by Amity Cross
“X,” she cried, fisting her hands into my hair.
Biting down harder, I fucked her pussy in quick strokes, the wet slap of our bodies joining eclipsing the sound of the water from the shower.
She moaned loudly as she clamped around my cock, her body quivering with a violent orgasm. My balls flared, and I couldn’t hold back. I erupted inside of her, hot and hard, coming and coming until she’d taken every last part of me.
Moving my mouth along her neck, I lavished attention to the marks I’d placed on her skin before finding her lips. Kissing her deeply, I moved against her clit, delighting as her body shuddered with the aftereffects of her orgasm.
“Don’t be away too long,” she said breathlessly against my mouth.
Flexing my cock inside her, I gazed into her eyes, studying every fleck of color. I knew them like I knew every scar I bore on my body…in meticulous detail.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I murmured. “You can count on it.”
London was living up to its reputation as I strode through the entrance to Section Seven.
The unassuming loading dock was open to the elements, the gray sky and misty rain typical of England this time of year doing nothing to help my sour mood. Though when I saw Mei Akiyama’s familiar face as I progressed through the building, it soothed my temper some.
“X,” she said, smiling warmly at me. “What are you doing here?”
Mei had been through a lot since I’d resurfaced in her life. Allowing us to get Vaughn out of the hospital without anyone seeing and getting me out of custody when Mercy was missing were two of the many instances, but finding out I was alive after eight years of being marked as MIA was the big one. She’d turned a blind eye more times than was appropriate. I’d played on her residual feelings for me more than once to get what I wanted, and I knew I should feel bad about it, but some of my old habits died hard.
“I’ve been summoned,” I drawled, beginning to think a legitimate paycheck wasn’t worth the trouble.
“You know Moltke,” she said. “He’s probably got another transport detail for you.”
“Great.” I rolled my eyes. “How are you? It’s been a while.”
She shrugged, smiling. If I wasn’t mistaken, her cheeks were flushed.
“As good as can be expected with my caseload,” she replied.
I looked her up and down. I recognized that glow she had in her cheeks. It was the mark of a woman who’d been thoroughly fucked. How I knew what Mei looked like after sex was beyond me. We’d been together in the past, so I assume I had fucked her, but the image was outside of my recallable memory.
“You’re seeing someone,” I declared.
Her head tilted to the side. “Moltke’s expecting you.”
I glanced across the office to the floor to ceiling glass separating his highness from the rabble. “You’re not…”
Mei pretended to vomit. “God, no.”
I smiled. “I’m happy for you, Mei.”
“Shut your face,” she declared, beginning to walk off. “Oh, and keep it to yourself.”
I nodded sharply and turned. Good for her. After eight years of pining over Oliver Cassel, she deserved to find someone to move on with.
Walking through the Section Seven offices, I rolled my eyes as agents and desk clerks turned away so they could avoid speaking to me. I knew they were afraid to get on my bad side, and considering my past, I couldn’t blame them. It was highly unorthodox for Intelligence, even black ops, to recruit a known assassin, no matter his past. Besides, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to having a workplace. I might not remember much about my past at MI6, but I supposed I had a desk to sit at—how utterly boring.
Pushing through the glass door into Moltke’s office, I swallowed the lump in my throat that signaled my pride was about to come forth and get me into even more shit. I didn’t wait to be invited or announced, I just shoved my way into his lair. Being obnoxious was part of my unique charm as resident bad boy.
Moltke’s back was to me as I entered. He was staring out of the window at the London skyline. His broad shoulders were silhouetted against the gray clouds beyond, his dark suit making him a refined but menacing presence…even without eye contact.
It was inevitable that I’d clash with a man like Moltke. We were two strong personalities who didn’t react well to shit talkers. The only thing that was unknown between us was how messy it was going to be.
“Moltke,” I said, declaring my presence.
He turned slowly, his gray eyes meeting mine. He raised an eyebrow as he appraised my appearance. I wasn’t exactly dressed appropriately, but I’d never been a man who needed to wear a suit to get the job done. He’d have to deal with my uniform of faded black jeans, black T-shirt, combat boots, and leather jacket. I don’t care what anyone says—you couldn’t run for shit in dress shoes. Don’t even get me started on the tie.
“Blood,” he said, moving toward the desk.
“You wanted to see me?”
“I’m in need of a man with your particular set of skills,” Moltke replied absently. “I’ve a detainee in the holding cells that I could use a fresh perspective on.”
I raised an eyebrow, surprised that he wasn’t putting me on another cleanup operation or boring transport.
“Does that take your fancy?” he asked with a sneer.
“You’re the boss,” I shot back, not missing a beat.
Moltke held my gaze for a moment and then nodded. “Then follow me. This one’s on the clock.”
Following Moltke through the office, my gaze caught Jackson’s, and he glanced away quickly when he saw who I was with. The op-tech—short for operational technology—genius had gotten over the fact that Mercy and I had ‘kidnapped’ him months ago to try to get a lead on the man who’d attempted to assassinate Lorelei. That was when we’d tried to contact her and Vaughn in the months after their escape from The Watchman. Truthfully, I assumed Jackson was glad to get away from his desk and to do some real spy work.
Moltke and I stepped into the elevator at the opposite end of the floor, and he pressed the button to the subbasement level below us. He kept his cards close to his chest, not uttering a word as the car descended.
“If you want me to interrogate a detainee, I really think it’s appropriate that I know what’s going on,” I said, my voice loud in the silence.
Moltke glanced at me as the elevator door slid open, his expression cold. “It’s unnecessary.”
We emerged into a lit service corridor where a guard was stationed at a door with a lock operated by an encoded palm print. Moltke nodded at the guard and then placed his hand on the panel. It flashed green, and the lock disengaged with a whoosh.
Leaning toward the guard, he commanded, “I want this area in lockdown. No one comes in or out without my authority.”
The guard nodded. “Sir.”
The door slid back to reveal a row of cells. The room itself was gray and clinical, the bars the only thing breaking up the monotony.
Moltke stood before the last cell and gestured for me to come forward. Standing beside him, my gaze found the cell’s sole occupant and the reason I’d been called down to the bowels of the building.
The woman inside was curled up in the corner, her brown hair limp around her shoulders, her bare arms thin and peppered with bruises. She stirred at the sound of our arrival and turned her head.
My gaze hit Lorelei’s, and I stiffened at the sight of her. She was meant to be gone.
“I believe you two have already met,” Moltke declared.
This was bad. If I opened my mouth to ask what was going on, I’d be implicating myself in her escape. If I played along, I’d be on Lorelei’s hit list if she ever got out. Best to stay silent and see where Moltke was taking this.
“You look surprised,” he said, glancing at me.
“I am,” I replied. “She’s a slippery one.”
He laughed and shook his head as my hackles rose. “You and her are th
e same. Aren’t you? Trained by The Watchman to be cold, unfeeling machines for Royal Blood.” He snorted. “And look at you now. Licking my boots like the dog you are.”
Turning, I snarled, realizing things were going tits up. If I had suspected the fucker of being dirty, I would’ve been prepared, but I wasn’t, and Moltke knew it. He drew his gun, pointing it straight at me. Point blank, damn it. I was trapped.
“Your weapon, if you please,” he said formally, his gaze holding steady.
With a snarl, I unholstered the 10mm handgun I kept underneath my jacket and held it out butt first. Taking it, Moltke pressed the barrel of his own gun against my abdomen, and I walked backward until I was inside the empty cell beside Lorelei.
“You’re a double,” I stated, my gaze never dropping from his.
“No,” he replied. “I don’t work for anyone. Truthfully, I’m insulted you think I would take orders from anyone other than myself.”
The man’s arrogance was sickening. I thought Vaughn’s airs and graces had been bad, but Moltke was residing on a whole new level of self-importance.
He slid the cell door closed and engaged the locking mechanism. I was trapped like a fucking rat.
My lip curled in distaste. “Then why lock me up? Was it something I did?”
Moltke smiled like he knew the punch line to a joke that hadn’t been told yet. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
He holstered his gun and shoved mine down the waistband of his trousers before striding from the room.
The door slammed shut, leaving Lorelei and I alone and one hundred percent up shit creek. I began to wish I had my old life back when I was with Royal Blood…even the early days with Mercy at the cottage. That life was simple and straightforward, nothing like the game of chess that was working for Intelligence.
“You thought what we went through was bad,” Lorelei rasped from her corner.
I turned with a frown. “He’s—”
“Coo-coo,” she interrupted, sounding delirious.
“How are you even here?” I asked, curling my fingers around the bars separating us. “Vaughn is gone. I thought you’d be with him.”
She straightened up, but the movement was stiff. “He’s alive?”
I nodded, running my gaze over her wrapped up body. “Mercy and I got him out,” I mouthed, pointing to the roof where CCTV cameras and listening devices were operational.
Her gaze flickered to the ceiling before returning to mine. She nodded once to let me know she understood.
“I was tying up loose ends,” she said. “Your friend managed to tail me and knocked me out. Then I was here.”
“Did he do that to you?” I asked, not bothering to try to talk in any code. If I got out of here, then Mercy and I would be disappearing. There was no more Section Seven or MI6 for us. It was nothing but the wind.
Lorelei nodded. “He’s been beating me and withholding food. I haven’t been able to fight back since he keeps sticking me with a syringe. He’s been asking all kinds of strange questions…” She sighed like the effort of talking was draining her energy to zero.
“Questions?” I asked, leaning my forehead against the bars. “What could he possibly want to know?”
“He wanted to know…” She trailed off and shrugged. “He wanted to know about Lafayette. What he did to me.”
Grinding my teeth, I slammed my palm against the bars in frustration.
“I feel like he’s recreating something,” she went on.
“Recreating?” I asked, not knowing what the fuck was happening anymore.
“Sometimes he calls me Vesper.”
Who the fuck was Vesper? I shook my head and began pacing, my thoughts going to Mercy. She was in danger, and I could do nothing to warn her. When I didn’t come back, she’d assume I was out on another shit-kicking mission. She’d come into Section Seven in the morning and walk right into a hornet’s nest.
Glancing at Lorelei, who’d sunk back into her corner and closed her eyes, I knew I had to get us both the fuck out of here. If I didn’t, we were both going to wind up at the bottom of the Thames with concrete blocks on our feet.
I didn’t know what the fuck Moltke’s problem was, but he needed to be held accountable.
Turning on my heel, I continued my pacing, working out all the pieces of the puzzle in my mind. I’d get us out of here if it was the last thing I did. It wasn’t just us in here, Mercy’s life—and probably Mei’s—was on the line, too.
Fucking Moltke.
Chapter 3
Mercy
I couldn’t sleep without X.
I didn’t like to define myself through the need to be with a man, but X was different. He was an extension of my soul, and his absence was felt. I didn’t even know how I went through life without him. That emptiness I’d always felt inside was probably waiting for his arrival. Who knew what anything meant anymore.
I spent the day at the gym, pushing myself to my limits before going back to our apartment and flaking out. Even though I was depleted from my workout, I still couldn’t fall asleep.
It was five a.m. when I finally admitted defeat and seven by the time I alighted at Bank Tube station on my final approach to a day sitting in a two-by-four cubicle studying boring operation reports and procedures.
Walking into the office, I saw that I was one of a few overenthusiastic agents who’d already shown up for another day in Her Majesty’s service…and I doubted it was because they couldn’t sleep. Some agents lived and breathed this shit to the point they may as well sleep underneath their desks. Unlike X and me, most were estranged from their families or had no attachments to speak of. It was easier, albeit lonely, that way.
There was a strange buzz in the air. Glancing around the floor, nothing looked out of the ordinary, but it was there, just underneath the surface of my skin…itching.
Noticing the light was on in Jackson’s workroom, I wandered over to see what he was up to so I could avoid the soul sucking paper pushing for another half an hour.
“Hey,” I said, wandering into the room.
Jackson glanced up from his work and smiled. “Hey, Mercy,” he said. “You’re early.”
“I was about to say the same thing to you.”
“Freddy is teething,” he said like I’d understand. “He’s screaming the house down.” Freddy was his youngest son at about two years, and his eldest, Benjamin, was seven.
“So you leave your wife to come in here for some peace and quiet?” I asked, tilting my head to the side.
“I’m in so much trouble when I get home.”
I perched on the edge of Jackson’s workstation and watched as he soldered a tiny wire inside a tiny bug. When I said it was a bug, it was a plastic cockroach that I knew he was dying to make a joke about. A bug, get it? I smiled and waited for the punch line.
“What’s that, J?” I asked, swinging my legs back and forth.
Jackson glanced up from his work and grinned. “It’s a bug. Get it? A bug in the bug.”
I laughed and turned my attention to the office beyond. Something odd still prickled underneath my skin, and I wasn’t so sure pinning it on being earlier than usual was the culprit.
“Have you seen X about?” I asked.
“Mr. Blood? Not since yesterday.” Why Jackson still called X ‘Mr. Blood’ was beyond me. Sometimes, his anxiety got the better of him despite the superstar IQ he sported. “He went somewhere with Mr. Moltke, and then I didn’t see him after that.”
I frowned. “He went somewhere with the boss man? Do you know where that might be?”
Jackson shrugged and turned back to his work. “Downstairs, I think.”
‘Downstairs’ was the slang we used for the holding cells. They were on a lower level, but it was a euphemism for being six-feet under. Section Seven didn’t have much need to detain targets, but when they did, it was down there in the pit. Once they were in, there was no way out. No one had staged a successful breakout, either. I wondered who the guest of ho
nor was if Moltke had called on X.
“Who’s down there?” I asked, fishing to see what else Jackson knew. Not a lot probably, but it was worth a try.
“I don’t know, but it’s probably need to know.” He shrugged. “I’m just the tech guy.”
“Is Mei in?”
“Not until tomorrow.”
I grunted and turned my attention back to the office. If Moltke took X downstairs, and neither of them had been seen since… My hackles began to rise, and I slid off the edge of the workstation.
“I’ll catch you later, J,” I said absently and strolled out into the general populous of Section Seven.
Something wasn’t right. I’d bet my left leg on it. We had a lot of things to hide from Moltke, X more than me, but what we did for Vaughn was pretty much treason. If Moltke had found out what we’d done and had gotten to X, then I was next.
Sauntering through the rows of desks, I pressed the down button on the bank of elevators and shoved my hands into my pockets, the picture of nonchalance. A spy in the midst of a nest of spies. I guess that was the thing about our kind, the last place we expected to be double-crossed was at ground zero.
When the elevator arrived, I stepped inside and pressed the button for the dreaded ‘Downstairs’. The doors slid shut, and the car began to descend. I’d just sweet-talk my way inside and check to see if X was there. If he wasn’t… No harm, no foul. If he was, then that was another story entirely.
The elevator doors slid open with a ding, and I stepped out into the hall. I expected to be greeted by a surly guard who would bark ‘Who goes there?’ at me, but when I saw a body on the concrete floor, I hesitated.
I didn’t have to check his pulse. A pool of blood had congealed below his prone body, dark and sticky, scenting the air with a copper tang. A knife protruded from his neck, his attacker not even bothering to take it out. The poor fucker had bled out slowly, not even able to call for help.
