Daylight Again (Hell or High Water, #3)

by SE Jakes

  “I promised your father that I’d keep you safe at all costs. And right before he died, he looked me in the eye and he said, ‘Remember.’ And I did. I do.”

  “But it’s not your decision alone anymore. Dad would understand that. He’d want me to do the right thing. He didn’t live in fear, so why should I?”

  Prophet had no answer for that.

  “If I don’t make it, that’s not on you—that’s on Sadiq,” Gary said firmly, and Christ, the kid had grown up a hell of a lot in the past months. “Just let me try.”

  How could he not? “If you’re sure . . . I know trying to stop you will just make things worse. So we’ll plan and make sure you’re as safe as you can be.”

  Gary brightened. “Good. I’d do it anyway, but your okay makes it better.”

  Prophet left Gary in the bedroom and went out to talk to Cillian and have him share the plan he’d obviously worked out.

  When he entered the living room, Tommy was pacing the floor and Cillian was uncharacteristically quiet. Both men turned toward him, and Cillian looked more than a little relieved.

  “Are we settled?” Cillian asked.

  “As much as I don’t want him to do it . . . I won’t take this away from him,” Prophet said. From behind Cillian, Tom gave him a nod and a smile. “Let’s go over the plan. I don’t want to do it in front of Gary.”

  Cillian motioned for the men to follow him to the next floor. He had cameras set up, the same way Prophet did, and they had a clear view of the windows outside the room Gary was in, the entire building’s perimeter, the front door of Cillian’s . . . and Gary himself. Cillian adjusted it so they could just see from his calves down, and that made Prophet feel better. He hated thinking about the fact that Gary’d been kept like an animal in a cage, watched over constantly, whether or not it was for his own good.

  “Do you forgive him, Prophet?” Cillian asked out of nowhere.

  “Forgive him?”

  “He set you up. If it wasn’t for him . . .” Cillian trailed off. “He almost set off a chain of unstoppable events.”

  Prophet ran his hands through his hair. “It’s amazing how much you can push out of your mind. That’s not the way I feel about what happened. It’s not an issue.”

  Cillian stared at him, then shook his head. “You never fail to surprise me, Prophet.”

  And then Tom growled. Prophet smiled. “Let’s get on with it.”

  Cillian nodded. “It’s quite simple. I find that tends to work best. I’ll have my guy make the initial contact tonight. He’ll meet with Sadiq’s people. Next week, when Sadiq’s at the compound, my guy will bring Gary to him. And from there, we can expect Sadiq to keep both men, even though that won’t be part of the initial deal. We’ll be close by. And we’ll wait, give Gary some time to make Sadiq comfortable.”

  “How do we know Gary’s safe once he gets in there?” Tom asked. “Sadiq’s going to be suspicious that he’s back.”

  “Sure. But he’s also not going to be able to turn away someone who can build him the triggers he’s been waiting for.”

  “So Gary will start building the triggers,” Prophet said.

  “Right. He’ll also be wearing a transmitter so we can keep track of him.” Cillian’s eyes trailed over to the screen showing the front door where Mal was coming in. Finally he tore his eyes away and said, “Perhaps you should text your teammate so he doesn’t worry.”

  Prophet was already on it, and they watched Mal getting the text, staring into the camera, and then heading up to Prophet’s apartment.

  “Suppose they find the transmitter?” Tom asked.

  “It’s hidden,” Cillian told them. “Bottom of his foot, between his toes.”

  “Like an implant?” Tom asked.

  “Yes,” Cillian said, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Which, really, it was. Prophet had seen it work well many times. “There’s a second in the scar from his appendectomy.”

  “If they scan him?” Tom continued, obviously fascinated by the technology.

  “It turns off,” Cillian confirmed. “Specially made for this. And it’s implanted sideways, with a special foam coating, so if you try to feel it, you’ll get an edge that feels pretty similar to scar tissue.”

  Cillian lifted up his sleeve to show a still-healing scar. “Before I cut it out, I wore it for five years. And trust me, I’ve been scanned by every criminal and terrorist I’ve come in close contact with. So Gary’s not going anywhere without us knowing about it. He’s ready for this—he’ll build the triggers, leave out something crucial. And we’ll disassemble anyway when we’re done.”

  Prophet nodded. “And then we come in and kill Sadiq, plus the other men in the organization who are there. Leave John in the wind.”

  “And then we go after John,” Tom added.

  “With no mercy,” Cillian said.

  “And your friend who’s selling Gary to Sadiq?” Prophet asked. “He’ll going into hiding?”

  “I’ll make sure he gets paid, and we’ll keep him open as a good source for John to use in the future, when we make our next move.”

  Prophet shook his head slowly. “You don’t think John will realize that the guy was part of this?”

  Cillian gave a slight smile and looked at the now-empty hallway. “I don’t know what people believe anymore.”

  After another restless night where Prophet attempted to sleep and Tom stayed up to watch over him, the two of them barely touching, Prophet pushed himself up sometime after sunrise.

  Tom was sleeping peacefully, and Prophet took a long moment to stare, to try to memorize his features, like he’d been doing more and more lately.

  Finally, he went into the bathroom to get ready for a run. He wouldn’t wake Tom up for it. Even though they seemed far apart, and space seemed like the last thing they needed, they actually did need some physical distance between them.

  He brushed his teeth. Pissed. Washed up. Toweled his face dry, and when he went to hang it up, his vision blurred, more his left eye than his right, but fuck, this was really fucking happening.

  He forced himself to remain calm, blinked, but the blur was still there. He couldn’t judge how long it’d been—maybe it was the same pattern as it had been every other time it’d happened, but it felt like fucking forever. He splashed his face again, rinsing his eyes, hoping maybe something just got in there—dust or whatever the fuck—but it didn’t help.

  He reached into the medicine cabinet and pulled out the drops. Put them in, blinked and waited. Stared at the picture on the wall—a still from a trip to Lourdes that Dean had given him years ago, telling Prophet that whatever his religion, whatever he believed in exactly didn’t matter. It was only important that he believed.

  “I believe and it’s not doing any fucking good,” he muttered now. Heard the guy’s words echo in his mind.

  We can’t question why something’s been planned for us. We can only figure out how to use it to the best of our ability.

  He stared at the blurred black and white and swallowed back the lump in his throat. Dr. Salen had explained to him that the blurring would come and go, and then, one day, it wouldn’t leave. And blurry was still better than no frontal vision, but it wasn’t a long trip from blurred to blind.

  He closed his eyes and put his palms up to them, pressed a little and tried to stave off the panic. His breath was coming out harsher than he expected and he cursed, probably a little too loudly. Or maybe Tom had been standing there for a while and he hadn’t known, but Tommy said quietly behind him, “Proph, what’s wrong?”

  “I can’t . . .” He reached for Tommy’s hand and thankfully, Tommy grabbed for his, grabbed him actually too, and held him close.

  “I’m here, okay. Just fucking breathe, Proph. It’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t. Couldn’t be. And even when his vision came back, just like that, a curtain pulled back so he could see Tommy’s handsome face, it didn’t take away the underlying panic that had been the
re the entire time he’d been with Tom, the thing he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  Now, he could. “Listen to me, all right, Tommy? Just fucking listen. Because no one thinks it’s too much in the beginning. It doesn’t happen overnight. But the only way I’m going to be able to live with it—and live with myself—is to know that if you can’t do it anymore, you’ll walk the fuck away. You have to fucking promise me that. I can’t do this if you don’t.”

  And there it was—Prophet’s biggest fear, one of the last walls, crumbling down. All Tom could do was wrap his arms tightly around Prophet and murmur his name.

  “You have to fucking promise me,” was all Prophet murmured against his neck.

  And even though it broke his goddamned heart to do so, he said, “I promise, Prophet. I swear to you, I would walk away before I let it get like that between us.”

  “I’d fucking die if I made someone live that way.”

  “I know. That’s the only reason I made that promise.”

  “Good.” Prophet put a hand on his cheek. “We’ve got other shit to do, while I still can.”

  That wasn’t pity for himself—that was simple truth. And the thought of finishing up what had been haunting this man for ten years plus made his need to help even stronger. “Let’s get rid of those fucking ghosts once and for all, Proph. We tried burying them, but that never works. So how about we just set them free?”

  “And let them go to the light, Carol Anne?”

  “And just like that, you’re a goddamned bastard again.” But Tom was smiling as he said it.

  After Tom made him the promise, Prophet went for a run. Alone. Tom offered, but did so like he knew Prophet would say no.

  Now, as his feet pounded the dirt along the wooded trails, AC/DC blasting in his ears, everything settled.

  All the secrets . . . they’re almost all out there.

  And you’re about to let your father . . . your grandfather . . . win. And you’re nothing like them.

  That stopped him in his tracks. Literally. He stood there, his breathing hard in the cold, and for the first time he truly knew that he wasn’t like the other Drews men. He’d never been. And God, he’d been a fucking asshole to deny himself and Tommy what they both needed to get through this.

  He raced back to the apartment, took the stairs two at a time and pulled his phone out of his pocket, prepared to leave it aside.

  Until he noticed the recent call he’d missed. He listened to the message from Doc telling him what he’d been waiting to hear.

  And yeah, he definitely believed in signs.

  He didn’t bother to shower—Tom had said he’d lift weights while Prophet was out, so he must be sweating too, probably about to get into the shower. Prophet burst into the bedroom, and Tom stared at him, a little suspicious, but curious too. And hopeful.

  “You’re wearing too many clothes,” Prophet told him.

  Tom smiled, that fucking smirky, I knew it smile, as he stripped, and yeah, Prophet was going to wipe it right off him. Replace it with something even better.

  “Bed. Against the pillows,” he said and Tom complied leisurely while Prophet went into his dresser drawer and pulled out what he needed: cuffs, rope, and lube.

  He threw the lube onto Tom’s belly and proceeded to cuff one of Tom’s wrists to the headboard. Although he’d taught Tom how to break out of cuffs, so he also roped his wrist to keep him in place. He wanted Tom to know he wasn’t fucking moving until Prophet was done.

  He wasn’t maudlin, but neither one of them could fully predict what would happen next on their search for Sadiq and John. He wasn’t going out with regrets—not about Tom. Not when this heat between them was the most healing thing either of them had experienced. It was ridiculous to punish himself because of his freak-out the last time they’d started to have sex.

  No one ever lived a good full life when they fully sacrificed what was good for them.

  And this? Tom stretched out, piercings on display . . . this was good.

  Tom glanced up at him, still smirking but also more unsure. And that was exactly what Prophet wanted.

  “Touch yourself,” he commanded as he grabbed the lube and put some on his finger.

  Tom stared at what he was doing, even as he reached his free hand down to stroke himself. He fingered the piercings in between strokes. Groaned because Prophet was staring at him.

  “Spread your legs wider,” Prophet ordered, moving in between them, circling Tom’s hole. Teasing. Pressing. “You like that, baby?”

  Tom nodded vigorously, grunted when Prophet entered him with a lubed middle finger and pressed his gland.

  “Good. Keep stroking yourself. Don’t come though,” Prophet warned as he added two more fingers, knowing how much Tom enjoyed the burn, the twist of pain.

  Tom’s hips came off the bed, trying to force Prophet to his rhythm. But Prophet wasn’t having it.

  “You’d do anything for me right now,” Prophet confirmed.

  Tom nodded, but his eyes were beginning to go unfocused.

  Prophet pinched Tom’s nipples, pulled at the rings. He wanted to leave Tom strung out and boneless. He owed that to Tommy . . . to himself.

  He moved away from Tom, who gave a moan of protest. He closed the shades, shut the door, turned off the light.

  He heard Tom’s sharp intake of breath as he stripped off his own shirt and shorts and moved back toward the bed, his hands resting on Tommy’s thighs as he knelt between them on the mattress. It was really dark in the room as he explored Tom’s body bit by bit. Tom’s breaths guided him. This wouldn’t change. That was the most reassuring thing right now.

  This wouldn’t change. And that made the next thing he did much easier.

  He closed his eyes against the darkness. His tongue found every single tattoo. He traced them with his tongue and fingers and teeth, nipping and sucking Tommy’s skin. Cataloging the small scars, the entire map of Tommy’s body. He knew it well, but there was more to learn.

  Always more to learn.

  And when Tom was frenzied, begging him to come, Prophet pinned him, the back of Tom’s thighs against his chest, Tom’s calves over his shoulder. Prophet’s hands played along Tom’s chest, tugging his nipples, feeling how stiff and swollen they were.

  “Yeah, Proph . . . like that,” Tom groaned. Prophet twisted them harder and Tom’s cock leaked. Prophet’s cock rubbed along Tom’s ass.

  Then he lubed up his cock, quickly, because hell, it’d been too long for him too. And as much as he wanted to come immediately, he wanted to savor what was about to happen.

  “Tommy?”

  “Please, Proph . . .”

  “Tests came back.” As he spoke, he pushed inside of Tom, breaching the tight heat without a condom for the first time.

  Tom gasped. Bucked. Tried to push Prophet in deeper, faster. “Holy fuck, Proph . . . feels . . . it’s incredible. Hurry. Want you all the way in.”

  “Fucking greedy.”

  “Slut for you,” Tom readily agreed, and they both stopped for a long moment when Prophet bottomed out inside of him.

  And then Prophet was on his elbows as he plowed into Tom. His mouth was everywhere—Tom’s jawline, his neck, licking his biceps, his armpit—and that made Tom jolt. “Fuck yeah. Fuck . . . Proph . . .”

  Prophet grinned, because he loved finding new kinks of Tom’s. He licked Tom’s armpit again, kissed it, buried his face in it while Tom came hard between their bodies.

  “Son of a bitch,” Tom groaned.

  Prophet realized his hands were shaking. Tom’s legs were trembling. And then Tom begged again, and Prophet rode Tom harder than he ever had—like he knew he wouldn’t last long with the new sensation of skin to skin . . . and from the way Tom teased him with dirty talk, he didn’t want Prophet to.

  “Come on, Proph. Want to feel you filling me. Give me everything. Come inside of me, right fucking now.”

  Prophet wasn’t sure when Tom had taken over the reins, but his body responde
d to Tom’s commands like it had no choice. He came hard, shooting inside Tommy, his entire body shuddering with a climax that seemed never-ending.

  Tom held Prophet through his orgasm, the feeling of the man coming inside him an indescribable power. As Prophet’s head came to a rest on Tom’s chest, his legs dropped off Prophet’s shoulders to tighten around his waist, and he rubbed the back of Prophet’s neck.

  After several minutes, Prophet half pulled out of him as he began to lick Tom’s chest and belly where he’d spilled between them.

  “Proph . . . Jesus.” His free hand threaded in Prophet’s hair, still restrained and yet still somehow controlling the situation, moving Prophet so he could clean him up everywhere. Moving him down lower, holding his head in place and forcing him to deep-throat his cock. Prophet whimpered, which made Tom’s balls tighten, and yeah, he was more than half-hard again.

  It’d been too long. And he wasn’t giving up the chance to be inside Prophet bare. But he forced Prophet to keep his mouth working. “That’s it, Proph—get me hard. And then I’m going to fuck you. You’ll feel it for days.”

  Prophet moaned around his cock. Tom took his hand away, telling him, “Don’t you dare stop.”

  Prophet didn’t, kept up a slow steady rhythm until Tom was ready. Leisurely, he let himself out of the cuffs and the ropes, because really? Did Prophet think he hadn’t studied Naval knots?

  He wrapped a hand around the back of Prophet’s neck and shifted over. “Come on, Proph. On your hands and knees. Keep your eyes closed.”

  Prophet drew in a sharp, surprised breath.

  “Yeah, I figured you had them closed, baby. Keep them that way. Trust me.”

  Prophet obviously did, because he followed directions. When he was in position, Tom spread his cheeks, tonguing his hole, driving Prophet wild. He could keep Prophet on edge for a long time like this, but no, his cock was demanding equal time.