Breakdown (28 page)

Gray sat back by the table.

“Think you might have broken a few ribs in here, though, cocker.” The ribs took another prodding, and I shivered, not from the hurt, but because it wasn’t hurting. It should be hurting. “No mercy either, eh?” I smiled over at Gray. “Not even an offer of a smoke after a fucking like that. And I thought you were a gentleman.”

He tapped a finger lightly on the table as I held up the lighter. “Curious. You carry this,” I flicked the flame on and watched it play. “Yet there’s no trace of smoker’s breath, no hint of smoke-stained clothes, stained teeth, and, I bet, not even any cigarettes on you.” I threw the lighter at him to watch him catch it. “Now why is that, cocker?”

Giving it a moment for him to take that in, I pointed at the table. “No recording facilities. Slight violation of rights, somewhat, but maybe not such a bad thing overall, y’know, for us two.” Giving a sniff and wipe of arm to nose, more to clear away some of the dried blood, I went over to the table, not far from where Gray sat. “Discounts you as CID. They’d have to go through the red-tape.” Easing onto the table top, wincing as coldness hit my ass, I smiled down at him. “Especially considering you probably haven’t read Jack his rights yet.”

“Working on the principle that you have any rights.”

“Me? Stole some last week,” I muttered, pulling up the empty chair and resting my feet on the seat. “Made the bastard who tried to take them ride this here.” The moment I gave him the finger, he grabbed my wrist, twisting it and forced me to double over as he kept it there.

“You really need to let go, mate,” I said quietly, feeling the strain in my upper arm.

Gray smiled, just a slight offering. “Make me.”

“Make you?” I said, finding breath a little hard with Gray gripping my arm, but ready to play along. “Alrighty then. Let’s work this out. If young Jacky boy wasn’t any use to you, he’d be floating face down in the Thames by now.” I looked at the lighter. “But you won’t get him to talk. Kid’s too scared. Got a conscience. Poor bastard.” Dry lips forced me to lick across them, but yeah, okay, I made it look good. “And now you want to push me? See if I’ll cry?”

Gray twisted a little more, forcing out a grunt. “Feel free to cry Uncle anytime you’re ready, kid.”

“Uncle?” I choked a laugh. “You into a little incest: the family game for two or more? Fuck me, so am I. But I like the daddy/boy scene more.”

I cried out, shifting into Gray’s hold, feeling him twist one way as I twisted forward and—

“Fucking c’mon.” I cried out, mostly in pain at the tearing in my arm, mostly in some wicked release that nearly blacked life out as I fell off the table, quickly facing Gray, then backing against the wall. Nursing the strange angle of my arm only confirmed dislocation. A tear rolled down my cheek, but I smiled up at Gray. “Fuck me again like that, Dad. Please. I need to come now. And I’m still left...” I looked down, grinned. “Frustrated here.”

Gray came over and crouched down.

My cock loved him so close. Giving a raised brow, half a smile, I didn’t cover the heat up. This was getting too good. The bastard played rough and dirty, and he’d offer one hell of a fight under the covers. The door took my attention, just briefly. “And no one came in with the cries,” I said to him as he watched me. “Cutter’s managing to piss just about everyone off lately, hm? Not just the IRA, but MI5 now too? You are MI5, I take it? No normal copper would be given a free torture playground like this.” I shrugged, just the one shoulder, because the other really fucking hurt. “Inevitable, I suppose. But not really too good for good old Jacky boy. You don’t get what you want, you have every intention of going incest and really fucking him over?”

“Smart boy,” smiled Gray, and blue eyes didn’t seem to waver from mine in the slightest. I liked that—fucking loved it. There was a bastard side at work there. On its own, it didn’t do anything for my cock, there were enough bastards around; ah, but intelligence... there was intelligence there controlling all that aggression. Needed to see it, feed from it—feel it. Or was that Jack, was that just—

“
Fucker
.” I tried to shift, but a hand on my bad shoulder pushed me back down.

“Stay. We’re just getting to know each other.”

“Fuck you.”

Gray grabbed my wrist, pulling it away from me and forcing a cry off me as it tore at an already dislocated shoulder.

“Aw, gonna kiss me better, Dad?” I snarled, sweat running down the side of my face.

“You’re a grown lad,” Gray said quietly, and he slipped the lighter out of his pocket. “Used to looking after yourself, right? And maybe looking after Jack too, by the look of it.”

The flame of the lighter flickered into play, causing slight shadows to shift and dance on Gray’s face.

“Who watches the watcher when his limits are reached, though?” The flicker of his smile matched the playfulness of the flame. “Shall we see just how tough you are, kid? A choice: burn—” the lighter shifted beneath my wrist, “or self-heal.”

The bastard meant my arm, pulling it away and—

“Fuck you—” I refused to squirm and pull away from the heat on my wrist. He’d break first. They always broke first. “Took you guys long enough to get to Cutter,” I rushed out, refusing to show any hurt no matter how the heat off the flame had tears running down my face. “I mean, what? Cutter’s into his third arms deal now, and you’re only just shaking your cock after being caught with it out in the public toilets?”

“Talking now, kid?” The lighter shifted a little closer. The flame not touching, but the heat—the fucking heat. “How very... law abiding of you. But, to be honest, I don’t really give a shit what comes out of your mouth at this particular moment.” The lighter shifted up another heartbeat, making me jerk. “We’re pushing boundaries, right?”

“Yeah?” I snarled, still refusing to pull away despite the tears. “Too fucking late for those kids there, though, right, you fucker? I heard every one of them scream out, crying to go home. Where the fuck was you then?”

“I’m here now,” Gray said quietly and I dug a grip into my shoulder, shouting out to bury the hurt from the searing agony of the flame. It wasn’t enough to scar, the flame now moving back and forth. But the heat...

“Where was Jack?”

I forced a chuckle. “Walking.”

His look flickered in my direction, away from the flame yet still carrying it despite all that coldness. “But you heard?”

“You...” Head dropping down, I screwed my face, bleeding my lip to bury the need to run. “Cutter, he’ll bury you six foot under the public toilets for people to piss on if you don’t let Jack go. Likes twisting the clockworks in his wind-up toy more than Jack knows.”

“You know Jack’s going nowhere.” The flame touched skin a little longer this time. “You touch any of those kids too?”

“No, doing your job,” I snarled. “But I had a whole lot of fun fucking over the men who watched, making sure they cried just as loud. S’why Cutter’s always after new recruits. Tends to lose a few.” Life blacked out for a minute as the heat was taken away, then touched skin again. I wanted to smash Jack from existence. The hurt in his body, his head, he was crying out, the need to run, hide. And quiet, he was usually so fucking quiet, but hurt now, just—“Fucking hurts.” Jerking back, I doubled as my arm snapped back into place. Burn or self-heal. I’d opted for self-heal.

Cradling my burnt wrist in my lap, shaking, I glanced up through a soaking fringe to see Gray slip his lighter in his pocket.

“Back with us yet, Jack?”

“Doesn’t...” Breathing hurt, but so did talking. “Doesn’t want to come and play just yet.”

“Yeah?” Easing to his feet, Gray kept his gaze fixed. “Let’s test that theory.”

A brief nod at the mirrored wall, Gray took a few paces back. A moment later, the door came open and—

“Jack?”

Fuck.

A groan came from Jack’s old man, and it matched mine.

“What?”

Looking like he’d barely slept, Greg widened his eyes. He looked at Gray, me, a whole host of thoughts and emotions mapped out in the changing lines on his face that seemed to come from nowhere and—“Clothes.” He was suddenly by me, coat off and wrapping it around my shoulders.

“Th’fuck off.”

“Where—” All heat was on Gray as he was up and in his face. “Why is my boy naked? What have you—”

“Sit down, Mr Harrison.”

“Like hell will I sit down!” And it took me a moment to realise I was covering my ears, anything to block out the rage, only it didn’t work. “You dragged me here—to show me this? Why the hell are you—”

“Sit,” Gray levelled his gaze, “down.”

He seemed to do just that, blindly finding the chair by him and easing down.

“Jack,” said my old man, finding me as I looked up. “What have you done? What... what the hell have you done now?”

“Not Jack,” I snarled. But he was there, itching. “Not playing. Get out, you old fucker, leave me the fuck alone, leave—”

Gray was by me, grabbing at my arm, forcing out a cry as he dragged me over to my old man, and I snarled every obscenity up at Gray now as I was forced by him. Crouching behind me, Gray grabbed a fistful of hair, forcing my gaze on my old man. No, not my old man—Jack’s. He was fucking Jack’s.

“Nice artwork,” I heard snarled in my ear. The hand had fallen from pale and worry-worn lips and the heavy bruise and split lip there on my old man’s face had me frowning. “Any particular artist inspire you, or is that a style you save purely for family portraits?”

He hadn’t looked at Jack. Stood there at the sink, he hadn’t turned around, only jumping when Jack had touched him. Jack... the night before last, he’d been pissed at some soap shit in the bathroom. His old lady had hid it again, leaving Jack crawling around to find something to erase all blood-smeared touches, and, and—

“Jack, you okay up there? You need a hand, son?”

“Ah.” Jack had needed help, so fucking badly, anything to stop imploding and crawling into a corner and screaming no more. Only that, how life blurred, screwed up time around a person, left them wanting to push back into the corner, hide and—

Jack. Age 18

“Dad?” seeing my old man sat there, I shook Gray off, then there was a brief touch at the hem of my old man’s trousers, or an attempt to, but he shifted, jolting away. Maybe to ease the ache in his leg that always played him lately, maybe something to stop something else altogether, to stop me touching, to stop the fist touching down and... “Ah.”

Gray started to talk, but more images were tumbling free, washing blood off my knuckles as my old man struggled quietly to his feet in the bathroom. He’d been so quiet, and usually when I came in with blood staining my knuckles, he’d be there, scrubbing it clean, asking why. Not with his words, his eyes, but now...?

The cell was quiet, just the sound of blood pounding my head. A glance up saw my old man ease out of his chair now that Gray had finished talking. Mase’s name had been mentioned in there. Eyes were a little strange, like he was waking from a nightmare he thought he’d lived alone, and backing away. He was backing away, steps slow, sluggish, seemingly to try and find the door, but his gaze? It never left mine. Like a big fuck-off spider that threatened to inject poison and finish him off, his gaze never left mine.

“Dad.”

“Stop,” he said quietly. “Just... stop, Jack.”

I found my feet, moved, grabbing at his arm, only to have him pull away again.

“Please,” I said quietly. “Please.”

Looking so pale, he let his hand almost—almost reach out, up to my cheek, but it fell away so easily.

“Stop, son. You need... you need to stop. Just... stop.”

I went in close, cupping his face and screwing my eyes closed as my head dropped hard against him. “Please. Please, Dad. Don’t. Please...” I wiped at his lip, the rough bump and grooves of the thump I’d given him making me cry out. “Didn’t know... Wasn’t me. Wasn’t fucking me. I wouldn’t hurt you.” I snaked my arms around his neck. “How many? How many fucking times have I hit you?”

Hands on my waist pushed me off, just gently, and I was suddenly very conscious of how naked I was against him. The coat had dropped to the floor and sat at Gray’s feet back over by the table. My old man wouldn’t look at me, and as he started to shake his head, turn back to the door, I grabbed at his shirt sleeve, needing to tug him back, for him to stay. Just stay. “Dad. Please—”

He looked back, pulling his arm away. “Where... where does that head of yours go to, eh, lad?” A tear fell. “Why...” He shrugged, lost. “Why don’t you know me sometimes?”

“Ah—” Crying out, kicking at the table—anything to get out what I was feeling and not care, I smashed bone against metal, only to see my old man scramble back away from me. “I don’t know!”

Everything fell quiet and I slumped down the wall, burying my hands in my arms. “Dad, please. I don’t know. Know. I don’t...” Words were choked into silence as I let the grief finally spill. “Dad... please. I... I don’t know what’s wrong, what’s... wrong, in here. So fucking wrong...”

A gentle touch brushed my head. “It’s okay, boy.” I glanced up to see the grief in his eyes as he caught some of the cuts on my body. “But goddamn it, Jack. No more. No more. No...” He kept repeating it over and over until I buried my head against his knee to shut it out.