He crouched down and stacked the last load of firewood next to the potbellied stove. It was more than he needed, but he had to keep Dem warm through the night. He didn’t understand why he cared. The only person he’d given much thought to was Harper. She was his best friend and put up with him, even when he didn’t understand why she did.

It was dark outside, and he’d kept the small fire going in the pit. Dem remained strangely quiet. Well, he did announce that he’d killed his old man like he would say it was raining outside. Probably not what a man wanted to hear when he was trapped in the middle of nowhere with a killer.

He plopped down onto his ass and stared into the dancing flames inside the stove.

He glanced over his shoulder when Dem cleared his throat.

“You want me to handle dinner? It’s been awhile since I cooked over a camp fire, but I think I remember how.”

“All I brought was—”

“I got you covered, I know what my man likes,” Dem said with a wink and picked up the bag beside the door.

Dem turned away before he had a chance to say anything. He just watched Dem through the door, the man dug into the pack. He was curious, but he couldn’t make himself move. When he saw the rainbow parachute making its way to the ground, all he’d thought about was taking Sin or Saint out for being stupid. They knew better than to bother him. Instead of them, he found Dem on the ground.

He’d had a moment of fear before it changed to anger. He’d hiked in more than three miles. He kept the place overgrown to keep others out.

Then it hit him, Dem had parachuted in to spend time with him. Why would someone like Dem even bother?

“Jackson, do you have some cast iron pans around here?”

“Yeah, just hold on.”

He went to an old metal locker sitting in the corner of the structure. He pulled open the door, getting the grate and pan, also tugged out the extra sleeping bag he kept there for winter.

Taking deep, even breaths, he calmed himself and made his way outside. Two steaks that still looked partially frozen laid on some aluminum foil.

“The freezer bag worked really well. Dinner might take a bit longer than I expected.”

He took a seat in the camp chair and set the requested items beside Dem who knelt beside the fire. Dem had his long, wavy hair tucked behind his ears.

“You didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

“Just like you didn’t have to go to the trouble of modifying your bike to take me out.”

“It was no big deal.”

“Yes, it was. I don’t think anyone else would’ve done it. Especially when I know you didn’t really want to go out with me. Is it because of my…if you’re not attracted to me because of the crutches I can take it, you know?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Thanks.”

“Fuck, that’s…I’m broken and damaged goods. I’m not worth the effort.”

“I don’t think that at all.”

Dem spoke without looking at him.

“My friends know not to come out here.”

“I got all the warnings. Sin and Saint were just crazy enough not to care and thought it was so romantic.”

He snorted. “They would.”

“I can call them in the morning to airlift me out.”

“You’re here, and I was planning on leaving in a few days anyway. I got jobs waiting.”

“Why did you kill him?”

He wanted to scare him off, and the story he had to tell was gruesome enough to do that.

“My mother was thirteen when my…Garnet cornered her on her way home from school. He bent her over the seat of his truck and raped her, took her back to his cabin, did it again and again. I found her journals when I was twelve, and I read them all. Every last word of what he’d done to her for nine years. It was her rage, the only way she could get it out. The fucker dropped her off like it was a fucking date…like he hadn’t left her with physical scars inside and out.”

“Jackson, you—”

“You wanted to know. She disappeared after my eighth birthday. They said she just left, but he killed her, I know he did. I wished she was still alive, maybe found happiness elsewhere.”

“She loved you, I’m sure she wouldn’t have left you willingly.”

“She probably didn’t. I still hope she’s alive, but thirty years is a long time to stay away.”

“Did he do that to you?”

He noticed Dem pointed toward the deep grooved scars around his wrists…there were more. There wasn’t much of his body that didn’t bear the marks.

“He tied my wrists down when he smashed my fingertips or removed my nails.” He looked down at his hands, they had more scars from working as a mechanic, but the worst were the ones Garnet gave him. “I got so used to the pain, that he needed to up the stakes. I could take it, I was a professional at surviving the torture. He wanted to make me a man just like him.

“I knew about the abuse, I wasn’t stupid. I knew he took out his anger on my mom, but when I read what he’d done…all the pain she survived. He came home one night, drunk and started his usual bullshit. Instead of taking it, I started hitting, and I didn’t stop. I was told the Sheriff found me wandering covered in blood. Garnet’s face was destroyed. They charged me, I was in prison until my twenty—”

He flinched as he had a lap full of man. Full lips pressed tender kisses to his face. His eyes closed and there was a gentle brush to his lashes, then to his cheeks. Then Dem’s mouth hovered against his. The lush curves trembled against his thinner lips.

“You don’t want to do this,” Joker said, but even as he did, he raised his hand, his fingertips barely skimmed Dem’s cheek. The wetness under his touch had his eyes opening.

“You want to hear something stalkerish?”

The question was odd after what he confessed, but he was curious, and hopefully it would be a distraction. He nodded.

“I thought you were beautiful the first time I saw your picture on Gideon and Harper’s mantle. I even pulled it down when I’d get home from work and look at it.”

“That’s creepy.”

“Shut up, it’s romantic.”

“Whatever you say.”

“So, I’m going to kiss you, and you’re going to let me.”

“I am?”

Dem made a sound he took as an affirmative, and then Dem pressed their mouths together.

A moment of panic tightened his chest, he started to pull away, but strong hands curved around the back of his head. He understood pain, could protect himself against it. This was something else, he held still…and waited.

“This works better when you participate, baby.”

Dem whispered against his mouth.

“No one touches me.”

“Too damn bad, I want to touch you and often.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re worth it.”

It was all Dem said before the kisses started again. Just gentle nips at his lips. Just once he wanted to know what his friends had, that was all, so he followed Dem’s lead. He sucked at the softness of Dem’s bottom lip, and it earned him a moan. Something about that sound urged him on, he wanted more of them. Those deep groans, sweet and needy, and he increased the pressure. His kisses turned rougher, more dominant, and he combed his fingers through Dem’s soft hair. He tugged, and Dem gasped. He dipped his tongue passed Dem’s parted lips.

His cock hardened and jerked, pushed into Dem’s hip. Dem whimpered and shook on his lap, he must be doing something right to have Dem react the way he was. Then a tiny rumbling body pushed between them.

“Killer, me and you are going to have problems. He’s mine too.”

“Who says I’m yours?”

“I do,” Dem said and kissed him again. “I’m going to finish making dinner. That monster down your thigh is a bit…yeah, not talking about cock, nope,” Dem mumbled to himself as Dem slid off his lap.

He rubbed Killer’s head as she burrowed under his shirt, it was her favorite place when he didn’t have his hoodie on. She curled into a ball on his stomach and huffed loudly.

“She’s going to have to learn to share.”

“Just because we kissed you don’t get—”

“You’re mine, I’ll give you time to get used to it.”

Dem seemed to ignore him after that statement, and he watched Dem focus on cooking steaks, cutting up potatoes, then everything started sizzling in the pan. He looked down at the still thick bulge in his jeans and tried to remember the last time he got a hard-on. He despised touching himself. His jerk off sessions were quick and pointless, he never got off. The few times he had, once he’d felt the scars under his hand, his dick went limp.

The man hadn’t seen him yet. Not the patchwork landscape of his body, the deep grooves from whip and blade. Most had gotten infected and hadn’t healed the way they should’ve. A secret part of him craved pleasure, someone soft and gentle, someone who wanted to make him feel good rather than suffer. Could he even do it?

He’d allowed Dem to sit on his lap and didn’t push him away. He’d allowed the man to kiss him. But could he be normal? He couldn’t see passed his rage most days. Existing in a chaotic vortex that pushed him to fight—to hurt. Dem would give up when he learned just how broken and sick he was. No matter how much he wanted to experience pleasure, there was something about the pain—the familiarity of it. He been born of violence, destined for it, and he was trapped. The man would run. He just needed to wait him out.