by Megan Derr
Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't the firm's most notorious—and most lucrative—client.
Patrick Azura, President and CEO of the Azura Corporation. He was also well known to be head of the Azura Syndicate, one of the most powerful criminal organizations in the state—and likely on the east coast. Some whispered his power stretched much further than one coast, but Jason didn't believe it. That was more than enough work for one syndicate, especially one that moonlighted as legitimate business as smoothly as Azura.
Jason knew he was a firm client—who didn't? But he'd never caught more than a glimpse of the man. The rumors about his eyes had not been exaggerated: they were exactly the color of an azure sea, with deep shadows that made Jason shiver faintly.
Steadying himself as he reached the doors, he pulled one open and slipped inside. After locking the door, he drew the blinds, making the meeting entirely private. He drew a breath in through his nostrils, let it out the same way, then said, "Mr. Azura. I was told you wanted to see me."
Azura shook his hand. "I did. This is my associate and cousin, Mickey."
For the first time, Jason noticed the man tucked quietly into the corner to Azura's right. How the hell had he missed him? The man was beautiful, there was no other word for him. He had that dark haired, dark eyed sort of smoldering look that Jason seldom saw outside of studios. His voice was husky when he spoke, the kind of voice that could make reading a manual sound sexy. "Good morning, Mr. Kristopherson."
Jason shook his hand and sat down. "I confess that I have no idea why you're asking to meet with me. As far as I'm aware, Mr. Carmichael handles your affairs."
"Yes, he does, and he handles them very well," Azura said, as smooth as glass but hard as steel. "However, this requires someone else. After much deliberation, I decided it requires you. I need you to do me a favor."
Jason wasn't impressed. "That sounds entirely too much like 'scapegoat' for my taste. Thanks, but I've worked too hard, and come too far, to throw my life away to take a fall for a man I don't even know. Find someone else."
"I'm sorry, but you're the only one who will do. Among other things, you're known for fearlessness. You're also not tied to me."
"I'm a partner in the firm that makes law enforcement hate you. We call that 'tied to you' in legal parlance. Also in idiot parlance."
Behind Azura, Mickey laughed. It reminded Jason fleetingly of Jet, who laughed the same way: openly, invitingly, that husky note making it sound like an invitation to sample that cock-sucker mouth. Fuck, he missed Jet. "He's got teeth. Or a death wish."
Jason regarded him coolly. "Criminals like you are easy. Want a challenge? Represent musicians."
"Amusing you should mention those particular clients of yours," Azura said, lazily waving Mickey to silence. "That is the primary reason I need you: you represent Forever and a Dai. It would not be unusual in the slightest if you decided to fly to New York of a sudden and attend the concert they're giving in a few days."
Fly to New York. Those words were the only part of the sentence that really registered. He could fly to New York and see Jet, say he was sorry. He eyed Azura suspiciously. "Why?"
"I need a message delivered," Azura said. "That concert is the delivery point. Certain parties have been tipped to it. I need someone they won't notice until too late."
Jason cut his hand through the air. "I work for the same firm that represents you. That's a pretty big clue I might be there to pass your message. I shouldn't have to keep telling you that."
"Your firm represents me, but you represent your brother. Too much coincidence; they'll pass over you and focus on others. You pass the message, leave, and that's the end."
"What do I get out of this?"
"A favor granted is a favor owed," Azura said.
Jason considered that. There were worse things than having Azura owe him a favor. "I'm not going to be your scapegoat. You try to make me do more than deliver a message, and I don't care who you are, or that my firm likes your money—I'll make you pay."
"I believe it," Azura said. "Which is another reason I chose you." He nodded at Mickey, who reached into his jacket and pulled out a plain brown envelope, well-sealed and with no discernible way to break the seal without getting caught at it.
Taking it, Jason tucked it away inside his blazer. "Who will be expecting it?"
"This man," Mickey said and pulled out a photo. The quality wasn't great, but it was sufficient. Jason looked it over, memorizing the man's appearance: olive skin, dark, curly hair falling just past his ears, goatee, and enough jewelry to make Tiffany's look like a pauper. "His name is Alvese; he's a well-known lackey for the Emperor."
Jason nodded, and Mickey tucked the picture away again. Mickey set another envelope on the table. This one wasn't sealed, but was made of the same good quality papers as the other one. "Your tickets. Flight leaves at eight, gets you there at ten. Reservation has already been made at your preferred hotel, as well."
"No dinner reservations?" Jason asked lightly as he tucked the second envelope away with the first. "What else do I need to know?"
"Alvese will show up at the concert around eight-thirty. Give it to him at exactly nine o'clock. If he tries to verify you're legit, tell him that I said he's still an ugly little bitch."
Jason rolled his eyes. "Fine. I had better not wind up injured or dead."
"You won't," Azura said. "It's just a drop off and not even a very thrilling one. Enjoy the concert." He stood up, and Jason rose with him, shaking both their hands.
When Azura finally left, Jason remained where he was, knowing full well that attempting to leave would only be a waste of time. Two, maybe three minutes later, his father and Carmichael, the senior partner who took care of Azura, stepped into the room. "So what was that about?" his father asked.
"A private matter," Jason replied, wishing he'd brought his coffee with him.
Carmichael bristled, his corpulence jiggling as he hauled himself across the room, a hint of the Boston accent he tried to keep smothered slipping into his voice. "He is my client and I can certainly be trusted—"
"But he didn't," Jason cut in, his patience long depleted, his nerves still frayed from his stupid blow up with Jet. "He didn't trust you. He came to me. Whatever you want is immaterial."
Carmichael's face turned a blotchy red. On the other side of the table, Jason swore the temperature around his father plummeted. "You are out of line," his father said.
"I protect the interests of my clients," Jason said. "I do exactly what you always raised me to do. You have no business getting angry with me when that training turns on you. Client first, as you always said."
"Firm," Carmichael corrected. "You do not side with the client to the detriment of the firm."
Jason smiled coldly at him. "What hurts the client, hurts the firm. Do you really want me telling Trick Azura that I broke his confidence, betrayed his trust, and disobeyed his orders? Do you really want him to know that you are privy to information he did not want shared with you and now our firm can no longer be trusted?"
He had never felt particularly threatened by even the most hostile of looks, but the glares he garnered then came damn close. Standing, Jason smoothed his suit, adjusted his tie, and said, "If you will excuse me, father, Mr. Carmichael. I must make arrangements with my assistant. I will be out of the office the rest of the week."
Ignoring his father's demand to know where he was going, Jason returned to his own office and started making arrangements for his absence. By the time he was able to make his escape, it was two o'clock, and by the time he reached the parking garage he was willing to commit murder. Commit murder cheerfully. Specifically, patricide.
Normally, he could handle his father. He'd spent most of his life mastering the art, after all. But lately, all his energy, his will, his patience, had been stolen and redirected—and currently, the source was in New York.
He just could not give a damn about anything else. Even Azura's stupid message was just the
excuse he'd needed to do what he'd wanted to do anyway. He couldn't take it anymore: the pseudo-blackmail, the squabbling, the wondering when Jet would roll back into town and if he'd stop by.
Whatever it took, he wanted something a bit more real and reliable than that. Even a secret affair, something more solid than their on-off thing, would be better than their current disaster of a relationship.
First, though, he had to make amends. Then he had to admit he was in love with Jet. God, he hoped his fucking snit had not ruined everything. He hoped he wasn't about to make everything worse. Damn it, why did it have to be Jet?
How could it be anyone else, though? Next to Jet, everyone else looked half alive.
If it all blew up in his face, though, and it all ended once and for all—well, that was still an end of a sort. But he argued for a living; he was a professional fight-picker. That had to give him some sort of edge, didn't it?
Jason sighed.
When he finally reached his house, he barely turned the car off before he flew out of it and—
Nearly ran into Dai in the kitchen. Great, just what he needed: someone else pissed off with him. "Shouldn't you be in New York already?"
"Leaving at seven," Dai said. "There was some last minute shit I had to do here. What the fuck did you do to Jet? I can't think of anyone else who would have pissed him off enough he blew away to New York without speaking even to me."
Jason was really getting sick of people getting mad at him when they had no real right, only a presumed one. Only one person had the grounds to blow up at him, and Jet was being eerily—terrifyingly—quiet. "Dai, I'm not in the mood."
"I don't fucking care—"
"Fuck you!" Jason snarled, slamming his leather messenger bag down on the kitchen table, completely not caring that his laptop was in it. "I am sick of people yelling at me. Telling me what I should do. Telling me how to do it. Screaming at me when I don't. Fuck. You. I'm an adult. Jet is an adult. If I am the reason he's upset, that's between us. You have nothing the fuck to do with it, and nobody actually likes a busybody knight strapping on silver armor."
"Jay—"
Jason cut him off. "Shut up. I'm tired of it. I don't do my job the way he thinks I should, father screams at me. I do my job to the best of my ability, he screams at me. When I don't get every last little concession my spoiled brat clients want, I get yelled at and accused of not giving a fuck. When I do push for it all, I get yelled at for pissing off their connections in the industry. Nobody ever stops by my goddamn office or house just to say hello. There's always a contract or something to yell about or something else someone wants. It doesn't matter what I do, why, or how. When it doesn't meet someone else's standards of perfect, it's my fault.
"Nobody can ever be bothered to ask if I'm okay. If I'm the one who was wronged. So you know, David? You can take your 'come to slay the dragon' attitude, shove it up your ass, and get the fuck out of my house. I've been yelled at enough the past few weeks. I'm not taking it anymore."
He stormed out of the kitchen and up to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Though he had planned only to start packing, Jason suddenly felt in desperate need of a shower. That he'd gotten one earlier that morning, before work, just didn't matter. Stripping off his clothes, hands still trembling from anger, he strode into the bathroom. He made the water as hot as he could stand, then climbed in and just stayed there.
Any efforts at cleaning himself were token at best and pointless really. He just wanted the heat, wanted it to wash or steam away everything pressing down on him. Wanted to hide for a while, in the one place nobody would bother him.
By the time the water ran cold, he was too wrung out to feel anything, but exhausted. Even his anger had finally drained away. He dried off, then padded naked back in his bedroom—and heaved a long sigh when he saw Dai sitting on the edge of his bed. "One—why are you still in my house? Two—why couldn't you wait downstairs?"
"I want to talk. Not yell—"
Jason tensed, a tiny spark of anger flaring. "I neither need nor want you giving a damn just because I threw a temper tantrum and made you feel bad. Fuck your guilt."
Dai glared at him. "I give a damn because I give a damn, asshole."
"Fine, whatever," Jason said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Get out of my room. I'm not having this discussion naked. I'll meet you in the kitchen, and the least you can do is fix me something to eat."
"Yeah, yeah," Dai said, rolling his eyes, but he obediently left.
Jason heaved another sigh when he was alone and yanked clothes out of his dresser, pulling on boxers, jeans, and a maroon polo. Then he began to pack—casual clothes mostly, but also a couple of suits because there was never any telling when he would need one.
After a few minutes of hesitation, he finally pulled out some of his club-faring clothes for the concert. When everything was packed and ready, he left it lying on the bed and called for a car to pick him up in two hours.
Finally out of things to do, he dragged himself downstairs to the kitchen. To his surprise, Dai had in fact made him lunch: tomato soup and grilled cheese. Jason stared at it, then at Dai. "Thanks."
Dai shrugged and dragged a spoon through his own soup. "So I'm sorry for immediately slotting you as the bad guy. Having been in roughly one million arguments myself, I know damn good and well just one person is seldom to blame."
"It's fine," Jason said.
"So why is dad pissed with you this time? I didn't realize being pissed at you was a regular thing with him. Dad dotes on you."
Jason's brows shot up. "Where the hell did anyone get that impression? Dad dotes on his own reflection, that's about it. He's pissed I keep siding with the clients instead of him, that's all."
"And Jet? Cause I've never seen him bolt like that."
"I need to talk to him, not anyone else. But I lost my temper with him, too, and said things much worse than I said to you."
Dai nodded. "Want me to drag him back home after our concert? I'm pretty sure he'll stay up there forever."
Jason hesitated, then said, "I'm going up there. I was anyway, just to talk to him, but I'm doing a special favor for a client. My flight leaves tonight, late—later than yours."
"I see," Dai said. "Best to catch him in his hotel room after the concert; I doubt he'll be in the mood to party. I'll get you a key."
That surprised Jason, and his expression must have conveyed that, because Dai said defensively, "Look, we may not be close, but you're my brother. I don't like to see the only members of my family I really like at odds. And Jet will hide for-fucking-ever, so it's best just to confront him and drag him out of hiding."
Jason nodded and said gruffly, "Thanks." He finally started to eat, feeling hungry for the first time since he'd fucked everything up with Jet.
"So, just tell me one thing," Dai said, and Jason really should have paid more attention to his tone of voice because then he might have had some warning before Dai asked, "Just how long have the two of you been sleeping together?"
Jason choked on a swallow of soup and doubled over coughing, eyes burning from it. When he could finally breathe properly again, he glared at Dai through watery eyes. "What?"
Dai cast him an unimpressed look. "Do I look stupid to you? I told you: Jet never bolts like this. He would have to have been pretty goddamn upset. I'm his best friend, but he didn't confide what was wrong to me. Instead, he ran off with Brit and Brice. That means it's something he couldn't tell me. Now you're flying off to New York to talk to him, when it makes more sense to wait two more days when he gets back. I don't hop on a plane to settle a fight with anyone but Coop. So, give it up, because you two aren't fooling anyone anymore. How long have you been sleeping together?"
"Years," Jason muttered and was surprised at how much of a relief it was to finally admit. it.
"Was anyone ever going to tell me?" Dai asked.
Jason gave up on eating. "What the fuck are we supposed to say? Nobody likes me. We're cousins. Do you know wh
at the entire goddamn thing would do to me, to you guys?"
"That still doesn't explain why no one told me!" Dai snarled. "I never would have spilled it. For fuck's sake, I'm dating a country music star; we've kept it a secret for the past five years. I can keep a fucking secret, especially when it's family! Do I think it's weird my cousin is banging my brother? Yes. But only because you two have never liked each other. I thought this was an angry thing, not an angry sex thing. To hell with you both."
Sucking in a breath, Jason let it out slowly. "We barely acknowledge it to each other, Dai. I'm not even sure what the fuck it is, hence our fight. It's complicated, not to mention illegal in most of the United States. I'm sorry."
Dai nodded and stabbed his cold grilled cheese with his spoon. "Forget it. Not like I told anyone about Coop for years. I can understand complicated. Just work it out, whatever went wrong. I honestly figured at first that you must have just gone off on him over a business matter. But like I said, that didn't match with his running off. He would have just punched you and then come to see me. Once the whole sleeping together thing occurred to me, a whole lot of things I didn't realize were puzzle pieces came together. I'm going to stop thinking about it now because it's only slightly less horrific than thinking that my parents had sex at least twice."
The words made Jason laugh, despite everything.
"So what else are you doing in New York? Or can you not say?"
"Can't say, but I will be at your show. How did you get roped into performing for Masterson?"
Dai made a face. "Favor for a friend, and it is a good cause. It's a short set, though, since he's always more interested in hearing himself talk. Rumor has it, though, that his wife was pretty pissed off he lined us up instead of Hard Play, so it's gonna be an interesting night."
Jason raised one brow. "Do I need to tweak your security? I think Annie and her team are available."
"Nah, we'll be fine. The mood your lover boy is in," Dai smirked, and continued, "I dare anyone to start shit with us. I can't believe you're going to be there. That's gonna be weird."