Why the Devil Stalks Death

by L. J. Hayward

  Jack dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling. The sight of Ethan’s fingers closing around his dick was too much. His heart was already racing, his lungs heaving and his throat aching with the need to say things. All sorts of things, silly and sweet and stupidly tender. If he saw how the dark shade of his body made Ethan’s pale skin glow, then it would all be over but for the tissues and apologies.

  It was hard to follow the rules. Each stroke of Ethan’s hand up and down his hot shaft sent waves of electricity through his groin, making his thighs shake and his stomach clench. The grenade was going off like fireworks each time Ethan rubbed his thumb over the raw head of his dick. He wanted, needed, to shift his hips, to thrust into the perfect grip, to ease the growing vibration in his guts. And it all just got better, or worse, when Ethan’s other hand cupped his balls and fondled them.

  Ethan had touched him like this before. Given him hand jobs to completion or just built the tension until Jack’s only recourse was to fuck him senseless. This time, though, anticipation, and a touch of concern, flavoured the sensations with a headier spice, making each touch and caress so much more potent and meaningful. Which all went out the window when Ethan’s mouth touched his dick.

  Jack nearly came. A well-timed squeeze of his balls stopped it, letting him ease down and really experience the soft, feathery kisses along his shaft, the lingering press of lips to the tip. Down the other side, then back up, this time with the point of Ethan’s tongue joining in. Several more trips up and down, the kisses becoming harder, open-mouthed, until he was outright licking Jack from root to tip, lapping at the leaking pre-cum and teasing his tongue across his slit and into the V under his glans. Jack had to bite his lips together to keep from telling Ethan how good it felt, how much he was loving this, how much he—

  Ethan closed his mouth over the head of Jack’s dick and sucked. A strangled, inarticulate sound escaped Jack. Thankfully it was so twisted by ecstasy it didn’t count as talking, and Ethan didn’t stop. He slid further down, moving slow but devotedly, his tongue and lips doing things to Jack he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  Fingers digging into the couch cushions, Jack lifted his head and watched. He was already so close to orgasm it wouldn’t matter if he went now. Amazingly, he didn’t blow at his first sight of Ethan sucking him, but that was because the physicality of it faded under a new onslaught.

  Ethan was gorgeous, and not just because his handsome face was so close to Jack’s crotch, or his beautiful lips were wrapped around his shaft, leaving glistening trails as he moved up and down. It was because, as if sensing Jack’s gaze, he titled his head and looked back at him.

  Everything snapped into place. This was it. This was all Jack would ever need. Not the blowjob, but the connection. The gut-deep sense of knowing this man, of accepting all of his quirks and foibles, realising that he didn’t want anyone else, on any level. And understanding right down to his marrow that Ethan felt the same way.

  Closing his fist around the base of Jack’s shaft, Ethan sped up his sucking. The glorious tugging on Jack’s insides increased until it felt like everything was in motion. Hot, rushing waves rolled through him, driving every skerrick of Jack’s being towards and into this stunning man.

  With a final, hard suck, Jack came in a blinding rush.

  Ethan screamed in denial and rage and opened fire.

  Toomey held Garrote’s body as a shield and dived for the protection of the Cenotaph. Jack got off a couple of shots, but a deeply embedded and unshakable faith in what the Cenotaph represented stopped his finger when Toomey disappeared behind it. Ethan loosed several more rounds, none of them coming close to his target, fired off in anger and frustration. Jack had never seen Ethan shoot in anything other than calm deliberation, and it scared him.

  “Ethan, let’s go.”

  After a moment, Ethan got back into the car, and the instant Jack was in, he threw the idling engine into reverse and hit the accelerator. Victoria rocketed backwards, the Cenotaph and its hidden psychopath quickly diminishing in the windscreen. Ethan drove twisted around, looking behind them, one hand on the wheel, the other on the back of Jack’s seat. His expression was blank, focused on where they were going, while Jack could only stare at where they’d been.

  He’d spent most of the day fearing Eve Garrote and her intentions, and now, he still wasn’t certain of her motives. Yet, Jack had felt the rawness of Ethan’s reaction to her death. The sound of his scream still scraped over Jack’s nerves, making him wish desperately the woman was still alive, just to save Ethan the pain.

  “Hold on,” Ethan said, voice rough but steady.

  Knowing better than to question, Jack got a hold on the door and seat and braced.

  With a squeal of tyres and brakes, Ethan spun Victoria through a tight reverse one-eighty; then they raced away in the right direction and Jack couldn’t see the Cenotaph anymore.

  At the end of the pedestrian mall, Ethan squeezed the Aston Martin out between the stanchions and onto George Street. Car horns greeted their surprise intrusion into the traffic, but Ethan didn’t stick around, weaving through two lanes and rapidly leaving everyone else behind.

  They were several blocks away when Jack asked, “Where are we going?”

  Another couple of corners went by, then Ethan said, “The last safe place I know.”

  Jack wasn’t sure if he was shocked or not when Ethan turned onto a very familiar street. They’d driven along this one together once before. Not in Victoria, but in a throwaway car Ethan had crashed through the front wall of the Neville Crawley Building. This time, however, he turned into the carpark, and Jack gave him his code to open the gate. Inside, Ethan parked where Jack indicated, turned the car off, and then sat still.

  Alerted by a message Jack had fired off to Lewis when he realised where they were going, a strike team was waiting for them. McIntosh and Lewis were with them, but no one came forwards, just waited for them to make the first move.

  “Ethan?” Jack wanted to touch him, but he exuded a clear not-now vibe. Besides, there were eight pairs of highly critical eyes on them.

  “I’m all right.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  With visible effort, Ethan nodded. “It’s my only option.”

  Low and painfully, Jack murmured, “You could scramble again.”

  “Would you come with me?”

  “Yes.”

  Ethan faced him. He struggled to keep his face neutral, but his lips warred between a smile and grimace. “Truly?”

  “Truly,” Jack said, surprised at how easily it came. “I mean, I have to find Adam first, but immediately after that.”

  The smile won. “Jack.”

  Christ. He’d missed the whole sentence-in-his-name thing. “Okay.” His voice was gruff. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Jack went first, hands empty and clearly displayed. He was patted down very thoroughly. The fact he’d smuggled an illegal weapon into the building was still fresh in everyone’s memory. After Jack had warned the strike team, Ethan emerged, hands up. He stood patiently while he was searched and a remarkable amount of weapons removed from his person. There was a short argument when the team leader wanted to take Victoria away and have her searched as well. McIntosh interceded and the car was left unmolested.

  Then they were escorted out of the garage. Not to the cells Ethan had been locked in previously, but to a meeting room on the tenth floor. Tan showed up and sat in on the debrief, watching Ethan with something close to desire. McIntosh led the questioning.

  “It was pure coincidence,” Ethan explained. “On my part at least. I had no idea the man you call Toomey was in Sydney. I arrived to . . .” He glanced at Jack, then said, “To be with Jack. I have, technically, retired and had no plans to engage in illegal activities anymore. It wasn’t until Jack told me about the strike force that I realised what was going on.”

  Both directors gave Jack resigned expressions.

  “You knew why
Toomey’s targets where killed?” Tan asked Ethan.

  “Yes. I made contact with one of my prior associates and was told about the job Toomey had taken.”

  Lewis leaned forwards. “You were right, Jack. The answer was in the storage units. Both Williams and Luntz were Disciples of the Messiah. They each had stockpiles of hard drives. Caches of the Messiah’s stolen information. Someone out there didn’t want the Disciples exposing any of the Messiah’s information. Eighty-two Disciples have been killed over the past three months, all around the world. The weird thing is there are no tickets. Not even a hint of them. We don’t know who decided these people had to die, or how the assassins got the jobs.”

  “They’re called the Cabal,” Ethan said softly. “And they don’t need to buy tickets, because they run the assassins who did the jobs. I left the Cabal eleven years ago. It wasn’t easy or pretty, and the only way I stayed alive was to independently contract myself back to them.”

  “The Cabal are the ones responsible for getting rid of Samuel Valadian and exposing Glen Harraway?” McIntosh asked.

  “Yes. Valadian’s interference with the Russian bratva and the drug trade in the Golden Triangle threatened some of the Cabal’s long-term goals. Harraway’s treason would have eventually destabilised the power of the Meta-State.”

  Simply because it was something that still played on his mind, Jack asked, “And the Marines in Colombia?”

  “The Cabal doesn’t care about such small things. That one was just me.”

  “You told me you were paid for it.”

  “Yes. I paid myself and wrote it off on my tax.”

  Jack and Lewis snorted in amusement. McIntosh and Tan weren’t as amused.

  “So, you knew what Toomey was doing here all along and who his final victim would be.” McIntosh’s tone and eyes had chilled uncomfortably. “Why didn’t you tell Jack?”

  “I had promised Jack I was retired and felt he wouldn’t like me admitting to still being in touch with that part of my life. At the time, I wasn’t aware there would be another death. I believed he was done and only stayed here to stalk Jack. Toomey is the sort of Sugar Baby who reinforces the old ‘born psychopaths’ theory. He is severely disturbed. Of all of us, he doesn’t kill because he’s told to, or because he gets paid. He does it because it makes him happy. Killing someone is the ultimate form of control, and he loves controlling people.”

  “Then everything Jack worked out was right,” Lewis said. “But why did Toomey wait so long between Morrissey and Luntz?”

  Jack grimaced. “To give himself more time to torment me.”

  “Partly,” Ethan said. “When I knew Toomey was here, I sought him out and tried to convince him to leave. The discussions did not go well.”

  “The bruises.” All Jack could think was Toomey saying, Nothing he didn’t let me do.

  “Yes.”

  “Then why did he kill Luntz, his last target?” Tan asked.

  “He believed Jack and I were no longer seeing each other.”

  “Is making him think that why you left for the week?” Jack asked warily.

  Ethan nudged his knee under the table. “No. Just an unfortunate result.”

  “Oh,” Lewis said in sudden understanding. “That’s why you didn’t have an alibi for Luntz’s death. You were reuniting.”

  “Mr. Thomas.” McIntosh cut him a frosty glare.

  Lewis ducked his head. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  She levelled her gaze on Ethan. “And tonight’s incident?”

  “After Jack was arrested, Toomey wouldn’t voluntarily meet with me, so I set it up. I knew he couldn’t resist a possible meeting between Jack and myself. Of course, he knew it was a trap and planned accordingly. I asked the woman you know as Eve Garrote to help. She and I had a longstanding agreement that if a ticket was bought on Jack, she or I would pick it up before anyone else and void it. I asked her to go tonight to keep Jack from doing anything foolish. She didn’t achieve her objective and lost her life for it.”

  Ethan’s voice was steady, but Jack heard the grief in it. He was probably the only one who did because Tan persisted in asking questions about Garrote’s identity and history. Rather than answer, Ethan simply shut up and set his focus on the far wall. As he had in his initial interview with McIntosh, Ethan used silence as a tool and, like then, he wore down Tan’s patience. Not used to being outplayed, Tan backed off reluctantly and let McIntosh resume the questioning.

  “Toomey bought the second ticket,” Ethan confirmed when she asked. “Garrote picked the first one up before Toomey could, so he had to create his own. The Cabal is strict about obedience in its assassins, and Toomey was already in trouble for killing Captain Morrissey without approval. The Cabal wouldn’t have approved of the second ticket, but he was desperate.”

  Tan pierced him with a direct look. “He picked it up under the name Ethan Blade.”

  “Yes. Three of us operate under that name, and other identities. Toomey used Ethan Blade because of how it would affect Jack.”

  Jack relayed the events at the Cenotaph, and when that was done, McIntosh and Tan departed to discuss options. After a few silent gestures and commands from Jack, Lewis grumpily left as well.

  When it was just the two of them, Ethan stood and paced around the table. “Is this room secure?”

  “Yeah, but monitored. They’ll have a record of everything we do in here.” He ached to hold him, to kiss him, but knew it had no hope of happening in here.

  Stopping by the window, Ethan looked out at Darling Harbour for a long time, arms crossed, expression blank. Then he muttered, “I don’t care,” and came around the table.

  Jack got up just in time to catch him in his arms. Ethan pushed into him, as if he could force them into one body. They remained locked together for so long Jack forgot where they were, what had just happened. What was still waiting to happen.

  “I’m sorry,” he said into Ethan’s neck. “About what happened with Adam. It wasn’t—”

  “I don’t care, Jack. I thought I did, but then I realised I was angry at myself, not you. I’m not used to this. I don’t know what to do. I just feel so helpless, and I can’t cope with that.”

  “I know. It’s okay, we’ll work it out. Just don’t expect to be an expert overnight. I mean, look at me. I’ve been here before and I’m still fucking up all over the place.”

  Ethan nodded against his cheek.

  “When this is all over and sorted out, will you talk to someone?” Jack pulled back and studied his expression. “We could go together if you wanted. It would have to be an Office shrink, though.”

  For a moment, he thought Ethan would bolt again, but he only pulled in a deep breath, then nodded again.

  “We’re not scrambling?”

  Ethan shook his head. “I bought property here.” Then he frowned. “And turned myself in to the authorities.”

  Jack laughed and gave him a squeeze. “It’ll be okay. Trust me.”

  “I do.”

  They stood together for a while, silent and content. Then because he couldn’t seem to shut things away like he once could, Jack had to get some answers. There was so much he wanted to know, but he picked the most immediately important one.

  “Can I ask about you and Toomey? You have history, don’t you.”

  Ethan stiffened. When he moved, he gently extracted himself from Jack’s arms and stepped back to put a couple of feet of space between them. “Yes. We grew up together. Me, him, and the woman who died tonight.”

  “You called her Nine.”

  “It’s her name. Toomey is Two. We were named for the order in which we came into the . . . group. All of us are Sugar Babies. Either voluntarily surrendered by the mothers, or abandoned.” He couldn’t meet Jack’s gaze as he spoke, and “abandoned” came out so softly Jack knew Ethan was talking about himself.

  “You’re Thirteen, aren’t you.”

  “The . . . carers were suspicious, so they refused to call me that. They said o
ne-three instead, and it stuck.”

  Jack leaned back against the table and gripped its edge to give his hands something to do other than punch walls. “Why call you by numbers instead of your real names?”

  “Most of the others didn’t actually have real names. They’d been in the group since they were newborns. I believe I was the only one to come in at an older age. I was six and had a name and a mother I remembered and I was blind. They were all older, larger, well-established in the group hierarchy.”

  “You were bullied.”

  “To put it bluntly. After I had the surgery to allow me to see, it got both worse and better. I could see the attacks coming, but they stopped being easy on me.”

  “Didn’t your carers know it was going on?”

  Ethan caught his gaze, and in that moment, Ethan Blade was back. “We’re Sugar Babies, Jack. They thought we were little better than animals. They knew. They didn’t care.”

  “Fuck.” Jack tried to stuff everything Ethan was saying into the filing cabinet, but Ethan kept talking.

  “Two was both my worst tormentor and my protector. He could be charming and sweet, which made his attacks so much worse. I was lost and scared. All I knew was sometimes, he would pick me up and hold me, tell me he wouldn’t let anyone else touch me, and I believed him. Every time. Then he would cut me, or try to burn me, or leave me at the mercy of the others.”