“Why did I let you all talk me into this,” Dem yelled over the roar of a Cessna’s engine. He stared at Sin and Saint, backup singers and drummers for Executioners. The maniacal expressions on their too pretty faces came close to eclipsing the fear of jumping from a perfectly good fucking plane.

Jackson had been gone two weeks without a word. He’d searched everywhere until he came across the twins a week ago and they said they knew where to find him. The last week was spent practicing skydiving under the tutelage of the world’s craziest ex-male models turned sex shop managers, and they deemed him ready. What the fuck was he thinking?

“Bitch, this is romantic as fuck. You’re so getting laid after this one.” Sin grinned maniacally as he checked the shoot release. “We’ve done this jump plenty of times. Just do what we taught you. We know just when to jump to land in Joker’s clearing. You got this. If you’re lucky, they’ll be spankings involved.”

He’d never been spanked in his life, but, maybe it held merit, especially if it was Jackson doing it. He hadn’t planned the kiss at Brawlers. How could he not though when Jackson looked so jealous and possessive of another man touching him? He didn’t typically find jealousy an attractive quality so getting turned on by Jackson’s actions made him a bit crazy. He’d kissed Jackson, and the man tensed. Why he sensed it was Jackson’s first kiss, he didn’t know.

He wondered how many firsts he could have of Jackson’s.

“Down, boy, until you get to your man. As impressive as that is, we’re holding on for one man in particular.”

Sin and Saint had a thing for Sheriff Camden Pelter, and they made no secret of it. It became a huge joke around town. He felt sorry for Camden when the man stopped running.

“Two minutes to drop zone,” Saint hollered.

“I can’t do this.”

“You can, Dem. You’ve jumped tandem with us several times. This is no different. Your legs won’t be able to hold you, though, so make sure you hold them up the best you can…go into a slide. You got this. We’ll bring the chopper out in a few days to lift you out.”

“What if I’m dead by then?”

“We’ll circle until you wave us off.”

“I wasn’t talking about the fall killing me.”

“Joker is a sweetheart, he just likes to play tough. You have supplies for a few days. I threw in lube and condoms. I know he doesn’t have them.”

“Sixty seconds until drop.”

His arm crutches were strapped to a small pack of supplies that would be dropped after he jumped. He breathed deeply through his nose and out through his mouth as he crossed his arms over his chest, with Sin holding onto the straps of his parachute.

“Ten, nine, eight…”

He closed his eyes as Sin and Saint counted down, at one he let himself fall back, and he spun in the air. His eyes flew open as the wind whipped as his skin. Adrenaline pumped through his system as an overwhelming sense of freedom took over. The landscape below looked so different, trees and bushes indistinguishable. A tiny blob he knew was Jackson’s hideout set in the middle of a large clearing. He mentally counted down, reached up and pulled the lever, the force of the chute opening jarred him. He steered himself just like Sin and Saint told him to do.

As the ground drew closer, he forced himself to brace as his legs collided with the ground, then he slid along the cushion of grass. He laid there as the parachute collapsed around him. A huge smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He’d just jumped from an airplane for the first time in his life without Sin or Saint behind him. Laughter filled his ears, and he realized he was lying on the ground giggling.

“What the fuck, Sin, Saint, what are you—”

The fabric disappeared, and he was staring up at Jackson. Jackson’s shocked expression alone was worth it.

“Dem, are you crazy? Are you okay? I’m going to kill them for this,” Jackson bellowed and cursed.

Strong hands searched every inch of his arms, legs, torso, his neck, oh yes, his neck. He loved his neck—

“Are you okay? You’re not…give me your goddamned phone so I can get you help.”

“I’m fine, that was fucking amazing! Did you see me? I jumped, and I lived.”

“Maybe, but I might kill you and then those little shit friends of yours.”

The Cessna flew low over the tree line, making wide circles until he waved his arms. The plane pitched left and right in the signal they devised to tell him to have fun.

“I don’t know how to repack my chute.”

“We’ll just roll it up. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“You ran from me.”

“I didn’t run, I come out here to think. They know not to fuck with me. They fly over, I give them proof of life, and they leave me the fuck alone.”

“Now you’re stuck with me for two days. What you gonna do with me?”

“Hide your body?”

He sighed. “You’re so romantic.”

“Get up, so we can get you out of that pack and suit.”

Oh, that was worth it. Jackson’s arms were around him and lifted him from the ground, helping to his feet. He felt the tugs to his side, and then he rested his weight against Jackson’s hard, muscular frame. He pressed his face into the curve of Jackson’s neck as the weight of the pack disappeared. The thigh straps slid down his leg, and he faintly listened to the soft thud of the rig falling to the ground. He wasn’t paying attention, Jackson smelled like sweat, wood smoke, and something spicy and manly.

“Can you walk or do you need me to carry you?”

“You’d carry me?”

“If you—”

“No, no, I’m fine, I can make it. They were sending down a pack with my crutches and supplies.”

“Can you stand for a minute or do you need to sit down?”

“Probably need to sit down until you find the pack.”

“Won’t be too hard, it’s rainbow like your chute.”

Jackson helped him sit back down, and he watched as Jackson headed off toward the tree line. Just like Jackson said, a hiking pack dangled from a tree by a chute tangled on limbs. Jackson grabbed the pack with a few days of clothes, supplies, and the extras Sin and Saint threw in and strode back to him. Jackson removed his crutches and handed them to him.

Once he got to his feet, he straightened and took the back pack, hoisting the strap onto his shoulder. He slipped his forearms into his crutches. Backing up a few steps he observed Jackson rolling everything up and tucked it under his arm.

If it was possible for steam to come out of a man’s ears, Jackson’s would. Was it insane that he was trapped in the middle of nowhere with a man with tentative control of his anger and completely ecstatic about it? Probably was but he didn’t care. He said the same to Gideon, Harper, and the rest of the crews when they told him he should just leave Jackson alone. They’d left him alone far too much in his opinion. Those days were over, and Jackson better get used to it.

“You look exceptionally handsome today, Jackson.”

“I’m not happy with you right now.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. That became almost impossible when he noticed Killer giving him a Jackson death glare from her perch on a camp chair. She had a black mini-skull and crossbones hoodie and a spiked collar. How they found Jackson a dog with the man’s exact personality astounded him.

Jackson tossed the bundle next to the open door. Smoke came from a metal chimney.

“Would I be safe in assuming we’re roughing it for the next two days?”

“No electricity. No indoor plumbing. There’s a hot spring for baths. Welcome to nature, city boy.”

He hadn’t gone camping in forever, but his Da was a big believer in tents and camp showers. Nothing Jackson would put him through was strange to him. He’d grown up on a ranch in Wyoming before he’d struck out for culinary school.

“Somewhere I can put my bag?”

Jackson held out his hand with a huff.

He smiled sweetly and handed over the pack. The man took it, and he batted his lashes as he watched Jackson. Anger highlighted Jackson’s cheeks.

The man was just too hot for his own good. Jackson disappeared into the shack and returned a few minutes later with two sandwiches and bottles of water. Jackson ordered Killer off the chair. The micro snarl warned of later retribution. He wondered if he had to sleep with one eye open as Jackson pointed him toward the chair.

He barely settled in when the man laid a sandwich and bottle on his lap. Jackson sat down on the ground next to a small fire. The man ate silently, with small bites, and chewed slowly. He'd listened to Harper outline Jackson's diet, he had known about the pancakes, but one sandwich and a single bottle of water wasn't enough for a man Jackson's size.

Jackson wasn't an overly muscular man, not bulky and not skinny either. The muscles of his arms were lean. He noticed something he'd never seen before. Jackson wore a short-sleeved t-shirt. Long, raised scars curved around his upper arms, the skin of his wrists bore thick, uneven grooves. He moved his attention to Jackson's hands, a few fingers were crooked, and his nails were abnormally short and pitted.

He frowned at the thoughts that entered his head. Images fed by the snippets of Jackson's behavior he'd learned from his friends, things he'd noticed, and Jackson's aversion to touch.

“You're not eating,” Jackson stated without looking at him.

“You can have it, I'm not hungry.”

“You should eat.”

That's when Jackson turned to look at him. The man stopped eating his own lunch.

“Eat.”

That one word broached no argument.

He nodded and lifted the sandwich, taking a small bite. Plain peanut butter. The bread was slightly stale. He really wasn't hungry, and his chaotic thoughts weren't helping. His mind tried to figure out who had hurt Jackson. Who had caused the man to shy away from the most basic of affection?

Guilt assailed him as he realized what he'd done. All he’d wanted was to get to Jackson. Spend time alone and get to know him. But did he ruin Jackson's sanctuary? He felt like a selfish asshole, maybe he should’ve listened when they said to leave Jackson’s alone.

“Don't look at them.”

“Look at what?”

“People think I'm crazy, and they're right. But I'm not stupid.”

“I didn't think you were, Jackson, and I don't think you're crazy either.”

Jackson snorted and went back to eating.

He finished off the sandwich so as not to offend Jackson.

“Why do you come out here?”

“It's quiet.”

“It's beautiful too. How did you find this place?”

“My grandfather owned the land. When I got out of prison, I came out here and built the shack. Lived out here for few years.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Drank himself to death a year after I got out. You're not asking what I did?”

“I'm curious, I won't lie about that, but you'll tell me if you want.”

“When I was sixteen, I beat my old man to death.” Jackson surged to his feet. “I gotta go get more firewood.”

He didn't try to call Jackson back. The man needed time, and so did he. He hadn't expected Jackson to answer him, and he didn't know how he felt about the one he got.

The scars made sense but what did they mean? What had Jackson's father done to him and how much damage had the man caused?