by Gennita Low
“Come again for me,” he whispered.
He pushed in all the way and heard her gasp. This time his pace was relentless as he let himself go, concentrating on her heat. Her breathing grew uneven again, like before. Just for the hell of it, he took a deep breath and slowed down. It felt like his whole head was going to explode from the roar inside his brain. He heard the woman cry out and felt her coming all around him. He plunged in deep and his orgasm was like nothing he’d ever felt before. His hips moved like pistons as he kept coming and coming.
His breathing was ragged even as he pulled out of her and quickly jumped to his feet, tucking his sensitive dick back inside his pants. The woman just lay there, her eyes half-closed, her breasts bobbing up and down as she panted.
Her parted legs were lax and he could see exactly where he’d been.
“Got to go,” Conor said, feeling cocky. He’d just made this older lady come three times. “I told you I’d leave you begging for more.”
He grabbed the sack with the stash of weapons he’d gathered from the other rooms. He had one leg out the window when he heard the front door opening.
“Kitty?”
The woman continued to lie there, her mouth half-opened, watching him. Then she smiled sleepily and blew him a kiss.
Conor grinned. So that was what dangerous women were like. He disappeared into the night.
One month later
Conor stared at the bright moon, with what looked like its twins on each side. Someone told him that was called a blue moon. He’d never actually seen anything like it.
The world had so many things he would like to see. He heard the pyramids in Egypt were bigger than the tallest building. Could one climb up a pyramid? And wouldn’t that be cool, he, Jed Conor McNeil, on top of a pyramid with the blue moon shining over it?
He’d get to Egypt some day. He didn’t want to remain here, always hiding from one thing or another. Of course, he wouldn’t have to hide if the IRA guys weren’t so pissed at him for taking off with their stash of weapons. He didn’t think he’d committed that big a crime. They were the IRA; one would think they had more weapons than that.
But they were pissed, all right. There was word on the street for the kid with gray eyes. That would be him, cursed with eyes everyone remembered.
“They ain’t gray either,” Conor said aloud. His eyes were distinctive because they were light, the color of a shiny silver florin, his ma used to say.
And the boy’s worthless like a florin too.
Conor grimaced. That line was his da’s tag whenever his ma brought up the florin comparison. It hurt. He didn’t show it to his father but it hurt to be told he was worthless.
Well, he was worth something on the streets, apparently, because there was a price for any information on him. No one knew his name because he didn’t make friends that easily. That was a good thing too, or the IRA bastards would have gotten hold of him by now.
Conor grinned. He had their loot, that was why. He hadn’t known they would be this angry this long; he’d heard the IRA had a lot of important things to do, fighting and bombing buildings in one country or another. I guess they had some time to play hide-and-seek with him.
The only person who’d seen him that night was the woman named Kitty, so she must have given a description of him to her boyfriend, Seamus. He wondered whether Seamus found her the way he had last seen her—on the floor, with her legs parted suggestively. If he’d money, he’d bet that Kitty did just that and got that boyfriend of hers so angry that he was using all his time and energy to come after him.
Stupid. Conor lifted his head at the moon again and resisted the temptation to howl. Stupid because everything was about something else other than what was important. He was wasting time here, hiding, when he should just dump the weapons at the guy’s front door and then leave town. Maybe they would let him off and wouldn’t come after him any more.
But he was stupid too. He wanted to keep the weapons and play hide-and-seek. He wanted to see how angry he could make Seamus and his thugs. The longer they kept the word out on the street that they wanted him caught, the more obstinate he became.
Besides, he’d never seen so many new guns and weaponry in his life. He was very careful when he handled them—didn’t want any sudden explosions. He thought of all the men who would be using them. Why did they do what they do? He understood hunger and homelessness, so maybe they did it to provide themselves with a place to stay and lots of food. Not to forget, a girlfriend.
He thought of Kitty again. She’d had a funny accent, not quite British or Irish, as if she was a foreigner. He wondered what country she was from and whether he’d know where it was. China? Hong Kong? He really needed to get hold of a world map, so he could memorize all those fancy names.
He chuckled. Like he would have the chance to impress any ladies with his knowledge of the world map any time soon. He had to find out how to sell shiny new stolen weapons without the IRA fellows finding him. Then he had to figure out what to do with the money he’d get from the sale. Definitely wasn’t going to stay in Dublin, but where would he go? He could take the train and visit his cousin but what if Seamus got wind of that and sent men after him there? He was learning fast that men like Seamus would waste time and money for revenge. No, he couldn’t do that to Killian.
Conor froze at the sound of footsteps below him. His eyes darted into the shadows of the far right corner of the alley below. Very few people came around to this abandoned building and usually his “guests” were mainly noisy and drunk folks, not one with the quiet footfall of a policeman. He moved back against the building wall so that the moonlight was no longer on him, keeping a clear view of the narrow alley below him.
A shadow emerged. The moonlight, slanting off one wall, gave just enough light to show a tall lone male as he paused to light a cigarette. There was a minute’s silence as Conor continued watching, the smell of nicotine wafting up to where he was.
“I know you’re up there, son,” the man suddenly said, his voice calm and conversational. “I want to talk to you.”
Conor pressed his back hard against the wall as he quelled his quickening breathing. Shit. They’d found him.
“I’m not Seamus. I know you’re aware he and his IRA friends want you badly. I also know you’re pretty good at hiding because they haven’t been able to find you yet, but if I can find you, others will, son, sooner or later. Your luck will run out. You see, you stole something really important to several groups of people and they’re all eager to get it back. I’m here to help you before you get yourself killed.”
Conor listened, not saying a word, his heart thudding louder and louder. This man must think him an idiot. What, was he supposed to come forward and be grateful for the offer?
Still, if the man had wanted to scare him, he could have just rushed into this building with some henchmen. Now, that would be what Seamus would have done. So maybe this man was speaking some truth.
The silence stretched as the man waited for him to speak. Conor didn’t move or utter a word, watching the lit tip of the cigarette glow brighter and dimmer every time the stranger inhaled from it. Finally, the man tossed the cigarette on the ground and there was darkness again.
“Okay, think about this. How are you going to get rid of the stolen goods? Pawn them? No pawnshops are going to buy them from a young kid, especially when the IRA is looking for missing weapons. You can’t stay in this situation, playing adult games. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
Conor spoke up before he changed his mind. “You still haven’t told me what you want.”
The shadow shifted, looking up, spending a few moments trying to locate him. Plastered against the wall, Conor stood very still.
“There are actually several things I want but I don’t know whether you’ll be able to carry out all of them. The main thing, of course, is the weapons. Do you still have them, son?”
“I thought you said I couldn’t pawn them off,�
� Conor reminded him. He was right, of course. He’d known that no one would touch weapons stolen from the IRA so soon. But something told him that it was more than mere stolen guns. “What is it that you really want, you and Seamus and all the other people looking for me? I’m thinking it can’t be just a bag of guns even though they’d cost you a lot of money to have them replaced. What’s with these particular guns?”
“An observant young fellow,” the man commented. “Or, a fool for bringing that up. Everything points to you being a reckless boy who doesn’t care for a future.”
Conor cocked his head. This man was strange. He’d never met anyone who talked like that, almost as if they were equals. Yet he knew they weren’t. Instinct told him that the stranger couldn’t be trusted, just that he was very good at sounding trustworthy.
“Does that mean you’re going to kill me?” he asked brashly. He was afraid but showing his fear was useless. If he were going to die now, he might as well do it without sniveling.
“It’d crossed my mind,” the man replied gravely. “At first, we thought you were somebody more dangerous, sent in to sabotage all the work we’ve put into our operation, but from what I can gather, you’re just very young. A petty thief. Fate, as usual, dealt an unexpected hand.”
Conor frowned. Adults talked in circles. He’d no idea what the stranger meant, with his talk about sabotage and operation, but he could sense that the man was dangerous and not to be trifled with. “So I’m free to go if I just give you what you want?”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually?” That didn’t sound very promising.
“Seamus is still after you, as well as several other groups. I know you don’t understand what you’ve done but believe me when I tell you that it’s made quite a number of people very angry with you.”
Conor shrugged. He didn’t care. What was intriguing was the fact that the man still hadn’t demanded the weapons, just asked whether he had them. That was very strange.
“Do you know what a show of faith is, son?”
Conor frowned. “Faith? Like faith in God?”
“Something like that. I’m going to walk up these steps toward your voice, with my hands in the air. The moonlight will let you see exactly that. I’m putting my faith in you that you won’t shoot or attack me. All right with you?”
“How would I know you won’t shoot or attack me?” Conor asked.
“That, son, would be faith on your part. Besides, if I’d wanted to, I’d have aimed my weapon at that wall you’re hiding by right now, and believe me, one of the bullets would have hit you.”
Conor believed him but that didn’t mean he would admit it. “No, sir, there’s a chance you might have gotten me with a bullet but you can’t know for sure.”
The man chuckled. “Are you saying you’re faster than bullets too?”
“No, but this is my hideout. I know my voice bounces off the three walls surrounding me, so you’d have one in three chances at choosing the correct one I’m standing against. If you had been wrong the first few shots, I’d be gone by the time you discover that. Is that also what is called faith?”
The chuckle came again. “Arrogant pup too. That’s either going to shorten your life or prolong it, depending on what you have between your ears. Now, I’m still going to be walking up these steps. I’m still going to show you good faith. And when I get up there, I want to talk to you man-to-man.”
Conor thought of the knives on him. He fought well with them and knew where to hurt someone quickly. He’d never killed anyone before, though. If he agreed to this man coming up and meeting him, there was more than a good chance one of them would end up dead, he was sure of this much.
The man didn’t give him time to answer, though, as he started to head slowly up the steps, his shoes making soft thuds as he climbed each one. The moonlight showed him to be a tall well-dressed man in a long jacket of some sort that was open loosely in the front. His hands, as he’d promised, were way up, free of weapons
Conor watched with narrowed eyes, the thudding in his chest getting excruciatingly loud. He took in a few deep breaths, like the way he’d seen wrestlers do when the bell signaled them to get back into the ring. That helped. A little. He gripped the knife in his hand tightly then deliberately relaxed his upper arm. He’d been in street fights before. One didn’t win by tensing one’s muscles, because it slowed reflexes; he’d learned that the hard way.
The man stopped on the top step and paused. “Are you going to come out from your hiding place?” he asked softly.
Conor arced his hand in one swift motion and released the knife. He heard the whoosh as it flew through the air. To see whether the man was planning to shoot, he’d deliberately aimed it at the opposite side from where the man stood. The diversion would give him time to get his other knife.
However, the tall stranger didn’t react by ducking or shooting. He just stood where he was, his hands still in the air. When he spoke again, his voice remained calm, although a little colder.
“Come on out here,” he said, the request this time coming out as an order.
Conor hesitated, then slid out of the shadows, carefully threading his way toward the man, who was studying Conor as closely as he did him. He finally came to a stop about five feet away. The moonlight played with the planes on the man’s face—clean-cut, stern mouth, watchful eyes. It was so bright that Conor could see the shiny leather shoes on his feet.
“That was a good diversion tactic but too obvious,” the man said. “Next time use the weapon to target the body, just enough to nick, just enough to tell your opponent you mean business. Create fear, don’t show it, son.”
“Next time dress in clothes that I could wear so there’s a reason for me to rob you, mister,” Conor retorted. “I’m here, man-to-man, now what?”
“Can I put down my hands?”
Conor frowned. Why was the man so damn polite? He was acting as if Conor had power over what he was doing. “Yeah.”
The man lowered his hands. “Nice to meet you. Got a name?”
“Depends. If you’re not with Seamus, then who are you?”
Conor thought he saw a gleam of teeth, as if his obstinacy amused the man.
“Ever heard of the CIA, son?”
Dublin, Ireland, Six months after blue moon
“You ready for tomorrow, lover?”
Conor turned from the window. “You shouldn’t be here, Kitty. Seamus will be having a tantrum again and I don’t want any trouble the night before something big.”
Kitty sauntered into the room anyway, picking up scattered items draped across the table and the back of the chair, and looking at them before flinging them down onto the bed. She sat down at the foot, crossing her legs as she leaned back to look at him.
“He won’t be home for a while,” she drawled, her dark eyes half-closed. “He told me he has to pick up something from out of town.”
Conor frowned. “Did he tell you what?”
Kitty shrugged. “No.”
The rules for their group were few but specific. No one being allowed to leave the building the day before a big event was one of them. Of course, Seamus thought the rules excluded him because he was, at times, given the responsibility of team leader.
They were going to blow up a bank and take somebody important hostage tomorrow. Everyone was to stay in their apartments so they would get last minute instructions if anything important cropped up. Seamus knew better than to sneak out at this juncture of the operation.
“He’s going to be in trouble if McGuy finds out,” Conor said. He’d better get on the phone and inform McGuy about this, but first he had to deal with Kitty in his room. “What if someone calls in for Seamus? What are you going to say?”
Kitty shrugged again. “I’m not his keeper. Maybe he went to visit another woman. I don’t particularly care.”
Walking away from the window, Conor approached the woman in his bed. She was beautiful, with long, straight black hair and big sultr
y dark eyes that made Asians so exotic-looking. He had never met a woman like her—bold, mysterious, independent.
Ever since McGuy had brought him in and firmly introduced him to this particular group of IRA men as his new help, Kitty had visited his small apartment beneath hers often, even climbing down from the fire ladder outside the window one night and breaking into his room. He’d never had a woman so determined to fuck him. And he’d never had such hot sex. The woman was wild in bed and his dick didn’t seem to think it needed sleep.
Of course, at the time, McGuy hadn’t known that Kitty was interested in Conor that way or he’d never have given him that particular place to stay. Seamus’s seething resentment was misread as anger at a thief being included into their mix.
Conor understood Seamus’ silence. Of course the man wasn’t going to tell his friends that a boy barely out of school had messed around with his girl. Was still messing with, in fact. He would be the butt of jokes among the guys.
Kitty was insatiable and kept things even more tense between Seamus and Conor. Seamus, she told Conor, wasn’t her boyfriend. She and he had an “understanding”.
Conor wasn’t sure what that meant but after staying there and learning his new life, he was aware that Kitty was very useful to the organization. She could handle a gun and make explosives. She was able to hack into bank computers. She did nifty things with timers and electronics. Conor was fascinated by her and her skills, and didn’t put up much resistance to spending time with her.
She had naughty hands that sometimes wandered under the table right in front of Seamus, or sitting with Conor in a car in the dark, with Seamus driving, and Conor had to learn to keep his face pretty much expressionless as a hand teased the front of his trousers. The danger of being caught excited him even more. One night, out of sheer frustration, he’d pushed her into a small closet during a break from planning, put a hand over her mouth and fucked her hard. He could hear the others wandering around the place, stretching, taking bathroom breaks. But Kitty had wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed her pelvis so tightly, he’d almost given them away when he grunted from sheer pleasure.
