Years of Silence: MM Ex-Con Romance

By J.K. Jones

Vadim Oblonsky: 

He's back.

Crawling from the depths of hell where Zander Wright abandoned him. 

It's funny. Because Zander fancies the fire in his eyes is more than just hatred. 

Perhaps it is, perhaps not. 

A part of him yearns to destroy Zander, shatter his bones into dus

• Language: English
• Publisher: jkjonesauthor
• Release date: Oct 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781998809103

J.K. Jones

Hey there, I'm J.K. Jones, a Canadian author who likes her coffee black and loves to write dark M/M romance novels. I grew up in the bustling city of Toronto, and it's given me a bit of a different take on things. I'm just passionate about telling stories that grab your attention. I've been into creative writing for a while, and it's cool how I can naturally put together characters and plots that keep folks hooked. You might have come across my books like "Claw of Exile" and "Weeps Indigo." They're all about diving into the messy parts of love and relationships. I've been hanging out in Toronto for as long as I can remember, just doing my thing and spinning tales. I hope my writing connects with you and adds a little something to the world of dark M/M romance.

Book preview

Years of Silence

M/M Ex-con Romance

J.K. Jones

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J.K. Jones

Disclaimer

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This is a self-published work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book contains harsh language, scenes of violence, sexuality, sensuality, human trafficking, rape, and other mature subject matter. It is not intended for a younger audience. No part of this book may be reproduced by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems. Furthermore, it is a work of fiction. We do not condone any form of racism, sexual harassment, incitement, religious hatred, misogyny, or child pornography or make light of such grave matters.

Copyright © Decemeber 30th, 2021 J.K. Jones All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by: J.K. Jones

Trigger Warning

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This novel contains sensitive content that may be distressing to some readers. Please be advised that the following topics are addressed within the story:

Discussions of rape

Themes of suicide

Substance abuse

Addiction

Body mutilation

Emotional abuse

Physical abuse

Depression

Explicit sexual content

Reader discretion is advised. If you find any of these themes deeply disturbing or triggering, it is recommended that you approach this book with caution or consider choosing an alternative read. Your well-being is important.

Contents

1.The Billionaire and the Ex-Convict

2.Revenge is a Dish Best Served Hot

3.Assassin's Bullet

4.The Past Comes Back to Haunt

5.The Thin Line Between Love and Hate

6.Betrayal at Every Turn

7.A Fine Line Between Life and Death

8.Kiss or Kill

9.Love in the Time of Danger

10.The Tug of War Between Love and Hate

11.When the Past Comes Back to Claim You

12.The Shadow of the Billionaire

13.A Memory That Haunts

14.A Love on the Brink

15.The Intense Aftermath

16.A Shocking Discovery

17.A New York Winter of Danger

18.A New Year's Dilemma

19.Living the Dream or Living a Lie?

20.Race Against Fate

Epilogue

Starlight Illusions

What’s Next?

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

The Billionaire and the Ex-Convict

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New York City

The private jet speeds through the night sky, sleek and dark. Zander gazes at the black canopy, pausing at each blinking star. The anticipation is almost unbearable. His legs tense, and an ache fills his chest, a sensation long forgotten. Memories flood in—icy winds, Vadim, tears sliding down an angelic face.

What did you do to me? Zander screams in his memory, white eyes gleaming with murderous intent. They were once inseparable, torn apart by Carlisle Wright, his adoptive father. Their friendship, their closeness, was deemed a threat.

Zander was adopted so he remains in the dark about his true origins. He can only speculate that he's a mix of African and Caucasian descent. As he scratches his neck, a wince crosses his face, detecting the sensation of rigid skin. The world around him blurs, drowned out by the sound of his ragged breath. When he opens his eyes, there's nothing but an obscured vision, prompting him to press his fingertips against the tense muscle at the base of his skull.

Shapes emerge, jagged splinters underneath his skin. Flowers grow beneath him, rupturing membranes—a sight he's known since forever. Diagnosed with Non-suicidal Self-Injury, schizophrenia, anxiety, and depression, Zander carries the weight of his condition.

A memory surfaces of Dr. Williams giving him a pitying look, his jovial smile gone. The moment Zander regains consciousness enough to stay awake, the man shoots a disapproving glance toward Carlisle. It seems you’ve relapsed.

For years he’s battled with this and it’s only gotten worse. Tonight, they’ll sprout hideous things barreling through his flesh. Best not to aggravate the wounds already there. Besides, he still remembers what happened the last time he tried to dig them out. Zander ended up in the hospital for five days with his legs and arms strapped to the bed.

He removes his hand.

Zander falls into a black hole of regret. It’s dark, and he flails about finding no escape.

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We’ve almost arrived.

He startles awake, the passage of time escaping him. It must be the relentless influence of that damn medication, amplifying the vividness of his daymares. Zander, a Yale graduate and co-founder of Z&G Law Firm Inc., finds himself plagued by an unsettling reality – a man of his stature occasionally succumbing to involuntary bodily functions.

He contemplates the consequences if others were aware. His office alone boasts an annual revenue exceeding a hundred million, with numerous international board members and connections influenced by the deepest pockets in the judiciary.

Yet, Zander is no exception.

His father's involvement with politicians and mass media organizations paints a picture of a family that manipulates the threads of society, watching the world burn. Zander reaches for a glass of water, draining it in one go, attempting to wash away the discomfort.

Turning his attention to the case file, his eyes skim over information he has memorized by now.

Vadim Oblonsky.

Thirty years old. Facing charges of attempted murder, assault and battery with a deadly weapon, grand theft auto, and, last but not least, attempted arson. As he studies the mugshot, a dormant sensation stirs within him.

Fuck.

That face still haunts his dreams. Zander rubs his temples, his eyes lingering on the photo for a moment longer before he puts it away.

He can’t allow himself to be consumed by his emotions. He still has a job to do, regardless of the tidal wave threatening to overtake him.

We are landing, the flight attendant says. She smiles at him and gestures for him to buckle up.

Once they land, a black BMW is waiting for them. His driver gets out of the vehicle and opens the back door for him.

Everything alright, Zander? asks Erin Miles. He’s been Zander’s driver since he was a child. Erin is a willowy man withered by life, but he’s the kindest person Zander’s ever known.

He waves his hand. I’m fine.

Big day today, eh?

Indeed.

Good luck.

Zander swallows, his eyes remaining expressionless. Opting not to respond, he continues to gaze out the window. Within four hours, they arrive, and the sun is just beginning to rise, nearly six a.m. – right on time.

Pulling up to Clallam Bay Correctional Facility, a formidable structure surrounded by barbed wire fences and guarded by leashed, vigilant dogs, heavily armed with security.

Erin catches Zander's eye in the rear-view mirror, but he pays no attention. Stepping out, he feels the crisp wind, realizing that his coat isn't sufficient against the bitter cold.

Approaching the front entrance, Zander flashes his access card, and they grant him entry. Passing through the gates, he senses the biting chill. Greeting the receptionist, he ensures all the necessary paperwork is in order for his client’s release.

Navigating through multiple layers of security, each more demanding than the last, Zander clenches his jaw and presses onward.

When one officer stops him, Zander can smell the man’s breath, rancid like tar. You realize who you are dealing with, right? I’ve never seen a Russian fucker so crazy.

I do, Zander says, his lip curling in disgust. Can you go get my client?

The officer shrugs. Get Oblonsky from the isolation cell.

Zander stifles his disdain for this place, swallowing it down like bitter medicine. The door remains sealed, but the anticipation in his stomach causes a flutter, and his legs quiver with anxiety. Seven long years have passed.

Vadim Oblonsky emerges, a formidable presence of sinewy muscle and raw flesh. Lean and robust, a tribal tattoo snakes down his right arm, the orange jumpsuit slightly ajar, exposing a pronounced collarbone. Zander's heart falters at the sight. As Vadim approaches, his icy glacial eyes lock onto Zander, and a surge of bile rises in Zander's throat.

With each step, Vadim's features grow more severe. An ugly scar slices down his brow, fading into his jawline, a testament to the harshness of time spent apart.

It's my fault. It’s all my fault.

Chapter 2

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Hot

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Words abandon him, leaving Zander standing there, mouth agape like a fish, his stomach clenched with tension. Vadim doesn't even spare him a glance. Zander patiently awaits the removal of the cuffs, barely flinching when they hand Vadim a bag containing his belongings.

The guards engage in conversation amongst themselves, but Zander finds his voice stuck in his throat. Vadim's once lustrous, rich, dirty blonde curls now hang limp and shaggy. His eyes exude fierceness and wildness, as if he's a caged animal ready to unleash havoc.

A profound silence envelops them as they make their way toward the waiting car. Vadim stares out of the window, hands folded in his lap. Zander longs to say something, anything, but the words remain trapped.

After a two-hour drive, they arrive at a hotel just outside Zander's hometown of Cle Elum. Upon entering the room, Zander hands Vadim some clothes he purchased earlier, mindful of the room already being booked.

Try these on.

Vadim takes them, his calloused fingers moving up and down the sleeves of the fabric, making it sensual. Then his eyes harden, the scar on his face becoming ominous in the low lighting.

Get out, Vadim says, his Russian accent making his voice thick.

Vadim, Zander begs. "Please."

No.

Just listen—

There is nothing to say.

But—

I mean it.

"Vadim—"

A burst of pain explodes against the side of Zander’s face. His head snaps back, and he stumbles from the sheer force of the punch. His nostrils flare as his nose shifts and breaks with a sickening, resounding crunch.

Zander groans, cupping his nose while blood flows down his lips and neck.

I won’t say it again, Vadim mumbles, striding into the bathroom and locking the door.

Blinding agony shoots up and down his face. He nearly falls over but catches himself at the last minute.

Fuck—that could have gone better.

In the grand scheme of things, he should consider this a victory. The room spins as Zander struggles to get a towel to stem the bleeding. Through nausea, he calls Erin and asks to be taken to the hospital.

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Zander’s nose is fucked.

Which turns out to be a complete understatement by the doctors while they examine him. Thankfully, it's not broken but fractured in several places.

In utter frustration, Zander questions how on earth he's supposed to show up at the office looking like this. He curses both the heavens and the earth, wearing a frown on his way back to the hotel room.

Erin keeps shooting him concerned looks in the mirror, but Zander chooses to ignore her. Early the next morning, he finally returns to the hotel, still clutching a bag of ice to his nose and feeling nauseous with each step.

Upon entering, Zander senses Vadim's presence, the slow rise and fall of his sleeping form evident. Keeping quiet, Zander changes in the bathroom before slipping into his own bed.

His dreams are a blend of vivid images – a turquoise shawl flowing like silk in the wind, water trickling from holes in the ceiling, the smell of dust and mold, old wallpaper peeling and tinged orange, and the ever-present cold.

He awakens after five a.m., moving to sit at the edge of his bed, face pulsating with pain as he fumbles for his medication.

A curse escapes his lips as he recalls the previous evening, Vadim's aggressive greeting after seven years of silence. Deep down, Zander knows he probably deserved it.

His morning routine is methodical, and he sticks to it because it’s the only thing that makes him feel in control right now. Zander takes off his shirt, inhales, exhales, braces himself, and then turns around, craning his neck to see.

There are four of them.

Concealed beneath the fall of his curly hair, a mere hint of a Spider Lily curled down his neck. The others are two spindly vines, burrowed between his shoulder blade and spine, sprouting from one battered hole. Zander grits his teeth, then digs his fingers in and pulls.

Zander goes slow, methodical, and clinical—no point in getting emotional. That makes things worse.

If he reacts, the stem will bend and break, leaving spikes of stumps to itch and dig just under his skin. There are scabs all across his lower back and shoulder, a reminder of what happens when it spreads. So, it’s done slowly, gracefully. He’s quick not to make any wrong movements, meaning he feels every distinct fiber disengage, wrenching along with the muscle.

Agony ripples through his core.

When it’s over, he leaves the plants in the sink, staring at them before flushing them down the toilet. Afterward, he cleans away the thin drops of blood trickling out of the holes in his body.

He dresses in a sleek black suit, slacks, and a white dress shirt. He’ll need to be at the office in a few hours. In the mirror, he gazes at his face, wincing when he takes in the dark bruising around his hazel eyes. His long nose looks more grotesque under the harsh lighting and his full lips look swollen and split.

What a mess.

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Zander brushes his curly hair and tucks what he can behind his ears. Sighing softly, his hands trace the seams of his dress shirt. Stepping out of the bathroom, Zander is filled with eagerness to make calls to Garrett, his best friend and business partner. He ensures everything is ready by the time he arrives.

Vadim’s awake.

He sits at the edge of the bed. His massive arms and chest rise and fall while his eyes blaze with a hidden madness.

Why am I here? he speaks, his words a broken mix of English and Russian.

Пожалуйста, выслушайте меня, мне действительно нужно поговорить с вами о— Zander starts and then stops. Old habits die hard. He switches to English. Because I need your help.

Vadim stares at him, pale eyes searching for more.

I’m in trouble, and you are the only person who can help me.

We both know that’s not true.

Vadim, Zander says, his voice shaking. Please. Someone is trying to kill me.

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After hearing the news, Vadim remains silent. He doesn’t speak in the car or on the plane ride back to New York. Only when Zander shows him the guest room does Vadim turn to him, hostility lurking within his depth as he whispers the words Zander thought he’d never hear.

After seven years, it still makes his heart twist in his chest. Zander keeps his face neutral, but he is burning with longing.

He makes it to the office at eight thirty-five a.m. He still has time to go over the case before he meets with Mr. Dmitriev at nine a.m. Zander raps his fingers on the table, going over the extensive legal jargon. The leather feels plush and comfortable as he leans back in his chair. The office is spacious and almost too large for one person alone, but Carlisle insisted, and he had to go along.

There’s a large bookshelf in the far corner, hefty enough to fill a library with dozens of cases. Zander has read them all.

Not by choice, of course, but by necessity. He lives and breathes his work.

Case files lay stacked on his desk, untouched because of the sheer amount of work he still needs to get through. Is this all of it?

The intern jumps; his ochre skin is tawny like the setting sun and it stands stark against his white crisp dress shirt and pants. Yes, Mr. Wright.

Zander looks back at the file, his eyes taking in every single word. The whole case was fucked up. Even as he reads more about the people involved, his stomach coils in disgust. Sometimes he wonders why he became a defense attorney.

You know why.

Sick fuck, he mutters under his breath, before tossing the file on the table.

The case is pretty straightforward: a billionaire tycoon caught raping an underage girl; the man somehow thinks that throwing money at the problem would make it all go away. However, more women started coming out, accusing the defendant of being a rapist.

A friend of my father’s, you said?

Yes, Mr. Wright.

Even after all the evidence proved that the man was guilty, he still had the fucking gall to plead not guilty. It was hard to argue against his DNA found in a rape test. Zander knew he had to take this case on. It was expected of him.

His face hardened.

These are the police reports. I’ve sealed them to make sure nobody has access to them, Zander says, placing them in a filing cabinet near his desk, and then handing another file over to him. Seth, take the case report back to Tanya and tell her I want Mr. Dmitriev in my office Thursday morning at nine a.m. sharp.

Seth hesitates, his gaze falling to the side of Zander’s face. Sir…are you alright? Your face—

I’m fine, Zander clips. I’ll see you at the meeting later this morning.

Yes, Mr. Wright, Seth says, snatching the file away and sprinting out of the room.

Zander takes a deep breath, loosening his silk-fitted Armani jacket.

If this were a normal day, he’d have yelled at Seth for not bringing these files in sooner. His father wanted this situation dealt with quickly and discretely.

However, today is unlike any other day. His fingers twitch with anticipation as he wills himself to calm down.

Zander moves from his chair, eager to get the blood pumping and not to dwell on the reason his heart wants to burst from his chest.

He gazes out the window, his hazel eyes scanning the skyline, taking in the bustle of New York City. He’s never liked it here. It’s too loud, too proud. Everything is too much. Beaming lights and boisterous people, so inflated they can’t even see their feet on the ground.

He was nothing.

A skinny teenager with more bones than flesh, running away from a psychiatric hospital, rambling about things crawling under his skin.

He recalls the rancid smell of disinfectants and needles stabbing his arms as they pumped him full of narcotics. For months he lay catatonic, eyes sunken as shadows loomed over every step.

Dark whispers in the night, a monster with his heel on his neck. Zander could feel the weight of a spidery hand crawling over his chest.

For years he was left to rot, and his adoptive father, Carlisle Wright, couldn’t be bothered to give a damn.

And soon after, pretending to be normal became easy. It was like shedding familiar skin for a brand-new one.

Shaking his head, Zander turns away from those thoughts. He needs to focus on the present.

The door to his office swings open and in walks the devil himself.

Guess who, motherfucker! Garrett grins, carrying two large stacks of paperwork and piling them on his desk.

Zander doesn’t blink. His eyes sweep over the papers. I thought I told you to knock.

Garrett laughs like it’s a joke. It’s not.

He’s busy fussing with the paperwork, but his hair falls over his brow as his expressive green eyes twinkle like mischievous gems. His constant five o’clock shadow gives him a rugged look that drives most of the women in the office crazy. Zander’s face warms, and he turns away to ignore the heat spreading in his core and takes a seat at his desk.

Sometimes he thought it was still there: the attraction, the burning hunger, even if simmered to embers.

Let's get this over with so we can have an early lunch— Garrett cuts himself off immediately, his eyes widening as he takes in Zander’s face. What the fuck happened? Garrett barks, rounding the desk to get a closer look.

Zander remains seated, his hands clasped in his lap.

Did he do this to you? Garrett demands. Don’t tell me he fucking did this to you.

You don’t know what you’re talking about, Zander says.

Zander, Garrett snarls. What the fuck is going on? Every time he comes into the picture, you turn batshit crazy! I’m sick of it. Haven’t you given up enough for him? Haven’t you suffered enough? We’ve been best friends since university—I can’t watch you throw your life away again—

I’m not, Zander snaps, his hands curling into fists. Vadim means the world to me. You know that—

All I know is that for seven years, that bastard ignored you. He didn’t give a damn about your feelings or how you were trying to make amends.

My father sent him to prison. Zander’s heart tightens. Of course, he hates me.

Garrett’s face softens. Take a break. Let’s just talk about this—

There’s nothing to say. There never is with Vadim, and Garrett should know that by now. Do you have everything ready?

Garrett’s mouth thins into a hard line. I see. So that’s how it’s going to be?

They’ve had this argument at least a thousand times. Since university, they’ve never been able to see eye to eye regarding Vadim, because Zander spent most of that time agonizing over the fact that Carlisle sent his best friend to prison and there was nothing he could do about it. Despite his pleading to reopen the case, Carlisle always refused, his insufferable attitude remaining the same.

Vadim was trash and always would be. If he didn’t take the fall for burning down their house, then who would? Zander had never been more disgusted by him in his whole life. Carlisle believed that Vadim would manipulate Zander against him, but he didn't realize that Zander already despised him.

Zander doesn’t respond.

Fine, Garrett scoffs. Here. He tosses the papers on the table. The case file, including the affidavit signed by the defendant. We still have time for a team briefing before Mr. Dmitriev arrives.

Call everyone into the meeting room, Zander says, gathering the files.

Garrett hesitates, his eyes lingering on the bruises before he takes his case and walks out the door. Zander takes Advil and then some ibuprofen before following him shortly after.

As he arrives, he finds everyone seated around the round table. Six board members are here since this case is high profile. He knows his father would want everyone involved.

Listen up, Zander starts, avoiding pleasantries. We’ve got a mountain of shit ahead of us. I can’t afford any mistakes. If you’re not up to the task, please speak to Garrett about it and we will reassign you to another case. After today, we hit the ground running.

As he speaks, Seth hands out coffee and copies a file for everyone to follow.

Our Z&G Law Firm Inc. is invested in the wellbeing of our very generous client, Mr. Dmitriev. He has agreed to donate half a million dollars to the firm if the case is resolved quickly and quietly.

Our job is to prove his innocence no matter the cost, Garrett chimes in, commanding the room.

Now, Zander continues. The US Government must disclose copies of police reports, witness statements, any previous criminal records, and statements Mr. Dmitriev ever made. This may also include pictures, notes, and names. We need to gather all the information to paint the picture that Mr. Dmitriev is a generous man, who makes frequent large contributions to charities. He’s a good man with a loving wife and children and would hurt no one.

"What