Backlash Read online

  In the aftermath of Jack Harrison’s release from the psychiatric unit, Gray Raoul’s first instinct is to take brutal revenge on the one responsible for financing Jack’s and Jan’s torturous psychological reconditioning. However, that person plays the game dangerously well, knows exactly how to manipulate everyone in Gray’s life. To help negotiate this delicate situation, Gray contacts ex-Diadem Doms Trace and Gabriel Hunter. But the more Gray seems to regain control, the clearer it becomes that there’s something not quite right about Jan Richards. Jan quickly unravels, taking Jack and Gray with him, and bringing out one particularly deadly player. Gray’s left with one last defence: break Jack down in order to partner up with his alter ego, Martin. But once freed, Martin has plans of his own, and he wants to make it personal with Gray. Complete trust between Master and sub, between Gray and Jack, will be tested to the absolute limit. (M/M)

  Backlash

  Don’t… Book 4

  Jack L. Pyke

  ForbiddenFiction

  www.forbiddenfiction.com

  an imprint of

  Fantastic Fiction Publishing

  www.fantasticfictionpublishing.com

  Copyright 2016 Jack L. Pyke

  Smashwords Edition

  BACKLASH

  A ForbiddenFiction book

  Fantastic Fiction Publishing Hayward, California

  © Jack L. Pyke, 2016

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the publisher, except as allowed by fair use. For more information, contact [email protected].

  CREDITS

  Editor: Rylan Hunter and D. M. Atkins

  Cover Design: Siolnatine

  Cover Photo: Robertprzybysz at Dreamstime.com.

  Production Editor: Erika L Firanc

  Proofreading: Jae Knight

  SKU: JP2-000262-01 SW

  ISBN: 978-1-62234-273-0

  Published in the United States of America

  DISCLAIMER

  This book is a work of fiction which contains explicit erotic content; it is intended for mature readers. Do not read this if it’s not legal for you.

  All the characters, locations and events herein are fictional. While elements of existing locations or historical characters or events may be used fictitiously, any resemblance to actual people, places or events is coincidental.

  This story depicts fictional BDSM; it is not intended to be used as an instruction manual. It contains descriptions of erotic acts that may be immoral, illegal, or unsafe. The characters are not models for the Safe, Sane and Consensual forms embraced by most current practitioners of BDSM. The author takes license with the use of BDSM for dramatic effect. Do not take the events in this story as proof of the plausibility or safety of any particular practice.

  To Lynn

  Contents

  Disclaimer

  Glossary

  1. Gray

  2. Fallen Sons

  3. Lost in the Moment

  4. Incitement

  5. Silence

  6. Here for You

  7. Missing Persons

  8. First Touches

  9. Trust

  10. Respect... Passion

  11. The Uninvited

  12. Licking Old Wounds

  13. Taking Gray Down

  14. Backdraft

  15. The Invited

  16. Chemical Play

  17. Left in Hell

  18. Hard Lessons

  19. Dom to Sub

  20. Puncture Wounds

  21. Allies

  22. Breaking Points

  23. Cure for the Itch

  24. Box Clever

  25. United Fall

  26. Deceit

  27. Fathers and Sons

  28. Richards

  29. Caught in the Act

  30. Checkmate

  31. Final Moments

  32. Claimed

  33. Taken

  34. The Master

  35. Controlled

  36. The Fall

  37. Martin

  38. Provocateurs

  39. The Funder

  40. The Known

  41. Mourning

  42. Nos Da

  Author’s Notes

  About the Author

  The Society of Masters

  About the Publisher

  Glossary

  Sut mae? — (North Wales) How are you?

  Shw mae — (South Wales) Hello

  Nos da — Goodnight

  Nhad — Father

  Fy nhad — My father

  Hen wlad fy nhadau — “Land of My Fathers” (the Welsh national anthem)

  Chapter 1

  Gray

  “These violent delights have violent ends.”

  —William Shakespeare

  In the darkness of the black Mercedes-Benz, Gray Raoul wiped a hand over his face and eased back into the comfort of his seat. The digital clock that weaved its way into the finely leathered-upholster of his dashboard whispered he’d sat in his car on the roadside outside his manor for a while now. The fading light already kissed the dark interior of the Mercedes, eagerly spreading out the differing shades of oncoming darkness and willing them to snake over the road, all in a desperate bid to play come fuck about with me in the woods now.

  The line was so fine: the quiet space between tyre and tree line, between what was morally acceptable and every natural instinct to regress and run with the psychopaths.

  He should have welcomed the quiet over the past month since Jack and Jan had been back after Jack’s release from the MC’s psychiatric facility, but the reality was that if the Funder was skilled enough to manipulate postal delivery and ensure Gray received footage of rape and torture, then they could slip under any surveillance network.

  So the invitation was made as clear as possible.

  That made what he was doing now, what? Solicitation? Whoring Jack and Jan out to further risk knowing something had him sitting here, willing it to crawl out of the cracks?

  That bastard tag crept up, and Gray let his look linger on the woods. Because what lay in the other direction, past his Mercedes, through the gates, and up the long driveway to the cobbled courtyard, keeping the warmth between his silken sheets...? Jack... Jan....

  The manor offered every welcoming sign. Soft lights shone from the numerous windows and a porch lamp waved the weary in from the chilly of late August winds, both occasionally brushed by the sweep of changing colour from the fountain. The soft light added a rippling effect to everything it touched, calming life and kaleidoscoping the night in changing colour, but....

  But?

  Gray let the stillness of the keys in the ignition hold his thoughts, shutting everything out as a soft vibration made itself known from the mobile phone in his pocket. It took another two soft pulses and burying the rush of bile that turned his stomach for him to shift and look at the instant messaging.

  Sut mae?

  The Welsh caught him off guard, giving that deep tug that had him almost out of the car and losing what little he’d eaten.

  Sut mae? It came again. You keep ignoring my question. So in English, then, eh?

  It tumbled through a moment later.

  How are you?

  Gray frowned, running a thumb over the screen.

  I know you’re sitting outside of the manor when you should be inside. Talk to me, damn it.

  Trace.

  Gray briefly closed his eyes. Not long after Jack had been sectioned and Jan had distanced himself, Trace’s texts had come in weekly to start off with. After Gray had walked away, he hadn’t wanted the connection back to that life, not to Jack, not to Jan, not to Trace. The messages had carried thin strains of anger, mostly reason, and Gray had hated Trace’s reason. A good
ten years older, Trace had come a long way as a Dom in his own right, and that was the tone and quiet tonicity of his messages: one Dom trying to reason out past fuck-ups with another. Or just caring enough to ask—

  Sut mae?

  Outside of Jack and Jan, he couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked him how he was, and that deep tiredness crept back in, bone deep, pulling him home and maybe needing that strong taste of whiskey now.

  Still the silent treatment? How about something easier to break that fucking mood of yours, then? asked Trace.

  Gray rested an arm against the rim of the window screen and wiped a thumb over his lips.

  Will they get to see the letter you’ve got on you?

  Gray frowned.

  Because hard lessons over intercepting Jack’s mail have been learned over the past year, right? No matter how unintentionally that cocky bastard keeps fucking hurting you?

  The weight of a pearl white envelope was there in Gray’s pocket. Three names printed themselves on the front, the calligraphy and press of ink pen suggesting only one overall source, but the letter lay covered up, unopened, out of sight. Not only from Jack and Jan, but....

  Who’s your contact, Trace? he finally thumbed into the phone. Because you know this is still none of your business.

  Nothing, then from Trace—

  You? IMing? Quiet. Hitting a nerve there, bright eyes? If the position was reversed, you’d be on the phone, calling me out on this.

  Gray ignored the press of the envelope now. Yeah? Pass Nicholai my thanks. And, by the way, tell him to fuck off back into his corner of the globe before he prods enough to really piss me off. Gray rubbed at his eyes, knowing how hard that sounded. But it wasn’t directed at Trace, not even at an ex-Master, just... just....

  I know you’re hurting, and I’ll ignore your Master-Dom-ass mouth because of it. But you err on the edge of unprofessional conduct with fuckin’ a Master Dom’s sub (I get to do a twirl here, right?) as you were just learning to fasten the chains, and it stands to reason the Master Dom would always keep tabs on you for... fucking his sub. Would you be any different if it was Jack?

  Gray snorted a smile. So little trust from people, nowadays. So little respect.

  You smiling now?

  He was.

  Fucking scary, Gray. And Nicholai’s a good man. You know that. He’s concerned, I’m concerned—the fucking MC is concerned. Have you even told Jack and Jan yet about what you’ve gone and done?

  Gray gave a harder sigh. No. So nos da, Trace, said Gray, not thumbing so hard on the keys, but the weight of the envelope was a little too much, as was the hurt over opening up.

  If that’s a Welsh sneeze for ‘fuck you,’ guzzundite. But if it means goodnight, we’re not done here yet.

  Gray frowned. Would Trace be sitting at Micah’s dining table talking now? In his own study? In Dare’s backyard as Gabe had a beer and Dare played American Quarterback, his dog there nipping at his ankles? Not exactly simpler lives, but certainly in a more peaceful place than here.

  I just wanted to know how’s your...

  Gray waited for Trace to finish.

  ...butler?

  Now he choked a laugh. Trace had heard about Jack’s fuck-up over Ed. Had Jan told him? He very much doubted Jack had, not without wanting to hit Trace, add a Y to Trace’s name, then run off calling him out on having a girl’s name. Gray winced. Lover and the ex... they never made good fuck and tell partners.

  How many times has Ed tried to get back to Wales now Jack’s back?

  Twice, replied Gray.

  And how many times has Jack offered to help Ed move back to Wales?

  Forty-five.

  Cocky little shit. I thought he’d be ‘ducking and diving’ out of Ed’s way, thinking Gramps was the family butler all these years.

  Jack’s taken to hiding out in a few cupboards when Ed’s around.

  Ha! I knew it. But is he at least hiding in there with Jan? With... you?

  Gray looked back towards the manor.

  No reply, said Trace. Take some time out with them, bright eyes. Don’t get forced to the sideline anymore. Please.

  Nos da, Trace, replied Gray, this time a little easier on the touch screen. It did mean goodnight, and Trace would understand he’d had enough of talking. Maybe more than anyone, he’d understand why.

  One more thing, said Trace. News on the spy-vine says Elena Fortello disappeared off Italian soil four weeks after arriving back home. She was under house arrest after being granted bail. Quiet. Is there reason for anyone to worry about you now Jack’s mother has gone missing?

  Gray read the message again. It’s an international issue, not MI5’s. MI6 have the case file. He deleted their conversation, then threw his mobile on the passenger seat and shifted into gear. He needed that taste of home now, not talk over Elena or who might have taken her.

  Gray drew up to the manor and pulled his Merc alongside Jan’s. Jack had taken to driving Jan’s classic Jag on his rare trips out. Although Jack’s fine mechanic skills could see him manage most breakdowns, Gray wasn’t happy about his new choice of old car and the easy access it gave. For the moment the classic Jag was in the garage, Jack seeming to find every which way to ease his mechanic’s kick any way he could without actually stepping back into his own garage business.

  Jack had his reasons for not going back to work yet, as did Jan with doing the opposite and needing to work.

  The courtyard lighting kept the darkness at bay as Gray locked the Mercedes and made it over to the reception hall, the woods inside his perimeter walls gaining his attention for a moment. He was barely through the door when he heard: “Kitchen. Before you ask.”

  Gray flicked a look up at Ed as he came over and took Gray’s jacket. Because in no way did Ed ever fuel the whole butlergate scandal. He placed the jacket in the cupboard just before Gray picked up the mail from the reception table. “How’s Eve?” he asked eventually. Mrs. Booth had had an operation two weeks ago to remove a cyst, the details of which Gray didn’t delve too deeply into. Ever. But his grandfather’s time was rightly cut in two, the worry in the older man’s gaze elsewhere, on other things.

  “Not too good.”

  Gray glanced down and hid his smile. Then off to his right, Jack’s Merc keys swung on a key chain close by. He’d knocked them as he’d picked up the mail, and they caught the light in their small, oh, bet you nearly forgot me, there pendulum time count, and its—

  Lest I bring the MC down with any more of my shit, eh, Gray?

  Gray kept his breathing even. The keys had sat on that peg there for nearly six months. Over Christmas, over Jack and Jan’s rape, he’d had twelve days before those six months, of walking past them and blocking out Jack’s Merc; twelve days of blocking out the anger, of blocking out the hurt, of blocking out—what? What exactly had he tried to block out back there before he’d found out about their rape and torture? Anger, frustration at his own reactions? Jealousy?

  Over Cutter and how he possessed Jack in the porn videos? Or Jan? Over how close Jack and Jan had become before it all went wrong?

  Gray tensed his jaw, briefly closing his eyes before he was brought back with a tap at his shirt pocket. “And that?” asked Ed. The envelope was on full display. Ed knew that if it hadn’t been delivered here, it meant business, either MI5 or Masters’ Circle.

  “A letter.” Gray thumbed through the rest of the rubbish tagging itself as mail. His pile hadn’t been tampered with, showing Jack’s old habit of rummaging through everyone’s neatly stacked rows had stopped. Gray missed how it had stopped; he missed catching him in the act, parcel up against his ear.

  “Letter?” Ed sounded sceptical. “Looks like an invitation to me, son.”

  Ed always bypassed the grandson tag, going straight for son. It didn’t say much for Gray’s father, stubbornness being as much a family trait as their MI5/6 history. Gray was the protégé of men and mother, and it would never make for a good mix as bureaucracy surrounding
family life had always been a monosyllabic... fine.

  “Not a good invitation?” Ed brushed down his own suit jacket. The chill to his face and hands said he hadn’t been back long either.

  Gray turned away and left the mail there on the table. “Let’s go find out.” He remembered the last time he’d offered a taste of the MC and BDSM control via handcuffs around Jack, the cuts and bruises that Gray had nursed in the darkness of his own bedroom. Jack didn’t do social, and when he did... it left Jan hiding up in the corner covering his head, and Gray picking up the broken furniture.

  Ed’s hold on his arm stopped him. “Look, son, Greg’s here.” He eased his grip. “Your head of security went with Jan to pick him up.”

  Giving a frown, Gray looked back in the direction of the kitchen and the possibility of sitting across the table from Jack’s father. Facing Jack and Jan had been hard this past month, but Greg...?

  Giving a nod, he headed for the silence of the kitchen.

  Chapter 2

  Fallen Sons

  Gray expected to find Jack either cleaning up from messing with Jan’s Jag or chasing the next best meal he could coax out of the kitchen. Jack had learned to cook in his late teens, mostly because Ed would try and lock the kitchen down every time he’d see Jack padding on through with his feed me cry that came with a bottomless pit. And lately, Jack had honed those culinary skills. He’d been a good cook before, able to make a meal of almost anything available in food storage. But over the past month, he’d just had... more time to practice.

  A look at his watch told Gray that Jan would have been home over an hour ago, too, which is when he’d picked Greg up with Ray, Gray’s head of security. Despite the quiet between Jack and Jan sometimes, Jan was usually on the receiving end of Jack’s culinary skills. An empty plate and full stomach had become as good as a lover’s hold. Almost. Lately, Jan never really seemed interested in food, other than the basic chase a pea around the plate that got him by.

  As he found his way into the kitchen, Gray gave a nod to Ray first, letting his head of security know one-on-one surveillance was over. Standing over by the unit, Ray unfolded his arms and nodded back before leaving.