by SE Jakes
“Torture?”
Nate nodded. “I saw him die.”
“Scars?”
Nate lifted his chin. “We were captured. Tortured. He was killed. Burned.”
“Guessing it wasn’t him.”
“Obviously. We never looked for a body because we all saw it burn.”
“So he might’ve been tortured for as long as you guys. Maybe longer. Escaped. Lost his memory along the way.”
“Check him for scars—lots of them. Like this.” Nate turned, lifted his shirt and showed broad stripes that would never heal. “They’d be on the backs of his thighs too. And he’s burned. His lower back, below the waistline. Plus a scar on his calf.” He lowered his shirt and turned back.
“You’re retired?”
“Yes.”
Nate had retired willingly. Whether he passed psych evals or not wasn’t disclosed. Uncle was another SEAL on that team who’d been forced into retirement after a long medical leave because his arms hadn’t healed right from the torture he’d been put through. Rex was still active duty with an impeccable record.
“How’d you end up here?”
“I end up in a lot of places,” was all Nate said. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m just a photographer.”
“Right.” Nate drew out the word. “Look, I know you’re going to check me and my story out. Not sure why the hell you’re here, if it’s dumb luck or if you know about Josh. Either way, our kind recognizes our kind. Don’t fuck with me.”
Dash shrugged, and for Nate, he guessed that was enough of an answer. The guy might’ve thought he was a merc too, or retired military or something along those lines, and he’d be damned close to the truth. “Let me feel him out. If he’s a lost POW, he needs to deal with it.”
Nate nodded. “I’ve got to report this to the Navy. This is a big goddamned deal. He has classified intel.”
Not if he doesn’t have a memory. “Give me twenty-four hours.”
“What are you going to do?”
“See if I can figure out if he’s for real or if he’s a deserter. He’s been living and working with my family.”
“The Josh I knew was a good guy.”
“People change,” Dash said.
Chapter Two
Dash wasn’t anywhere in sight when Lucky left the bar and headed to the apartment he rented from Emme’s family. It was above the bar, and the bar was about twenty feet from the main house. It was all circled by private gates and twenty-four-hour security.
It was Emme’s night to close and Lucky didn’t hang around to help, like he did sometimes. Instead, he locked himself in the apartment, the music she kept on loud still making the floor under him shake.
He poured himself a tall drink and downed half of it in a single gulp. His hands trembled when he thought about what Nate had told him in the parking lot.
Four years, Josh. We all thought you died… If you don’t remember…
Four years ago next week, he’d washed up on the beach. Four years, and the scars had barely faded.
“I don’t remember,” he said out loud, the frustration in his voice surprising him.
The knock on the door didn’t startle him, but it came sooner than he’d thought. When he opened it, he wasn’t surprised to see Dash there, but he was grateful it wasn’t Nate.
“This is your place,” he said as a greeting, and Dash nodded and asked, “Mind if I stay in the second bedroom?”
“That’s where I stay. Didn’t touch your room.” He moved aside to let Dash in and locked the door tight behind them.
“You could’ve.” Dash had a single bag with him and he dropped it on the floor next to the couch.
“Wasn’t right.” He’d left the place exactly as he’d found it, all Dash’s pictures on the walls. Closed the door to his room. Emme’s mom sent someone in to clean weekly and Lucky supposed she dusted and such in there, but he never checked. He already felt like he’d invaded the guy’s privacy by looking through the books of photographs Dash had left, but he couldn’t stop himself. He felt like they were helping him, even if he didn’t understand why.
“You okay?” Dash asked.
“Not really.” He finished the rest of the drink and poured more whiskey into the glass. “Want some?”
“Shouldn’t drink if you’re coming down with the flu.”
“Drowns all the bad shit out of you,” Lucky offered.
“Not all of it.” Dash’s expression had gone hard. Lucky touched his face before he could stop himself, then slid a hand around to his neck.
“Then what does?”
“If I’d figured that out…” Dash paused, and then brought his mouth down on Lucky’s. Lucky responded immediately, his hands on Dash’s shoulders as Dash put his arm around Lucky’s waist, pulling him close.
Lucky’s entire body jackknifed under the contact, Dash’s arms the only thing holding him up. He could blame the drink or the stress, but really, the rough touch and the handling always did it for him.
Dash pulled back and studied him for a long moment, then rubbed the rough of his cheek against Lucky’s. Lucky shivered and Dash chuckled.
“I like it rough. Can’t seem to find that around here,” Lucky confessed.
“Tonight’s your lucky night.”
Lucky laughed. “Lucky’s lucky.”
“And drunk.”
“Not so bad,” he managed before Dash was kissing him again, hard and fast. Ripping off Lucky’s T-shirt and letting it fall to the floor. The man’s touch was fire on his skin, fingertips digging in, ignoring the scars he had to have felt. He just wanted the pleasure, no background or complications.
“Good?” Dash asked.
“Can’t tell?” he panted back, ground his jean-covered cock against Dash’s leg. “Am I screwed because I’m fucking the boss’s son?”
“Screwed being the operative word,” Dash murmured while unzipping Lucky’s jeans. He gasped when Dash covered his cock with his hand. “I don’t fuck and tell.”
He didn’t care if or what he did as long as Dash kept stroking his cock. His hips jutted forward, his entire body seeking a contact he hadn’t had in forever.
It was familiar, but unlike anything he’d had recently. He couldn’t recall his sexual past any more than he could his name, but he knew he liked cock. And he knew he liked it rough.
Finally, someone got him. “Not gonna last.”
“Who said I want you to?” Dash told him, but he stopped stroking and instead ran a finger across the head of his cock, smearing precome over it.
“Don’t tease—not now.”
Dash’s smile was slow and lazy. “Take your jeans off.”
Lucky did, carefully, because he didn’t want to lose any of Dash’s contact on his cock, no matter how light. When he’d finally managed to kick them off, he tried to hold himself steady against the wall, but that was getting harder to do.
It got even more so when Dash let go of him only to put his hands on Lucky’s shoulders and spin him around. His palms hit the wall, Dash kicked his legs apart and ran a hand over his ass. “Perfect. Stay that way until I find some lube.”
“Top dresser drawer.”
He closed his eyes, pressed his cheek against the wall and then remembered that his scars were in full goddamned view. He went to turn but Dash’s hand was back on his shoulder, pressing him into place.
“Relax. I already saw them. They don’t make me want to fuck you any less.” Dash’s lubed finger ran along his crack slowly, traced his hole before pressing inside, fast, to the knuckle.
He opened his mouth to tell Dash that he’d lost the mood, that he didn’t goddamned want to do this anymore, but then two fingers opened him, stroked his gland, and he didn’t want anything other than Dash to fuck him. Hard. Now.
He shuddered as Dash added a third finger, turned his face forward and screwed his eyes shut so he could get totally lost in this. Forget that anything else happened tonight except this.
“You need another drink?” Dash asked him.
He was intoxicated from the whiskey, its effects furthered by Dash’s efforts. He lost himself in the rhythm of Dash’s hand, his body shuddering. “Come on, fuck me.”
But Dash kept up his maddening pace, which wasn’t anywhere near fast enough for Lucky. He pushed back against the man’s hand and Dash chuckled against his ear. “So fucking impatient. Are you always like this?”
“Haven’t had anyone this good touch me in a long time.”
“How long?”
“At least a year. So hurry up and keep changing that.”
Dash turned him back around, fast, but Lucky was ready. Wrapped a leg around Dash’s hip and let the man’s cock breach him.
Dash was taller, so it worked perfectly. Lucky lowered himself a little onto Dash’s cock so he could be filled faster, and then straightened. Stilled for a brief second after the initial pain of the intrusion and then began to rock toward Dash. “Yeah, just like that,” he told the man, and Dash smiled and watched his face as he lost himself in the pleasure haze of sex.
He didn’t even realize he was climbing Dash until he found himself hanging on for dear life to the guy, both legs wrapped around Dash. Helpless to do anything but take Dash’s thrusts, and fuck, he didn’t want this to end.
Like Dash had read his mind, he slowed down, still giving Lucky the zings of pleasure he’d craved. His fingers dug in, he was sure he was leaving nail marks in Dash’s skin.
He was also sure Dash didn’t mind at all. Because the man kissed him then, and Lucky let himself be devoured, losing himself in the rough touches and the demanding kiss. And after being suspended like that, between orgasm denial and the pleasure Lucky gained from it, Dash seemed to be the one who lost control first. Lucky watched as he pulled back and slammed his hips back and forth hard, how his neck muscles corded with tension as he forced Lucky’s orgasm, his following behind by mere seconds.
Lucky let out a long, stuttered moan, mixed with Dash’s name—was pretty sure he was yelling his ass off but he didn’t care—as his entire body lost control. His cock spurted between their bodies, Dash leaned in and bit him on the chest and that only served to make Lucky’s climax last longer. Or maybe he had more than one—he’d lost track.
When he opened his eyes, he found Dash staring at him.
“You okay?” he asked, showing no signs of either pulling out of Lucky or letting the man down.
“We have to do that again.”
Dash simply smiled, picked Lucky up easily and got them both to the couch. It was oversized, but there was some maneuvering Dash did to get them both to fit. And they did fit, because they were still connected, and Dash was still on top of him.
Lucky kept his ankles locked around Dash’s lower back, urging him deeper. There was no way Lucky would come again this soon, although he felt like he could. Dash took his hips and pulled Lucky into him. Hard. Fast. The slapping sounds filled the room, Lucky’s groans keeping pace, and Dash grimaced as he came, like the orgasm actually hurt him.
He dropped Lucky’s hips, put his hands down on either side of Lucky’s head and lowered his body slowly. Lucky ran his hands over the smooth skin of Dash’s back. A shudder went through the man at the touch, and then a soft chuckle of laughter before he raised his head.
“Hope you can breathe, because I can’t move,” he admitted.
“Been a while for you too, huh?” Lucky asked.
“Holed up in Cambodia for three months. A lot of action, but not the right kind,” Dash told him, then put his head down again.
The intoxication of the sex overtook Lucky with far greater pleasure than the drinking had. He didn’t need to breathe. He simply wanted Dash to stay like that for as long as he wanted to. And then, longer than that.
The scars Dash knew he’d find were there, all over Lucky’s back and the backs of his thighs. Lucky hadn’t seemed self-conscious about them at first. Maybe because he was drunk, but more likely because he didn’t remember how they’d been put there.
But then he’d remembered them and Dash had to distract him, gently.
He didn’t know why he was suddenly oddly protective of Lucky, but it gave credence to Lucky’s lack of memory. Dash wasn’t a man who was easily fooled. And while he hadn’t found any evidence that Nate, Uncle or Rex were involved in terrorist activities, he hadn’t been able to let it rest. Not while his gut had never let him believe that Josh Kent was dead.
Good to know he could still trust his instincts.
Now, while they both came down from the sex that had gone on for hours—and Dash wasn’t going to pretend he hadn’t wanted it—he glanced over at Lucky. The man was lying on his stomach, his cheek turned to the couch pillow, his eyes closed.
He wasn’t sleeping, but he was close to it. And his body was a mess of scars, and not just the ones on his back. The guy lived a rough life. Dash put his palm over a healed bullet hole, noted another slash across Lucky’s arm that looked like it had come from a knife. “Looks like this hurt.”
Lucky lifted his head to see where Dash was touching. Which was…odd, because getting shot wasn’t something you forgot readily. He pointed to the hole, and an odd expression crossed Lucky’s face before he said dismissively, “I had a rough childhood.”
“Rougher than most, looks like.”
Lucky looked like he was going to say something else, but he dropped his head to the pillow, burrowing against the pillow with his cheek. Finally, he said, “Can we not talk about that shit?”
“Why’s that?”
“Because we just fucking met, man. We’ve just fucked. I’ve already had a rough night—can’t I just continue to relax? Don’t I deserve that?”
Dash brushed a hand over Lucky’s cheek and grabbed a bottle of water from the side table to hand to him. “You can relax, but that doesn’t mean I’m done fucking you.”
“Yeah, I’m cool with that.” Lucky took a gulp of water and then drained the bottle. “I’m losing my buzz.”
“Can’t let that happen.” Dash grabbed the whiskey bottle from the coffee table and handed it to Lucky. Lucky took a long swig and handed it to Dash, who did the same.
“How long are you here for?” Lucky asked.
“Sick of me already?”
“Dude, it’s your place. Stay as long as you want.”
“Emme said you’ve been here for about four years.”
“Emme said you’ve been gone for six,” Lucky countered.
“Job keeps me moving.”
“I meant what I said—your pictures are great. I’d like to go to some of those places you photographed.”
“Like where?”
Lucky shrugged. “The ones of Malaysia are cool. I’d also like to travel around Africa more, but Emme keeps me working. Plus, it’s fun as shit here.”
Dash smiled, because Lucky was right about that. It would’ve been so easy for him to get stuck here, to hang out and tend bar with Emme and spend his nights drinking and fucking and inheriting the family business. Definitely not the worst thing to happen to a guy. “Emme likes having you around.”
“She talks about you all the time, you know. She misses the hell out of you.”
Dash shoved that guilt down and wondered how he’d allowed Lucky to lecture him when he was supposed to be the interrogator. Instead, he found himself saying, “It’s hard to pass up opportunities.”
“When you photograph a spot, how long do you spend there?”
“Why? You planning on taking my job?”
“Maybe.”
Dash angled himself, threw a leg over Lucky’s. “I don’t plan anything when I’m on a job. I find things work out better that way. I just show up, start getting a feel for the place. Sometimes, I don’t take pictures right away—I just hang out, getting the lay of the land. Checking the people out.”
It was exactly what he did, but for the CIA and not for the national magazines that ran his pictures. That second part was a happy accident w
hen his cover story ended up making waves in the magazine world. At first, his supervisor had been pissed, but then he’d decided it was probably the best cover story ever.
It had worked for the past ten years. Dash got to combine something he loved with adventure and danger, which were other things he loved just as much. It was a win-win. What sucked was not being able to explain it to his family.
“So, you want to bartend for the rest of your life?” he asked Lucky, who groaned.
“Seriously? You’re going to give me the ambition speech? I’m happy as fuck.”
Dash slid off the couch and picked Lucky up. At first, he struggled, but when he realized where Dash was headed, he stopped. Dash kicked open the door to his bedroom—the first time in six years—and dumped Lucky onto his bed.
Lucky propped himself up on his elbows and looked around at the pictures lining the wall.
“You’ve really never been in here?” Dash asked.
“I don’t invade anyone’s private space.”
“Well, now I’ve invited you. Feel free to check out the pictures. But not now.”
Lucky smirked as Dash yanked him closer, bit his neck again. Leaving another mark on Lucky, like he was sixteen and couldn’t help himself. It was like he knew his time with Lucky was limited and he was trying to live a lifetime in one night.
He tried to push the fact that he didn’t want this to be for just one night into the back of his mind. Because this was supposed to be a goddamned job. And somehow, it had turned into something else altogether.
All for the job, Dash, he tried to tell himself and even he didn’t believe his own bullshit this time.
“Do you think that that guy’s going to come back and bother you?” he asked now.
“Not sure,” Lucky mumbled. “Hope not.”
“Does that happen to you a lot?”
“No,” Lucky told him. “Guess I have a twin somewhere.”
There was no guile in his eyes, but Dash couldn’t shake the fact that Lucky knew something big was coming down the line for him.
If Lucky did have amnesia, he’d have to know he had zero memories. And he’d have to be waiting for his past to catch up with him, maybe every day of his life.