by Jo Raven
I grab his shoulders and crush our mouths together, desperate to taste and touch him. Even if it’s not in payment… this is the only way I know to get close to someone. This intimacy he’s been teaching me, skin to skin. Heart to heart.
I push him back onto the armchair where he first fucked me, what feels like ages ago. I tug down his sweats, cursing at the delay, then spread his legs and go down on my knees.
“Jase. Hold up.”
But I can’t. This is urgent. I need… him. Close. Closer.
I don’t know what the fuck I need.
His hand grips the back of my head, stroking, and I shudder. He tugs until I lay my cheek on his thigh, and he keeps stroking. Petting me.
Maybe this. This feels good. Sends tingles down my back, makes my skin shiver pleasantly. His other hand caresses my shoulder, my arm, and I sag against him, all the urgency seeping out of me.
Then he says, “The scars. How did you get them?”
Oh fuck.
I jerk back but his grip only tightens. It makes my breath rattle in my chest, and my heart hammer against my ribs.
“It’s, uh.” Shit. Just say something and be done with it. “I think it was an accident I was in. As a kid.”
And for some reason my stomach twists, as if it’s true. But it’s not.
Not that I’d know. Or that I’d wanna know. Can’t remember anyway.
Christ, I forgot about the scars for a moment there. Maybe because I got comfortable here, and I’ve lived with the scars for so long. Since I was a kid, and…
My stomach twists again, and I swallow bile. The world starts to darken at the edges, like it sometimes does when I try to remember about my childhood. I look up at Raine, look into that deep blue gaze, and he frowns.
“Fuck,” he mutters, and grabs me under the armpits, dragging me toward him. I hadn’t realized I’d been listing sideways. He lifts me up on the armchair with disturbing ease, as if I weigh nothing, and settles me down in his lap, wrapping his arms around me. “I’m an idiot. I push too much.”
“Don’t,” I whisper.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t stop pushing. Don’t let go.”
He’s silent for a beat. Then he presses a kiss to my hair. “Never,” he says. “For as long as you want me to, I’ll be by your side.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Raine
The event’s second day is even better than the first. It’s snowing outside, the sky is gray, the wind icy, and inside Collateral the party is in full force.
Goths, punks, proper middle-class families, grizzled rockers and tattooed old ladies mingle among the tables, checking out the wares and designs. The buzzing of tattoo guns is a constant background to the music playing on the speakers.
I would have loved Jason to come along, but he looked so tired that I didn’t press him. My mind’s with him, through the noise and work, and I’m thinking of calling, checking on him, soon.
I’m taking payment for a small ink job from a bulky man who looks like a biker—which of course reminds me of Simon Gomez and of Jason—when Megan comes over and stands at the counter, waiting for me to finish so she can talk to me.
Rafe’s wife is radiant in a pale blue dress, her lips a ruby red. Too radiant. Makes me wonder if there’s a bun in the oven we haven’t been told about yet.
Smiling, she leans over the counter once I’m done and whispers, “I’m taking over.”
I grin back at her. “No need, I can hold the fort. Why don’t you go and see what that husband of yours is up to? He may want a break.”
Her brows go up, dark eyes twinkling. “A break, huh? You know Rafe too well. Also, you’re in a good mood today.”
I am. No use denying it, and why would I want to? Jason is at home, warm, fed and safe. He let down his walls for me, talked to me. And now we’re gonna fix this mess and free him from Simon Gomez’s clutches.
“Well, Rafe’s gonna have to wait for his break.” She winks and I laugh. “The guys said you need to talk.”
Oh. That stops me mid-chuckle. “All right.” I roll back the chair and get up. “Ignore the gay porn sites I browsed, okay?”
She leans over the desk again to look at the computer screen and sticks out her tongue. “Don’t take away my fun.”
Shaking my head, I sigh and come around the desk to give her a nudge with my elbow. “Be good, Meg, and leave my browser history alone.”
Even if it only features the Soul Stain website and a takeout place near Collateral.
“Now where’s the fun in that?”
I’m still grinning as I head over to Rafe’s table, though the sober faces that greet me wipe the grin right off my face.
“What’s going on?” I demand. I zero in on Ocean. “Shun. Something happen?”
“Let’s go talk,” Kade, Soul Stain’s owner says. “Somewhere private.”
“Come on.” Rafe leads the way to the back of the shop, to the office. Inside we find Zane Madden, Dylan Hayes, Asher and Tyler Devlin who are good friends with the Damage Control people, and Riot together with two more guys I’ve never seen before. “Here we can talk.”
As the door closes behind us, I realize they’re all fighters. And I don’t just mean metaphorically.
I know Asher and Tyler were trained by their father, a known boxer, and Riot and his friends all bulge with muscles and are standing around as if about to enter a ring. Dylan is a professional athlete. Zane and Rafe train in kickboxing, as do all the Brotherhood and Damage Control members, and Rafe also fought in an underground fight club for a while.
As for Kade… he looks like he could take someone down, tall and muscular like the rest of them, but I don’t know anything about him.
I resist the urge to step back and put some safety distance between us.
“I’ll take it you heard back from your Russian buddies?” I ask Riot.
He nods. “They’ll do it. Shut the MC down.”
“But…?”
“No buts. They will. They’ll move in in a few days.”
I frown. “Then what’s this meeting about? Comparing your muscles? Or your dicks?”
Kade chokes and starts to cough.
Was it something I said?
“Our father,” Ocean says, and I somehow don’t think he’s praying, “asked for a meeting.”
Of course he did. “Okay. What does he want?”
“Money. More money. The usual.”
Right. “Where and when?”
“Tomorrow evening. And as for your comment about muscle… we’ll need all the muscle we can get as back-up. We can all hold our own in a fight, and Riot invited two of his friends, Gale and Zeke to join us, too.”
“Okay. What are we hoping to find out? Jason can take us to Simon’s Club. We don’t need the old man for directions. And why not tell the police to join us?”
“We’re about to involve the Russian Mob in this. Last thing we need is cops breathing down our necks. We’ll talk to Dad, make sure nobody gets hurt, hopefully scare him a little, then when the MC goes down he’ll have no way to threaten us.”
“Until he finds someone else willing to beat people up for money. Not that hard, it seems.”
“He’s right,” Riot says, folding his arms over his chest. “Taking down the MC won’t solve your problems with your old man.”
“After the MC is shut down and the air clears, we’ll report him, find a way to bring him to justice,” Ocean says, looking me straight in the eye, and it feels like a promise. “Right, R?”
“Sounds like a plan,” I grumble, but I guess he’s right.
Not that I understand exactly how this will go down. I’ve never dealt with gangs and the Mob, and I’d been hoping never to have to. But I’ve seen first-hand the marks of Simon’s violence, and if he can be stopped, then I’m all for it. If it means Jason will be safe, that’s all I need to know.
“I talked some more with Jason yesterday.” I stuff my hands into my pockets, feeling heat seepi
ng into my neck when my memory takes its cue to replay every filthy detail of my “talk” with Jason. “He said Simon went after Jesse Lee because Jason wouldn’t put out. Wouldn’t join the MC and turn tricks to line Simon’s pockets. But after Jesse was hurt and their pimp died, Jason gave in.”
Ocean frowns. “He took Jesse’s place?”
I nod. “To keep him safe. To keep all of us safe. He sent his people away for this very reason, and has been paying every penny he makes to keep Simon happy. But it’s not enough. Time after time I’ve found him beaten up and worse.” I stop to control my rage before I start breaking things. “Simon Gomez is a sadist. And get this: he’s related to Jason. His family has fucked him over so much it makes my own parents look like fucking saints.”
“Son of a bitch,” Rafe mutters, baring his teeth, his hands curling into fists. “I’m gonna kill that bastard.”
“Stand in the fucking line,” I mutter.
Asher mutters a curse I can’t quite catch. “We’re taking that motherfucker down. Somehow.”
“We’ll figure this out,” Zane says, speaking for the first time, and we all fall silent, turning to look at him. Rafe may be the owner of the shop, and Riot may be our new mafia expert, but Zane is our natural leader. He runs a hand over the shaved side of his head, his dark blue mohawk like a warrior’s crest. “I wanted Ash and Tyler in, because they also have connections, in case the Mob backs out last minute. We protect our own, and you are our own, as is Jason Vega.”
I take a deep breath as I realize Ocean was right. This is my family, and the guys will come through for us, even if there’s danger.
“That’s right,” Rafe says, nodding. “This is a difficult situation, but we’ll find a way out of it. Failure is not an option. Simon Gomez hurt Jesse Lee, one of our own. Now he’s hurting Jason, and for all we know, he could come after any one of us. He has to be stopped.”
“Make sure Jason stays put,” Zane says and pushes off the desk where he’s parked his ass. “If the police end up getting involved, he’s a valuable witness, and I bet Simon will try to go after him. Keep him safe while we put Simon Gomez out of business.”
With that warning ringing in my ears, I make my way back home in the evening. The snowfall is thick, and I have to drive slow. I can barely see where I’m going. I pass by a drugstore to get Jason some over-the-counter cough drops and syrup, so it’s quite late by the time I park and trudge across the street and into the building.
So I’m not that shocked when I unlock the door to my apartment and find Jason sprawled on the sofa, fast asleep.
Still… he’s here, and a grin tugs at my lips as I let myself inside quietly and close the door with a soft click. I stalk over to him and crouch down in front of him. He’s put on a pair of my old sweats, the thin gray fabric molding to his long legs and riding low on his narrow hips. I resist the urge to trace all the ink and all the scars on his bare chest and arms.
He shivers in his sleep, and I consider pulling the blanket I keep draped on the back of the sofa over him.
Then I change my mind and reach for his waistband. After all, turnabout is fair play. I tug on it gently, and he arches a little, mumbling something that sounds like my name.
My fingers still as my heart trips over. Grinning, I climb over his legs, bend over him and kiss him.
He gasps in my mouth, and I grab his wrists before he clocks me one. “Jase.” I lick at his mouth and his eyes flutter open. “Missed me?”
It must’ve been a good dream. His cock is already fully hard against mine, and when he moans and lifts his hips, I grind my hard-on on his deliberately, just to make him jerk and gasp.
He tastes of chocolate, and I spot a wrapper on the table. “I didn’t know I had chocolate at home.” I stroke his jaw, his stubble scraping my palm.
His gaze shifts away from mine. “I had it with me.”
“But there’s lots of food in the fridge.” I frown. “Jase. You ate nothing else all day?”
He tries to push me off him. “I’m fine.”
“You must be starving. It’s dinner time and you’ve had nothing all day.”
He manages to sit up, dislodging me. He pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes.
Fuck. I swallow a sigh. “Everything in this apartment is yours, too,” I say softly. “I want you to use it. I want you to eat the food, to drink the beer.”
“Why?”
I don’t know if to laugh or curse at his eternal, exasperated question. “Because you’re home, with me. You’re my boyfriend. And I love you.”
He lowers his hands and shoots me a quick glance. “Raine…”
“I promise this is the truth.” I take his hands in mine. “You know, when I was a kid, I wondered about that sometimes.”
“About what?” His hands tense, but he doesn’t pull them away.
“Why my brother took the trouble to keep me fed and warm and even did illegal street races to buy me clothes and toys and medicine when I needed them. I mean, my own parents didn’t care. I also wondered why he sent me away and stayed until my old man kicked him to the street. Then I realized that it’s because he loves me.”
“He’s your brother.”
“Yeah. But he didn’t choose me. I chose you, Jase. To be my family. Because you’re beautiful, and hot, and damn annoying sometimes, but also loyal and honest.”
One side of his mouth tips up in a half smile. “You think I’m hot.”
“That’s all you retained from everything I said?” I roll my eyes. “Seriously, J—”
He pushes me down on the sofa, and tangles our fingers together, raises our joined hands over my head. Yeah, it must have been a good dream. His hard-on is solid and hot, pressing against my hardening cock through the layers of fabric.
He leans over me to kiss me.
Oh yeah. His lips are soft, his tongue rough as he swipes it over mine. He sucks my lower lip into his mouth, then lifts his head and gives me another endearing smile. “You want me.”
“So much,” I whisper.
“So whatcha gonna do about it, huh?”
Lots of things I wanna do to that smiling, wide mouth and that muscular body with all its ink and scars and bruises and glinting pieces of metal.
Pulling my hands free of his, I brush hair out of his face, then bury my fingers in the short, silky strands, tugging a little before letting go.
His hands slide up to either side of my head, and he watches me from under those long dark lashes. I wanna fuck him, kiss him, make him come again and again—but before I say a word, his stomach growls like something from a horror movie.
He laughs, startled. The sound is low and deep and happy.
“I guess what I’m gonna do is make dinner,” I mutter.
“Guess you are.”
“Come here,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around him, pulling him down on top of me. I nuzzle his silky short hair. “I like hugging you. Do you mind?”
He doesn’t reply for a moment. Then he says softly, “No. No, I don’t mind at all.”
Jason steals a piece of the cheese I’m slicing and shoots me a wicked grin before sauntering back to the table where he’s cutting tomatoes for the sandwiches I’m making.
Call me Sandwich Master. It’s the one thing I really know how to prepare. But now my mind’s not on the food but on Jason’s tight ass. He’s standing there, gorgeous and apparently lost in his own thoughts, wielding the sharp knife like he’s fighting in a war. Going medieval on those tomatoes’ asses.
And we’re back to that ass…
“How was the event? Did it go well?” He stops cutting to wipe his forearm over his face, colorful ink shifting on his skin as his biceps bulge, and my mouth goes dry.
“Yeah, great.” I force myself to look down at the cheese I’m supposed to be slicing before I chop off a finger. “Lots of people came in, DeathMoth performed a few songs, the catering was perfect. We have that tattoo group from Chicago joining in the event. We’ll be doing a simila
r event with them over there in the next few months.”
“Soul Stain, right? Jesse Lee told me about them.”
“You talk to him lately?”
“Nah. Haven’t seen him in a while.”
Shit. I abandon the damn cheese, putting the knife down carefully. “My fault. You thought he didn’t trust you—”
“Not your fault.” He’s still attacking the tomatoes. “I wasn’t at my usual spot lately, and even so… better that way. Meeting with me is dangerous, with Simon watching me and all.”
My chest feels too tight. “We’ll stop Simon.”
A snort. “Yeah…”
“We will.” I grip his shoulder, and he puts the sharp knife down, glancing at me, a question in his eyes. I yank him to me, needing to feel his body on mine. “I talked with the guys. There was the Inked Brotherhood, and some friends of the Soul Stain people. They have connections to the Mob. They’ll take care of Simon, shut down the MC.”
His brows go up. “Mob. The Mafia? You’re shitting me.”
“The Russian Mob. Look, Jase, I’m serious about this. We’ll take care of it. But you need to tell me where the Club is. That’s all.”