The mild arousal plaguing me on the drive over didn’t exactly disappear when I got to Jack’s apartment, but it did take a back seat to the swell of warmth and contentment at simply being here again. The last time, I’d believed I wouldn’t be back, but it felt right that I was. I had missed this place, with the brown leather couch a touch too soft to be perfectly comfortable and the dining table Jack had pinned me against more times than we’d shared a meal on it. The kitchen where I’d watched him prepare butter chicken, before inhaling the curry and promising Jack my entire body in return.
I drifted through the rest of the apartment, ostensibly checking the security, but really indulging in a flood of good memories that eventually and inevitably led me to the bedroom. My clothes were off and I was on the bed before my thoughts had caught up to my actions. The plan, such as it was, had been to wait for Jack in the living room, fully clothed, in case he’d changed his mind. I did, however, manage to stop myself from burrowing into the sheets, seeking a hint of Jack’s scent. It would have been a fruitless search. He’d been away for three weeks and the sheets felt unslept in. Had he changed them before he left just in case I arrived while he was gone? The possibility that he had didn’t help that low-level arousal.
Aiming for distraction, I found a novel I’d left in the bedside table drawer. It was one I’d read a couple of times but it helped keep some of my attention from focusing on the apartment’s security system. The moment Jack entered his code to unlock the door, I would know. Until then, I only had to be wary of uninvited parties.
Of which there were none before a soft ping sighed through my head at nearly ten p.m.
Jack.
Heart racing, fingers twitching, I waited as he closed and locked the door, then walked calmly into the kitchen. Oh dear. He was angry with me. Why wouldn’t he rush to find me otherwise? I suppose he could have missed Victoria in the garage but I doubted it.
What felt like an extraordinarily long wait later—but was in truth perhaps a minute—Jack appeared in the doorway. He had a bottle of water in his hands, a travel-rumpled cast to his suit and hair, and a very neutral expression. His gaze skated over me, pausing on my underwear for a moment—probably noting that I wasn’t unpleased to be viewed—and down to my socks, which he focused on while he unscrewed the lid of his water.
After taking a small drink, Jack said, “Ethan.”
I met his gaze directly and in that moment, I knew he still wanted me. Those beautiful brown eyes had never been able to hide anything from me. I had wondered at first how Jack managed at his job without giving everything away with a single look, but careful observation had revealed that not everyone could read him as I did. I tried not to consider that it was because the first time I’d looked into his eyes he’d been on the edge of breaking down—thanks to me. It hurt to think that Jack’s honesty with me was solely because I had left him no other option in the desert. I wanted to believe it was his choice to show me so much of himself now. If it wasn’t, then I was as bad as the people who’d tortured thirteen children into becoming merciless killers.
I didn’t want to be that person to Jack. To anyone.
Thankfully, the growing bulge in his trousers assured me he was happy to see me. Oh. Very happy to see me. I smiled.
“Jack.”
“It’s been a while.”
The way he winced as he spoke reminded me he had every right to not be happy to see me. “For which I’m sorry. I certainly hadn’t meant to take so long to get here. Thank you, though, for respecting my request.”
“Yeah, about that.” Jack dropped his gaze to the bottle. “I was going to call you tonight.”
I locked my body down, otherwise I would have thrown myself at him and all the things I wanted to say would never get said. “You were?”
“I needed . . . to know you were okay.”
The rest of my body I could control, but a bigger smile broke through. “Well, it’s lucky I needed . . . to know you were all right, as well.”
Jack smiled back, eyes scrunching up as he struggled not to. “Can I ask why it took you so long to . . . enquire about my wellbeing?”
We had to have this discussion but that didn’t stop me from wanting him closer. Much closer. Close enough so I could touch and whisper and hold and promise.
“You may. The clean-up took longer than I anticipated. Afterwards, there were a few personal matters I had to take care of.”
“Such as?”
Well, I had invited the questions. I couldn’t back out now, so I surrendered to the moment, relaxing my arms and fully accepting my decision.
Jack took a step forward, suddenly on alert. “Ethan?”
“I quit, Jack.”
“You what?”
This was it. I had to give this part of myself to Jack if he had any chance of accepting me so completely in his life. He had to know exactly—or at least more thoroughly—what he was getting into.
“I haven’t taken an official job in over eight months, Jack. There’s been no . . .” With an effort, I tried, “I haven’t needed to work since we started seeing each other. The—for want of a more accurate word—compulsion just hasn’t been there. You once asked me if I liked what I do. Did. The better question would have been why I did it.”
And suddenly, there were very few blocks left and all the words tumbled out. Words I’d never spoken to anyone ever. Not to Nine or Seven or my brothers. They all knew, viscerally, the driving need to follow our training. To be successful, but also, to survive. To protect the Cabal’s “investments.” They all knew, too, about the desire to be free of the Cabal. My desire, if not theirs. But Jack didn’t know those things, so I told him, and I told him how I’d “quit” once before. And failed.
“But something in me wasn’t right. I couldn’t not do anything, Jack, and the only thing I knew how to do was stalk and kill. Only when I was on a job did I feel balanced. Like I was real. So I went back to it and two years ago, I found something else that made me feel balanced. Someone who made me feel real.”
“Ethan,” Jack whispered.
“Please, Jack. Let me finish.” If he didn’t, I doubted I would be able to do this again.
All the thoughts Nine had sparked about doing this only for Jack, not because I wanted it for myself, needed to be let out and Jack was the only one I trusted to hear them. They were half formed and probably made little sense, but Jack seemed to follow along well enough because when I said firmly, “Jack, I’m here and I don’t want to leave,” he launched himself at me.
For an instant I flashed into defence mode, but quickly understood Jack was simply trying to get close, to touch me and reassure himself I really was here. When he lay completely on top of me, our bodies aligned, and his face was pressed into the side of neck, he let out a long sigh and melted.
Well, most of him did. There was one very hard part of him pushing insistently into my thigh. A part of him I wanted pressing very insistently into a different part of me. This we knew how to do, and do very well. Naturally, we ended up naked and Jack effortlessly drove me wild with his touches and words and lips.
Afterwards, we lay in a filthy tangle of arms and legs, Jack’s cock still inside me even as he tried to take his full weight off my back. I kept him as close as possible, fingers digging into his flesh if he dared attempt to move. He learned to stay put quickly.
“So fucking happy you’re here at last,” he mumbled into my shoulder.
“Hmm, yes, I’m rather pleased with the situation as well.”
Jack snorted. “Yeah, I figured.” He gave a little thrust with his hips, sending a jolt of slightly awkward pleasure through me.
“Fine,” I conceded. “You may move if you wish.”
Mimicking my hmm, he whispered, “I don’t wish.”
I smiled into the pillow. “Good. You get a fifteen minute rest. Make the most of it.”
This time, Jack laughed hard enough he slipped out. He took the chance to roll me over and settle back down o
n my chest, the mass of his sweaty, black curls resting just under my nose. I breathed in deep, filling myself with the much-missed scent of him. I did, however, find hints of other smells that weren’t entirely usual.
“Have you changed your deodorant?”
“No, why?”
“You smell . . . fruitier.”
“Is that a euph . . . oh shit.” Jack scrambled up and sat back on his heels. “Look, it was for work, okay? And I haven’t had time to shower since, but I swear, he didn’t get really close to me. Well, he may have sat on my lap. Or danced on it, just a bit, but it did nothing for me. I swear. Thought of you the entire time. And then I sedated him.”
I eyed his desperate pleading sceptically and raised an eyebrow. “You let him give you a lap dance, then sedated him?”
“It wasn’t like that! The lap dance was in the main room. I waited until we were in his private room before—” Jack caught sight of the grin I was trying so hard to hide. “Fuck you, Blade.” He rolled backwards off the bed and stalked out of the bedroom.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed so hard I curled up, arms wrapped around my middle.
“No, seriously,” Jack called back at me. “Fuck you.”
Between gasping chuckles, I got up and followed him. He was in the bathroom, dampening a washcloth and muttering under his breath about not being appreciated for the sacrifices he made for the Meta-State. His shoulders were tense as he rubbed down his arms, which mollified my laughter, even as it gave me a spectacular view of his tattoo. Calmer, I laid my palm over the St. Thomas Cross, fingers spread to reach to the very ends of the stylised symbol.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I couldn’t help myself.” When he didn’t brush off my hand, I leaned against him, reaching around to take the washcloth away from him. “You don’t need to do that. It’s a very faint smell, and more alcoholic than perfumery, regardless.”
Jack stiffened, the line of his spine going straight against my chest.
“Jack?” What had I said this time?
“It’s okay.” After a moment he relaxed, sagging against the sink. “It’s just been a long three weeks with no breaks. And I’m starting a new job in the morning that I’m not looking forward to. Sorry.” His hand covered mine on his chest. “Having you here helps a lot, though.”
Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, I pulled back and turned him to face me. “Then I’m doubly glad I’m here for you. Come on, back to bed.”
“Don’t you want me to shower off the smell of a Bangkok rentboy first?”
There was a bitter twist to the words that worried me but, not wanting to hurt him again, I shook my head. “It doesn’t bother me. And you’d only need to shower again in the morning.”
Dragging his feet, Jack nevertheless caught on and smirked at me. “Yeah?”
“Yes. Your fifteen minutes are nearly up.”
We shared the shower in the morning, then ate together. Jack, rushing out the door with his helmet under his arm, slapped a quick kiss on my cheek, gave me a shy smile like he couldn’t believe his luck, then was gone.
And I was back to waiting and worrying.
Jack had mentioned over breakfast that his new job was an undercover one. He’d been avoiding them since the desert. Since I’d used him for my own ends. Did he resent me for that time? Even subconsciously? I did feel bad for what I’d done, but couldn’t truly regret it because it had been exactly what I’d needed to do to get an almost impossible job done. Of course, I wouldn’t do that sort of thing again to Jack, knowing him as I did now. Feeling what I did for him. I wouldn’t be manipulating anyone else, either, given my current situation as a non-assassin. Which once more left me with the question . . . what was I now?
The only thing I could convince myself of, while wandering through the empty apartment, was that I was an owner of a poor Aston Martin Vanquish S Coupe that hadn’t been driven much in four months. I dressed in the suit I’d worn the day before, wrote a note informing Jack I’d be back later, and left. First stop was the storage unit where I kept Victoria, and several changes of clothes. In jeans and a T-shirt, I then went to where I had the Monaro and gave Victoria a thorough going over. Then I washed and polished her until she was gleaming. All of which didn’t quite keep me as distracted as I wanted. My thoughts kept flitting over the worry that with me constantly underfoot, Jack wouldn’t be able to ignore the terrible things I’d done to him when we met. That, sooner or later, he would realise us living together was a mistake, and if that came to pass, and if I didn’t find something outside of Jack’s circle of influence, I was on a slow slide into madness.
When Victoria was showroom ready, I washed and changed into a suit and contacted Dejana. If this life with Jack didn’t work out, I would need all my resources ready to go.
Fortunately, Dejana had a cancellation in her schedule and could fit me in later in the afternoon. Her office was in the Capita Centre in the CBD, a striking construction squeezed into a narrow space in an already crowded street, making up for the lack of footprint with an impressive height. Dejana’s office—or at least the place she met with the likes of myself—was on the 22nd floor. The space was furnished only with a desk and two chairs. There were no filing cabinets, no sideboard, no ficus in the corner and no paintings on the bare white walls. Apart from the basic furniture, the only things in the room came in with the visitors. There was a large window behind the desk, showing an impressive view of the roof of the building across the street. Where, I was certain, at least one sniper waited with their crosshairs on my head the entire time I sat opposite the impeccably turned out woman before me.
“It’s been a while, Saint.” There was a trace of accent to Dejana’s words, perhaps Eastern European, yet she’d been situated in Sydney for as long as I’d been coming here. It was the only hint to her heritage, however, as she’d cultivated a pale complexion and paired it with artificially silver-grey hair twisted into a neat knot at the base of her skull. I was fairly certain her green eyes were contacts, as well.
“And I’m afraid it will be a long while again, once we’ve finalised a few things.” I kept my hands on the armrests of the chair, in plain sight of her and her insurance on the roof over the way.
Dejana nodded as if losing my business had been expected. I didn’t know how she got her information, but she had connections that rivalled some of the higher members of the Cabal. In fact, I couldn’t be sure she wasn’t part of the Cabal, but over the years she had treated me as honestly as any of us could in this game. I—and all of her other clients—paid very well for her services, and her silence.
“Your accounts. Do you wish to close them all?”
“Yes and have everything transferred to several new ones.” I made to reach into my jacket’s inner pocket, watching her carefully. Only once she’d given me a stately wave of one hand did I retrieve a business card. “These are the details.”
Her white lacquered nails clicked as she pinched the card by one corner, glancing at the printing before handing it back. “It’ll take a few months to move some of the larger amounts. Do you have a time frame for completion?”
“No. Just as quickly as you can without drawing undue attention.”
Dejana nodded once. “There will be my usual fee, plus ten percent.” She gave me a moment to protest the added amount, and when I didn’t she nodded again. “I’ll let you know when it’s all complete. Was that everything?”
“Yes.” Business concluded, I stood and prepared to leave, automatically scanning the top of the building across the street.
What appeared to be a pair of limp, gloved hands were dragged back over the edge of the roof.
With a curt nod to Dejana, who showed no signs of anything amiss, I left quickly but not hastily. I took the stairs two and three at a time, though, and once outside, hurried across the street, but slowed to a brisk walk through the tiled foyer of the other office block. Pressing the down buttons on all of the lifts to delay my quarry, I headed up the stairs, again at a run and
startling the few people I passed. I remained wary as I went, wondering if the person who had possibly taken out Dejana’s sniper was on their way down, even as I went up. I passed no one suspicious, which didn’t surprise me. Whoever could take out someone Dejana would have hired wouldn’t have been so amateur as to rely on the building’s stairs or lifts to escape.
I wouldn’t have.
Sure enough, when I broke through the door to the roof and scouted the space, I only found a dead body and a HK417 rifle. However, on the next building over—a decent jump but manageable—the door to the stairwell had been propped open. A simple case of the killer forgetting to remove the wedge under the door? Or a deliberate act to draw me after them?
Trap or not, I didn’t take the bait. Whoever it had been didn’t appear to want to harm me. Otherwise, why kill Dejana’s sniper and not take a shot at me?
“Unfortunate.”
I turned to face Dejana. She stood over the body, her white pantsuit pristine despite having hustled after me fast enough to arrive mere minutes later.
“Do you have any idea who may have done this?”
Dejana merely cocked a finely shaped brow, shades darker than her hair, at me.
Conceding to her point, I checked over the body. There was a black-tufted dart in the back of the man’s thigh, whatever it had been loaded with fully injected. The dart itself was rather generic and would prove of little worth in tracking down the killer. Likewise, the man’s broken neck was nothing unique, though the fact it had been accomplished in a single, swift move meant the killer was strong and most likely trained. Again, telling Dejana this was a waste of time, so I merely stood and brushed off my hands, preparing to leave. She would have the means to clean this up without alerting the authorities.
“It appears I have a job opening.” Dejana’s tone had dropped from her usual calm evenness into a wry twist.
Dealing in Death: A Death and the Devil Extended Novella Page 3
