No Boundaries Read online

  When your past closes in, running isn’t always an option…

  Phoenix, Inc., Book 1

  The jobs Marcus Lowry works for at Phoenix, Inc. Investigations are quick and easy, and they don’t give him the nightmares his days as a CIA operative did. That is, until he gets involved in a case that grabs him by the throat and won’t let go.

  Cole Jacobs left behind his old life as a rent boy to make a name for himself rebuilding high-end and vintage cars and bikes. But when a stalker threatens to kill him—and to hurt anyone who stands in his way—his past closes in on him, and he’s not sure where to turn.

  The last thing Marcus wants to do is take on a charity case, and to say that he and Cole don’t see eye to eye at first is putting things mildly. But when the first attempt on Cole’s life nearly kills them both, Marcus realizes that Cole is in real danger, and Cole is forced to reveal everything. Almost everything. Because Cole’s deepest secrets could destroy them both.

  Warning: Contains a secretive mechanic with a talent for spotting a diamond beneath a beat-up exterior; a hard-nosed investigator who isn’t so rusty he doesn’t recognize instant attraction when it hits him in the gut; and hot sex spiced with trust issues and danger.

  No Boundaries

  SE Jakes

  Chapter One

  The 1967 Mustang Shelby was a real fucking beauty. Cole ran his hand over the bumper, focusing on her smooth lines that were goddamned perfection. But she was dirty—not garaged and in danger of being driven into the ground by the man who’d brought her in.

  When he looked under the hood, he noted immediately that the mechanic who’d worked on her previously hadn’t helped.

  “Can you fix this?” the Mustang’s owner asked.

  Cole didn’t catch his name, but it didn’t matter. The guy was typical of the customers with high-end cars—monied, careless, collecting classic cars for the sake of collecting something—although he was younger and more handsome than a lot of the guys he dealt with. Not that it mattered to Cole—his concern was the car. “Yeah, not a problem.”

  “That’s what the other mechanic told me last month. And the month before that.” Mustang Man’s voice had a slight edge to it.

  Cole looked him in the eye. “They’re not me.”

  Mustang Man’s eyebrows shot up. It’d been a cocky thing for Cole to say, yeah, but he could damned well back it up. He had a gift for fixing cars and bikes. His youngest years had been spent in his father’s garage, handing him tools, listening to him talk to the customers.

  Those were the good memories.

  There were so many bad ones that they tended to take over. Here, at least, he could mostly keep them at bay.

  He continued examining the car, now that he had the Mustang Man’s attention. Five minutes later, he finally looked up from the car to meet Mustang Man’s gaze. “I’ll let you know what I think it’ll cost by tomorrow.”

  Mustang Man waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll tell your boss that I’m authorizing any and all work, as long as it’s done by the weekend.”

  Because it was Wednesday, with an entire garage flooded with cars to fix, so yeah, that was fair. Cole was definitely used to this type of owner—the world revolved around him and him alone. With the cash to back it up, Cole didn’t doubt his boss at the garage would tell him to get this shit done and keep the customer happy.

  Cole was, at times, too close to the memories of his other job for comfort. But he was truly a million miles from it. Well, several states, at least.

  He leaned a hip against the car and stared at Mustang Man steadily. “I’ll do my best to get it to you for the weekend. I’ll check her out today and if it’s going to take longer, I’ll give you a call.”

  The guy nodded, then asked, “What about the weekend for you?” as his gaze raked up and down Cole’s body, lingering between his legs and then sliding back up to his face.

  It might’ve been flattering if the guy wasn’t treating him like he was trying to purchase a service.

  Cole motioned to the garage. “Lots of demanding customers—I’ll be working straight through.”

  Mustang Man wasn’t deterred. “I’ll check back with you.”

  You do that, asshole.

  Cole went toward the back of the garage to grab an intake form so he could start making a list of what the car needed, before going back to fixing the Porsche Boxster already on the lift.

  He almost threw out the small piece of paper sitting on top of his workstation table—and since he kept it really neat, it stuck out. For a brief moment, before he saw what was written, he thought it might be Mustang Man’s address or phone number or something. But the owner of the Mustang hadn’t come back this way at all, and although Cole didn’t recognize him, he’d gotten to the point where the men he’d fucked had become nameless and faceless. That’s what made the job bearable to a lot of the guys—it had the opposite effect on him.

  The note was written on heavy-stock paper—he realized this once he actually held it between his fingers. It was expensive but generic, with no imprint or initials. Elegant black ink sprawled across the page casually. It could’ve been an invite to lunch.

  Instead, it bore something far more sinister.

  Once a whore, always a whore. And I already paid. Now it’s your turn.

  No signature. Nothing to indicate who it’d come from, who’d come in and dropped his past back into his line of sight—into his future. But he didn’t have time to freak because, at that moment, Jerry shoulder checked him.

  Normally, Cole could see him coming a mile away, but the note had shaken him. He shoved it into the pocket of his cargos and turned to face the sneering mechanic.

  Jerry was maybe five years older than him and growing more and more resentful of the fact that Cole was increasing the garage’s business with his skills. The boss had noticed—Cole had already gotten a raise, and shit like that got around fast. Most of the guys here were cool with him, but not Jerry.

  Jerry had been calling him a faggot under his breath since the first week, when he’d shown Cole a naked female centerfold and Cole had told him she wasn’t his type. When Jerry had pressured him, he’d finally told Jerry just what his type was. Obviously, Jerry couldn’t seem to accept that.

  He’d heard all Jerry’s comments to the other mechanics, how he was worried that Cole was “after his ass”.

  Right. Because gay equaled wanting to fuck every single man that moved.

  “What the fuck, Jer?”

  Jerry narrowed his eyes. “Why the fuck you collecting all the customers? You blowing them?”

  “No, I let them blow me,” he said, his stance relaxed and ready for Jerry to lunge at him. And Jerry didn’t disappoint, head down like he was going to plow Cole over. Cole caught his arm, jerked it around his back and shoved him to the ground, more gently than Jerry deserved. Then he leaned down and said quietly, “Better be careful—this faggot’s touching you…that’s how we do the conversion.”

  “Get the fuck off me!” Jerry howled, and Cole let him go. He noted his boss coming out of his office, staring between the two of them, lifting his brows as if to say, “Is this over?”

  “We’re good, boss,” Cole called to him. “Jerry tripped. I was helping him up.”

  Jerry had struggled to his feet and he nodded. The boss went back up the stairs and closed his office, the rest of the guys went back to work and Jerry pointed at him. “Watch your back.”

  “Only if you watch mine,” Cole told him and then walked away.

  He’d just made it harder on himself—he knew that. A lot of the guys felt the way Jerry did, but they weren’t as vocal. Hell, if he hadn’t outed himself, the amount of guys who hit on him would’ve made him the butt of their joking anyway.

&n
bsp; “Rough day?”

  Cole turned around when he heard Styx’s voice. Styx had been one of his first customers here at the shop—the guy was really tall—the kind of blond and blue-eyed handsome that people stopped to stare at. Now, Cole struggled to keep his voice casual when he said, “Same old.”

  But Styx’s gaze leveled him. “Can I see the note that has you freaked the fuck out?”

  Jesus, how long had Styx been here, watching him? He figured Styx’d seen the fight but… “Why?”

  “Because you could use a friend.”

  Styx owned a PI business in town. So he was either a good guy or sniffing out potential customers.

  Sometimes Cole hated being so cynical, but that’s what’d kept him alive for this long.

  Once a whore, always a whore. And I already paid. Now it’s your turn.

  Fuck. The edges of panic bled into his vision—he had to get Styx off his back. “The note’s not important.” He went to crumple it and throw it away, but Styx’s hand was on his forearm. He stared up into Styx’s haunted, kind eyes and said, “Get the fuck off me.”

  “Please, come sit down.”

  “I can’t. I’m—”

  “Going to pass out,” Styx finished for him. There was no room left for argument, not when Styx was right. He let the man lead him to the nearest bench on the side of the garage, and he sat while Styx got him water. He realized he still had a death grip on the note as he tried to breathe evenly and hope the rest of the guys in the garage hadn’t witnessed the whole damned breakdown.

  “No one noticed,” Styx assured him.

  “Stop reading my mind.” Cole heard the irritation in his own voice, but Styx ignored it and continued asking questions.

  “Talk to me about the note.”

  “You’re a customer,” he told Styx hollowly, then downed the rest of the water.

  “Ah, Cole.” Styx’s voice was resigned. “Come on. I’ve talked with you for a year.”

  “Business.”

  “Do you see me talking business with anyone else?”

  No, Cole hadn’t. He worked exclusively on Styx’s, Law’s and Paolo’s cars and bikes. But still… “I don’t want to tell you this.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s private. My life. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “You have no idea what I’d understand.”

  “People say you and Law and Paolo,” he started, then stopped because he had no idea why he’d blurted that out.

  Styx smiled, and a light flashed in his eyes. Not an angry one, either. “People are right. We’re living and working together.”

  “You’re all…together?”

  “Oh yeah.” His smile was wicked, and it made Cole laugh, really laugh, for the first time in a while. “I think that’s the first I’ve heard you laugh since I met you.”

  “It’s been a long time.” The note remained in his hand. He stared down at it.

  “What’s in the note?” Styx prompted again.

  Cole looked up at him and finally admitted, “My past.”

  Chapter Two

  Law

  It was going to rain.

  Law took four Advil out of the way of Styx’s and Paolo’s lines of sight. Of course they’d know, but they’d gotten better about asking him if he was in pain every five minutes. Most of the time he was cool with the coddling, but, like he told the men in his life, he knew when the weather was going to change before any of them. It was his body and all (although Styx would argue differently…and quite persuasively).

  Now he raised his arms overhead to try to get some relief from the constant ache of too many childhood injuries and heard some cracking as he stretched.

  His office was in the back of Phoenix, Inc.—Paolo and Styx were more the people persons. They didn’t get a ton of walkins and the doors were locked, but they had staff and phones, and Law wasn’t the best front man. His time alone, away from the noise, was his happy place…that was if he wasn’t alone with Styx and Paolo, because they were his other happy place.

  As soon as Styx came back from the garage, Law knew something was wrong. He wasn’t any kind of psychic or anything, but he’d known there was something happening with Cole. He was actually surprised it took this long for Styx to figure out.

  Cole was a lost boy—the way he and Styx and Damon had been. Paolo had been through hell, but a different kind of hell.

  To some extent, they still thought of themselves as lost boys, called themselves such when they’d lived with Greg, the man who took them in, saved them from the streets and, to a much greater extent, from themselves.

  Since then, Law and Styx had been able to spot them. They couldn’t save all of them—and a lot didn’t want to be saved—but they helped out at youth shelters and all the nurses at the local ERs had their phone numbers.

  But seeing Cole…fuck, it was like seeing himself at twenty-something, fresh out of Delta training. Still fucked up then, trying to put his past to rest and unable to do so. When he looked at Cole, the pain came rushing back, and so he did his best to avoid the guy when forced to bring his bike into the garage. And he was sure Cole noticed, even though he tried to be as friendly as he could. Whenever he approached the garage, inevitably his gut would tighten and he would be right back in that place he didn’t want to be. And Cole looked fine. He didn’t ask to be rescued, and he didn’t have that heavy look in his eyes like he was in complete danger. But he looked haunted, and Law knew that look too well.

  Now, he heard Styx’s voice boom through the office, “Marcus, you finish your case?”

  “If you consider filing the paperwork as being done, then no,” Marcus told him.

  Law glanced out the door of his office and saw Styx wave his hand. “Got a job that’s more important than paperwork. Meet me in my office in ten minutes.”

  Marcus nodded. “Got it, boss.”

  Ah fuck. It was definitely going to goddamned rain.

  He moved to the meeting room in time to hear Paolo telling Styx, “I don’t like paperwork either, but…”

  “I’ll do it for him,” Styx said.

  Law’s hand tightened along the doorjamb and Paolo whistled under his breath. “This case hit a nerve.”

  “Yeah,” Styx said quietly, and Law knew that tone. “It’s Cole, the one who works at the garage down the street. He’s in trouble.”

  “Knew it,” he muttered from the doorway, and both Styx and Paolo turned to him.

  “Knew what?” Styx asked.

  Law shrugged and moved to sit on the table. “Kid’s haunted.”

  Paolo was closest to him, wrapped a hand around the back of Law’s neck now and rubbed. Law practically purred under his touch. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “What’s to say?” Law bent his head to keep encouraging Paolo’s massage.

  “That he needed friends,” Paolo told him, now maneuvering so he could use both hands along Law’s shoulders and back.

  “He wasn’t ready,” Styx broke in, and Law raised his head a little to look at his old friend and lover. “And now he’s in trouble.”

  “So why Marcus? Why not us?” Paolo asked, his fingers pressing the pressure points along Law’s spine, making him groan out loud. He wondered if he could throw Paolo on the table and convince Styx to lock the door for a while…

  Styx cleared his throat and wagged a finger at Law. Behind him, Paolo snickered. “Can’t blame me for thinking what I’m thinking—he’s got good hands.”

  He was deflecting the Cole conversation—he knew that. And, dammit, they’d know it too.

  “We’ll help, but we’re not what Cole needs. Not the most.” Styx glanced through the open door and over at Marcus, who stood next to a desk, arms crossed, looking out the front window of Phoenix, Inc. The thousand-yard stare of a man who’d seen a lot of combat—maybe too much.

  “And Marcus is what Cole needs? A cocky, arrogant asshole?” he asked, then paused. “Wait, I see your point.”

  Paolo snorted and S
tyx smiled. “Figured you would.”

  Chapter Three

  For Styx to offer to do paperwork, this case had to be important. Marcus had just put the most boring case in the world to bed. And for him these days, boring equaled good. Anytime someone wasn’t shooting at him was a really good thing.

  He’d worked for Phoenix, Inc. for nearly a year in an attempt to gain back his humanity. He owed Clint—Styx’s old partner and Marcus’s good friend—for that, for getting him out of the CIA, for leading him here to another group of guys who understood how reentry into the real world was a bitch.

  The office mainly employed guys like him—former military or CIA—guys who could handle any situation, keep their mouths shut about the cases. Guys who needed to recharge, who needed a few wins under their belts, because no one won anything in the CIA. It was an endless loop of soul-sucking work that never seemed to make a difference.

  Now, he saw Law and Paolo leaving the meeting room, and Styx leaned out and motioned for Marcus to come on in. He pocketed his phone and headed that way. Paolo smiled at him as he passed, while Law nodded stiffly, meeting his eyes for only the briefest of seconds—out of all of them, that guy was definitely the hardest to get to know.

  Then again, that’s what people said about Marcus. “So, you’ve got something for me—sounds pretty important,” he said to Styx.

  “It is.” Without telling Marcus to sit—because he knew Marcus wouldn’t—Styx leaned against the large, oval-shaped table and said, “New client’s name’s Cole—he works at the garage down the street.”

  Styx slid his phone in front of him. On the screen was a picture, obviously clicked without Cole’s knowledge. Marcus stared at it for a long moment before dragging his eyes away. “He’s young.”

  “Twenty-three,” Styx confirmed.

  Cole was his type—definitely his type, one he’d avoided for a hell of a long time. But Styx couldn’t have known that, even though he seemed to know everything. And Cole was also a goddamned kid. Okay twenty-three wasn’t exactly a kid, but to his thirty-four very battle-scarred years, twenty-three was light-years away from where he was. “So what’s the deal?”