Breakdown (32 page)

He hadn’t done touch either in the past six months, not since Vince. Frowning, I kept the touches so tender.

“Jack,” he said quietly, “can you stop, please?” He sounded scared, hands dropping away from me, hugging around himself. I looked away, the opposite direction to Jan, scared to touch, scared not to touch in case some translation was lost with just how much I fucking loved him; wanting—needing to touch the life out of him, not wanting to touch because he had every signal of glass waiting to break. Yet at the same time, the look went away from him hoping to find Vince, to find a way to tear down everything he’d torn down in Jan.

“Here, baby,” he mumbled quietly, and a kiss brushed my cheek. “Stay with me. Just us tonight.”

I dipped my head, controlling my shaking, that deeper need to lie down with him and find a way to talk in ways that shouldn’t have been taken from us. “Just you.” I kissed his cheek back. “Right fucking here for you, baby,” I said quietly. Off in the distance, a buzzer went, but not before I brushed against Jan’s lips.

I pulled away at the same time Jan did, both opposite directions, his intent on the door. Mine not even glancing back at it. I wasn’t in the mood for going social, not now, and Jan automatically seemed to slip into the role of my caretaker. I kept it unhurried and calm, refusing to let anything get in the way of getting back to knowing Jan. As voices drifted through, I went over and picked my case up from by the sofa. Jan had done a first-class job on the bedroom, keeping the familiar touch to silk sheets, if not the colour. It couldn’t have been harder on him, having to go back into my home and face that. My old man had been there to help sort out the moving details; I’d found that out from Jan, still not having faced any communication on my old man’s part either. My old lady’s touch muted the colours around everyone, leaving them thin and goddamn tired when it came to facing the world. Jan came first. And it didn’t matter how long it took, but just getting him to lie in my bed and make sure he slept was my priority, Gray—

“How you doin’ there, peaches?”

Hearing the American accent drift in from behind me, I made damn sure the case went on the bed, then dipped my head, going very fucking calm with breathing.

“Trace,” I mumbled.

With the three of us here now, all of Gray’s past screw-ups were in one bedroom together. And just how fucking peachy was that?

“Not a good time for you to be here, Trace.” Looking over, all I saw first was work boots. Trace had worn nothing but fucking boots over in America too, and now? As he winked at Jan, who stood at his side by the door, Trace came over, boots and all and made himself at home as he rested against the glass wardrobe. A black bandana kept his long hair away from his face, and stubble was sculpted around the barest offer of a wicked-ass smile. Eyes were fucking perfect, colour not discernible, just seeming to switch and match the kaleidoscope of ways to fuck a body over, depending on the light, heat level and intent, good or bad. A black sleeveless T-shirt didn’t help much. Arms were tanned, muscled, the sort found with fixing motorbikes on long dusty American roads. Jeans seeming to carry that same hard-worked look, and let’s face it, a sculpted ass that could work you just as fucking hard. Yeah, I could see why Gray had fucked another Master over to get at Trace and keep him in his own bed.

All that was missing from the biker-fit look going on there was the mean machine between Trace’s thighs. I looked away. For all of the normal and natural look he had, how colourful he seemed in the backdrop of muted colours and broken lust, I looked away. If he was on English shores, he would have seen Gray. Would Gray have been able to look away? Had they both been able to look away over in America a few months back?

“Jealous green’s not your colour. C’mon, get it out of your system, peaches. Spit it out.” Trace folded his arms, flicking a look back at Jan, then me. “Maybe then we can talk: grown up man to ego. Or have the past few months buried the Jacky boy we all know and would love to stop mouthing off?”

Not looking at him, I eased past Jan, burying that old spark of anger. “I thought you said this place had fucking security.”

“You know me. Scared them away, kid,” said Trace, a smirk there in his voice.

“Fucking peachy,” I said, trying to ignore the panic that hit with how Trace brought the whole world from outside into my small universe in huge biker boots. Not looking back, I gave him the finger.

“Oh, yeah, there he is,” shouted Trace from behind. “Nice
fuck you
day there, too, peaches.”

I headed on through to the kitchen and started to mess about with... things, any... things, also eyeing up the mat in the table, needing to straighten. That left one looked out of place, just slightly.

Jan came in and, tugging at my sleeve, he made sure I focused on him. “Easy,” he said quietly, head resting against mine for a minute and slipping his hands into mine. He pulled away as Trace came through; he was carrying a newspaper under his arm, something I hadn’t noticed before. Handing it over to Jan, he eyed me up as he rested against the table, knocking the mat out of alignment slightly.

“What?” Jan started to say, taking it and looking more mystified than I could be arsed to be.

“Back section,” said Trace, still not taking his eyes off me. “Page thirty-four, highlighted already for you there, sweetheart.”

As Jan frowned and started to flick through the pages, I watched Trace as he put the mat back into place, still not letting his gaze drop from mine.

“Okay, run this by me again,” he said flatly, “because I’m having difficulty understanding a few things here. I saw you all in America. You, Jan, Gray. Things were hard,” hardness mimicked his eyes at the moment, “but they were peachy, kid. More than fucking peachy, as you’d say. Then I get the call that you and Gray had split up.”

After taking a cup from the cupboard that didn’t even need washing, I ran it under the water. “That makes it your business because?”

Trace was by me, and standing a good few feet taller, I was forced to look up. “Gray’s my business,” he said flatly, “that makes you my business by natural default.”

“One big happy family, are we, Trace?” Maybe it was how fucking close he was, or the mention of Gray, but Trace’s face was starting to blur, to niggle, itch at something else, and, it was there, that slight drop of emotion. Fuck, I even felt good old Mart was shifting his head in our direction then as—

“You and Welsh, you go way back with more than just action between the sheets right?” I went in close, lips almost touching, a hand drifting over his nuts and just... playing. “Pies and spies, hmmm? You’ve got your fingers in no doubt as much shit as that Welsh fuck. So yeah, you two are all nice and cosy like, even now. Maybe especially now? But don’t you find life’s spread you about a little too much lately, hmmm? Thinned you out in places so all the personal shit behind the scenes starts to rip and tear through the thin layers? So tell me,
Tracey
, for a guy who’s as much a vagina diner as dick dancer, and as your life’s spread your legs wide and far, what’s the chances of you having a kid out there? A boy? Girl?”

Something flickered in Trace’s eyes.

“Oh, girl it is. You miss her crying ‘daddy’ hm? It get under your skin with not being able to hold her? Who knows, maybe if she gets hurt, stubs her toe, you can really keep it in the family, play
incest
the family game for two or more. Is that what you do with Gabe? You get him to call you Dad? You fuck all that sweetness out of him like you would your daughter?”

Jan was between us, don’t really know when or how, but he was easing Trace away a touch, which was probably just as well as I rubbed at my head, trying to push back the tiredness that hit.

“Oh,” said Trace, giving a smile, albeit a little wild one, then gently easing Jan’s touch off, “so that’s a little taste of that fuck Martin? Oh, he’s a sweetheart that one. No wonder Gray’s kept an eye on him all of these years.”

“Trace,” said Jan quietly, shaking, and the look in his eyes pleaded a lot of things that had Trace easing off almost instantly, and life coming down pretty hard to Earth for me.

“It’s okay,” said Trace, easing back, hands going in his pockets, maybe stopping him from hitting out. “You wanna tell him he’s scratching at his hip and it’s bleeding, or can I get at least a little kick from doing that?”

Giving a frown, I looked down and saw the touches of blood covering fingers. “Huh,” I let out, then hands were washed once, twice, three times. “Goddamn it, you fuck, this shit had fucking eased.”

“Yeah,” breathed Trace, leaning back against the table. “Doesn’t go away, though, does it?”

The cup I’d washed ended up on the other side of the kitchen, broken in pieces, and with Jan just closing his eyes against the shattered noise.

“
What’s your fucking point, Trace?”
I shouted.
“
Why the fuck are you even here
?
You couldn’t take the hint from me not taking your calls in the psych unit
?
”

Trace went over and started picking up the pieces of the broken mug. That pissed me off more than anything, how there was always someone there to clear up the—“Mess. Fucking mine,” I said gruffly, buffeting him out of the way.

The newspaper landed on top of my hands as I started to pick the bits up.

“Fix that too,” said Trace. “You’re chasing your head to get control and losing sight of what control you do have. Page thirty-four. It’s already highlighted. Tell me, you getting into stealing newspapers lately, how the hell have you missed that?”

Grunting, I pulled the paper open and started hunting for whatever had got Trace in bloodhound mode. Looking at the highlighted section, I got back to my feet and gave it Jan. “A little out of my
what the hell are you on about
price range. Again—what’s your fucking point?”

“Jack,” said Jan, quietly, eyes scanning the ad. He looked at me and pointed at it. “For godssake, read it.”

There was no picture to go with the fancy home that was up for sale, but little bits started to tie together. “Ah...” I pushed it away—made a point of looking away—as I shoved it as far as possible away from me.

“That’s it?” said Trace, and even Jan had a strange look in his eyes. “That’s all you’ll give him?”

“Gray’s selling his manor, Jack,” said Jan quietly. “He’s leaving.”

I shrugged. “His choice,” I said just as quietly. “His decision.”

“Oh, for...” Jan’s hands went to his head. He came over, kissing roughly at my cheek, then slipped something in my pocket. “Wake up and see it, Jack. You hide behind all of this formal MC shit just like he does.” He pushed away, giving a glance back as he headed out. “Take Trace’s hint. You have blackouts, it doesn’t mean you have to live by them. Fix what you can control. Me, I’m going to talk to my other lover. And it’s about time you got your head out of your ass and did the same, Jack. This has gone on long enough.”

He was gone, leaving the door to shut behind him, and Trace looked over. “Why are you still here?” he asked coolly.

Jaw tightening, I finished picking up the pieces and put them in the bin. “You think life’s that peachy?” I said quietly. “That we’ll kiss, make up, then dance around the Maypole now the world’s back to one long fuck fest?”

“Well, first off, I’ve got no goddamn idea what a Maypole is, but I do have a problem with that comment. You’ve just gone for some humiliation and pissed on everything Gray is. Don’t do it again. You think it’s only ever been about you getting off together? I’ve watched Gray over the years, and how he is around you. I also heard what those sick fucks did, what your supposed fucked-up mother did,” he said, coming over. “I also heard that Gray made sure none of them will touch what’s his again. In fact, I heard he damn well made them cry loud enough, it sent a message to every Tom, Dick, and bastard Sally not to come within a plane trip near you. It’s not about sex with Gray. Take away all the layers, which you have done with him, it’s only ever been about how he feels for you. So I’ll ask again: why the hell are you still here?”

I didn’t answer. So Trace did. “Martin?” He shifted slightly. “I can empathise.” he said gently. “He’s a psychotic fuck. But he’s an excuse, not a reason with you. So the question stands, why the fuck are you still here?”

I stayed quiet.

“Because of the fuck-ups on both parts over the collaring?” said Trace. “Because you think you’re a few revs short of the perfect engine he likes to drive?”

He really needed to shut the fuck up now.

Trace held a finger up. “One: Fix it.” He held up another. “Two—fix it. Gray deals daily with headcases. Trust me, you’re nothing special on that score. So, back to my question—
Why the hell are you still here
?”

“Because I was fucking raped, because they used BDSM equipment and techniques,
because being a Dom is in Gray’s fucking blood and it will tear Jan up going anywhere near any of that shit again
!”

Trace eased back. “And there we go. You’re scared, not just for yourself, but for Jan too. You know damn well that none of what Vince did was anything to do with BDSM. Jan’s smart too, he’ll figure that out. Hell, maybe he’s already way ahead of you. But that’s not the real fear here, is it, peaches? You’re worried about all that heat ticking away inside you, how it isn’t going to go away, and that you’ll put Jan smack bang in the middle of you losing control if you go near it. So you close doors on the BDSM lifestyle, thinking it will help. Even if it means walking away from the very person who knows how to ease everything that’s going through your body—there is nothing wrong with that heat, Jack.”

Frowning, Trace leaned over and pulled something from my back pocket. “Back to basics, Jack. Where’s the BDSM equipment in this picture?” He held up Gray’s photo. “Where’s the BDSM techniques?” He looked around the kitchen. “More to the fucking point—where’s your boyfriend?”

I groaned.

“You know this. You know it because I was taught the same thing: BDSM isn’t all about pain.” Trace came over and slipped the photo back in my pocket, his voice, tone, and teachings echoing Gray in every way. “It’s about people, it’s about life, it’s about letting go and trusting someone with your soul. Jan’s already there without you, kid. So this, it’s about you, it’s about Gray. It’s about you recognising your feelings for Gray and realising the heat going on in your body is who you are, it’s not an enemy. So why the fuck are you still here when your head, heart, and lover are already over there with Gray?”