“That sounds good. Hot shower too?”
“If you can wait for it.”
“Bath would be even better.”
Conrad’s eyes were closing when Archer pulled up, not in front of a hotel but in the drive of a small dark cottage.
“This doesn’t look like the Hilton,” Conrad mumbled.
“Holiday let. Stay in the car a minute. I have to find the key.”
Deefor climbed onto Conrad’s lap, circled, put one paw then the other on Conrad’s balls before he settled down with a quiet grunt.
Conrad groaned. “Well, I’m glad you’re comfortable.”
The lights went on in the house and Archer appeared at the front door. Conrad pushed open the car and Deefor leapt out. It took Conrad a moment to lever himself from the seat, another moment to make sure he could stand without collapsing. His entire body throbbed in pain. Archer grabbed his bag from the rear of the car and Conrad followed him into the house. Each step felt as if he were walking on glass.
“It’s colder in here than outside,” Conrad said. “Is there a reason you don’t like hotels?”
“They’ll be checking them. The moment you use a credit card you alert anyone looking for you. Same with your phone. Keep it switched off. Go upstairs. Choose a bed and go to sleep.”
“Don’t give me orders,” he snapped.
“I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“What about using your credit card? Your phone? Cash?”
“Thanks to that article in the paper they know my name too. If they’re looking for you, then they’re looking for me. That reporter saw us together. It’s not worth the risk. Plus it’s not easy to find a place that will take cash with no credit card imprint.” Archer grabbed a can of dog food from his bag and levered off the ring top. “Come on, Deefor. Let’s find you a bowl.”
Conrad turned to look at the stairs. Climbing them didn’t mean he was asking Archer to fuck him. He heaved himself up, one step at a time, worn out to the point of collapse. First door led to a bathroom. He took a leak and washed his hands and face in freezing water. Forget the shower or the tub.
The next door opened onto a room with bunk beds. The only other one had a double. Did Archer know? How had he even found this place? He flicked on a bedside light, took off his shoes and coat and climbed under the duvet. He kept his hat and gloves on. He could feel the cold striking through his clothes but he was too tired for that or his churning mind to keep him awake.
Archer smiled when he saw Conrad still wearing his hat in bed. He lifted Conrad’s phone from his coat pocket and crept downstairs. Before he left, he turned on the central heating, then drove to Beadnell. He parked the car in the middle of a line of vehicles on a residential road and ran along the coastal path toward Shennan Sands. The only person about was a guy walking his Dalmatian.
The car was still outside the cottage but no lights were on. Archer took a roundabout route to the back and looked through the kitchen window. He couldn’t see anyone. He took out his gun before he slipped through the part-open door, then stood listening.
He couldn’t hear anything either but there was a pervasive coppery odor he recognized. Fuck. He risked taking the flashlight from his pocket and did a quick sweep of the kitchen. Two guys lay in pools of blood. Wilf and the other man. Fuck, fuck, fuck. A knife lay between them.
A check of the downstairs rooms revealed no more bodies but the place had been ransacked. Archer went up the stairs fast, his gun ready. There was no one there but the rooms had come in for the same treatment as the others. Books and DVDs pulled from the shelves, the chess set scattered over the floor. Back downstairs, he grabbed a bag from Conrad’s closet, filled it with clothes, and gathered toiletries from the bathroom. Conrad’s laptop was still in a kitchen drawer. Archer suspected no one had thought to look for it there. He grabbed the charger and put the bag down by the back door before he filled another with food.
He donned gloves and went through the dead men’s pockets but they were empty, not even any car keys. They’d both been stabbed multiple times. Was this supposed to look as though they’d killed each other? Was that why the knife had been left? He took a picture with Conrad’s phone and left the way he’d entered. If this was a setup, the police could be on their way right now. As he headed along the back of the beach in the direction of his car, he tapped a number into the phone.
“It’s Ten,” he said.
“Ah,” was Phoenix’s response.
You might well sound wary, you fucker.
“You have a problem. I’m sending you an image.”
A short while later Archer heard Phoenix suck in a breath.
“Before you ask, no, I didn’t kill them,” Archer said. “I found them like that.”
Phoenix was uncharacteristically quiet.
“You need a cleanup crew to clean up your cleanup crew,” Archer said.
“How do you know they’re mine?”
“I recognized Wilf. I followed him once. What had they come up here for? To persuade me to leave with them? To kill me? To clean up after someone else killed me?”
“If—”
Archer heard the fury in that one word and spoke quickly. “Why would I kill them? I’ve never touched anyone on British soil.”
“Who have you pissed off apart from me?” Phoenix’s anger sounded genuine. “Ah, unless this doesn’t have anything to do with you but with your little friend.”
Archer could see no point in denial. “Someone wants him dead.”
“And that someone has killed two of my men.”
“Possibly.” Archer clambered up the bank onto the pathway at the back of the dunes.
“The car accident that wasn’t an accident.”
Of course Phoenix knew. He’d have thoroughly investigated Conrad once he discovered the barrister was linked to him.
“If I deal with that problem, you should be prepared to return the favor,” Phoenix said.
“What? So I can get set up again and picked off after I make a hit?”
“I need you working so I can find out who was behind the incident in Paris. That’s why I sent the two to Northumberland. To persuade you to cooperate.”
How did he think they were going to do that?
“You have a name. William Connor,” Archer said. “Isn’t that enough? Why haven’t you found who he was working for?” He thought about the photo spattered with Connor’s DNA that was still in his bag, but he didn’t trust Phoenix.
“I’ll set up a dummy hit and have men watching your back. You can wear Kevlar.”
“No.” Archer wanted no one behind him. Body armor was of no protection if he was shot in the head.
“You can’t run forever.”
“I can run as long as I need to.” Probably not, but…
“And what about your friend?”
“What friend?”
Phoenix laughed. “What’s he going to do when he finds out what you are? You’ll ruin him. You need to walk away right now.”
Archer knew he was right but he wouldn’t leave Conrad in danger. For all his uncharacteristic waffling about whether he should stay or go, he had to make sure Conrad was safe. Caring was an unfamiliar emotion. He wasn’t sure he liked it.
Phoenix chuckled louder. “Don’t tell me you’re getting attached.”
Archer bristled.
“We’ll take care of his problem because it’s turned into my problem,” Phoenix said. “But I’m not happy. In return, I want you back in the fold.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
But not with this phone. Archer switched it off, took out the SIM card, and put it in his pocket. After he’d removed the battery and wiped the mobile down, he disposed of them in two different places before he got back to the car.
He stared at the vehicle for a time before he opened the d
oor. In an ideal world he’d have dumped it and found another but that would have to wait. He put Conrad’s bag and the food in the back, removed the child seat and dropped it over someone’s garden wall.
It was too dangerous to stay in this area for long. He had to keep moving.
Archer arrived back at the house at one in the morning. No lights on downstairs but there was a faint gleam from an upstairs window. He parked out of sight of the road, although the property was on a quiet lane with little traffic. He’d chosen it because it was isolated. A bit of research before he arrived in the northeast had told him it was the holiday home of a family from Lancashire. The kids’ Facebook accounts revealed the times of year they stayed there and mid-November wasn’t one of them. In every town where Archer had stayed he’d made sure he had a bolt hole in case running wasn’t an option.
Deefor raised his head and looked at him from his spot by the kitchen door as Archer crept past with Conrad’s bag. “Some bloody guard dog you are.”
Conrad stirred as he walked into the bedroom. “Where’ve you been?”
“To get your stuff. You’re still sleeping in your hat?”
“And gloves.” He pulled his hands out from under the covers and tugged the gloves off, then the hat. “I’m hot now though.”
“I put the heating on.” Archer’s stomach lurched at the sight of Conrad’s messy hair.
“What time is it?”
“Just after one.”
“Any sign of the men with the guns?” Conrad stared straight at him.
Archer wasn’t sure Conrad believed him. “You can’t go back to the cottage.”
“Why? They still there? Is there trouble?”
“Not now.”
“What does that mean?”
“You should go to London. Hire a bodyguard.” The more Archer thought about it, the better the idea sounded. With guys who wanted to kill them coming from two directions, he had enough trouble keeping himself alive without having to worry about Conrad.
“So you’re just going to fuck off and leave me here?” Conrad pushed himself into a sitting position with a grunt of pain, then glared. Which gave Archer a hard-on. Fuck it.
“I’ll put you on a train.”
Conrad threw back the covers and struggled to his feet. He picked up his coat and fumbled in the pocket. “Where’s my phone?”
“Gone.” Archer put the SIM card on the dresser and moved to stand in the doorway. “You need a different number.”
“Christ Almighty. Call me a taxi.”
“It’s the middle of the night. Wait until tomorrow.”
Conrad shoved his feet into his shoes. “I don’t want to wait. I’m fucking fed up of waiting. I have no idea what’s going on. You walk out, then you walk back. You don’t know what you want and I’m tired of waiting for you to make up your mind.” He put his coat on and stepped right up to Archer. “Get out of my way.”
“No. You need to calm down. You can’t get a train at this time of night.”
“But I can get away from you.”
Archer nodded. “And you should. I’m bad for you.”
Conrad gave a choked laugh. “I think I’d figured that out when I nearly drowned rescuing your butt from the sea. Now shift.” Conrad raised his hand to push him and Archer caught his wrist.
“You’re upstairs,” Archer said quietly.
Conrad’s eyes glittered. “So I am.” He wrenched free.
Lust coiled and twisted in Archer’s gut. His cock was hard and getting harder. Conrad’s belligerence turned him on big time.
“You’re not leaving this room until we’ve fucked.” Archer felt a rush of relief, as though a huge wave had swept over him, washed his head clear and left him still standing.
“Why the hell would I want to do that?” Conrad snapped.
“Because it’s there between us, stopping us thinking straight.” Stopping me thinking straight.
Once he had Conrad out of his system, he could move on. He’d put the guy on a train to London. Tell him to stay with a friend, maybe his ex until he’d sorted out a bodyguard.
Serves me right. A weight settled on Conrad’s stomach. He hadn’t meant to push Archer to that but when he saw the way he was staring at him, unblinking…Conrad’s heart beat faster and his breathing turned ragged.
“You want it, you’re just too chickenshit to admit it,” Archer said.
His words tipped Conrad out of lust into anger. When Archer made a grab for him, Conrad struck out with his fist. The blow glanced off the guy’s chin, hurt Conrad’s knuckles, and Archer fucking laughed. Wanker. Conrad let fly with his other fist, hurt that hand too and found his wrist ensnared in Archer’s grip.
“Let me go.” Conrad tried to jerk free.
Archer tightened his hold. “You’re going to hurt your back if you struggle.”
“You think I’m going to stick my butt in the air for you? Get fucking lost.”
Archer pulled him close and wrapped his arms around his body, pinning Conrad’s elbows to his sides as they stood face-to-face. Conrad could barely move, couldn’t even kick out. Archer shoved him against the wall, pinning him with his body, sliding his arms down to wrap his hands around Conrad’s wrists.
“Let go of me,” Conrad snarled, half thinking the opposite.
“No.”
“I’m warning you.” Had he ever said anything so pathetic? If Archer laughed, he’d head butt him.
“What of?” Archer’s mouth hovered an inch from his, his gaze raking Conrad’s face, constantly returning to his lips. Is he going to kiss me? The pressure of Archer’s chest was making it difficult to breathe. “What are you warning me about?”
“I’ve forgotten,” Conrad mumbled. “Might have been an incoming Exocet missile.”
Archer rocked his hips, mashing one hard cock against another. “This one?”
“You’re not going to fuck me.” Conrad dragged the words from the messy whirlpool in his head.
“Yes, I am.”
Archer pressed his lips hard against Conrad’s, pushing his head back against the wall. Oh God, fuck, hell. Torn between anger, fear and lust, he shook as Archer ran his tongue along the seam of his mouth, shoving, pressing until he’d forced his way in to twist his tongue against Conrad’s. Stay in control. The thought popped like a soap bubble.
Conrad’s tongue was just as desperate to explore, and when it had the chance, it surged into Archer’s mouth. Neither my cock nor my tongue is listening to me? Archer’s grip didn’t lessen on his wrists but Conrad was no longer trying to get free.
The longer the kiss went on, the less Conrad felt able to move. They were wedged together from head to toe and despite all the clothing between them, it felt as if they were naked. He tried to tell himself this wasn’t what he wanted, but his rock-hard cock proved it a lie and the rapid pounding of his heart confirmed it. He was frozen in a state of shocked awareness of how much he liked this, needed this. He’d never been kissed, had never kissed with this sort of violence, this degree of physical energy. If it hadn’t been for the tinge of desperation coming from Archer, he might have tried harder to resist but to be wanted this much, to be needed this much, blew to smithereens what was left of his sense of self-preservation.
Archer finally released him and slid his hands inside Conrad’s coat, around his waist and onto his butt. He spread his fingers and dug them into Conrad’s pants, groaning into his mouth, yanking Conrad forward, then shoving him back against the wall. All Conrad could think about was this man and the way he made him feel.
This mouth-bruising, air-stealing, mind-fucking kiss was like no kiss he’d ever had or ever given. It deprived every cell in his body of oxygen, and flooded them with lust. That had to be why his head was swimming, and why he’d collapse if Archer moved. Archer pulled back only long enough for them to take quick gulps a
nd then his mouth was back on Conrad’s, his body pressed against Conrad’s, his hands all over Conrad. Thoughts of having any control evaporated. Like an addict desperate for a fix Conrad couldn’t step away from his supply. He needed Archer as much as Archer needed him. Without Archer, he was lost. Hated that. Loved that.
Archer tugged Conrad’s upper lip into his mouth, sucked and nipped, and Conrad groaned. He slid his hand to the back of Archer’s hair and held tight as they slid faster and faster toward oblivion, control spinning away. They were anchored together, welded, enmeshed, merged into one slab of raw, crazy greed.
Conrad wanted him, even though he knew he’d never keep him, wanted him even though he knew he was dangerous, wanted him because he made him feel alive. He hadn’t forgotten the dark essence in Archer. Maybe he could turn it into light and make Archer his, and maybe then he’d walk away and leave Archer wanting more. Right, like that’s going to happen. Conrad tilted his head and he deepened the kiss, heard Archer groan into his mouth, felt the guy’s fingers tightening on his butt until Conrad was sure he’d leave bruises. Black dots danced in Conrad’s vision and breathing became imperative. He wrenched free and sucked air like a surfacing free-diver.
Gripping each other tightly, they exhaled into each other’s faces, inhaled each other’s air and stared into each other’s eyes. Then Archer made the mistake of smiling, an expression too close to a smirk, which broke the spell and enraged Conrad. Fuck you. This is not just me who wants this. He let Archer go and wrenched away but Archer caught the lapels of his coat and pulled him back. Distress surged inside Conrad and welled into his throat. Unwillingness to accept what he knew was coming made him want to beat the shit out of Archer, to destroy the very thing he wanted because then he could deny he’d ever desired it. He needed another Malachi, not this guy.
Not this guy.
Not.
This.
Guy.
Archer countered every one of Conrad’s blows, parried every lunge and kick. Occasionally, Conrad managed to inflict pain but Archer never hit him back. Instead he concentrated on getting Conrad out of his coat and shoes and getting himself out of his as they struggled and thrashed and tussled, moving from wall, to floor, to bed and back again. Archer confined his moves to defense, and that seemed to inflame Conrad even more. It inflamed Archer too, but in a different way.
Breaking: Fall or Break, Book 2 Page 13
