by Jenn Burke
He felt a throb low in his gut that had nothing to do with the overpowering music as Oliver gyrated around the pole near the front of the stage, smiling coyly at the audience and pulling at the straps of his g-string. A few men held out bills and Oliver crawled toward them so they could tuck them under the elastic. The round globes of his ass glittered, sparkling under the strobe lights, and Ben suddenly wanted to bite one of them.
“Hey!” Ben jerked his gaze away from the stage as someone shouted in his ear. It was a shorter man, wearing a cheap suit and no tie, with a lowball glass in his hand. “You DuBois?”
Ben got his brain back in the game instead of being focused on the blood rushing south. “Yeah. That’s me.”
“Figured. Fucking bison are always built like fucking linebackers. I’m Regan.” He gestured with the glass at a table set back from the stage, amber liquid sloshing. “We’re back here.”
Ben let himself be led to the table, where another three men waited. They all stood as he approached. Two were clearly muscle—about as tall as Ben and with his broad “linebacker” build. The third wore a suit that made Regan’s look like a rumpled sweatpants outfit. The dark material, maybe blue, maybe black—it was tough to tell in the dim lighting—fit the man like a glove. He had dark hair, slicked back, and a tidy mustache and goatee. His dark eyes glimmered, and from his utter stillness as he observed Ben, Ben would guess he was a reptile shifter of some type—probably a snake.
Fitting.
Ben stuck out his hand. The guards tensed, but quickly relented when they saw that it was empty. “Barrett DuBois.”
The man clasped it. “Frediano Paul. Good to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“Have a seat, Mr. DuBois. Or can I call you Barrett?”
Ben settled into one of the chairs around the table as the other men did the same. “Sure.”
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Whiskey on the rocks.”
Paul jerked his chin at Regan, who got up to saunter over to the bar. Then he nodded at the stage. “He’s good, isn’t he?”
Ben grunted noncommittally, even though he wanted to shout Yes! at the top of his lungs. “He knows how to work a pole.” He bit back a groan as he realized what he said.
Paul laughed. “I’m sure he does, I’m sure he does.”
“Kind of odd to have a meeting in a joint like this, isn’t it?”
Paul toyed with his glass, the perfect illustration of ease. “Some people might think so, but I’m an equal opportunity player. Having chats in such an environment does two things—it keeps heterosexual men’s eyes where they should be, and it shows me the kind of person they are.”
“Okay, sure. I can see that.” Ben settled back too as Regan returned with his drink, and accepted it with a nod. “If they got a problem with a place like this, you don’t want to work with them.”
“Exactly.”
Ben took the opportunity to look back at the stage and openly ogle Oliver for a few seconds. Oliver couldn’t possibly see him past the bright stage lights, but it almost felt as though he was watching Ben. Waiting for him to look in his direction.
Had to be his imagination.
Managing not to drool, Ben turned around and raised his glass in a toast. “I’ve got no problem.”
“Good man, good man.” Paul tapped his glass against Ben’s and they both drank.
They spent the next hour chatting about nothing of importance—and yet, Ben knew that every answer he gave, every question he posed, was of the utmost importance in Paul’s eyes. He wouldn’t kid himself—he was being scrutinized, evaluated and measured. It was an hour-long job interview for a person he was pretending to be.
Hey. Not stressful at all.
Ben was nearly done his drink and dreading ordering another—he wasn’t a big drinker—when Paul downed the last of his and looked at him with a serious gleam in his eye. “You seem like a straight arrow, Barrett.”
Behind Ben, a cheer rose up, but he knew now was not the time to be distracted. “I try. Games are for kids.”
“I hear that. You know what I’m looking for, yes?”
“Someone trustworthy.”
“And discreet. I need—”
Paul broke off as Oliver sashayed into view, wearing a little more than he had on stage, but not enough to fully hide his magnificent body. For an instant, Ben forgot everything he was supposed to be doing as Oliver flipped his hair over his shoulder and pouted seductively at the guards sitting on the other side of the table. They each gave a single shake of their heads, their attention not diverted at all, and Regan made a dismissive motion with his hand to get Oliver to move on.
He did. Right to Ben.
“Hey, baby.” Oliver slinked—that was the only word—onto Ben’s lap and leaned close. “Interested in joining me in the champagne room?” He swooped closer to Ben’s ear. “You okay?” he whispered.
Ben grunted in what he hoped was an affirmative tone. “We’re kind of busy,” he said out loud.
“Too busy for me?”
“Can I take a rain check?”
Oliver swept his hands over Ben’s biceps and abs. Ben sucked in a breath and willed his dick not to respond.
His dick ignored him.
“Sweetheart, as much as I love the show you’re giving us right now, we’re in the middle of business. But come see me later, eh?” Paul adjusted his crotch and licked his lower lip.
And Ben saw red. Before he realized what he was doing, he was up and out of his chair, Oliver somehow behind him, with his nostrils flared, his brows lowered, and one foot digging into the cheap carpeting as though he were a bull about to charge. Because he was.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Paul held up his hands in surrender, even as his two goons leaped to their feet.
Through the red haze clouding his vision, Ben still understood that Paul hadn’t actually surrendered and was still a threat to both him and his…and his…
And his Oliver.
Well. Now was a hell of a time to realize that.
7
Paul chuckled and shook his head at Ben’s display of dominance. “You can’t get possessive over any of these dancers, Barrett. They’ll give it up for anyone with the right amount of cash. Right, Ricky?”
This was bad. This was so bad. The exact thing that the Director had hoped would be a strength—their budding relationship, whatever the hell it was—had turned out to be their weakness. He didn’t know what Ben would do if he agreed with Paul’s statement, but it probably wouldn’t be anything that would save their cover. And then this opportunity to set up an in for an agent down the road would be gone, never to be recovered.
Only one thing to be done.
“Babe. Sweetie.” Oliver rubbed Ben’s arm and tried not to drool at the absolute heft of it. Good god, did the man bench press trucks? “This is why meeting where I work is never a good idea.”
That jerked Ben out of his rage. He looked at Oliver—and Oliver thrilled a little, again, at the fact that Ben had to look down just a bit. Ben’s gaze was puzzled at first, but Oliver didn’t waver and after a second, realization dawned in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, honey.” The endearment tripped off Ben’s lips so naturally, Oliver could almost think he meant it. “I’d forgotten you were on tonight. I thought it was movie night with your sister.”
“No, I switched shifts. I told you about it, remember?”
Ben closed his eyes, as if remembering a conversation that didn’t exist. “Right, right. Shit. I screwed up.”
Paul cleared his throat. “So you two…know each other?”
Ben turned back to him. “Yeah, sorry. We’re married.”
Oliver hid a jerk behind a wide, fake smile. Way to go for broke, Ben.
“Married?” Paul’s brows rose. “Well, damn. I never would have thought—huh.”
“It’s new,” Oliver put in.
“’Bout a month now.” Ben caught Oliver’s hand in his and broug
ht it to his lips. “Best month of my life so far.”
Oliver didn’t have to fake the blush. He glanced at Paul and was shocked to see the man looking at them with a soft expression.
“You’re lucky.” Paul waved for Ben to have a seat again, and one of his minions pulled out a chair for Oliver. Oliver ignored it in favor of sitting on Ben’s lap.
Because why not.
“So you’re not just looking for a one-off job, then,” Paul surmised.
Oliver squeezed Ben’s fingers, hoping the recruit realized the opportunity for what it was.
“Well.” Ben cleared his throat. “Something more stable would be ideal, of course, but I’ll take what I can get.”
Oliver cooed. “Oh, if you got something that was regular, I could cut back my hours here. That would be excellent.”
“Yeah, it would,” Ben agreed.
“You don’t like him working here?”
Ben shook his head at Paul’s question. “Would you?”
“No. No, I would not.” Paul sat back, his fingers steepled in front of his lips, his gaze intent on the two of them—but not as cold and threatening as it had been earlier. After a moment, he seemed to come to a decision and nodded. “I like you, Barrett.”
Ben managed not to look at Oliver for a clue as to what he thought Paul was getting at. “Thank you.”
“I like to help out the people I like,” Paul continued. “So I’m going to give you an opportunity I don’t hand out lightly. You want something more stable than running errands for me?”
Errands meaning drugs. That’s what the plan had been—get an in through a low-level position. “Depends on what it is.”
Paul grinned. “Smart man. Always best to look before you leap. I’m looking to expand my markets, and that means I’ll need to expand my security team. You’d come with me to meetings, maybe act as driver occasionally, maybe some other tasks related to the role. Best part, you get room and board at my place in the mountains. A suite that’s probably bigger than anything you can afford now. For free.”
Holy shit. Holy shit. This was gold. Oliver let out a squeal that wasn’t completely faked. “And pay? He’d get paid on the regular?”
“Absolutely. Let’s start at fifty k a year.”
“Oh my god!” Oliver shifted on Ben’s lap and grabbed his shirt. “Honey, we could get that truck you wanted! And I could update my wardrobe!”
“Ricky would be able to stay with me?” Ben asked.
“Of course, of course. I’m not interested in splitting you up. I think the house could use someone like him. All that energy.” The look he shot Oliver was almost a leer.
Oh yeah, definitely an ulterior motive to this offer. But Oliver didn’t care—it meant they’d have the access they had been trying to set up for the agent that came after them. If they could get in, gather enough dirt on Paul to end his organization…
Oliver tamped down the excitement at the opportunity. He had to remember that neither of them were actual agents. Even if Ben was doing great at undercover work (minus the possessiveness), and even if Oliver had taken some classes here and there over the past couple of years. This could go bad very easily. Too easily.
He took a breath. But it was too good to pass up.
“Oh babe, can we? Please?” He leaned in, resting his temple on Ben’s shoulder and pressing cajoling kisses along his jaw line. He didn’t miss how Ben’s breath caught—and he also didn’t miss how he smelled like fresh prairie grasses and rich, earthy soil.
“Yeah.” Ben’s voice came out gruff, as though he was overwhelmed by the possibility of a new, struggle-free life, and he cleared his throat. “Yeah. I think that would be a great deal.”
As Ben shook Paul’s hand, Oliver just hoped they hadn’t made a huge mistake.
After promising to be at Paul’s place later that evening, Ben and Oliver headed “home” to the apartment FUC had set up as part of Ben’s cover, in case Paul had him followed or checked out. Ben didn’t say anything to Oliver as they trudged up the stairs, and Oliver was just as quiet. He wondered if Oliver’s brain was as full of oh my god, what the fuck did we just do? as Ben’s was.
He slid the unfamiliar key into the unfamiliar lock, ushered Oliver inside, closed the door behind them, flipped on the living room light—and let out a bellow as he spotted the dark figure sitting on the couch.
The director.
“Jesus Christ,” Ben breathed. “A little warning would be good.”
Alyce Cooper ignored him and remained seated, as though she owned the place—which, er, she sort of did. Her eyes glittered. “Gentlemen, this was supposed to be an easy, in-and-out mission.”
Ben raked a hand over the barely there stubble on his head. “I know. I fucked up. I didn’t—”
“Ma’am, with all due respect,” Oliver interrupted. “This is a fantastic opportunity.”
She arched a brow. “How so, Mr. Zuraw?”
Oliver fidgeted with the hem of the hoodie he’d pulled on over his skimpy T-shirt. “The goal was to set up a relationship with Paul that FUC could make use of later, right? Well, we’ve got that chance now.”
“And you expect me to send in a raw recruit and a civilian instructor undercover?”
“Didn’t you already?”
For an instant, Ben wondered if Oliver’s subtle challenge was going to get him fired. Alyce Cooper looked mad enough to spit. But then her lips curved gently and some of the fire leaked away from her expression. “Touché, Mr. Zuraw. Touché.” She eyed Ben for a moment. “I’ll make this simple. Do you like Mr. Zuraw?”
“Like him…as in, like like him?” Ben blushed.
“Yes. Like like.”
He’d fallen through a portal somewhere, into some dimension where the Director of FUCN’A took the place of a scribbled note passed between classmates. Do you like me? Circle Y or N.
“Uh…yes? Is that the right answer?”
“If it’s the truth.”
“Then yes. I do like him. Like like,” he clarified.
“And Mr. Zuraw?”
Ben looked at Oliver to find him with the same dumbfounded expression that must be on his own face. “Yes. Like like.”
Ben’s eyes widened. “You do?”
“Yeah,” Oliver said, a smile slowly growing. “I do.”
Ben couldn’t help an answering smile.
“Excellent.” Director Cooper rose gracefully from the couch and smoothed the wrinkles in her pantsuit. “I think you might just be able to pull this off, gentlemen. We’ll be nearby, ready to move if needed. We’ll make sure to get an emergency phone to you once you’re inside the compound.”
“Why not just give us one now?” Ben asked.
“In case we get searched,” Oliver explained.
Oh. Made sense.
“You have two days to get as much information about Paul’s business as you can,” Alyce said, and held up her hand as Oliver opened his mouth, presumably to argue. “You’re right, this is a good opportunity—an excellent one, even—and if you were seasoned agents, there would be no concerns about making this a long-term mission. But you’re not, and I can’t in good conscience leave you undercover for a lengthy amount of time. So two days.”
“Understood,” Ben said with a nod.
After a few seconds, Oliver nodded too. “Got it.”
“Good.” The director reached the door and turned around, her expression softening a nearly imperceptible amount as she regarded them. “Be careful. If the situation seems to be going south, get out. We’re all taking a huge risk in allowing this mission to continue. You two most of all.”
“We won’t let you down,” Oliver said.
Ben hoped that was the truth.
When Paul had said “place in the mountains,” Ben had envisioned a fortress on a cliff. So sue him. He was thinking evil mastermind plus mountains plus…well, maybe he’d watched too many superhero movies over the years.
At any rate, it didn’t quite live up to Ben’s i
magination, but it was still impressive. It was actually in the foothills, not the mountains, and it was more of a ranch than a fortress. The house was made of field stone and lumber, with warm lights tucked into the eaves to highlight the rugged exterior. The driveway curled around a fountain installed in the center. In the background, Ben spotted a few outbuildings, but he couldn’t tell what they were, exactly. At least one of them was big enough to be a barn, though. Did Paul have horses?
Would horses let a snake like Paul ride?
Inside, Paul gave them a ten-cent tour consisting of the kitchen, the living room, and the entertainment room, complete with movie-theater-style seating. Oliver oohed and ahhed at everything, and Ben let himself enjoy his enthusiasm, even if it was probably 80 percent faked. It was fun seeing Oliver like this, so excited and seemingly open with his joy.
He’d really like to see this side of Oliver again. When it was real.
Eventually Paul showed them to their suite, which, as he’d promised, was bigger than a lot of one-bedroom apartments. After letting them know the kitchen and everything else was open to them 24 hours a day, Paul left them alone.
As soon as the door closed, Ben let his shoulders droop. “Holy shit.”
Oliver put a finger to his lips and shook his head. Ben frowned, but quickly clued in. “Bugs?” he mouthed.
Oliver shrugged. “C’mon, baby, let’s have a shower,” he said with a seductive lilt to his voice.
Ben nodded and followed Oliver into the bathroom. The enormous bathroom. “Damn. You could have a ballroom dance in here.”
Oliver giggled, completely in character, and turned on the two rainfall showerheads in the massive, tiled shower stall. “There,” he said, pitched just above a whisper.
“Bugs? Really?” Ben hissed, all traces of the Barrett character gone. He’d held it together through the impromptu meeting with Alyce Cooper and Paul’s tour, but he couldn’t subdue his nerves any longer. “What the hell are we doing?”
“What we have to.”
“We’re not…you know!” He didn’t want to say anything incriminating, even with the water likely drowning out anything they said.
