The image sent a torrent of blood directly to certain parts of Malachi’s anatomy that weren’t supposed to be working on this mission. He knew a time would come for them to be intimate, but he planned to do things slowly and conquer the prize in front of him.
Although Angel could play the part of sophisticated arm candy perfectly, Malachi preferred the go-go boy who went for a swim with him in delicious pink underwear. He needed to keep talking, to leave secluded those unnerving images that came from the memory of the ring of Angel’s laughter as they splashed side by side.
“So explain, why is this girl creepy?”
“She emits these dark waves, like a stormy cloud over someone’s head in a cartoon. If she were Gothic, I could deal with her ominous aura, but she dresses like a normal person and yet you think she would get an ax out of her messenger bag and make a jigsaw puzzle out of you.”
Malachi gave a soft laugh. “You talk of waves and aura. Are you into such things?”
“You mean like new age-y things? Nah, but since I was very little, I know when I don’t like somebody, because I feel some weird vibrations coming from them. It isn’t that I can see the energy field or anything of the sort. I would say, just a sensation of repulsion.”
“What do you sense in me?”
Suddenly the empty china was the most interesting thing in the world. Angel scribbled with the little spoon over the minute plate. Where those runes he distractedly made?
“It’s that bad?” Malachi used a touch of amusement to lessen the depths of the question.
“If it were bad, I wouldn’t be sitting here. I can’t read you, which in itself is neither good nor bad. Simply odd.”
The man and woman at the next table were more than surreptitiously trying to overhear their conversation. It was time to be away from them. Jewelry like the lady wore could be used as bugs. “Then let’s say I have a transparent aura, since it doesn’t repel you. Shall we dance?”
“The band isn’t playing trance music, and there are no male-only couples dancing.”
“Handsome, the rich and fabulous only care that this little narcissus has been plucked.” Malachi winked openly. He’d seen the looks on both men and women toward Angel. “And we don’t need to wait for other boys to dance together.”
“Who would lead if we go?”
The lad wasn’t going to relinquish power easily. “You can lead for a while. I’m not a recalcitrant top.”
Angel seemed to think about it for a minute. “Nah, you’re taller. We’ll look better with you leading.” He waited for Malachi to stand up and offer his hand.
The snoopy couple went right behind them to the dance floor.
His hand on Angel’s waist proved to be a further mortification. Even with so many layers between them, his target’s heat touched him deep in his chest. Malachi and Angel swirled around the floor. The waltz ended, and an instrumental version of “Unbreak my Heart” started.
Still glued to them, something in the man and woman’s sway, alerted him. The apartment intruders were also male and female and even if they had used black clothing and mountain masks something in the woman’s round hips and the man’s square shoulders pointed to them as culprits.
Malachi found Kovak, who was as himself and not pretending to be the chauffeur so Angel wouldn’t recognize him, and gave a signal as their eyes met. The uppity eyewear made him seem younger, less menacing, even approachable, and the tux… he looked a lot slimier than his usual kick-ass broad beastly self.
“I wonder if Hadrian danced like this with Antinous.” Angel commented as they finished an intricate loop.
“What?” Malachi tripped but recuperated quickly.
“The emperor of my assignment. He had a male favorite named Antinous. Of course, this kind of intertwined dancing didn’t start until after the Middle Ages, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Do you know a lot about this lover?” Malachi asked cautiously.
“Well, not particularly. It's in every book about that period of Roman history. Hadrian was so in love that he built temples in Antinous name, founded cities and gave the boy his own cult.” Angel sighed. “I never cared much for the boy, but Hadrian has always had something calling me to him. It’s because of him that I decided to become an archeologist.”
“I don’t think there’s anything left to unearth about ancient Rome.”
“Trust me, tons are still missing.”
Their male tail stared at him straight in the eye and, with a disgusting sneer, showed him a semiautomatic concealed under his one-thousand-dollar jacket.
“Fuck,” Malachi blurted under his breath.
“Did I step on your foot?” Angel had his pretty eyes wide like saucers; a lovely tinge covered his high cheeks.
“Not at all, handsome. I have an idea, why don’t we go to the observatory? I can guide you through the stars.”
Angel gave him a blinding smile. “Kinky. I haven’t had office sex in a while.” The target stroked Malachi’s shoulder softly.
This was the worst moment to put that image in an agent’s head. Angel getting fucked by him while looking at the stars through the giant telescope, the dome opened showing the immense sky, dark and surreal. Malachi swallowed hard. “Of course, darling. Whatever you like.”
“You’re making it sound as if it were my plan all along. You are the client here, not me.” Angel chuckled and grabbed Malachi’s ass, there—in the middle of the crowded dance floor, with their tails devouring their every moment.
Malachi noticed Kovak walking toward them, an arched eyebrow and a comic grimace pasted on his face. Surely he had noticed Malachi’s little jump. Kovak grabbed the woman detailing them and punched her dead in the nose, hissing loudly enough for all present, “Bitch, that’s my man you’re pawing.”
Her yelp and the sudden gasp of those around them was their cue to scram. “C’mon, Angel. This seems a lawsuit about to explode. We don’t wanna be summoned as witnesses.”
“What the h…” Angel tugged against Malachi's pull, but as he saw jabs begin to fly and screams to rise above the orchestra, he put his sweet butt in motion and ran behind Malachi.
By the time they reached the exit, tables were soaring; delicate porcelain breaking, a gunshot or two, and Malachi could swear he heard a baby crying in the background. The only thing missing was the proverbial cat yowl.
Breathless, they found the valet boy, took the keys and jumped into the car without a word. The Lexus became a missile, and they burned tires to gain the interstate exit to their destination.
Angel huffed. “Darn, pity I couldn’t throw a punch.” He sounded really put out.
“Are you serious?” Malachi kept his eyes on the road, but he smiled inwardly.
“Heck yeah. I’m from Dixieland, baby, bar brawls and guns are my thing.”
“Goddess, you’re cute.” Of course he knew all those details about Angel’s life, and yet to appear enchanted and amused was not a feat. Besides Angel had an unspecific accent that could be from any of the Confederated States.
“Malachi, kittens are cute, bunnies are adorable. I’m going to take offense here and ask you to stop the pet names.” The growl was neither cute nor adorable, was all manly and sexy. “I don’t mind heavy petting later though.”
“As you wish, ack!” A car came out of nowhere and rear-ended them. “Son of a bitch!”
“What’s wrong with that idiot?”
“No idea, just brace yourself.” The Lexus bucked again rammed by the heavy tinted sedan.
Malachi veered into another lane and another car slammed into them, and it seemed on purpose. They were fucked. Where was the fucking cavalry when he needed it? A car from the Juggernaut should be close by as back up.
Several bullets ricocheted on the back window. Take that suckers. The Lexus was armored.
“Is this a frigging tank?” Angel gave him a hard stare, arms extended between the dashboard and the back of his seat to minimize the heavy bucking of the vehicl
e thanks to the bashing from two fronts. “What the fuck is going on, Malachi?”
A third car materialized and banged the one jostling them from their left. Malachi stumped the brakes. The car behind them continued, using their trunk like in a ramp, and went flying, in a backward flip to land grill first. It exploded as Malachi floored the gas again. Angel grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “Are you mad? You killed those people!” There were screeches and crashes behind them.
“It’s them or us, Angel.” Malachi never took his eyes from the road. He heard another explosion and, through the mirror, caught the car that came to their rescue swarming for a moment and then straightening up and chasing after them. “I swear I’ll explain, just let us be safe first.” He took a second to find Angel’s narrowed eyes, and they were struck with so much force he lost control of the wheel.
The Lexus skidded and they went nose dead against the dividing wall. His forehead met the top of the steering wheel and a second later the airbag slapped him. Desperate, he turned to Angel and found him unconscious, mouth gaping on the other air bag, a gash bleeding above his left eyebrow. The world stopped turning until Malachi encountered a pulse on Angel’s neck.
A massive figure loomed over Angel’s window. Malachi opened the compartment between the seats and drew out his faithful companion Italianissimo signore Beretta 93R, first grown-up gift from his deceased father.
As the door opened, he didn’t know if he was facing friend or foe.
CHAPTER FOUR
Hugo banged the door of Septima Luna’s manager office, and Chico scowled at him as he entered. Jack was right beside Chico with a hand on their boss’s shoulder. “Out, Jack, now,” Hugo shot. He didn’t care if he’d interrupted something. They were in serious shit.
“Easy, girl. You don’t own the man.” Jack hissed, his eyes like missile launchers.
Chico patted the hand still resting on his shoulder, and the act infuriated Hugo even more. “You know, I can totally bitch slap you out of the office, not caring if I get fired.” Precisely because Hugo knew that wouldn’t happen.
“Jack, baby, be a doll and check if the truck from the distillery arrived.” Chico winked. Jack sauntered out with a triumphant grin on his stupidly pretty face.
Refraining from eye-rolling, Hugo blurted, “No need to treat him like a queen. You just have to ask, and he would bend over for you.”
“That’s not the point.” Chico snapped his fingers twice and made a ‘C’mon’ motion. “Spit it out.”
“No trace of them. After the car chase, they simply vanished,” Hugo grumbled, balling his fist.
“What happened with the chip Angel doesn’t know he has.”
“They must be deeply underground because no satellite can pick up a signal from that transmitter. We have swept every surface of Earth for the last forty-eight hours.”
“Any anomalies around the gates or the other LE’s?” Chico rapped with a pen over his desk. A telltale of his distress.
“All LE’s are a negative. Contingents are at the ready to strike on the gates if activated.”
“Do you think they can convince Angel to open one of the motherfucking gates?”
“Not if they explain to him their true purpose,” Hugo hesitated, “unless they brainwash him.”
“Let’s pray they don’t resort to such measures. A willing, conscious key is what they really need.” Chico ceased his rapping. “What about Neun’s chauffer?”
“Not a whiff of him either.”
“Any intelligence on the idiots who started the brawl at Flaming Peacock?” Chico asked.
“They are not from Juggernaut, apparently they are independents contracted by some still undisclosed third party.”
“Great, two more groups and we can have an entities poker game.” Chico slammed his hands over the desk as he rose to his feet, a resolute man. “I’m calling Headquarters. They need to comb every motherfucking cave, grotto and bunker within a hundred miles from each gate. Juggernaut can’t have Angel too far from them.”
Hugo cracked his knuckles. “And I’m gonna torture me some independents.”
A river. A raft. Not a Huckleberry Finn style raft but like the one he had made with his brother Zach when they were twelve, with colorful materials flowing in the wind, as if they were ancient sailors. People waved at him from the shore. The river didn’t look like the Mississippi, though, and the people’s clothes were wrong.
Solid pain radiated from his back, worse than a finger caught under a hammer. Someone threw him out of the raft, the pain didn’t let him swim; he was drowning. Other bodies surrounded him in the water, yet they weren’t pushing him up to save him but down to end him. He couldn’t fight; the river was swallowing him.
Angel gasped and shook his body like a wet dog, keeping his eyes tightly closed. His body trembled with something akin to remorse, and not just from the water he could still feel around him. He hadn’t thought of Zach since their mother left because she couldn’t stop blaming his father for the death of Angel's twin. Zach never saw his fourteenth birthday, and Angel was a worthless excuse of a brother for not having kept his memory alive.
A beast of a blond man stood facing him with a neon orange bucket in hand as Angel opened his eyes. Apparently, he had just emptied the screaming container over Angel. “Good, you’re awake. It was about time.”
Hands tied behind him, the wooden high back of the chair pinched his arms. His feet also bound to the legs of the uncomfortable chair, the only thing Angel was able to come up with was, “Fuck you.”
The blond Minotaur wore black multi-pocketed cargos and a black wife-beater: standard guerilla outfit (Angel had seen enough movies with bad guys). The top so stretched about his chest, it might explode any second now. He rolled his eyes. “What’s your name?” The bastard even smiled, as if they were friends sitting at an open-air café.
“My name is None. Of. Your. Fucking. Business, you filthy dick-breath.”
An almost invisible eyebrow arched. “I hope you cooperate. I know your name, I’m just checking if you remember it.”
To add insult to injury, Angel wore a pair of boxers that weren’t his (he wasn’t a boxer man). The fucker(s) had been playing with his goodies (something that he wasn’t against to—if he was charging for it), and he was not amused. He thrashed on the chair. No use, he was hurting himself instead.
“Tell me your name, please.” The voice came out soothing, with a faint hint of French or maybe Dutch; not evident enough. “I really don’t want to start smacking you around, unless I’m forced.”
Not much to do when you had hands and feet tied. Time for pragmatism; besides, he needed information as well. “My name is Angel Green, I’m not gonna tell you my social security number.”
“Fair enough, just your date of birth.” blond Minotaur almost sighed relieved at seeing Angel’s cooperation. “To be sure, and we’re done.”
“Ten, twenty-seven, eighty-nine. Want my solar sign too?” He might be pragmatic but his mouth was dissolute.
“Nah, I know it’s Scorpio.” The man moved, leaving the bucket on the floor, and retrieved some towels from a locker. He came to Angel and started drying him softly. “Thank you very much. I’m not any more excited at this situation than you are.”
“And what is the situation exactly?” He felt like shit because he hadn’t even thought about Malachi for a minute since he woke up, or those people who died on the road because of them. “There was a man with me, where is he?”
“Oh, he’s being interrogated right now.” The mountain of muscles finished his task and threw the towels in a basket forgotten in a corner. “I’m going to untie you, so you can get dressed. You’re not going to be restrained again if you behave. Capish?”
So much for Dutch or French.
Angel wasn’t little but, beside this beast, he was a toothpick; at least a hundred and ten extra pounds did the talk and the walk. “All right, I’ll be a good boy.” The man started by untying Angel’s hands. “W
hat do you want from us?”
“Your boyfriend has information we need, and he’s a stubborn shithead. So you might come handy in a few days.” The matter-of-factly tone sounded worse than an actual threat.
After rubbing his chafed wrists, Angel touched the weird lump he had felt over his left eyebrow while the asshole boulder was mopping him. He had several staples in place. “What the Heck?”
“You came in with an ugly gash there, so we sealed it.” Sideways, the man untied his right foot and, walking behind the chair, moved to work on the left. Apparently, he didn’t want to risk a surprise kick or punch. He stood up and patted Angel on the shoulder. “No funny business. Clothes are in that locker.”
“If you damage Malachi permanently, you will pay. And I’ll make sure each one involved suffers. It might take time but I shall hunt all of you down.” Angel growled, balling his fist with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t one to make idle threats. He never blustered, and he could be really vindictive.
Hulk tsked, dismissing him. “I’ll bring you and your boyfriend supper later.” As if without a single care in the world, the massive jailer sauntered to the door, opened it and after a loud bang, left Angel with his thoughts.
Angel took the room in. Spacious but not homely, it seemed more a barrack (with the locker and the metallic bed) than part of a residential place. White, bare walls winked at him, even if they didn’t have any windows to play eyes.
He shucked off the borrowed boxer and picked up one of the discarded towels; he dried his cock, balls, and ass crack. He might be here against his will, but that didn’t call for having monkey ass later (no one can survive that itch). A swift dunk set the towel back in the hamper.
Where were they, and why did these people assume he was Malachi’s boyfriend? Not that he wouldn’t want the job, but this was complicated and dangerous.
Hold your horses. Did I just think what I think I thought?
No way was he seeing himself as Malachi’s boyfriend. For some unexplained, insane reason he had wanted the astronomer from day one (well, night one), and the man was hot, even if he was around forty (at least). Nevertheless, boyfriend implied mushy feelings that Angel didn’t need dangling around him. And yet, every time he remembered those mesmerizing dark eyes and that bald shiny head, each cell of his body demanded Angel to wrap his arms around Malachi’s feet with his ass in the air, a mere cat in heat.
Séptima Luna Page 3
