by Helena Maeve
“Do you want to open that?” Cole asked softly. He nodded to the wine bottle in Manuel’s hands.
“No corkscrew.”
For one brief, disbelieving moment, Manuel thought Cole would reach into his inner pocket and produce one, like some real life Inspector Gadget. A few miles from the village, he pulled the car onto a dirt path, behind a small covert, where he abruptly killed the engine and held out his keys to Manuel.
“And what am I supposed to do with those?”
“You really don’t know?” Cole looked at him like he’d grown a second head.
“Did I mislead you into thinking my middle name was MacGuyver?”
Cole snatched the wine bottle out of Manuel’s hands. “The most incredible thing about you right now is that you’ve never felt compelled to open a corked bottle when you lack the proper utensils.”
A flicker of annoyance kindled in Manuel’s chest. It gave way to disbelief, then pleasure as he watched Cole stick the key into the cork and deftly twist it free.
“Section has some…interesting training techniques.”
“Nah. This is sixth form,” Cole told him smugly. He rested the rim of the bottle on his lower lip, grinning. “I was a very industrious teenager.”
“So I see.”
Looking away was impossible. Snuffing out the dread that coiled in the pit of his stomach couldn’t be done. Manuel snatched the bottle after a beat and took a deep pull.
The wine was sour, yes, and far too young.
He didn’t imbibe for taste.
Beside him, Cole huffed out a laugh. “Easy. It’s not that good.” His levity thrummed the thin cords stretched between Manuel’s ribs.
“What are we doing here, Cole?” Manuel wiped at his mouth with the back of a hand. “They were watching you before—”
“You think I didn’t know that?”
“Then why risk it?” He turned in his seat, pinning Cole with a glower.
The dogwood drooped to either side of the car, granting them some small measure of shade. It felt private. Secluded. It was probably a decent spot to shoot someone and pack off the body.
“You could have done it at the house. Fuck, if you asked, I’m sure Kazinsky would have lent a hand.”
Cole frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Execution.”
It was just like Cole to make him say it.
It was just like Cole to feign astonishment.
“You think I’m going to kill you?” Cole blew out the air in his lungs as though he’d been punched.
Manuel wasn’t fooled. “Why else would you take me off the reservation? I know how this is done, remember? And I am expendable, you said it yourself…”
“Even if that were true, we still have the extradition request pending—”
“We both know I’d never make it off that plane,” Manuel interrupted. “I turned myself in to Section because I had no other choice. Your people can offer me protection.”
At least for a little while. And all for the price of some precious intelligence. It was a perfectly reasonable arrangement, for now.
Something better always came along—whether it was an asset Section wanted to trade for or a piece of intel they couldn’t obtain in any other way. Manuel had made his peace with that the moment he surrendered to Cole in London.
Cole sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did we offer you protection at the Cottage?”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Three dead agents for one surviving asset were generally considered acceptable odds.
“And those scuff marks on your ankles? That burn on your wrist?” Cole’s eyes flashed. He sucked his lips before he went on, as though trying to maintain his composure. “They burned the muscle on your leg to get you talking… I read that report, too. Forgive me if I take issue with how we’ve treated you.”
If he’d been a dog, Manuel would’ve growled.
“Me, or every other enemy agent you acquire?”
“Does it matter?”
Manuel considered the question. He had known true idealists since extricating himself from Cole’s world. Some of them, like Robin, actually believed in rewriting the balance of power to save everyone. They thought that the playbook was a mutable thing, adjustable with just the right amount of pressure on just the right levers.
Cole wasn’t one of them. Neither was Manuel.
“Not really,” he confessed and took another swig from the bottle. The wine improved on acquaintance. He held it out to Cole. “If you’re throwing away your career for me, you shouldn’t be sober.”
“There’s a gun in the glove compartment,” Cole replied, ignoring the offer.
“Careful…Section will excommunicate you for such poor planning. And where will you be then?”
“Unemployed?”
Manuel shook his head. He snatched Cole’s hand off the steering wheel to force him to take the bottle. “Good. Now put it to your lips and tip your head back. Swallow deeply until the urge to talk crazy goes away.”
“I’m perfectly conscious of what I’m doing,” Cole protested.
“You want to be on the most wanted list with the rest of us?”
“You’re still kicking.”
The urge to grab him by the shoulders and give him a good shake shot through Manuel like a bolt of electricity from one of those nifty Section devices. “I blame sheer dumb luck for that. Believe me, it’s not a life you want.”
“You don’t have a bloody clue what I want,” Cole gritted out.
He did bring the bottle to his lips then, at least, and shoved the car door open with a brutal gesture.
Manuel unbuckled his seatbelt. It wouldn’t be difficult to slide across the gearshift, take the wheel and leave him stranded. To grab for the gun in the glove compartment and end this once and for all.
Wine simmered in the back of his throat, sour and tangy. He stepped out with empty hands. “Cole—”
“I’m forty-eight years old and I have nothing! I gave them everything and this is my reward? They’re spying on me—”
“Wouldn’t you?” Manuel shot back. “We slept together. For all they know, you’re coming over to the dark side.”
“Or I’m using every ace I have to earn your cooperation.”
See? His expression was smug, scratchy voice cracking on that last syllable, but he was still in control. He didn’t have the look of a man who’d had one drink too many.
That made seeing him like this all the more terrifying.
Manuel hung back, resting his elbows against the hood of the car. “Are you?”
He wanted to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth. Yes, I’ve been using you. No, this doesn’t mean a thing. Some answers were easier to stomach than others. He wanted Cole to pull himself together and give up the charade.
The wine bottle landed in the dirt, sluggishly spilling its contents.
“Did you really think I was going to shoot you?” Cole asked, somewhat more subdued than he’d been a moment earlier.
“Yes.”
“I’m almost flattered.”
“Don’t pretend the thought didn’t cross your mind,” Manuel scoffed. We’re in the same trade, remember?
It made no difference that Manuel had taken his orders from crime syndicates in the last years before his retirement. The bare bones of the job were the same shade of fish-belly white whoever called the shots.
“How else can this end? If I’m extradited, the Macias family will have someone on me in a couple of hours. Multiple someones. My head carries a handsome price.”
“I thought Robin had your back.”
“Robin wants to save everyone,” said Manuel. “His heart is in the right place.” But he had limited means, best employed in keeping alive those who deserved his help.
Cole jerked up his eyebrows. “That’s why you’ve been lying to him… You want him to think you’re well so he doesn’t try anything.”
“Perhaps I didn’t want him to interr
upt my time with your wonderful colleagues. That Chelsea woman—she’s a knockout. Every time I see her, I go weak in the knees.”
“She’s only been assigned to you once.”
Manuel grinned, holding up his hands. “And it was a magical experience.”
The lie was too obvious and did little to take the wind out of Cole’s sails. He licked his lips, eyes narrowing. “Did you and Robin ever… You know.”
“No.” The answer was swift, but not so swift as to be a fib. Manuel held Cole’s gaze. I can see you wondering. Look your fill. Make up your mind. Truth was difficult to quantify among their kind. It shouldn’t have mattered if Cole believed him—especially when it came to something so banal.
Many things shouldn’t have mattered, including the slow scuff of Cole’s shoes in the dirt as he came closer.
Manuel dropped his hands to the hood of the Volkswagen, straightening. “You can still walk away,” he breathed. His voice had dimmed in the space of a few seconds. He didn’t know why. The heat in Cole’s eyes made it hard to think. “And you should really consider taking me back right now. This isn’t worth throwing your life away for.”
“Walk away from what?” Cole asked.
“This. Us… Screwing around when you’re supposed to bring me into the fold.” Screwing with my head.
Cole was close enough to touch now, within kissing distance, and Manuel fought against the instinct, the stubborn curl of want simmering deep in the pit of his stomach. His head knew that nothing but hurt could come of this. His body had been hurt enough that the certitude no longer carried any weight.
“Please,” he begged instead, one last ditch attempt to prevent the inevitable.
Cole didn’t heed him.
Their lips met chastely, Manuel’s breath fleeing his lungs in one sharp burst. He sagged against the car, curling fingers into the metal to stop himself reaching for Cole. His resolve wavered when Cole nuzzled at his cheek. It damn near crumbled as Cole shifted his weight forward and pressed his knee between Manuel’s thighs. His body responded with a shudder, a twitch of interest in his nether regions.
“Tell me you don’t want me,” Cole demanded. “I’ll stop. Drive you back. We’ll pretend this never happened.”
It shouldn’t have been much of a challenge. What was one lie among many? Manuel had spewed half-truths with car batteries attached to his body and he’d given far more sadistic honey traps the run around out of sheer spite. Cole had nothing on him—a drunken fling years ago, when they were too young to know any better, didn’t count.
“This isn’t worth compromising yourself—”
Cole cupped the back of his neck and slammed their mouths together before Manuel could finish the thought. It was just as well. He had no answers left to give.
The kiss unlocked the floodgates.
He found himself fisting both hands in Cole’s double-breasted suit and tugging him close. You don’t own me. You don’t get to demand this. He was relieved when Cole gave as good as he got. The illusion of an even fight was all he needed to reverse them against the car.
Cole slapped both hands against the hood, elbows twisting awkwardly. He made a foolish, aborted attempt to squirm out of the way, but Manuel didn’t give an inch. He caught his hips in scuffed palms, digging fingers into soft skin. Cole groaned against his lips as their cocks brushed through chafing fabric.
It wasn’t worth jettisoning twenty-six years of loyal service, certainly, but that didn’t mean Manuel could stop. Once he’d started, he was frantic about tugging Cole out of his trousers. He savored his greedy whimpers.
“Is this what you want?” Manuel bit out.
“Yes.”
Cole pulled him in by the hair. He didn’t do gentle. He didn’t ask permission.
A flood of desire surging through him, Manuel knelt in the dirt and took him into his mouth. Years later and he still fantasized, sometimes, about Cole’s body. In his mind’s eye, his hips were still soft, his knees knobby and bruised from the tennis court. He still gasped sweetly when Manuel licked a long stripe up the length of his erection.
Reality didn’t disappoint. Cole pushed his shirt out of the way and rocked up, hissing through clenched teeth.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “That’s it, nice and slow…”
Defiant, Manuel sucked him deep, hollowing his throat as best he could. His gag reflex was an afterthought, a distant concern. The scrape of Cole’s length down his throat was worth it, just to hear him whine when he pulled off.
“That…that’s not slow,” Cole panted as Manuel caught his breath.
“When did I ever say you were in charge?” Manuel shot back.
He mouthed at Cole’s balls in retribution, relishing the stuttered groan that slipped from Cole’s throat when he eased one between his lips. He’d given enough blow jobs to know that he had to keep his teeth out of the way. If he let them graze skin, it was only to tease. Life had no business being painless.
Cole moaned for him like a wanton, hips shaking and squirming in the cage of his hands without ever quite giving in. “Come here,” he begged, at length. “Please, fuck, come…come up here.”
He tugged at Manuel’s shoulders with clenched fists, a note of desperation in his voice.
Changed your mind? Manuel wanted to crow. He didn’t get the chance.
Cole palmed the hinge of his jaw and kissed him, lightly, his exhales hot on Manuel’s cheek. “I have—if you want. I have what we need for—”
“Here?”
Cole licked his lips, peering at him intently. “Yes or no.”
By way of answer, Manuel flipped him onto his front over the hood and yanked his hips back.
“M-my pocket.” Cole scrambled to catch himself even as he dug through his jacket, little gasping noises spilling from his throat.
“Give me that.”
Manuel snatched the lubricant, hands shaking as he fumbled the tube open. It took a long beat to get a grip on his nerves. Cole was patient enough. He sucked in a sharp breath when Manuel pressed a slick finger into him, hole fluttering helplessly against the pressure.
“Okay?”
Cole nodded, gritting his teeth. “Don’t let me down now…”
The last time they’d been together like this, Cole had been sprawled over the bed sheets, afternoon slight spilling through the blinds. The air itself seemed cloying and sweet with top shelf tequila. Every moan had bounced against scuffed wallpaper and moth-bitten carpet as Manuel slowly opened him with his fingers. Later, the headboard had left a dent in the chipped plaster that called for an extra charge on Manuel’s room bill.
Manuel hadn’t been drunk enough to wipe away the memory. He wasn’t drunk enough now to drown out the sound of Cole’s staggered breaths.
“Push back into me,” he instructed.
When Cole struggled to obey, impaling himself on Manuel’s finger, he slid a hand between his legs to cup Cole’s neglected cock. A few moments of inattention and he’d already grown soft as discomfort took the upper hand on pleasure.
Cole dropped his forehead to his hands. “Oh, God.”
He relaxed by increments, but he was still tight when Manuel scissored his fingers inside him. “It’s gonna hurt,” he warned, easing his digits free. Cole pressed a condom into his hand.
They were a mess, they were fucking like teenagers in a deserted cul-de-sac, and he still remembered to use protection.
Manuel pressed a kiss to his nape, suffused by a sudden wave of tenderness.
“Don’t fight me,” he begged, pressing in.
It was a tight fit, as feared, and Cole went rigid beneath his hands. Manuel fought not to lose his nerve. He took Cole the way he would’ve done ten years earlier. He was careful, for the space of a few tremulous breaths.
Cole braced himself with both palms flat on the hood of the Volkswagen and met him thrust for thrust. Because they couldn’t go back, because too many years had passed and their time was still, infallibly, running out, Manuel sla
mmed into him, abandoning all pretense of self-control.
He got off on Cole’s startled cries just as much as the tight clutch of his hole. It was an insidious, twisted sort of delight. It came from feeling Cole’s body shudder beneath his within the space of a minute.
Manuel tightened his fist around Cole’s stiff cock. “You like this, huh? This how you want it?” The echo of skin slapping skin vibrated in his ears with every thrust, but it wasn’t enough. “Scream for me. You know you want to. You get hard from me banging you around a bit, huh? I remember how you used to beg me—”
“Yes,” Cole gritted out. “Yes, oh God…“
He trailed off on a heart-piercing cry and scraped the hood of the Volkswagen with his fingers as he came, spending all over Manuel’s fist and the front bumper. His body tightened violently around Manuel, shudders ricocheting like electroshocks.
It took everything Manuel had not to piston his hips until he followed him over the edge.
He waited as long as he could, poised on the verge until Cole’s whimpers faded to harsh inhales, before releasing his spent cock and seizing hold of his hips.
“I remember this,” Manuel panted into the short razored hairs at Cole’s nape. “I fucking remember how you used to weep for me. I’m gonna make you remember—gonna make you mine…”
A violent climax robbed him of breath, rattling his cage with the bittersweet knowledge that he’d taken the last step over the line. Time’s up. This was it. The last time.
Shaking with the aftershocks, Manuel pressed a kiss under Cole’s ear and squeezed him close for an instant. Don’t want to, don’t want to…
They parted with twin groans, Cole staggering a little as he righted himself.
“You okay?”
It was his turn to ask, so Manuel nodded, because there was only one answer possible among liars.
Chapter Ten
Under the unforgiving morning light spilling through the trees, he stripped off the condom and tossed it to the ground with a grimace. Judging by the scattered beer cans and mud-logged plastic bags that fluttered in the pocked dirt, they weren’t the first to pollute the area.
