Breakdown (6 page)

“How do you feel about the wound on your hip?” Morgan asked eventually.

I frowned down at the hands across my knees.

“Jack? Did you like that?”

“I didn’t know.”

“About the wound?”

“That the V was cut away. It just...”
One damaged fuel pump. Two damaged fuel pumps.
“Itched.”

“It irritated you?” said Reis. “There are no signs of infection.”

“
No
. Just... itched.”

“Did you scratch the branding mark with a blade at any time?” said Morgan. “That’s a perfect square.”

“
It just fucking itched
. I don’t know how I eased it.”

“When, Jack?” said Halliday, softly. “Can you remember when it first started to itch?”

I shrugged.

“Before or after the rape. Before or after I saw you in hospital? Before or after you were forced to stop going casual with your photo to ease your OCD?”

One damaged fuel pump. Two.
“After.”

“At Mr. Raoul’s? Good,” said Halliday. “Can you tell me a little about Vince, Jack?”

Life froze.

“Is Jan here, Jack?”

Yeah. I nodded, just a single shift of head that never allowed Jan’s eyes to fall off mine. Yeah, he was here all right.

“You need to take control,” Vince whispered gently, “learn to fight back. If it helps, baby, hold him down like he held you down the other night. Show him how much it hurts.”

A stroke came at my cheek. “Hurt him back, baby.”

Giving a snarl, a shift away from the shadows, I was there, pulling Jan kicking and crying from the darkness, forcing him down. Christmas night. The bastard had pulled a fucking piercing out of my nipple with his teeth, then splashed come all over me.

But lying there, he felt so good beneath me, firing lips and teeth to bruise his throat, hands pinning his above his head. I rutted once, twice, loving my nakedness on his clothes, suit against skin, forcing me hard so fucking quickly as I snarled in his ear, crushing a hand between his thighs, pulling up a leg so I could tear him to pieces and make him cry all the fucking hurt in the world and—

“Wasn’t me, Jack,” he said quietly. “Wasn’t me. Wasn’t you. Please. Don’t...”

Life went calm, so fucking calm as a tear fell. Not his... mine. Resting my head against his, we shared a breath. “Don’t...” I mumbled quietly, “kiss me anymore, baby. Please. Don’t... just don’t.... Fucking hurts.”

A touch brushed my arm and I flinched, jerking my head up to see Halliday crouched by the bed. He’d been close to the windows a few moments ago, now he was looking at his goddamn watch. Reis and Morgan were over by the windows too and had just looked over. Craig was now to my left, sitting on the bed and rubbing at my leg.

“Do you know what’s just happened, Jack?”

I looked at his watch, at how he kept
looking
at his watch, then rested my head in my arms.

Head fuck. One huge—

“Absence. Fifteen minutes,” said Halliday. “Were you aware?”

I screwed my eyes shut, biting back the anger. At least I hadn’t wrecked the place. At least Martin hadn’t made an appearance and pushed someone enough to fuck the bastard streak out of him again. Christ knows that’s where Gray and Jan had found him last time, going social on two Doms, nearly drag-racing a knife across skin, loving it—just fucking loving it.

“Jack, do you remember why Vince took you? What happened?” asked Halliday quietly. “Can you order the events?”

Shut the fuck up. He really needed to shut the fuck up now. I shook my head, kept it hidden. “Vince...” I tried to sort through the images. “Masks, they all wore black gas masks with black eyes, and Jan. Jan was so fucking scared, and hard. They made him watch, made him touch, fucking hurt when he touched. Then rape... they raped him next to me. Just... bad scene. Felt so fucking wrong. How Vince kissed. All a fucked-up scene with no doors or windows. No safe word. Christmas dinner.” Christ. Christmas dinner. “I sat eating fucking Christmas dinner with the shit while they tied Jan in the corner, made him watch. Jan smelt so strange afterwards. Couldn’t stomach being near him. And Gray... posted it all over the Internet.” Images were tumbling out of control and I couldn’t stop it. “Gray filmed everything, the bastard. The only one with the money to arrange something like that, all his—”

“You think I did that? You think I’d fucking hurt
you
—like that?”

“Ah...”

“Jack, easy,” Halliday said quietly. “Are you aware you’re digging into your hip, making it bleed?”

Quiet.

“Would you prefer to go casual with your photo?”

Everything stopped there, all anger, grief, confusion over a whole shit-load of tumbling images. Everything. Lifting my head, I looked at Halliday. “Fuck you.”

He was holding the photo, one of Gray as he got out of the Master Circle’s signature car: a black Mercedes Benz. He wore a black suit, the heat forcing him to wear black sunglasses. And stones around those tyres, I’d counted all the stones around the tyres of the Merc, Vince had raped, and Gray had watched. In his study, he’d had the DVD. He’d watched, he’d... stones, I’d counted every one of those fucking stones a thousand times over and—“
Fuck—you
.”

I kept down, the cover nearly burying my head, and tried to ignore the stupid idiot standing by the door. My eyes were heavy, matching that fucked-up drunk feeling that dulled sound, sensation, and how life kept trying to spin. Some bastard of a blunt knife had hollowed out life, and I needed—wanted sleep now, despite whatever shit they’d given me.

A few moments later, shaking came at my shoulder, but it only had me gripping the blanket tighter, needing to focus on not smacking the bastard for trying to drag me into the land of those who only supposedly gave a fuck, or who got paid to give a fuck.

“First therapy session with Dr. Halliday is in half an hour. Let’s get you washed, dressed, and eating breakfast, yeah?” said Craig.

I turned over, pulling the blanket tighter. “Fuck breakfast. Fuck you.”

“I’m straight, and eating your breakfast is the better option over screwing it, especially if it’s porridge. Up in five, Jack.” Craig disappeared, and that was fine by me. From the sound of things, the breakfast rush was well underway, and wandering voices filtered up from outside. From the day-care leaflet that Craig had handed over, and how regimented the army was in general, that put it at about eight in the morning. I’d usually already be at work by now, but I’d been locked away from that too.

I hid a little more in the covers.

How had Jan coped on his own? Was he back at his, tucked up in bed, trying to chase sleep, or had he caved in and gone crawling with twisted soul and fucked-up footsteps back to Gray? Wouldn’t have blamed him; life was fucking cold without both, here in the shadows. Maybe that was why the bastard had done it? To get at Jan, make him dependent, and get me out of the picture? Christ knows he’d pulled my ass from the fire often enough in the past, maybe Jan was his focus no—

“Okay, up now, please, Jack. Five minutes are over.” Craig was back in the room and the shower was flicked on in the en suite. “It’s not a problem to bring your breakfast in here for today. I will have to watch, and it’s only for this morning, okay?”

I closed my eyes.

“Jack, you need—”

“Leave me the fuck alone,
Craig
.”

Movement stopped in the room. “No chance. You need to wash and eat,” Craig said eventually and the sound of a case being dragged from under the bed came. “Also change.”

I shifted slightly, knowing I was still in my clothes from yesterday.

The zipper to my case came open, then—“Boxers, jeans and T-shirt okay?”

“You need to stay the hell away from my clothes.” Quiet, quiet was good. Only Craig wasn’t being quiet. Weight landed on the bed and it had the feel of clothes.

“I’ve brought some towels too, also some cream and antiseptic wipes for your wound. I will need to do the latter once you’ve showered. Are you okay with that?” The case was slid back under the bed and things fell quiet, nearly enough to finally allow me to sleep, until Craig coughed. “Come on, Jack, get up. Eat. You had nothing all day yesterday.”

There wasn’t even work to get up for now. And without work, it was pretty pointless doing anything else.

When I didn’t answer, footsteps faded away from the bed.

Good.

Sleep came eventually, and I let it creep up.

“Now I insist you get up, Jack. You don’t, I’m going cattle tipping, but we’re in the middle of London, so I’ll take what I can.”

I pulled the cover off my head to see Craig. “Don’t you have a home to fuck up?”

Craig flashed his eyes. “I prefer mattress tipping, stems from younger days of tank tipping.”

“Younger days, you’re not that much older than me.”

“I’m forty.”

“Bollocks.” I’d put him at just a few years older.

“And youth compliments like that won’t get you special favours, y’know.”

“Wasn’t a compliment, just means you’ve had an easy career compared to your counterparts. Do a lot of hiding out in the field, hmmm?” I said easing up. “And I’m still not hungry.”

“You sure?” Craig was wincing. “Trust me, do-it-yourself with eating is the easier option in here.”

“You and whose army?” I said, raising a brow.

“I have friends.” Craig gave me the finger with both hands. “Meet
fuck
and
you
here.”

“Huh?” I choked a chuckle, surprising myself. “That the best of the MC bedside manner on display there?”

Craig winked over. “Just establishing our nurse-patient boundaries. Now you’ve met
fuck
and
you
, let me introduce their cousins—” The finger came at me again, twice. “—
or
and
else
.”

“They look more like twins to me.”

“Just seeing if you’re paying attention.”

“And if I’m not?”

Folding his arms, Craig chuckled. “We tie nice chaps like you down, drug ’em up, wait for the meds to kick in, then ship ’em out. Dr. Halliday and his team like to ensure patients are given the best—”

“Drugs?”

“Care,” finished Craig, shaking his head at me. “How was your,” he counted on his fingers, “third night’s sleep?”

Back to paid business. “Fucking peachy.”

“I’m not your enemy here, mate.”

“Not your mate. And you? Just the draft excluder keeping the door locked, hmm? I was on fucking fifteen minute checks last night.” I rubbed at my head. “S’not like I’ve added suicide to my shit-list over the last seven weeks.”

“But you’ve had issues sleeping?” He seemed to be counting dosages in his eyes. “Let me know if you need something stronger.”

“I need work.”

Craig raised a brow. “A mechanic, right? Logistics are a godsend in the Army. You own your business?”

“Two.”

“Three with the dojo,” chimed in Craig. “What about your dad? Does mechanics run in your family?”

I frowned. “Mostly. My mother is more the tech side.”

There was a frown there, a brief look away, but Christ knows if I could understand why. “Do you get that Italian look from her side?” said Craig, tilting his head slightly, “I didn’t see it in your father.”