Page 3 of Broken Promises (Soho Knights #5)

At that moment, the hearse pulled up with the coffin, but Jason felt nothing.

There was no sorrow that he was gone, but there was no delight either.

He felt nothing. The coffin was wheeled in – looked like nobody was willing to be a pallbearer.

Thank God nobody had asked him. There was no way he’d have done it, but the last thing he wanted was to cause a scene at a funeral.

It would be best if he kept as far away from his mum as possible.

She walked down to the front as the grieving widow, although she was happily waving to people like it was a fun day out, and Jason took a seat at the back of the chapel, if that’s what this was.

There were pews with Bibles scattered along them.

He’d only been to one other funeral in his life, and he remembered very little about it other than wondering if he’d ever stop crying.

There were no tears this time, though. That man was right where he belonged.

The service was quick, with no religious elements to it.

This must be one of those places that catered to everyone.

Nobody spoke about the man, other than the celebrant, which was what Jane said they were called when they weren’t tied to a church.

His mother kept looking back at him with a questioning look on her face.

At the end of the service, the celebrant mentioned a local pub where people were invited to go for a drink afterwards.

He’d already agreed with Jane that they’d go for their own long liquid lunch in the city.

It was half past twelve – so, early in Boston – and Grant had asked him to call after the service, no matter the time, so he would do that once they were out of here.

As they all filed out, he had to walk past the coffin. The next funeral was behind them and ready to come in, so there was no way out other than walking past his mum, who was waiting for him.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, gripping his arm tightly.

He glared at her, but she didn’t let go.

“You need to give a message to that husband of yours.”

“Huh?”

“Tell him I’ve withdrawn my parole application. He needs to hold up his side of the bargain now.”

What. The. Actual. Fuck!

“Did you hear me, Jason?” she said, with something in her voice he’d never heard before – fear.

“Yes . . . yes. I’ll tell him.”

“What are you doing with someone dangerous like that?”

Jason asked himself the same question every day. He’d believed it was for love, but he wasn’t sure anymore. He wouldn’t be telling her that, though, so he just rolled his eyes and walked away with Jane. The sooner they got out of here, the better.

Within ten minutes he had a vodka, lime, and soda in his hands.

Jane had parked at the office and they’d walked down to one of their favourite bars.

His head was spinning with what his mum had said about Grant.

She’d withdrawn her application for parole, and implied that Grant had made her do it.

How had he done that? He wasn’t completely oblivious, and knew his husband got up to some dodgy shit, but why was she scared of him?

He’d said he would fix things after what had happened at the prison.

Now his mother was afraid. She’d withdrawn her parole application and his stepdad was dead.

Were the two things related? No. A fellow inmate had killed him.

His imagination was getting the better of him again.

Jason’s phone rang. It was Grant, so he dropped the call.

He wasn’t in the mood to speak to his husband.

He’d only say something he’d regret. It didn’t take long for the phone to ring again, so he put it on flight mode and asked Jane if she wanted another drink.

Grant was thousands of miles away; he could deal with him later.

Right now, he needed to get blackout drunk and forget his past.

He woke up to cold water being thrown in his face, and leapt up in shock. His head was banging, and his mouth felt like sandpaper. What the fuck was happening?

“You’re alive, then,” came the familiar sound of his husband’s voice.

He startled, looking into his eyes. They could melt your heart, but now they looked cold and almost psychotic.

“I thought you were in Boston.”

“Somebody turned their phone off, so I had to come back and check you were okay.”

“How did you get here so fast?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m here now. You’re lucky Mr Moretti understands the importance of family.”

“Who?”

“A business associate. Now, get in the shower and clean yourself. Then we’ll talk.”

“But . . .”

“I said NOW, Jason!”

“Yes . .. sir !” he said with a smirk.

“Don’t push it, Jason. Make yourself look decent. Then we’ll talk.”

That stern voice was usually a big turn on for Jason, but not today.

He didn’t want an argument, though, so he went into the bathroom and turned on the water.

His head banged whilst he undressed, so he searched the medicine drawer and found some paracetamol.

He downed them with water from the bathroom sink, and then walked into the huge shower.

It could easily host six guys – not that he wanted other men in here with him.

Grant had made good use of the space with Jason over the years.

He smiled, thinking back to their first two years together when Jason had received constant attention from his husband.

Now it was like he was a badly behaved child, and he dreaded these “talks” from Grant, because he would always feel like shit after thinking he’d let his husband down.

Jason didn’t like letting people down. It made him feel bad knowing he’d disappointed the people he loved.

The water was perfect in temperature and pressure as he stepped under the rainfall showerhead. Jason took his time, not wanting to go back out there, and also knowing he’d feel like crap again within twenty minutes of drying off. It was the hangover rule.

They’d stayed drinking well into the evening yesterday, and he had a vague recollection of Jane putting him in a cab. He would text her later to check she was okay. Hopefully, he’d done nothing stupid that would put her in a difficult position as his boss.

He got dressed slowly and walked out of their bedroom. He’d expected to go downstairs to see Grant, but he was waiting outside the box room.

“No.”

“Get in there, Jason. Now.”

“No, please. I’ll be good. Don’t put me in there.”

Grant didn’t need to touch him, as he knew Jason would comply.

Jason felt all the hairs on his body stand on end.

He hated being locked in that room. Grant had never laid a hand on him – that’s not something he would do – but he would lock Jason in the box room if he played up.

He said it was to help Jason calm his racing thoughts, but it had the opposite effect.

Not wanting to get into an argument when he was feeling like shit, he bowed his head and walked into the room.

“What do you know about my mum’s parole?”

“We’ll talk after you’ve done your time out. ”

“She said you made a deal. Why are you making deals with her?”

“I told you not to go to that funeral, Jason. Why don’t you listen to me when I know what’s best for you?”

“What about my stepdad? Was that you as well?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, Jason.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Two hours,” said Grant, locking the door behind him.

Jason sat down on the single bed and did his breathing exercises to calm his racing thoughts.

He couldn’t get it out of his head that Grant was responsible for his stepdad’s death, but how could he be?

It was a crazy thought. He knew Grant got involved in things that weren’t legal, but he wasn’t a murderer.

How could a man who could be so kind and caring do something like that?

He hated being in this room. It was all decorated neutrally, but there was nothing really in here.

No TV. Jason didn’t have his phone with him either, and he was already bored.

He didn’t wear a watch, so did not know the time.

He couldn’t have been in here for more than five minutes already, and he had a two-hour stint to do.

Jason must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew Grant was shaking him awake.

“I made you some breakfast. Come downstairs and we can talk.”

Grant’s voice seemed off. Usually when he’d had a time out, his tone was all loving, but he seemed almost businesslike.

He didn’t even wait for Jason to wake up properly before he headed downstairs.

Jason nipped to the bathroom to have a piss, splash his face with water, and gargle some mouthwash.

He still had that hungover dry-mouth thing going on.

Walking into the kitchen, there was a bacon and egg roll waiting for him with a brew. He was hungrier than he thought. He looked around, and there was nothing for Grant .

“Are you not having anything?” asked Jason.

“I’ve already eaten. You have yours, then we’ll talk,” he replied, before walking out.

What the fuck was going on? Grant was acting strange.

Jason couldn’t stop himself catastrophising in his head about what had happened.

Each scenario was more dramatic than the last, and his breakfast barely tasted of anything as a lead weight sat in Jason’s stomach.

He had a horrible feeling something bad was going to happen, but he finished the food and put his dish away before waking into the lounge.

Grant wasn’t there, so Jason assumed he’d be in his office, which was upstairs.

He headed up, and there was the man himself at his desk.

He had a folder with Jason’s name on it. This couldn’t be good.

“Sit down, Jason.”

There was a two-seater sofa by the wall, so he opted for that. Grant sat next to him and opened the folder. Inside were his messages from all the dating apps.

Oh. My. God!

His heart beat like the clappers, and his vision blurred.