Antidote (Don't) (4 page)

“That’s not yours, Master Harrison.”

Giving a grumble, I didn’t even bother looking behind me. How the other half fucking lived. “Morning, Ed. Off to burn the Master’s breakfast?” I got a grunt in return off the butler.

“Off to swindle a few customers out of cash at that so-called garage?”

“Play nice, Ed. What happens if your car breaks down in the most inconvenient of places and I get the callout?”

“I’d check your pockets for my wallet and then expect you to stand aside and watch a real mechanic fix it.” He was heading off in the direction of the kitchen, grinning.

“Have a nice
fuck you
day.” I even gave him the
fuck you
finger, then dropped it when I caught the act in a mirror.
Real mature, Jack
.

The package still had my main focus, and I let the suspect DVD case rest back with the mail, inching it into place so Gray wouldn’t notice. Ever. With the Dom training Gray had done, with world-wide clientele and serious bastard attitude to match just who it was we mostly trained, I doubted it was porn. He only had to step into his own library and pick from the amount of scenes he’d supervised to get his kick, or better, step into Master Dom mode and fuck the hell out of me. Christ knows my body was missing it far more than my work head wanted to admit.

The smell of coffee was an instant draw into the reception area as I pushed through the garage workshop doors, then ran my hands under the antibacterial hand wash, stopping as I reached for it a second time.
Fuck.
“Coffee, boss?” said Sam in between offering one to Aid, and I nearly kissed him as he came over with said steaming mug in hand.

“Lifesaver.” I took a long sip, slipping a gaze over to Aid. “Morning.”

“Morning, Mr. Harrison,” said Aid, looking up from the client book, his mug of tea close by. At least Sam was taking care of the managers. Aid had been promoted since Steve had shifted over to the Strachan garage. To be honest, I’d have thought Aid would have gone with him, but it seemed the bid to keep him here by waving a manager’s position under his nose, much to Steve’s crossed arms and scowling, had won him over. Fucking strange, that. Aid had fallen into the role well, opening up, running through the client list, assigning the mechs to different jobs.

“What’s in the book for me today?” I asked, helping Sam finish up rolling the blinds in reception while still sucking the life out of my coffee.

The ruffle of pages came from behind us. “Two Nissan jobs and an Escort.”

“What’s up with the Nissans?”

“Clutch and gears are lagging on the one, and—” The sound of more pages being fingered. “—according to the owner, ‘the brakes are squishy’ on the other.” Sam chuckled as he warmed up the customers’ drinks machine. “Gotta be a woman, that last one.”

I frowned at him over my mug. Half of the coffee was already gone as I double-checked that the roller doors were up in the main workshop. “I know enough guys who can’t fix a car.” An image of Jan wearing coveralls and trying to figure out boot from bonnet without the aid of his mobile phone, laptop, and a whole weekend conference thing going on, not really helping things there.

“Yeah, I know, but,” Sam shrugged one of those damn
couldn’t give a shit
shrugs, “‘squishy’. It’s gotta be a woman.”

“Bet you it’s not.”

“Bet you it is.”

“Bet you it’s not.”

“You’re on.”

“What?” The coffee took on a stale taste as I looked at him. “I’m not betting on customers.”

“Ooooh. Coward.”

Like fuck. Giving a scowl, I pulled out my wallet. “Twenty.” I held up the offending money. “Where’s yours? And Monopoly don’t count.”

“Aid?”

“Fuck off,” said Aid. “
Aid
by name but not by nature, especially on the finance side. No scabbing off upcoming wages either.”

I laughed. Christ, had I made the right choice there. “So. Sam?”

“Hmmm.” Sam dug deep into a few pockets and came out with a packet of mints, a condom, and a ten. “How’s that?”

“Better than nothing.” The ten was taken and handed over to Aid. At least the johnny wasn’t used, and Sam had that back, very fucking carefully. “What the hell are you doing bringing condoms to work, Sam?” I mumbled as Aid moved off into the workshop.

“We got talking. Me and Liam.” Sam leaned against the reception desk, messing with his coverall zip as I thumbed through the appointment book. The book was really only there for me. All appointments were logged on the computer, but as I hated the sodding things, the book was kept close at hand. Aid was doing a good job of keeping the routine up, and routine—“Liam?” I gave him a sideways glance. The bruises Liam had given Sam for sleeping with his girlfriend had long since faded, but I’d caught the hurt in Sam’s eyes over the past few months from missing whatever else they’d both shared in the past. Considering Liam was one of my top Shotokan students, Sam had taken one hell of a beating, but were they sorting things out now?

The door behind clicked open and mechanics started filing in. The merry among them said morning, and I didn’t begrudge the odd few with attitudes. Hell, it was Monday, and I was the first to push a few guys out of the way and nut the bastard, especially when Gray and Jan were at home all tucked up in bed, nice and fucking naked like.

“Yeah,” said Sam, not looking so sure now. “We, y’know, tried sorting some things out. Although it almost went a little beyond, y’know—”

“Sorting things out?” I finished my coffee, although a little taken by Sam’s humility. He could be a sweet shit when he wasn’t ringing the git bell, and he had all those first-time blushes going on now. But it seemed he was making a little headway with dealing with his sexuality issues. “Be careful,” I added, trying to stop him looking so uncomfortable with being able to talk about it. I’d hate to be twenty again.

Sam tried to inject a little of the old Sam as he held the condom up and made a point of staring at my throat. “I am. How’s things coming along on the condom front for you, boss?”

“Work,” I snapped, inching up my collar and seeing this was leaning toward some shit comment over Essex, and not liking it.

Sam managed a grin, went to push away, then rested back against the counter when a customer came over, big and biker-looking—definitely male too. Didn’t mean it was the owner of the Nissan with the “squishy” brakes, and it didn’t mean I would win the battle of the sexes bet. Yet. But—

“Hi, I’m here about the brakes on my Nissan.”

I resisted smirking at Sam as he sulked a gaze to his feet.

“Yeah, my missus called it in. Seems they’re... squishy?”

Fuck. Sam licked a finger and did the typical
one to me
salute as he turned away. Sod. Twenty pound down, I got to work on the Nissan. By twelve, I was finished with the second one and in desperate need of a little privacy for lunch; that, and the burning need to piss on Steve’s Strachan parade kicked in too. The second garage had broken even in the first few months and was doing really well for a start-up. Just hated having someone else control things without me around. I wonder if Steve had noticed.

Up in the office, I hovered over the phone, fingers brushing over the handle. It would be good to hear Jan’s voice now, but that would come over as desperate, sad, and bloody OCD-stalker nuts. Christ, would Gray love that handed to him. Asking Jan to move into Gray’s with me was a heat of the moment thing, and I knew it had made him uncomfortable. Getting to know him, hell even just some of his friends from work, was the priority. Well, when I actually managed to pin his ass still, actually talk, and get over the need to fuck him senseless. All that bollocks could be blamed on the honeymoon-period, but I’d been with Gray for eleven years now, and I hadn’t gotten fucking him out of my system.

Jan really didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into.

So terrorising Steve it was, and I hit his number instead and settled back into the chair.

“Jack—five minutes; five minutes to opening after dinner and you couldn’t bloody leave it for one day, you—”

No chance there to even say “afternoon”. I grinned, maybe liking Mondays a little better today.

Jan

I’d taken a big chance booking time off work and hoping Gray would be okay with it, letting me just hang around. When he’d announced he’d booked time off too, I’d eyed him up, and he’d returned it. That had been us, more or less, for the past few months, just watching each other, seeing what we each brought to Jack’s table. Jack couldn’t take time out this week from setting up the Strachan deal, so that meant what? That Gray had booked the days off to spend time with me? Things weren’t exactly tense between us. When Jack was around, Christ, we all just seemed to burn and gravitate into one heated mass, usually with Jack as the white-dwarf core. When he wasn’t here, everything was quiet, watchful.

Having spent some time at my home today just sorting out bills, I was up for some relaxing around teatime, which, to me, meant looking around Gray’s art collections, well out of sight from prying eyes, in the north side of his Manor. It didn’t really surprise me when Gray found me in there.

“You love your Welsh art,” I said, trying to pay attention to the latest oil on canvas near me. Thomas Jones’s “
The Bard
” took prime position in the exhibit. With the invasion of the English in full swing on Welsh land, the man in the painting was caught threatening a suicidal jump off a cliff top as “the last Welsh bard”. But it also proved men
could
multitask as the artist had captured him glancing back over his shoulder, placing a curse on the English. I’m surprised Jack didn’t like this one. Although I guess he’d be tempted to draw in the usual one-finger salute, stating “Now that’s cursing someone”.

“One of Jones’s best,” said Gray, leaning against a glass case housing some fancy Japanese sword not too far from me.

Feeling a little nervous, I managed a chuckle. “You’re just borrowing Jones’s own words and too scared to come up with a better interpretation.”

“Oh, you think?” Now he looked interested.

“You work for MI5, so please note I’ll record any slating of the English and post it to the Director General, allowing for a formal dressing down.” I took a breath. “Possibly followed by showing Jack any disciplinary action you receive from the Director so he can chuckle and throw popcorn at it.”

Gray raised his hands, gracefully backing down with a chuckle, then started to head for the exit. “The Spanish element to your surname,” I said to him, making him look back.

“Hmmmm?”

“Was that down to the Grand Tour?” It had been a rite of passage for many upper class noblemen to tour Europe in a bid to expose them to classical art and culture. “Your ancestors, they must have gone through the same thing. Hence your Spanish heritage.” I looked at the painting, then around me. “And your love of art, no doubt.” I was with Gray again. “Maybe your British military and MI5 bloodline too?”

“I never served in the military.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

Gray just smiled and I shook my head at him. “You’re done for, Gray. You play me up any more with Jack, I’m letting your boss know you keep a firm tie to your Welsh rebellious roots with that copy of ‘
The Bard
’ on display back there.”

“You brought in the Welsh rebellion connection, I never did,” said Gray, turning away. “And that isn’t a copy of
The Bard
, Jan.”

Shit. I should have known that.

After following him through to the hall, I picked up a book I’d left on the lounger’s arm from yesterday and settled down. Gray had a set time for martial art’s practice around seven, and it looked like he was settling to do that just now. “You want a drink, Abstract?” said Gray as he went over to the bar. His abstract comment got him an unhappy glance over the top of my book.

“Problem?” said Gray, his lip curled in a slight smile as he glanced over from pouring the drinks.

I had a love for abstract painting, fine dabs off the tip of a paintbrush, feeling, expressionism, but the pet name was due more to my outlook on life, or more to my being on the outside of the BDSM world, terrified of dipping my toes, and running away screaming when I did. Abstract: minus any balls, in Gray’s book. Great. He’d taken to calling me that name a lot lately.

“It’s an improvement on what Jack calls you.”

I sat up on the sofa. “Yeah, I got the Breakdown digs from when my car broke down a few months back when we first met. That’s fine coming from him.” Gray came and handed me a whiskey. He was sipping water from the look of it, and I smiled my thanks. “Has he got any pet names for you?” I said, looking up at him.

“Bastard, mainly,” said Gray. He was struggling to hide that smile behind his glass, and he gave a slight shift of his head. “Amongst anything else I can make him cry out.”

“You don’t tell him anything about your Welsh history? Your roots?” I raised a brow. “Your Spanish heritage?”

“You know quite a lot about art history, Jan. What university did you attend?”

“You know what university I attended, Gray.”