Savage, p.8
Savage, page 8
Mase had a strong stomach, but he would never get used to these monsters talking about people as if they were furniture.
“Exactly,” Jazz agreed.
“Then who would you like me to sponsor?”
Jazz pretended to think about it, though they’d already discussed it thoroughly. Wade rarely went undercover, but he was perfect for this role.
He was a big, imposing guy who clocked in at close to six-four. He couldn’t blend into a crowd while under cover when he was head and shoulders above everyone, but no one would fuck with him, either. As a former Navy SEAL, the man could take care of himself.
And, though some might assume he was all brawn, Wade was incredibly intelligent. He might not think that about himself because he was the lowest performing member in his family academically, but he was a genius when it came to logistics.
Wade was also single and pansexual, so if he had to play sexually with someone, he was a good choice. Then again, so was Mase.
Mase was bisexual and also single, but Jazz had shot that idea down because Mase wasn’t part of Lucien Bernard’s organization. Jazz had been right, but it had still made Mase feel good that he’d responded so quickly, as if maybe there were other reasons Jazz didn’t want Mase involved.
“Wade Laslow,” Jazz said as he nodded in Wade’s direction. “He’s here in the area more than the rest of us. I would like to join myself if there’s a way to do it without fucking anyone. If not, I’ll choose someone else.”
Mase didn’t like the thought of Jazz going into a place like that alone. Then again, Wade would likely be there. Jazz had been in worse places over the years and probably all by himself. But fuck if Mase didn’t want to have his back.
He was so distracted that he’d lost half the meeting. When he looked up, Sam’s eyes flashed with reprimand. Mase gave a slight nod. He needed to keep his head in the game.
Campbell handed Jazz a slip of paper with a long string of numbers as they all stood from the table. Bingo. That was exactly what they’d come for, a place to start digging.
* * * *
When they left Campbell’s hotel suite, Sam held Mase back, pulling him aside long enough to make him wait for the second elevator. Mase didn’t fight him. If he were in the elevator with Jazz at this moment, he might explode from trying to hold in all the shit he needed to say.
As it was, he tapped his foot on the elevator floor the whole ride down. Sam ignored him, but Campbell’s guard kept looking over. He’d never been so close to breaking his cover. He’d watched Kozak’s men do unspeakable things to women. He’d had to laugh when he wanted to puke, yet he’d kept his mouth shut. Why couldn’t he keep quiet now?
When he and Sam reached the car, Mase was surprised to see the other SUV already gone. He looked at his friend with suspicion.
“What’s going on?”
“I wanted to talk to you alone and not here. Get in the car, Mase.”
Mase smoothed his tongue over his top teeth before moving toward the SUV. As soon as he heard the click of the lock disengaging, he pulled open the passenger door and climbed in.
“You need to give him space,” Sam said as he backed out of the parking spot.
“You heard what he said. Has he labeled himself asexual before?”
Sam shrugged. “Jazz can label himself whatever the hell he wants.”
“I can’t help worrying that he’s denying himself—or at least a part of himself.”
“Would it be the end of the world if he was ace?” Sam asked. “Does him being ace make you love him less?”
“No.” But it did make him feel lost, directionless. He’d been honest when he’d told Jazz that he wanted him more than sex, but even nonsexual touching was off the table. “Do you think he’s happy?”
Sam gave Mase a startled look. “What do you mean?”
“Do you think he’s happy with the way things are. Do you think he’s happy without having a relationship of any kind?”
“I…” Sam sighed. “I wouldn’t call Jazz happy. When he’s not around you, work is his sole focus.”
“Do you think that makes him content?” Was he more settled—happier—when Mase wasn’t around?
“I don’t think content is the right word. I’d say Jazz is resigned. He has reconciled himself to his fate, until you’re there, determined to prove he’s not as untouchable as he wants to be. Then again, I wouldn’t call you happy, either. When you’re together, I think tortured is the best way to describe you both.”
“I want Jazz to be happy. I always hoped he’d to do what it took to move beyond his past. What if I’m just making it worse? What if instead of helping him, I’m hurting him?”
“Mase…” Sam blew out a breath. “Do I think Jazz would be happier if he could really be with you, with no fear? Yes. But it’ll take a hell of a lot of work to get there, and maybe he’s not ready. Maybe he never will be. What if he’s never ready for that kind of intimacy?”
“If I could hold him, kiss him, sex wouldn’t be as much of an issue. I can’t do any of that. But maybe the real question is, is that even what Jazz wants?”
Sam snorted. “Jazz wants you. There’s no question in my mind about that.”
Mase closed his eyes. “I need to be able to touch him. Now that I know what it’s like to have him in bed with me…” Mase shook his head then looked at Sam. How was he supposed to describe what happened?
“Seems like a lot went down in Houston,” Sam said with eyebrows raised.
“He fell asleep on the bed with me, his arms wrapped around me. That should mean something. It meant something to me.”
“You know as well as I do that ace doesn’t mean aromantic. We all know Jazz has romantic feelings toward you. I think it means he trusts you more than anyone.”
“He touched me in Houston,” Mase said quietly. “More than touched me.”
Sam looked over at him so fast that the car swerved a little. “By touch, you mean… No, don’t tell me. I don’t need details.”
“Sexually. And he was into it. He got off.”
“Fuck,” Sam whispered. “I so did not need to hear that.” Sam sighed.
“When we’re alone, it seems like he wants to have sex but is scared. I always figured that if he was ace, it would lean more toward disinterest rather than fear.”
“The bottom line is that only he can decide what he is or what he’s ready for.”
Mase sighed because he couldn’t refute that. In all honesty, he didn’t want to argue the point. He didn’t want Jazz to turn himself into something he wasn’t, but Mase also wanted to touch the man he loved.
“Maybe this makes me selfish, but if he’s ace, where does that leave me?”
“In the same place you were before you heard him say that word, in love with Jazz.”
He was in the same place, on the outside looking in. Mase shook his head. He would never force someone to change who they were for him. That had been what his father had done to him, and his father was the last person he wanted to emulate.
When Mase had come out to his father, Russell Hart had made him choose his family or living his truth. Mase had walked away, and that had been when his father had twisted the knife.
He shook his head. Years had gone by without him thinking about his father for more than a second here or there. Now that his family was surrounding him, that rage bubbled up inside him all over again.
“What if I’m making things worse? What if the best thing for Jazz is for me to just walk away?”
“We’ve all watched you do this tango, and we all know that it takes two. If he didn’t want you, didn’t long for you, we know you’d have backed off years ago. Jazz does want you. He just doesn’t know what to do about it.”
“Yeah, well, him and me both. I mentioned talking to a therapist, but I think he sees himself as a lost cause.”
Sam gave him a sidelong glance.
“What?”
Sam shrugged.
“What?”
A huff left Sam’s lips that was half exasperation, half giving in. “I have my own set of…aversions.”
Mase pulled his brows together. They’d talked about sex in general but not specifics. And now that Sam was dating his brother, he said, “Dude, I do not want to know what you get up to with Bray.”
With a shake of his head, Sam chuckled. “And I’m not going to tell you anything about Bray. I’m telling you that part of the reason I’m so protective of Jazz is because I have my own issues. I thought I wouldn’t be able to have the full…intimacy of a real relationship.”
Mase groaned and covered his face with his hands.
“Fine. I won’t try to tiptoe around it. Tie your hands behind your back.”
“What?” That was not what he’d expected Sam to say.
“He’s afraid of being overpowered. We all know that. Make it so that overpowering him is physically impossible.”
The idea had merit, to put the choice in Jazz’s hands like he’d done in Texas. It was so simple that he was shocked it hadn’t occurred to him before. And there were plenty of sexy ways to do that. But then Mase realized that Bray had probably needed to do something similar for Sam, and his stomach turned.
“I don’t know whether to thank you or beat the shit out of you.”
“I think it says more about Bray than it does about me. I never asked him.” Sam blew out a breath and shook his head. “What I mean is, he figured that all out on his own. He’s intuitive and so fucking selfless.”
Mase nodded.
“Speaking of Bray…”
“We’re not. In fact, I’m not sure I ever want to talk to you about my brother again.”
“Look… I know Nick’s pressuring you, and—”
“No.” Mase shook his head. “No. You’re my brother, too. Don’t make it so that I have no safe space from all that bullshit.”
“Okay. You won’t hear another word from me. You might want to steer clear of Ax, though.”
“Fuck.” Mase pulled at his hair. “Why did you guys have to hook up with my brothers?”
“I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s not hooking up. I’m not letting Bray go…ever.”
“Thank fuck I don’t have any more brothers. And if Bray had to be with anyone, I’m glad it’s you.”
“I’ll believe that after you apologize for that gut punch in Kyiv.”
Mase snorted, but he didn’t apologize. “You deserved it.”
Sam shrugged. “Probably.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jazz
When Sam pulled Mase back, the elevator doors closed between him and Mase’s pissed face. Jazz knew that the reprieve was only temporary. Mase would want to talk about what had been said during the meeting with Campbell.
The car ride back to HC was quiet without Mase in the car. As he looked out of the window, Jazz ran a hand over the beard that wasn’t quite as long as it should be for his cover. He’d only had four days to grow it back since shaving it off. Not that he ever let it get very long, and it was always well groomed.
He snorted at his train of thought. Even his mind was determined not to think about Mase…and yet there it was again. He wanted to know what Mase thought, but the roiling in his gut told him that he already knew. Mase would fight him on this.
Mase would find a reason to say that Jazz wasn’t ace. Not that Jazz himself was one-hundred percent sure, but it worked for his cover. It was part of the reason he had been picked for this particular assignment.
It was easy to say you were asexual, but Jazz could back it up. The visual stimuli didn’t matter. The agency had tested him. Strippers, porn, even someone touching him—especially someone touching him—couldn’t make his dick twitch.
There was only one person who had turned him on since his encounters with Marty had fucked him up—Mason Hart.
He remembered the first time he’d spoken to Mase. He’d been in phase one of Ranger Assessment and Selection Program—RASP. Mase, Sam and Kota were already Rangers. Because Jazz didn’t talk about tits and ass with the other recruits in RASP, a few of the guys started getting on his case about it.
The problem was, they were right. Jazz had known he was gay since he’d been about thirteen. He hadn’t had the time or energy to do much about it, but he knew it was there. He’d never been a really horny kid. His attraction to other guys or movie stars was a sort of laid-back buzz in his brain, not a pressure to hump and get off.
Then in college, Kevin had come on to him. Jazz could tell right away that his best friend Marty had been a little jealous. Jazz had turned him down because he hadn’t been attracted to Kevin. He hadn’t found anyone he wanted enough to have sex with. Then again, he’d only been sixteen at that point.
He shook off all thoughts of Marty. That man had taken up more headspace than he’d ever deserved in the first place. But if he wasn’t thinking of Marty, he went right back to Mase. By the time he’d reached RASP, Jazz had known he was fucked up.
The guys giving him a tough time didn’t let up. Finally, Jazz had told them they’d be more likely to pop a boner watching gay porn than he would. He’d known it was one-hundred percent true. Watching porn was more likely to make him puke. But those homophobes had taken offense and were about to gang up on him.
That was when Mase, Sam and Kota had stepped in. They must have heard the guys calling Jazz a faggot as they’d followed him out of the mess hall.
Mase’s deep voice had boomed. “What’s going on here?”
That was all it had taken. Jazz had been surprised to find that the sound had moved down his spine to zap him in the balls. He hadn’t gotten hard—thank God—but he’d felt a twitch, something that hadn’t happened since before Marty had held him down and told Kevin to take what he wanted.
“Jazz.”
He turned at the sound of Mémère’s voice. He didn’t even remember getting out of the car and walking into HC. Jazz gave Mémère a smile, even though he cringed inside. There would be no escaping Mase now. The other car was probably moments behind them, and there was no hurrying away from Mémère, especially since she’d been watching him closely, too.
“Come have some tea, mon petit,” she said.
Jazz took a deep breath and nodded. He followed her into her apartment on the first floor of the HC building, the only living quarters below the fourth floor. Mémère was superstitious. She didn’t like elevators, and she didn’t like stairs.
So when Mase had recruited her to work for HC, he’d built her apartment on the first floor. Mase loved Mémère almost as much as Jazz did. It was why Jazz knew that he would never truly escape Mase and the feelings he had for him. Mémère had had enough loved ones taken from her. Jazz would never be responsible for taking away someone else she loved.
“Did you two quarrel again?” she asked as she put the kettle on.
Jazz huffed out a breath as he sat at her kitchen table. Mémère called them lovers’ quarrels. It was more than that.
Mase didn’t get a say in Jazz’s sexuality. That didn’t fully ring true when Mase was the entirety of Jazz’s sexuality. And it wasn’t just Jazz’s dick that was drawn to Mase. As hard as he tried to protect his heart, that belonged to Mase as well.
Every time Mase moved on, every time he had a relationship with someone else, a piece of Jazz died inside. That was why he left. He couldn’t stand by and watch Mase be happy with someone else.
He also couldn’t divide everyone’s loyalties. Sam was always reassuring him that Mase still wanted him, still cared for him. Jazz was the fucked-up one, the one to run from Mase, so he was the one to bow out of making their friends feel divided as well. The least he could do was allow Mase to have the support of his friends.
And even though all Mase’s relationships so far had ended, Jazz had to watch him find bits of happiness with other people. Someday it would stick, and Jazz would be left alone…again.
Chapter Seventeen
Mase
As soon as they were at HC, Mase sought him out like a heat-seeking missile. He knew exactly where Jazz was. He was either with Dee or he’d already left. If Jazz thought he wouldn’t beat down his grandmother’s door—or the door to his condo—he had another think coming. When Mase knocked, he heard a groan.
Bingo.
“Mase,” Dee said when she opened the door. “You’re just in time for tea, cher.”
He stepped inside as Dee flittered around, happy to have Jazz and Mase in the same room when Jazz had been cagey as fuck since the incident at the gala. When Mase offered to help, she made him sit across from Jazz.
“Are you two going to tell me what I missed? You usually at least pretend to get along for my sake.”
“It’s fine, Mémère. Mase is just pissed because I said something he didn’t like.”
“It’s more than just saying something I don’t like, if it’s true. Is that part of your cover or do you really consider yourself…” Mase looked at Dee.
“I’ll give you five minutes to work this out. Then we’re having a nice veiller.”
With that, she slipped out of her front door and closed it with a click. The electronic lock engaged with a quiet, mechanical whoosh. Jazz, who had been avoiding Mase’s gaze, finally looked him in the eye.
“You don’t get to choose my sexuality. You don’t get to change it because you don’t like it, either.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do, and you didn’t answer the question.”
“I’m not affected by sexual stimuli, Mase. Even the CIA has classified me as asexual because I passed their tests.”
“They have sexual classifications?”
“What do you think? They have to know which way you bend or you could end up blowing your cover. It’s hard to pretend to be gay or straight or anything but asexual.”
Mase leaned over the table toward Jazz. “The CIA doesn’t know what’s between you and me. They didn’t put us in a room together. They didn’t hover your lips over mine or lie us next to each other in a bed. They didn’t press my back to your front so you could feel my ass against your hard cock.”
