the people in town thought you had a thing for her.”

  “She’s like my sister.”

  Having Jackson repeat the sentence like he was an idiot should’ve offended him, but he was just amused.

  “Not even a little attraction?”

  “I’m gay, and she’s a woman.”

  “When you put it like that then it does sound silly.”

  “I tried to take care of her, but I didn’t do a very good job of it.”

  “Harper loves you, and I’m sure she thinks you did a great job.”

  “I should’ve killed Bill sooner.”

  Jackson said it so matter of fact, as if he was talking about the weather, it shocked him a bit. He understood the motive and knew Harper’s ex-whatever he was wouldn’t have stopped until Gideon and Harper were dead. Jackson had done what was necessary.

  “Are you leaving?”

  There was a deadness to Jackson’s tone. The man expected him to get up and walk away, give up on there being a them some time in the future. That wasn’t what was going to happen. Jackson was a runner, and everyone else let him be, but that wasn’t Dem. He didn’t want the other man to feel like the only way to exist was to lock himself away in a shack when the rage became too much to bear.

  “I’m not going anywhere. Let me sit a minute, and I’ll get dinner started. Where’s Killer?”

  “In bed taking a nap, she’s pissed at me.”

  “What did you do to our furry daughter?”

  “It was her own fault. She rolled in burnt oil, and she needed a bath.”

  He laughed and leaned sideways and laid his head on Jackson’s shoulder. He stayed still until he was sure Jackson wasn’t going to pull away. Would there be a time when Jackson became comfortable with affection? It wasn’t a guarantee. The man had lived through hell and only time would tell, but he had all the time in the world. He wanted a chance, and he wasn’t scared of working for it.

  ELEVEN

  Jackson was Losing His Mind

  Killer perched on his bent knee and watched every move Dem made. She was quickly becoming accustomed to the man being there. She even let Dem pet her. Dem moved around the kitchen area while Jackson drank his beer.

  The memories of the night before tortured him all day. The solid warmth of Dem’s body against his and the soft moans every time he shifted against Dem or pulled him closer. He didn't understand how it felt right to have Dem there in his space...his bed. His friends, even Harper wasn't allowed in his place.

  He lifted Killer off his knee and placed her on the floor. “Your bed.”

  She snarled at him and went to her little cubby he'd built under the bed. On the nights his nightmares were bad, he'd make her sleep there. He refused to allow himself to hurt her.

  “Door.”

  She pulled the tiny door closed.

  “Nice trick,” Dem spoke over his shoulder then went back to putting the leftovers away.

  “Turn around,” he ordered as he straightened.

  Dem turned with a confused expression that twisted his gorgeous features. Dem was perfect. Beyond handsome and he didn't understand why Dem wanted him. What he hid under his clothes wasn’t something a man should want or find attractive. He wasn’t sexy or charming—he wasn’t like his friends who had men falling all over them. The married ones were so in love with their partners it was painful to be around them.

  He reached back over his head and removed his t-shirt. It was the moment of truth. He dropped the fabric to the floor and leaned back into the cushions.

  “Do you like what you see?”

  He studied Dem while the man stared at him. He waited for revulsion. The slightest hint Dem didn't want him. It didn't happen. Dem's lids grew heavy, and Dem leaned back against the counter.

  “I love what I see. I got a good look before I went to work this morning.”

  Dem didn’t look away, his gaze moved over him slowly as if the man didn’t want to miss an inch of exposed skin.

  He didn’t look down. He knew every scar by memory. Remembered the pain, the pleas for mercy that fell on deaf ears, and the sadistic pleasure he’d learned Garnet craved. The man had gotten off on it. He had become his mother’s surrogate after she’d disappeared. Every lash, brand, cut, was meant for her. He forced away the screams in his ears, hers and his, falling into a perfect duet. Voices raised in the strains of music and pain, harmonized and overlapping. After the torture, Garnet always went out and brought home woman after woman, their screams joined his and his mother’s. He’d taken the lashes, knew the scent of blood and infection, and the women took the other horrors Garnet unleashed.

  Strange women who still lived in this town. Saw him and saw Garnet. Their hells repeated in their minds just by his presence.

  He needed something to replace it. Exchange pain for pleasure. He craved anything to wash away the evil. Cleanse him of the memories of the ones he’d been too young and weak to save—to save his mother.

  “Strip for me.”

  “What's going on, Jackson?”

  “I said strip.”

  He awaited the argument. The nearly guaranteed no he’d accept because he wasn’t a monster—no would always mean no. He wouldn’t take someone’s power—their safety—he knew too well how it felt to be defenseless.

  But, he wanted a memory just for himself. A remembrance of being wanted even for a brief moment. To not be the rapist’s son. To not be the product of violence. One day soon, he’d be alone again. But at that moment, he wanted to know want and need. Even if he couldn’t accept the touch of this man. Touches he’d avoided, fought to save himself from, and he craved to have a person belong to him. To know what his friends probably took for granted. They were allowed to touch and love on their partners, kiss them freely without terror of a remembered lick of flame as he took lash after lash of Garnet’s whip. Pain overshadowing everything beyond his instinct to survive.

&nbs
p; He held his breath and didn’t say a word—didn’t move.

  Dem crossed his arms and grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt. Perfection exposed in increments—painfully slow seconds as Dem’s shirt ascended. The shirt disappeared, but he couldn’t look away from the smooth tanned skin of Dem’s torso. Dem’s stomach was firm, but not defined by rippling abs. His gaze moved up to a powerful chest and round, beaded nipples.

  He tried not to compare himself to Dem. He was nowhere near skinny, but he also wasn’t built like some bodybuilder. His stomach was covered in hair and bore a slight paunch. That slight softness didn’t compare to the scars and Dem hadn’t seen them all yet.

  “What do you want, Jackson? Whatever it is it’s yours.”

  Dem’s softly spoken words caused him to jerk his gaze to the man’s face. Gorgeous. He wondered if what Dem said was true. He’d tried so many times to be normal.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He nodded because he didn’t think he could speak with his throat closing up, panic took over the closer he came to the edge of his comfort zone.

  “Have you done this before.”

  “I don’t fuck.”

  “That’s good because our first time isn’t going to be fucking. Without thinking or second guessing, what do you want right now?”

  “To watch you get off for me.”

  “Nothing else. Don’t want me to touch you…to make you—”

  “I don’t need it. I just want the memory for when you’re gone.”

  He couldn’t miss Dem’s flinch at his harsh words, but they were true. He didn’t expect Dem to stick around longer than whatever fucked up fascination Dem had with him. The man slept in his arms. He’d have that, but he wanted—needed something more. He wanted to hear Dem call his name as he came. Tuck it away. A secret that was his and for no one else to know.

  He didn’t want touch, he wanted to watch and memorize the details. Count every breath, moan, whimper, and heavy-lidded look. He was almost forty years old, and he needed to experience what it was like to be wanted at least once. What if he was like Garnet and he couldn’t take no for an answer? What if he hurt Dem? He wouldn’t allow that; it was the reason they could never fuck.

  “Where do you want me?”

  “In my bed.”

  He stayed seated as Dem slipped his arms into his crutches then made his way to the bedroom. It wasn’t a long wait. His place was tiny and meant for one person. He pushed to his feet as he caught sight of Dem taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. The man worked his jeans off and dropped them to the floor.

  “If I do this, give you this one thing, you need to give me something.”

  “What,” he asked as he took in the hard, slender cock, the head flushed dark pink and resting on thin, hairy thighs. Dem legs had muscle definition, but nowhere near that of Dem’s upper body.

  “I want you naked and on the bed with me. If I can’t touch you, then I need you close. Please.”

  There was strain etched around the man’s full lips. Dem’s eyes were brighter like when he laughed—but different—sadder. He didn’t want that. He was damaged goods. Selfish for demanding this one thing. Did Dem know tonight would be it? That tomorrow he would force Dem to leave him alone. This one request would break him. He couldn’t look at Dem and remember what he’d demanded—witnessed—and know Dem would never be his. What they had wouldn’t be normal.

  “Jackson, if tonight is all I get, please just give me this one thing.”

  He couldn’t deny Dem. He knew he should stop it now and walk away before it went too far, but he craved it—like his next breath. He forced his hands not to shake as he undid the button of his jeans, slid the zipper down, and the erection he’d just had disappeared. He pushed the denim over his hips and lower until he lifted his feet to remove his pants.

  He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled through his mouth as he straightened. Dem’s gaze moved over him, from head to toe, then back to his groin. He knew what Dem saw. The scars along his hips and on his cock from the tip of the whip as it had wrapped around his body. The circular scars of cigars and cigarettes. He made a simple mistake of looking too long at a boy in the grocery store. Garnet promised to make a man out of him.

  The pain had been excruciating. He’d passed out several times only to awaken—

  “Jackson,” Dem called his name.

  He refused to look at Dem.

  “You still won’t let me touch you?”

  “I don’t want to get used to something I can’t keep.”

  “Who says you can’t keep me?”

  He stared at his toes, avoided looking at anything else. His dick hung flaccid, and he was embarrassed by it. He started to lean down and reach for his pants.

  “You’re meant for someone better than me.”

  Strong hands grabbed his face and jerked his head up. He stared into watery eyes and tears slipped down Dem’s cheeks.

  “There’s no one better. No one, Jackson.”

  He tried not to flinch but failed when soft wet lips touched his. Dem tasted of tears. He clenched his fists on his knees and forced himself not to reach out.

  “Give us a chance. I don’t expect you to kiss me in public or walk down the street holding my hand. We have plenty of time for that. Just let me touch you. Nothing else. We don’t have to have sex, make love, or as you put it, fuck. What happens in this bed is just us. No specters of a dead man. You and me.”

  Dem’s hands left his face and wrapped around his wrists, pulling him toward Dem. He straightened as their mouths lost contact.

  He stood between Dem’s parted thighs and gentle lips brushed one scar after another. He closed his eyes, refused to watch just in case he saw something other than desire in Dem’s eyes. Even as Dem kissed every inch of skin he could reach, he waited for the retreat—the rejection.

  Seconds turned into minutes, and Dem’s hands joined in and gripped his hips.

  “You can touch me.”

  He let out a shuddered sigh as he raised his shaking hands and combed his fingers through the softness of Dem’s long hair. The strands teased his skin. His cock firmed against Dem’s chest.

  “Did you still want to watch me stroke my cock for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What else do you want?”

  What else? He wanted so much, but he went with what he could have now.

  He pushed Dem onto the bed and then helped Dem until the man’s head rested on the pillows. Nervousness caused a lump to form in his throat as he turned to his dresser. He pulled opened the top drawer and pulled out the items he needed.

  He was a bastard, jumped into fights with armed men without second thoughts, but this was something else. He couldn’t fuck Dem and trust himself—maybe never could. He’d keep that to himself.

  He tossed the dildo, condom and lube on the bed next to Dem’s hip. The man was sprawled on his bed. A temptation and every one of his dreams rolled into one. Dem’s full lips were curled into a half smile. Dem’s jaw was covered in a few days’ worth of stubble.

  “You want me to use that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever—”

  “No, I tried, but couldn’t.” He bought it a year ago when he’d gone out of town, and as much as he’d tried to make himself relax, he couldn’t do it. It was almost as awkward as when he tried to jerk off.

  “That’s fine, not everyone likes anal. It’s completely normal.”

  He wanted to believe Dem, but he’d heard the stories, even walked in on some of his friends fucking, and it hadn’t seemed forced. He hadn’t stayed long, but the screams and pleas for more kind of clued him in.

  “Come here.” Dem opened his legs wide.

  He crawled onto the bed and sat back on his heels.

  “We’re going to take this slow and at your pace. You’re in charge.”

  “Of course I am.”

  Dem rolled his eyes.

  He
was all show at the moment. He didn’t know what he was doing or what to expect.

  Apparently, that didn’t matter, Dem kept his eyes on him, then Dem’s hands began to move over his own chest. Dem pinched his nipples and his back arched, a deep groan and the rustle of skin against cotton filled the silence.

  His cock hardened at the picture Dem made. The man’s tanned skin flushed and misted with sweat. His heartbeat quickened as Dem wrapped his hand around his dick and stroked, base to tip. When Dem reached the head, he rolled his palm over it. The movements slow and sensual. Dem eyelids lowered, but he didn’t close them.

  He fisted his hands on his thighs. He remembered the warm silk of Dem’s skin against his. He jerked his gaze to Dem as he heard the snick of the lid of the lube. Dem slicked his fingers and brought them to his own hole.

  He clenched his teeth as he observed Dem pushing one finger inside, then Dem worked his way up to two and three.

  “What are you imagining?”

  “You, your cock instead of my fingers. You’d feel so much better, Jackson, so—”

  Dem paused as he rolled his hips, fucked himself onto the digits. He wrapped his hands around his own cock and stroked, he jerked as ecstasy coursed through his veins for the first time.

  He wished he was different.

  “Put a condom on it and fuck me.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You don’t have to touch me, baby.”

  He hands shook as he reached for the pale colored dildo and quickly readied it with the condom and more lube.

  “Where did you get the condom and lube?”

  “Don’t be jealous, I stole them from the Twin’s supply drop.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  He knew Dem lied. He pressed the flared head to Dem’s stretched hole and pushed.

  “I want hard and fast, and when you cum, I want it on my skin.”

  He gave a jerky nod and slammed into Dem, causing Dem to push his head into the pillow. The harder he pounded the toy into Dem, the louder the man’s grunts and whimpers became. Dem writhed and pulled his legs back to his chest, opening himself to take more. He synced his movements with the thrust and retreat, gripped his cock tight and imagined he was inside Dem. Taking him.