Breaking: Fall or Break, Book 2

by Barbara Elsborg

  “Let me fuck you like this,” Conrad said. “Sit on my cock. You can control things then. Do it as fast or slow as you like.”

  Archer shoved his cock back in his mouth. “Shut up.” Conrad swallowed against him and the sensation sent ripples rolling from his brain to his cock and back. Control began to slip and he had to fight not to come. How could this guy make him feel this way? He pulled out again, his chest heaving, and made sure his backside stayed away from Conrad’s cock.

  Conrad licked his lips. “That had to be your little finger.”

  Archer chuckled as he moved off the bed. He put on a condom, picked up the lube and climbed back on. Conrad’s cock strained under its weight, a rose-colored crown revealed beneath the retracted foreskin, oval balls hard as rocks beneath. When Archer levered his legs farther apart, Conrad grunted.

  He wrapped his hand around Conrad’s dick, dragged it down to the base, squeezed hard and at the same time, lapped the swollen balls with long slow caresses, enjoying the way the silky skin drew up and wrinkled under his tongue and the hardly intelligible noises coming from Conrad.

  “Shi…iiiit, yaahh, fu…uuuuck. Jeeeesus,” Conrad muttered.

  Archer pushed up Conrad’s legs, alert for any sign of pain, but his face showed none.

  “I want to fuck you so hard,” Archer whispered.

  “Was last time supposed to be soft?”

  “This time harder. Right through the fucking bed. Shoving all of me into you, over and over while you beg me for more, beg me not to stop. You think you can cope with that?”

  “I’m not fucking begging. Don’t push it.”

  “Want a bet?”

  “No. I might say something in the grip of lust that could be wrongly interpreted.”

  Archer slicked himself up, lubed Conrad’s arse, pushed his legs back and maneuvered his cock between taut buttocks. He wanted to tell him how much he wanted him, not just his arse, but he couldn’t let the words out, wouldn’t show that weakness. Instead, he pushed in as slowly as he could manage, inching forward in a way that had both of them gasping. Once he was halfway inside, he shifted his hands to support his weight on either side of Conrad’s body.

  Shove. Push. Drive. Force. But he did none of those. He leaned forward, blew on Conrad’s neck and licked his jaw. He trailed the tip of his tongue up until he reached Conrad’s ear and was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath. He shoved just a little farther into Conrad’s arse and wrapped his mouth around his ear, nipping at the lobe.

  “I give in,” Conrad gasped. “Do it. Fuck me hard. Now. Right now. Right this minute.” He gave a deep groan as Archer licked inside his ear. “Okay. Please. I said it, right? That’s near enough to begging. Oh God. Fuck me. You have no idea what you’re missing. Oh fuck.”

  Archer pulled back and thrust hard, using his weight to drive into Conrad. Long and hard and deep and hot and—oh Christ—he had no choice but to pull back and do it again. Every cell in his body pushed him into it, fists clenched on the bed, teeth gritted, eyes wide open, he moved faster and faster. This was what he wanted. This was what he needed. This strong, intelligent man submitting to him. His mind shut down and his body took over, riding the wave of his adrenaline, his head shouting mine, mine, mine when he’d never had anything in his life that was really his.

  Tension coiled at the base of his cock. His balls pulled up tight as his thrusts became more desperate. His hips rocked faster, cock swelling and heating as he pounded into Conrad. White sparks flashed down his spine to ignite his balls and come flooded from him in hot, liquid ribbons of fire. He kept thrusting because he couldn’t stop and when Conrad’s muscles clamped hard on his dick, he groaned so loudly that Conrad stilled.

  Archer pulled away, lightheaded with sensory overload, the aftershocks rampaging through his body making him shake, and as they slowed, they brought him down. He knelt between Conrad’s legs, saw the lines of spunk on his chest, the softening cock and realized he hadn’t even registered Conrad’s orgasm. He was glad for the blindfold around Conrad’s eyes, glad the guy couldn’t see the selfish bastard kneeling in front of him.

  “I think that was your cock,” Conrad said, breathless. “Might have been your finger. If we’re going to play tie-up games, I call dibs on being in charge for the first twenty years.”

  A joke, but Archer wished it wasn’t.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The following morning, by the time Archer returned to the hotel from walking Deefor, Conrad had emailed Sev and asked him to get details of anyone recently released from prison with connections to him. Sev grumbled as usual but Conrad knew he’d get straight on it.

  “We need to move.” Archer picked up his bag. “Every time either of us goes online or uses the phone, we run the risk of being traced.”

  Conrad shut down his laptop and put it in his bag. “Where are we going?”

  “South.”

  Once they’d left, and Archer announced he was satisfied no cars in front of them or behind had been with them for any significant period of time, Conrad breathed out and Archer relaxed his grip on the wheel.

  “Why don’t you tell me about your last few jobs and I’ll see if any link occurs to me that you might not have considered?”

  “Still got that pound?”

  “Yep.”

  Archer followed the signs for the M1. “Mehmoud Nader. Syrian. Hit in Beirut. Arms dealer. Serban Banica. Romanian. Hit in Bucharest. People trafficker for the sex trade. Jose Callas. Venezuelan. Hit in Caracas. Arms dealer. Vitaly Garder. Russian. Hit in Moscow. Sex trade. Georg Wassbender. German. Hit in Romania. Sex trade. Farouk bin Abdullazin. Saudi. Hit in Paris. Arms dealer.”

  Conrad swallowed. Even though he hadn’t heard of any of the men, somehow Archer saying the names of those he’d killed made what he’d done more real.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me?” Archer said as he blended into the motorway traffic.

  “Ask you what?”

  “How I killed them? What it feels like to kill? Did I hesitate? Think of their families? Did I care at all? Aren’t you wondering if there’s some speck of humanity inside me?”

  “I’m not sure I want to know any details.”

  Archer glanced at him. “I somehow thought if I ever admitted what I did, they would be the questions I’d be asked.”

  “Okay. How did you kill them?”

  “Long range sniper rifle.”

  “Have you ever killed by another method?”

  Archer hesitated. “Yes, when it was the only option. I didn’t like it. I prefer a rifle. The remoteness helps. Once I’ve taken the shot, I don’t think about it anymore. If I had, I suspect I’d not have lasted as long as I have. Filling my mind with thoughts of whether the guy deserved it, if he had a wife and kids, how his death would affect them, that way led to insanity. I relied on my brokers’ integrity, believing I’d only be asked to kill those who deserved it, but when I began to question what I was doing, I knew I’d have to stop.”

  “If you could turn back the clock, would you take the same path?”

  “No.”

  “I’m relieved you didn’t hesitate.”

  “I was young and foolish and offered something exciting. I saw it as a chance to right wrongs, to be a real-life superhero. A chance to belong when I never had, an opportunity to impress because it was something I was good at. If that guy hadn’t come up to me in the arms show, I’d probably have been happy sticking with what I did. But his world was too tempting. One hit every few months, a chance to earn a lot of money. It sounded easy. Of course I was an idiot. I’m now finding out how easy it really was.”

  Conrad sighed. “One encounter that shaped your destiny.” Maybe that included his own. “Do you wish you’d stayed part of the SIS?”

  “Who says I’m not still part of it? I thought I’d walked away after…well, there was an incident, bu
t maybe I never shook them off. They could have created their own legend just for me, pretended to be something different when they were the same. I don’t know anything for certain anymore.”

  “I’ve been thinking about the arms dealers,” Conrad said. “What if someone is playing one off against the other and using you as a pawn? The idea might be to make it look as though one dealer is trying to take over by getting rid of the competition. After that last hit, they didn’t want to risk you being captured and revealing the names of the others you’d killed, or perhaps you or someone else putting two and two together. There could be a war currently raging between these dealers. They don’t trust each other but they won’t realize they weren’t the ones who started it.”

  “That could apply to sex slave trafficking or drugs.”

  “I only picked arms because that was what Abdullazin did. Were the recent ones for Phoenix all arms dealers?”

  Archer’s grip retightened on the wheel. “Yes.”

  “Maybe there’s an even deeper layer. What if whoever ordered the hits is actually working with an arms dealer? Using you to get rid of his competition?”

  “Then I’m dead.”

  A cold shiver snaked through Conrad.

  “You’re right,” Archer said. “I know who I killed. The only other people who know are Phoenix and the client. If there’s only one arms dealer client your scenario makes sense. Once I’ve done the work, I’m a loose end.”

  “Doesn’t mean the client wants you dead. The broker could have his own agenda.”

  “But I’m still a threat and superfluous to requirements.” Archer gave a quiet chuckle. “I was trying to fucking walk away. Did they really think I was going to reveal their secrets, my secrets?”

  Conrad coughed. “Well you did to your lawyer.”

  “Is my case hopeless?”

  If the SIS were involved, the answer was yes. Everything would be hushed up, including Archer and possibly him.

  “Nothing is hopeless,” Conrad said.

  “Do you have anywhere to go that would be safe?”

  Why did he think Archer wouldn’t be there with him?

  “Parents?” Archer asked.

  “I’d kill my mother within a day. She’s divorced from my father. I don’t get on with him either. When he came to see me in the hospital, it was the first time he’d spoken more than a few words to me in over fifteen years. He walked in and started reading Robinson Crusoe.” Conrad tried to laugh but his throat closed.

  “Why hadn’t you spoken for that long?”

  “We fell out.”

  “I think I’d guessed that.”

  Conrad exhaled. “My brother died and life changed. I was the less beloved son. Impossible to compete with a dead child. My parents never got over losing Jolyon. But whereas my father closed himself off, my mother couldn’t stand to be in the house, or anywhere near either of us. She looked for love, but not from us. She had affairs, and eventually left. My father buried himself in his work. I was an inconvenience and dispatched to boarding school as soon as I was old enough. When I turned out to be gay, my father realized there’d be no grandchildren and made it clear it was the only thing that might have brought us back together.”

  “Until you nearly died.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did your brother die?”

  “He was riding his bike and flew over the handlebars. Hit his head on a rock and never regained consciousness. I was with him. He was showing off, riding really fast, pedaling away from me, trying to get me to catch him. I was still on Jolyon’s old bike. He was having fun and he died.” Conrad remembered the horror of running up to his brother, seeing his staring eyes and even as a child knowing something terrible had happened.

  “Maybe you’re not over losing him either.”

  “You don’t ever get over losing someone you love.”

  Archer’s lips tightened and Conrad suspected he’d made a mistake. This sort of closeness was not what Archer wanted and had never been what Conrad wanted. In all the years he’d been with Malachi, he’d never told him that story. He’d known the guy was desperate for any little scrap, some snippet about his family, his childhood, but he’d cut him down if ever he tried to uncover something personal. Now he’d opened his heart to a man who had no heart. So shut the fuck up and remember the mess you’re in. That’s all that matters.

  Archer pulled off the motorway into a service station and parked.

  “Take Deefor for a walk while I make some calls,” Archer said.

  Conrad climbed out and led the dog to a strip of grass. Following orders again. Even if there’d been any chance of a future together, was that what Archer would always do? Take charge? Give the orders? Fuck me? That wasn’t what Conrad was looking for. He could feel himself pulling away, drawing in his horns like a snail, retreating into his shell, hiding his feelings under a tough façade because that was the way he’d stay safe. Unless he got trodden on too firmly. If you hid how you felt, no one would know how much you were hurting. Advice given to him by his brother before a caning by his father. Advice taken after his brother’s death and maybe followed for too long.

  But it was a tricky balancing act. Not opening up to Malachi had doomed their relationship. Opening up to Archer would lead to the same end. By the time Conrad returned to the car with Deefor, he was back in control. No more personal revelations. No more fucking unless Archer offered him his arse. Conrad was his equal and Archer would never accept that, or that he needed anyone. The irony of having swapped Malachi, who was so full of love it overflowed, for a guy who’d never admit to the emotion, was not lost on him. Wanting was not enough, no matter how desperately. Conrad saw that now.

  “Who did you call?” Conrad asked as he fastened his seat belt.

  “A couple of contacts to see if they’d heard any rumors. They hadn’t. One thing I have is a photo of myself that I took from the pocket of the shooter in Paris. It has his blood on it. Phoenix told me his name was William Connor.”

  “So if you had it tested, you could find out if he was lying.”

  “Possibly. But I don’t know how far Phoenix’s tentacles reach. Who can I trust?”

  “Me.”

  That won him a smile. But Conrad wasn’t sure anything Archer told him was true. He’d listened to him tell the broker they were done, but maybe he’d just called him and retracted that, or maybe this whole thing was an elaborate charade. There had been a case recently where a guy had made a young jeweler’s assistant sign what he claimed to be the Official Secrets Act to keep up the pretense he was a secret agent. And a fantasist in France convinced three generations of an aristocratic French family that they were in mortal danger for almost ten years. They sold their home, jewels, watches and handed over the proceeds to a man they thought was their protector.

  “What about contacting your other brokers, seeing if they know anything?” Conrad suggested.

  “If they did, they wouldn’t say. I’m still wondering if they’re all the same person.”

  “What’s the plan then?” Conrad asked.

  “We’ll go through your cases and look for a motive.”

  “Maybe I’d be better to hire a security service and go somewhere to act as bait.” Except would a couple of security guards be any use against guys who’d already killed two trained men? If that was true.

  Archer pulled back onto the motorway. Conrad wondered why he was finding it so difficult to take his own advice. Because this was a puzzle? Because Archer was an even bigger puzzle?

  Conrad hadn’t meant to fall asleep but when he rested his head against the window he felt his eyes closing.

  He woke when Archer shook his shoulder. “I need a break.”

  “I can drive.”

  “Says the guy who falls asleep the moment I start the car. Let’s have something to eat.”

 
; Conrad looked out the window to see they were parked outside a pub. His heart thumped. The White Swan. His family home was less than twenty miles away. Did Archer know? Of course he does. Fucking Google.

  “I’ll check if we can take Deefor inside,” Archer said.

  The dog jumped onto Conrad’s lap, pressed his face against the window and whined as Archer walked away.

  “Miss him already?”

  Pain in the neck as Archer was, Conrad would miss him too. His reluctant smile. The way he smelt, the silky feel of his hair, the touch of his tongue…his teeth in my neck, the way his cock feels in my arse. Not that he’d be revealing that. He liked the size and weight of him, the lithe strength that was close to his own—well, would be once he’d fully recuperated and assuming he lived that long. He liked the way they clashed, the raw energy that sparked between them, and understood that had been something missing with Malachi. Archer had the capacity to flip every one of Conrad’s switches. Unfortunately that included several that needed to stay down.

  He rolled his shoulders and straightened his spine. Regardless of Archer’s intentions in bringing him to his father’s, Conrad wouldn’t be staying. He contemplated flying somewhere hot with a white sand beach and warm turquoise sea. He’d have to go home to collect his passport but he could book online, be in the sun tomorrow. He wondered how long he’d last before he was bored, if his problem would still be waiting when he returned. He wished he could convince himself he’d made a mistake about the car hitting him, that it had only been an accident. But if what Archer had told him about the dead men in the cottage was true, then it definitely wasn’t an accident, unless two rival groups were after Archer and Conrad’s only connection was having pulled him from the water.

  The more he considered and thought and debated internally, the more confused he became, and the greater the doubt grew. For all he knew, the only real thing that had happened since he and Archer had met had been his near-drowning. Oh, and the gun. There was truth in there somewhere and Conrad hadn’t found it yet. But he would. It’s what he did for a living.