by Jack L. Pyke
“No,” said Gray. “I know stunner, he’s always right here with me.” Gray returned the kiss, softer... gentler.
Martin pulled away. “He’s mine, Welsh.” A tear fell as Martin’s hand brushed Gray’s. “Keep those bed sheets warm for me. I promise, one of these days, I’ll fuck you over, and it’ll be—” Such a wicked smile shone through hurt. “—so fucking stunning.”
Martin pressed down, forcing Gray’s touch on the device to press the button. The fight was there against the strong sedative filling his system, but Gray held on and caught Martin as he started to fade, pressing his body in close as the back of Martin’s head found the glass mirror. Gray kissed his cheek as he saw the light in his eyes start to fade, because even as he did start to fade, he refused to lean on Gray.
“Yeah,” Gray said quietly. “Best kind of hurt from both of you.”
Chapter 41
Mourning
Trace heard the knock on the Oval door, and life seemed to still for a moment as everyone went quiet. It came again a moment later, four knocks on the door, quiet, barely audible, and earning a hand against his lips off Jan as Greg went to speak.
Three knocks meant that Martin was with Gray, the fourth knock came, and that meant....
Jan was there, tugging the key out of Trace’s pants, then forcing it into the lock. He stepped back as the door came open, then Jan was up against Gray, hands cupping his face as he kissed his lips. Hard.
“You okay?” Jan started to rummage at Gray’s suit, hands shaking like hell. Gray pulled him back in, head going into the curve of Jan’s throat.
Jan startled for a moment and a groan came from Greg.
“Gray, there’s blood on your shirt. Are you... is Jack,” said Jan. “Where’s Jack? Is he okay?”
Gray kissed at Jan’s lips but Trace caught how badly Gray shook, also the heavy sadness weighing his shoulders down. “Bedroom,” said Gray. Jan stilled, then as he went to shift past, Gray caught his arm, stopping him. “You can’t.”
“Why not?”
Greg was there, his gaze asking the same question, and Gabe went over, no doubt concerned that the old man would finally give up and crumple in on himself.
“There’s no guarantee it will be Jack when he wakes. Craig needs to see him. So too does Halliday.”
Jan’s hands went to his head. “Get him back, Gray. Please.”
Gray tugged Jan to one side as Craig eased past and gave him a nod.
“I know,” he said to Jan. “This, it’s for Craig to assess. Greg too. He knows Martin’s games better than most.”
Greg edged past Jan, stopping just to ease a stroke down Jan’s back and offer a smile to Gray.
“Ed.” Gray waved his grandfather over. “Craig is going to need a few things. Martin took a superficial gunshot wound to his shoulder.”
“What?” Jan seemed to shake it off. “I’ll go with you,” he said to Ed, already taking over from Gray.
“You okay?” Gray stopped Jan before he left. “I mean... you coping?”
He still looked pale, that cold, damp sweat touching his forehead, but his eyes were more focused than they had been in days. Not much, but a little.
“I’ll get there.” Jan came back in, kissing at Gray’s lips. “And we’ll damn well hold Martin down and take care of him until Jack gets there with us too.” Then Jan was pulling out his phone and taking Ed with him as he called up to Craig, getting a list of supplies that he might need.
“Coffee?” Gabe gave him an easy smile.
“Whiskey, double,” said Gray, and Gabe waved Dare over. The weight to Dare’s hand touched Gray’s shoulder before they both left. That left Trace, and he went over and pulled Gray close.
“You okay?”
He felt Gray’s shake of head, and Trace kissed his cheek. “Kes?”
Gray eased back. “It’ll come.” But he sounded so tired with it.
Trace risked a smile. “Then can I suggest something?”
“Sure.”
“Shower. As soon as possible.”
Gray gave a sniff at his jacket, then winced. He started to take it off as he turned away. Trace took it for him, followed by his shirt and tie. The drop of his shoulders said Gray had so much to say, but it would be to Jan first, when... if Jack was back on his feet. Martin would no doubt try and hold on as long as possible, but the patience was there. It had always been there from Gray’s end yet for the first time, in a long time, that quiet strength to face it was back in the fine lines across his back. He’d had time to heal, now they all just needed the space.
“I still have that plane booked for tomorrow.”
Gray looked back.
“I was thinking it was time to head home with the kids.”
Gray went to say something, changed his mind, then came back over. His kiss was a deep thank you, and when he broke away, a smile touched his lips.
“Gabe won’t accept the contract money,” he said to Trace, and Trace smirked. “You find a way to make sure he does, okay?”
“You know you had a go at Jan not so long ago because of fraud and moving money about to look like it came from elsewhere.”
“Jan’s a gentleman. I’m—”
“A bastard, yeah, and I’m not going to ask who died to get you managing a smile. But are you a bastard who’s glad it’s nearly over?”
Gray took a long sigh. “Not yet.” He patted Trace’s abs. “One last night for you guys, let’s make it good, eh?”
“Shower, whiskey, food, then bed?
“Fuck yes.” Gray chuckled. “We’re getting old, my friend.”
“Speak for yourself; I can fit in at least another whiskey into that lot.” Gray shook his head, but the ease in his eyes looked a little better. But only a little, something behind that smile said it wasn’t over yet.
A Few Months Later
It had been a while since Trace had left, and the low chatter and pop of a champagne cork felt odd.
Christmas Eve had been spent at the manor, with Greg and Jan’s mother there to keep an eye on Jan. Over the past few weeks, Jan lost his job, but only partly due to his detox. Nothing was officially noted on paper about his drug use, not with how the dealer had come from management, so Gray had made sure Jan’s addiction remained unmentioned. It kept his CV clean, with no convictions, and it also allowed Gray to pull a few strings and get Jan into the MC on the accounts roster. Jan mumbled that his history with fraud shouldn’t let him work within the MC, but too much of Jack had rubbed off on Jan when he’d added how the MC was “Government funded, and fucking over people financially comes with the job.” Gray would have said something, but this was Jan.
Jan had grown his hair a little longer, not enough to run with the rogue, but enough to say he’d found himself more. Jan’s villa had been sold, with him fitting into the manor as naturally as daylight, easing the shadows away from most corners, including those still clinging to him.
Christmas had crept up on all of them, and they’d made the quiet decision to not get gifts and mark it in any way except for an informal Christmas dinner. Going over to the dining table now, Gray made Jan his first stop, giving a discreet brush of hand down his arm before he reached over and took the champagne off Ed. He got a look up from soft brown eyes, then a smile touched his lips. Kate sat next to Jan and her glass was filled first, with a promise that she was welcome to stay another night if she needed. Greg sat opposite, and Gray took care of him next. Talk was mostly on the card night Ed had planned with Greg, and Jan joined in with the occasional chuckle. Ed sipped at a bourbon, and Gray nodded over before picking up two bottles of beer.
He’d always been with Jack on how beer sometimes just tasted better.
Dinner was already served, steaming the dining room as it fought a battle with the Christmas sweet selection that Ed had prepared. Feeling the cool of the two beer bottles under his touch, Gray went over to the far wall and offered one down. “Table. Eat at it.”
The scratch of knife and fork
on plate and the soft chatter fell quiet behind Gray as he waited for an answer.
“Make me.” Sat on the floor, up against the wall, Martin gave a sniff. He still wore his electronic tag and it was visible around his ankle. He wore no shoes, no socks, and where Jack would have opted for suit trousers and V-shirt around Christmas day, Martin wore loose jogging bottoms, nothing else. “Trust me, sitting me next to Pops and all the Christmas love over there would... really push me to find one hundred and one ways to fuck someone over with the turkey wishbone.”
Greg almost looked over, his head shifting slightly to glance back, but Kate reached over, stroking gently at his hand.
Martin took the beer, but grunted when he felt around the bottle and unscrewed the lid. “Plastic?”
Gray almost smiled. “Jack earned his right to handle sharp objects. You’re—”
“On Mickey Mouse wear. No slash-fest sessions.” Martin took a swig. “And look, no alcohol content. Jesus fucking Christ... just give me the wishbone, please. Let me bleed this fucked-up bollocks out.”
Gray left it there and headed back over to the dining table. After he took his seat, they started their meal. Jan had gained a lot of colour over the past few weeks, and although the methadone still kept stock in the en suite, and the odd snap of temper cropped up, he ate healthily now. Ed usually only served the main meat for Christmas, but Jan had mentioned that he was used to an offer of beef, too, so Ed had quietly gone out of his way to provide both.
“Sexy.” Martin kept his smirk as he watched Jan tackle the meat. “You think Jack’s missing that mouth?”
Giving Martin a hard look, Jan fell quiet, and Ed gave Gray a quick glance as Greg looked back for the first time.
“Just before Jack fell, he told me to tell you something, Martin,” he said in a flat tone. “Do you want to know what he said?”
Martin seemed to unconsciously follow Jan’s quiet, his look focused entirely on Jan.
“You’re welcome, Mart.”
Martin frowned at Greg as Jan offered such a lonely smile, but one that held a lot of knowledge with it. Not seeming to understand, Martin pushed up, knocking his beer over.
“Yeah, fuck this shit,” mumbled Martin.
After throwing the napkin on the dining table and brushing a hand against Jan’s, Gray was up and after Martin as he left the dining hall.
Gray caught up with him as Martin slammed the door open to the Oval. They’d shifted a bed inside and removed nearly everything else. A flat screen TV had protective cover high on the wall, the bed was bolted to the floor, and a code via an access panel was the only way in or out through the door.
Gray had promised Jack that there was time and room to fall, that he’d wake up here. And if it took his last breath, Gray kept Martin close for that one promise. Halliday was back to weekly visits, Craig now more of a permanent fixture than Ed, and many a night came with sedatives to keep Martin playing by the rules. He couldn’t go beyond the manor’s perimeter, not with the tag, and it came with the extra threat that if Martin got too close to Jan....
“Why the fuck did he say you’re welcome?” Martin slammed his back against the wall. Gray frowned as he took a step closer. This was something different. This wasn’t dismissive aggression, it wasn’t frustrations with being controlled, this was...
Noise came from by the door and, hands in pockets, Jan came and rested against the doorframe. “I miss him, you know,” Jan said gently.
Martin groaned, hands now running through his hair. “Get him the fuck away.”
Gray shifted, damn scared for Jan who covered the distance to Martin and held him against the wall, his touch placed either side of Martin’s head.
“Miss you, martial arts guy, you hear me?” Jan said quietly before roughing up Martin’s lips with a hard kiss. “Miss you so fucking much.”
Martin jerked in the instance Jan’s lips touched down, not responding, then he went quiet as Jan withdrew his kiss.
“Buh-ballsy, Breakdown.” His tone was quiet, but the words, tear, and slight cross-over there had Jan roughly cupping Martin’s face and forcing their heads together.
“Yeah, he’s still there, all right,” said Jan, eyes screwed closed. “You feeling that, Martin? Jack? Why he walked away saying you’re welcome?”
The tear running free from Martin answered Jan where his silence tried not to.
Jan stroked at the tear. “What happened... it happened to your mind... to your body too. So Jack... he’s saying he’s doing just fine now, that he’s giving you your time to heal.”
Jan gave him such a long kiss, one that Martin frowned into.
“He’s looking after you now, Martin. And he’ll keep saying you’re welcome to you for every wrong you do, or for every cry of hurt. Because he knows it’s one step closer to healing you, and he’ll be back.” That’s why Jan’s smile was so soft at the table, and now. “He’ll be back. So I’ll look after you. Greg, he’ll look after you, Ed—Gray. For as long as it damn well needs, that for every wrong that you do, we’ll follow it with a you’re welcome, Mart.”
“I’m not the fucking soft shit of a nut case.” Martin slid down the wall and Jan followed. “I’m not anyone’s pity pet.”
“Time out,” whispered Jan, pulling him close. The crossover to Jack had been so near, and it was affecting Martin.
Gray went over to the barred window that had been installed and he opened it up, letting the warmth of what should have been a chilly winter play with the shadows cast into the Oval. Then he sat down next to Jan and Martin.
Things could only get better, they all knew that, but sometimes, when life hit hard, life needed shutting down for a while.
Because for a moment, just for a moment, Jack was there. Almost.
Jack hadn’t just trusted Gray with falling, he’d trusted him with Martin too, and that... it tied Martin close to him and Jan in ways Martin probably wouldn’t ever understand.
As much as Gray would make the best bleed for touching them, he was here to push life away until they were ready to face the hurt again. And that included Martin now.
Gray woke up only once that afternoon to find they’d pulled Martin into bed. He’d tried to get out at one point and the sedative had kicked in. Now Jan shaped him one side, Gray the other, and this had been the first time they didn’t need to cuff him to the bed. But it was his mobile that woke him and he reached over to tiredly pick it up as a message came through.
Subject 639. Case closed.
Merry Christmas.
Nhad
Gray read the last part of the message again, then deleted it before returning it with a simple Thank you. In his line of business, there were some messages that would never be seen in the public eye, not in Jan’s eyes, not Jack’s. That was one of them. Elena had been silenced. Case closed.
One more remained outstanding. But he was patient. It would come, and it would be his choosing.
His call.
Chapter 42
Nos Da
Two Months Later
As Kes made his way through the Chêne Pointu estate, part of Clichy-sous-Bois, a ghetto in the eastern suburbs of Paris, a mass of overpopulated high-rise flats and concrete entranceways offered him limited shelter from the rain soaking his hair.
Most of the youth who avoided him had the sense to wear hoodies. It protected them from the elements but also marked the mood of how a lifetime had been spent staying hidden from the slum landlords wanting rent. Other suburban areas of Paris homed Arab, African... Muslim minorities; here it was mostly African, or the poor youth, descendants from two generations of even poorer grandparents. Forty-percent of unemployment came from these areas, the dividing lines coming in the form of eight lanes of road known as the périphérique, which circled Paris. It was one walkway most Parisians never crossed. The success of Paris was separated from the ethnic minorities of the ghettos, earning the contradicting terms of those found in the banlieue aisée—the comfortable suburb—to those of the ban
lieue défavorisée... the disadvantaged.
The lift that would take him up to the high-rise flat he’d managed to rent wasn’t working, but then neither were many of the others. Pulley systems rigged from the highest windows down carried most of the burden behind shopping, and it bypassed the writing on the wall that yelled out “Fuck the police.” The reaction wasn’t surprising. Britain and the USA had an open-door policy that promoted hands-across-the-world for most cultural diversity. Open doorways had always brought easy threats, with terrorists moving freely across borders. France thought they’d solved the terrorist threat, its crackdown on multiculturalism helping to close the border door. Only they forgot about the diversity locked inside. Potential threat came from within, how the borders were now strictly controlled, a risk of isolation for those who carry non-French surnames now fed the fuel to extremism. And small terrorist attacks made big news here, in its own way handing out any calling card to a terrorist who wanted to gain maximum coverage with minimal effort.
In short, nobody had the solution to terrorism, but the look on the young African that Kes passed on the concrete stairway told how problems kept on being ignored, in how voice and cultural diversity would be lost under the cover of a hood or the build-up of rubbish in their derelict area. The colour on Kes’s own skin made it a good place to work, but his French passport gave him the freedom most here would never see.
His latest target was a self-styled Islamist radical, born to Algerian parents. He’d been on the French radar for a while now, but as with other ignored threats, this man roamed free-range, left to whisper in the ear of one Lyle Forester, youngest son of the Dean of the United States House of Representatives. The Dean held a duel-passport with Israel, and his relationship was something Mossad... valued. Young Forester had been detained on Israeli shores for six weeks now, but only four days had been needed to get a name.
Full permission gained from the father, of course. In light of 9/11, having a son going starry- eyed over radicalization could have been potentially very awkward. As was having a trio of MI6 ops passing on information to Al-Qaeda about Mossad operatives. Back there in England, Kidon had lost one operative due to the information on them that had been sold, and this forced Kes to go in to get one of his own agent’s remains out. Once the codenames had been gained, the close ties with MI6 over the past few decades gave him the tools to find out the rest.