by Jack L. Pyke
Gray automatically shifted his firearm into an alcove just right of the door. The space would have made for a perfect drink’s bar, piping had even been fed through, probably from a cellar below, to allow draft beer to be pulled through. And considering just who sat there bound to one, Gray never once let his firearm drop to his side, not with what Jack held in one hand. “Drop the knife.”
“Knife?” A tear slipped free with the confusion. “Don’t... what knife?” The fall of Jack’s gaze onto the gun came with a jolt, and Jack jerked once on the tape around his other wrist. He’d tethered himself to one of the highest remaining pipes, allowing him the peace to sit down, but keeping one arm high above his head. Coveralls were down to his waist, but his chest offered that same heavy perspiration and pull in of deep breath that matched Logan’s. Two long cuts also stained his abs.
Sex dirtied the air, or the heavy mix of sweat that tried to outdo the blood and glint of light on the blade that Jack held.
“Drop the knife.”
Again Jack jolted. “I didn’t fucking touch him.” He let his head rest against the tethered arm. “Christ... but Martin... I... I think Martin... Martin...” He let out an angered snarl and pulled once on the pipe, the knife shifting dangerously close to the tape as he brought his other hand up. “Not me, Gray. Not fucking me—”
“Drop the fucking knife or I will shoot.”
Jack instantly jerked, the knife slipping from his hands as Gray levelled the firearm on his shoulder. “Wouldn’t....” Confusion shone as he looked from Gray to the knife, back to Gray. “Christ... never hurt you, mukka.”
“Kick it away.”
“Gray—”
“Away.”
He did, bare foot catching the handle and sending it skidding closer to Gray. For a moment Gray didn’t move, just watched Jack’s facial expression, his body language. He needed to watch that body language for just a moment longer, one fucking moment longer. He’d been here before.
Movement came from down the hall, then—“Jack?”
Gray flinched as Jan skidded to a stop in the doorway. His gaze went to the gun, to Gray. He came a little closer, eyes looking wired, alive, then he backed up a few paces when he saw just who Gray aimed the gun at. “Shit... shit—”
“Jan...” Jack was suddenly pushing to his feet, but as Jan took more steps back, glanced back over Gray’s shoulder—groaned seeing Logan—Jack stopped and let out an angry cry. “Not me, Jan,” he said, then shouted, forcing Jan to jerk around—“Not fucking me.”
“What the fuh—” Jan looked torn between throwing up or bolting. “You touched him... you fucked.... What the fuck? What the—”
“Out,” cried Jack, and Gray caught all of his hurt. “Get him the fuck out of here.” Jack was suddenly turning back and pulling at the tape, trying to break through bone to get free. Fingers dug into skin, scratching at where the tape held him fast. At least six layers of tape had been used. First wrapping around the pipes, then Jack’s wrist, then back and forth until the circulation looked ready to set Jack loose before he got free.
“Didn’t know.” Giving a snarl, Jack gave one last yank that nearly pulled the tap from the wall. “Didn’t feel the fall, Gray. But Jan... please... don’t let him fucking see this.”
“S’okay, s’okay,” said Jan, taking a step closer, only Gray made sure he didn’t reach Jack. Pupils were still dilated. Heavily so, and that weighted drain on his body hadn’t kicked in yet. Martin might have tried to leave mid-act, but the signs were there that some internal battles were still being fought, battles that Gray wouldn’t allow Jan to be caught between.
“It’s okay, baby.” Jan let out a laugh, but it was scared, and it saw Jan keep his distance. “Just... you just need to calm down a little more, is all. Just calm, just—”
“Fucking more? What are you doing here, Jan? What the fuck are you doing here?” Jack pulled at his bonds, in that moment looking like he’d get loose just to rip Jan apart and use the blood as a water slide for some Saturday night fun.
But then he fell deathly still as movement came from back over by the door. Someone else came into the dining room and—
“No,” mumbled Jack, life draining out of him. “Fucking no, Gray. You promised me. You fucking stood behind holding me and promised it was okay to fall....”
Jan had gone quiet too and seemed to shove his hands in his back pockets and look away as Jack cried all the abuse under the sun. Craig came over carrying a black case.
Craig was still officially on night shift over at the MC’s psychiatric unit, but that wasn’t why Halliday had recommended him in particular. Jack had mentioned his name more than once or twice over the past month and there seemed such a devilment in Jack’s grin when he did. From Jack’s time in the psych unit, he’d gotten to know Craig, and Craig vice-versa from the concern in the older man’s eyes now. Craig had seen Logan too, but his nursing military history had seen him witness many an atrocity and still need to stay focused on the issue at hand, and that need kicked in now. It was a hard reminder to Gray on why he had always prioritised the MC and who they looked after.
“Hey, Jack,” Craig said gently, shifting the case he held from one hand to another as he went a little closer. “Can you tell me your first name?”
“You know my first name, you fucking cunt.”
“Your last?”
“Come a little closer and I’ll fucking whisper it.”
“Okay.” Keeping an eye on Jack, Craig knelt down and pulled a needle free from the carry case. “Still up for giving me your sort code and account number to your bank card?” he asked, his smile a little uneasy. Craig saw echoes of someone else too.
Jack went quiet and looked at what Craig held as the army psychiatric nurse got to his feet. “Don’t...” A tear fell. “Don’t put me back in that shithole, please.” He looked at Gray. “Please, mukka. Don’t....”
Gray finally lowered his gun as Craig went in. “You need to calm down, Jack. Craig—”
“No. You fucking stood there holding me with a promise it was okay to fuck-up. Don’t put me back in there, please,” cried Jack, then—“Jan. Please, baby, please. Not again, don’t stand there and let them do this again.”
Jan took a step backwards and cried out the same instant his name was called.
“You’re not going anywhere but home,” said Gray as Craig put an arm around Jack, restraining him as the sedative rested at his arm.
“This is just going to calm you down to get you there safely, nothing more, bud,” whispered Craig. “You know how this goes, okay? You have my word you’ll wake up in your own bed.”
Jack cried out, barely seeming to hear Craig’s calm tones, and Gray almost shifted in when Jack shouted his name again. Craig shook his head, forcing another cry from Jack as—“You fucking bastard, Gray. You bastard. He triggered because of you and your shit.”
All of Jack’s hurt was in his direction.
“Goddamn it, mukka—your hands are tied with Logan and you’re backing away from me at every turn—Martin fucking knows it, senses it—loves it.” Jack tried to shake free but Craig was having none of it.
“Easy, bud.”
Jack’s free hand gripped the one at his throat, and he tried to drop down, using every skill possible to try and break free as a tear fell.
“You fuck...” Jack snarled. “It’s about you. It’s about you as my fucking lover, as my fucking Dom.”
“Jack,” said Jan, casting a worried glance at the table as Logan’s struggles stopped in that instant. “Shut it.”
“No,” shouted Jack, “Martin’s trying to do his fucking job by protecting me.” Then he suddenly went so calm, giving a look behind at Craig, then back over at Gray.
“He came after Keal, Gray,” he said in a gentle tone. “He wanted to hurt Keal for his part in the rape.” Jack shrugged. “Martin knows I hurt you, that you’re still too hurt to handle me and your hands are tied with this other shit.” He fell into silence. “For fu
ck’s sake, Gray, I know I hurt you, and you’re still so fucking far away from me because of it. Please.... I’m going nowhere, and I’ll spend the rest of my life on hands and knees asking permission to heal the hurt I’ve caused you, but I need you to be you; I need to see you now.”
Jack looked back at Craig and gave a slight nod toward the sedative. “You fill me with that, you make sure you look after them for me, okay? I get to black this fucked-up shit out. They’re stuck with it, and me. And I keep fucking up their lives.”
Craig glanced over, just briefly, then his gentleness was back with Jack. “I’ll make sure you all get home and into the right hands, all right, bud?”
Jack nodded again and there was no protest there at all as Craig eased the needle into his arm, just such a sad look that eventually dulled in his eyes as the sedative took effect and Craig took Jack’s weight.
He was eased to the floor with Craig keeping a careful eye on the angle of Jack’s tethered wrist and—“Out,” he said just after he checked Jack’s vitals.
After looking back at Logan, Gray found Jan. “Go with Craig and get Jack back to ours.”
Jan seemed unwilling to move.
“Jan,” Gray said gently and soft brown eyes found his. “Can you look after him for me, please?”
That shivering was still there and Gray wondered why Jan hadn’t worn his jacket when he’d hunted around for it earlier on. But then such a sharpness came to Jan. He glanced back over at Logan, then nodded at Gray before going over to help Craig. Craig glanced up, but Gray ignored him as he waited for Jan to find a way to cut Jack free.
“Back to the manor?” said Jan, now helping to take Jack’s weight as they found their feet.
“Yeah,” said Gray. He waited for them to leave, then started to gather up Logan’s clothes. His hand had been forced now. This had to be dealt with tonight, even if it pushed Logan’s contacts back into the shadows.
Fifteen minutes later, Logan was fully clothed and no doubt rolling off some serious language into the gag as Gray pushed him into the back of his Merc. Logan’s mouth was still taped, but now with a more professional gagging that kept his airways clear to allow the basics of breathing. Hands were tied behind Logan’s back, the cut bandaged and given basic triage, and Logan himself was pushed down to lie flat across the seat with rope around his throat that made sure he stayed down. Logan’s fight and anger had fallen into thick silence. Jack’s knife was taped to Logan’s inner thigh, making sure he kept his legs still too. Angled perfectly with Logan’s cock, taped still to ensure it, any movement would make sure urethral insertion came DIY in the back of a car. Logan seemed to take the threat well, in a choking silence way.
Fucking peachy, that, as Jack would say, thought Gray.
Chapter 18
Hard Lessons
The house Gray pulled up to was similar to Jack’s old home: the last in a long line of semi-detached houses. Away from finance and general business, the locale was chosen specifically because of the neighbours’ ability to not give a damn who tainted their streets. All the more better if any newcomers did a moonlight flit, thus leaving their homes and any goods they couldn’t carry in their rush to get out open to one and all.
MI5 had a number of safe houses across the UK, ranging from office buildings that were used as secondary command points down to basic one-bedroom flats, where both domestic and foreign ops could keep their head down when needed. And from these, connections could be made to front companies, garages, and underground channels that were associated with MI5 Secret Service ops.
And of course there were “spies” who weren’t attached to MI5 but who loved to try and arrange spy sites in London too. The district-general had a list as long as the dead for foreign safe houses that had been set up in and around London, including those going back to the 1930s and the Russian spies who’d set up base in Regent Street. MI5 had taken control of that for a while, whilst more local businesses laid claim to it today.
Spies. London writhed with maggots when it came to spies.
Gray eased a look over at the semi-detached house and caught the light on in one of the back windows. He’d given the address to Andrews in a text, and it looked like he’d already arrived.
After parking the Merc in the only drive, and Andrews already given access to the back, Gray loosened the rope tethered around the backseat bracket on the floor, then tugged Logan out, feet-first from the car.
“The knife you feel?” he whispered into Logan’s ear as he pulled him back to him, an arm now around his throat. “It asks for quiet. You speak without being spoken to”—he nudged Logan’s knee, snapping his leg forward a touch, and the gag buried Logan’s whimper as the knife no doubt kissed a soft head—“It’ll hurt. We clear?”
Hard breaths came through the tape, and Logan gave a very quick nod of head.
“Good man.” Gray made sure they kept their footsteps small but quick as he took Logan through the back into the kitchen. The blinds had already been pulled down, and a laptop sat on the table. One chair was available in the kitchen.
Standing behind Logan, Gray slipped a hand down Logan’s jeans and found the handle of the knife. As he pulled it free, making Logan yelp into the gag as he lost a good patch of dark hair on his inner thigh, Andrews came into the kitchen.
The MI5 op stayed quiet as he leaned against the door. Then when Gray offered the knife out, he came over and took it. Gray’s look said enough on where he wanted Logan to be, and Andrews grabbed the man by his shirt collar and forced him down into the chair.
The laptop took his attention. This safe house hadn’t been chosen to take a step away from society but more to get access to Thames House files without actually stepping foot inside his MI5 office.
Andrews wore the same leather gloves. One hand rested on the back of Logan’s head, and as Gray finished pulling up what he needed, Andrews pushed Logan’s face a few inches short of the laptop.
“You do not move from that position,” said Gray, and he caught Logan’s cock of ear, one that said he’d expected Gray to speak from the left, not the right as he did now. There were two people by him.
Andrews let the knife he held slip against the back of Logan’s neck. Logan didn’t push back, in fact he sat there, tears sneaking underneath the blindfold, and shivering.
This was the one and only chance to see if the son was nothing like the father. Gray tugged off the blindfold, then crouched down. At first he didn’t speak, just let the images play out as he watched Logan’s changing expressions. Some witness statements flickered up and they went back fourteen years, details noting how mothers and daughters had been fucked next to each other for trying to outrun Keal’s sex-trafficking; their torture broken down into a few bullet points hardly doing their ordeals any justice. Keal had a particular hate towards the LGBT community, and some statements came from men who’d had their scrotum cut through, his will to show they might as well not have any if they weren’t fucking like men should. Or the lesbian who had her lips sliced through because she’d fallen in love with another sex-trafficked woman, and who she’d been caught kissing. Each file mentioned Keal’s name, mentioned Logan’s father, and Logan had the same look as Jack, as though he wanted to be sick.
“You touched Jack.... Did your father know about your sexual preferences like he did with those you’ve just read, Logan? Did you ever get around to telling him?”
Mouth still taped, Logan frowned.
“Strange where our instinct takes us,” Gray said quietly. “Always so much to say but never really the right opportunity to give us that freedom. Sometimes there’s a reason for that.”
Gray stopped the play of files after a few minutes, then brought up a video. This one he knew off by heart, every twist and cry away from Vince’s branding iron that Jack made. The volume was set to quiet, but Jack’s agony as the branding iron touched down, and Jan’s cry seeing it, could have been playing full bass for how it tore Gray’s insides.
Logan was into rap
id eye movement, not fully understanding the run of images or the brutality behind it, but he recognised the man on screen, and the confusion was obvious. He tried to mumble something, started to twist away, and a grab at Logan’s hair made sure that he found Gray.
“I took the hit out on your father for touching mine, and, yes, he died in a lot of pain.” Gray gripped harder at Logan’s hair and ripped the gag off. “Find whatever peace of mind you need from that because you’ve just touched mine too.”
Gray forced him to look at the laptop.
“Whoever your new-found friends are, they’re pushing you to continue tearing up people I care for. And I won’t... fucking... play anymore.”
“He said it was you.” Logan groaned. “He said you branded him.”
“Who said?”
“Mart... Martin.”
Gray wiped at Logan’s cheek. “He told you what you wanted to hear, then,” he said. “You like them shy and vulnerable, hm? You wanted Martin shy and vulnerable, used it maybe to keep him there?” Something flared in Logan’s eyes and Gray gave a small smile. “Who were you keeping him there for?” No answer came and Gray let him go, now easing to his feet. After taking out his firearm, Gray placed it inches from Logan.
“You mark, and you remember. The last person to exploit and touch Jack, he was buried by your hand a few months back. All the friends you’ve gained lately, all the friends you think you’ve gained lately, they will not stop me doing the same to you if you breathe by my sub again.” Gray shut the laptop. “They’re not here now, are they?”
A look was given over to Andrews, then a nod. Logan was pulled to his feet.
“You know where my firearm is, Mr Keal.” Gray took a walk over to the sink and glanced outside. “It’s fitted with a silencer so nobody will hear it.”
With a slip of a Stanley knife, the tape on Logan’s hands were cut.
“You have my word I will not use it if you decide to walk out of this house and back to yours. That offer is there because there’s the knowledge that you’re not like your father, and you wouldn’t use it on me.” Gray glanced over. “Despite what I’ve told you here.”