“Yeah,” Jack mumbled whenever he could, as if hearing my silent declaration. “Yeah. Fuck. Yeah.”
Then he did it again, all the way to the base of my cock, and swallowed. I came in a terrifying rush of heat and pure light, shouting his name as I spilled everything I was into him.
When I regained some cognition, I was settled back on Jack’s lap, my head lying listless and empty on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around me, hands gentling up and down my back. I stirred and Jack kissed my temple.
“Welcome back. I was worried you’d passed out, the way you were drooling.”
I managed a weak slap on his arm, which only made him laugh outright.
“Brute,” I muttered.
Jack shifted, prodding his steel hard cock into my inner thigh. “You could pay me back.”
Not so long ago I would have worried he meant for me to return the fellatio, but I knew better. Knew him and trusted that he would never force anything sexual from me. Heat flared in my belly at the thought of wrapping my hand around him and watching as I brought him to orgasm.
Strength and purpose returning to my body, I shifted until I was straddling him again. I held up my hand, palm towards him and with a dirty expression, Jack licked it until it was slick with his saliva and whatever of myself lingered on his tongue. Wrapping it around his straining cock, I gave him a slow, firm stroke and he moaned.
Doing it again, I leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Turn about is fair play, after all.”
Jack groaned and bucked. He didn’t last long, and I didn’t want him to, needing to see him fall apart for me. It was amazing and beautiful, and afterwards he crushed me to his chest and held on like he would never let go.
Or so I hoped.
When I woke up, Jack was gone and the apartment was quiet. The spark of worry for my security came and went so swiftly I almost missed it. No matter what I said to assure Jack, his place still didn’t meet the usual standards I held my safety to, but that fact was slowly losing importance the more I was here. Perhaps in a month or so of continual residence, it would vanish altogether. Which set off a secondary worry that I might lose other parts of myself in the process of adjusting to this new life. Practically, I understood that such a thing wouldn’t be entirely bad, and yet I’d lived—and survived—as I had for so long, change was potentially dangerous. If not deadly. Yet Jack wouldn’t leave me alone if he thought there was any threat.
Right now, the only threat was being late for Dejana’s meeting.
Dejana had been in this business for a long time and had never made waves. Well, not with anyone powerful enough to threaten her outright. Which could mean she had protection from someone who had the clout to keep her safe, but she still needed the immediate security of someone watching her back. The simple fact that her sniper had been killed meant she needed it. And if I wanted to have a real life away from the Cabal, it was now my job to keep her safe.
As I contemplated wearing the same suit I had yesterday, I had to admit Jack was right. I needed to actually move in, or this was going to be rather time consuming. In the end, I borrowed a pair of Jack’s jeans and one of his flannels, a red checked one I loved seeing on him. It was clean, but I imagined I could smell him on it all the same. It felt intimate to wear his clothes, to know he wouldn’t mind that I did, and to think of the look on his face if he saw me in them.
Breathing through the desire those thoughts inspired, I left the apartment. After the attention I’d given her the day before, Victoria ran beautifully on the way to my storage unit. However, we picked up a police tail along the way and I spent a while losing it before getting to my destination. It was not unusual these days. Victoria’s anonymity had been destroyed in a race with several police cars a year before, but the job had worked out perfectly. Well, as close as it could when Jack decided to get involved.
My head was clear when I reached the storage unit, where I changed into one of my specially designed suits that allowed me to wear the Desert Eagle harness with both guns. It also had compartments for the back-up Glock 17, my knives and a garrotte. Even as I put the suit on, I tried to imagine it hanging beside Jack’s everyday clothes and a weird little thrill went through me. It was a lovely thought but as with every change I was making lately, it came with a dose of apprehension. I was certain Jack wouldn’t care to know the suit had been made to make my job of killing targets easier, but would it be a constant reminder to him that I was, technically, the enemy?
Either way, I needed it today and it felt traitorously good to slip into it once again. After days of wondering what my life was becoming, this was something I knew as well as breathing. Chances of actually having to kill were slim, but the mechanics of the situation were ones I could do with my eyes closed—literally if required. H&K rifle disassembled and packed into a briefcase, I left Victoria behind and caught a taxi to the meeting spot.
Once at the Royal Botanic Gardens I walked to the Australian Rockery Lawn. There were a few joggers on the paths, a couple of families with prams and little children. Two different groups of school children were being herded around by teachers and garden staff. No apparent threats, but sources of potential victims, so I catalogued them all carefully as I went.
I was an hour early for the meeting, which was about an hour later than I usually liked to be, but normally, I wouldn’t have been comatose from two exceedingly good orgasms the night before. However, it had left me refreshed so my reconnaissance went fast and smooth.
The Australian Rockery Lawn was within walking distance of the Opera House, and therefore had a spectacular view of the iconic white sails and the wide harbour. The grass was vibrant green and the native plants on the rock walls were muted shades of gold, silver and red. I’d mentally mapped the area and planned the fastest escape routes by the time Dejana appeared.
Today’s suit was ice blue, making her hair seem more white than grey. She carried nothing but a proud bearing, and unless there was a derringer in her cleavage, she came unarmed as well. Trusting me to ensure her safety. Just as I was trusting her to deal with me fairly. At least as fairly as anyone did in our realm of the world.
“Saint,” Dejana said as if there had never been a doubt about my presence today.
I nodded back and fell into step beside her.
“This meeting shouldn’t be any trouble,” she murmured as we walked towards the Opera House. “Hold back so you don’t hear anything, but be seen.”
Another nod. As we rounded a curve, I picked the target immediately. He stood further along the path with a woman and two children. The youngsters, a toddler and school-aged boy, played on the grass, laughing delightedly, while the adults stood with their heads bowed towards each other, their conversation not a happy one to all appearances. Dejana slowed and I fell further behind as she carefully approached them.
Noting Dejana, the man hastily straightened and turned toward her, ignoring the hand his wife put on his arm. I recognised him as Grant Owen, one of the youngest members of the opposition’s front bench. Talk was that he’d only risen as far as he had because his political party wanted to draw in the new generation of voters with a handsome face they could better identify with. And that was the only dubious thing I’d heard about him. So why was he dealing with someone of Dejana’s reputation and skills?
Reminding myself this was not my true concern, I stayed back while Dejana and Owen spoke. Likewise, the woman split her attention between the children and her husband, the worried frown never leaving her face. It deepened remarkably when she glanced at me, then she moved closer to where the children still tumbled about excitedly.
The exchange didn’t last long and I saw no threats the entire time, though when Dejana gave Owen a final, precise nod, his hand twitched toward a pocket. Dejana merely quirked an eyebrow at him and he relaxed his hand again. Without a word, she turned her back on Owen and started walking back the way we’d come. I let her pass me, waited several beats to make sure Owen knew not to follow, then turne
d after Dejana.
We made it back around the curve of the land without trouble and were back in front of the stone walls when Dejana stopped. She retrieved a small phone from a pocket and gave it to me.
“Thank you for today. I’ll have the first of your smaller transfers finalised by the weekend. I’ll give you a call when I need you again.”
“You don’t require protection back to your office?”
“No. You were here more for appearance than any other reason today.” She kept walking. “Keep the phone on you, Saint. You’ll never know when I might need you.”
I gave her a decent head start and then followed her through the gardens, keeping out of her sight and awareness. Yes, I was curious why she felt safe enough without me now, but also I took my reluctantly accepted job seriously and didn’t want anything befalling her before she could keep her promise. Along the way, we passed a TV crew heading towards the Rockery Lawn to, I learned via the chatter of the interviewer into her phone, meet with Owen and his family.
Tamping down any curiosity I concentrated on the immediate task, making sure Dejana got to her waiting car safely and that she wasn’t followed. Back at my storage unit, I changed into Jack’s clothes, tucking the Glock into the back of the jeans under the flannel and keeping the wrist sheaths with their knives, not quite ready to go without a weapon. Then I started packing some clothes to take to Jack’s apartment.
Somewhere in the process, I realised I was stopping every few items to check the wrist sheaths, making sure the knives slid free with a flex of the joint and wouldn’t get caught on the sleeves. If I tugged on the cuffs of Jack’s flannel any more they were in danger of pulling free. I settled for rolling up the sleeves and continued.
When I found myself reaching for the Eagles’ webbing, I forcibly stopped myself. One gun and two knives were overkill when I was inside a locked storage unit and under no immediate threat. Yet the thought of packing anything more made my stomach tighten. So I left it and went to the rented shed and worked on the Monaro, which proved a better distraction.
As I was finishing up, someone walked by the front of the closed roller-door. By the step-step-grunt combination, I knew it was the complex manager, Ken. Or someone who’d mimicked his gout-ridden walk. Whoever it was stopped just past my shed, turned, and came back, slower, paused by the smaller door, then moved on. As Jack would have said, not suspicious at all.
Swiftly going sideways, I pulled up the footage from the tiny camera I’d mounted over the door. Sure enough, the person outside was Ken Warren, his balding head shining with a coating of sweat as he hesitated at the door, one hand raised to knock, the other running over his smooth pate and down to grip the back of his neck. After another moment, he muttered, “Screw it,” and knocked.
Coming out of the light trance, I rolled out from under the Monaro as he knocked again and called out, “Mr. Scott. Are you in there?”
“Just a moment.” I slipped on my glasses and opened the door to him. “Sorry, I had my head all the way inside the engine and didn’t hear you.” I used an Australian accent and leaned casually against the doorframe. “Did you want something?”
“Uh, yeah.” Ken unsubtly peered past me into the dark interior of the shed. I didn’t need much light to see by without my sunglasses on. “Just wanted to see if you were doin’ okay. Got a Monaro, huh?”
Ken had seen me drive it in barely a week ago. “Yeah. Fixin’ it up for a mate. It’s in pretty good nick already.”
He nodded enthusiastically for a few seconds, then said, “And everything with the shed okay? No worries with anything? At all?”
“It’s all good, thanks. Anything else you needed?” He was fishing. For what, I didn’t know yet. I’d hired this space from him because he’d been referred to me by a contact who repurposed stolen car parts in this very complex, and Ken had indeed appeared supremely uninterested in the tenants. All of which made this whole conversation very suspect.
“No, no, just checking in.” The sweat on his head had increased and it rolled down the side of his face. He swatted it away irritably. “Okay, look. It’s just that a cop was here today, asking questions.”
“About me?”
Ken shook his head. “Nah. Well, maybe. He described you pretty well but didn’t have a name or anything.”
Was this connected to the police car that followed me this morning? “Did the cop say why he was looking for someone who looked like me?”
“Nah. Just that they were interested in finding you . . . ah hem, whoever.”
Interesting. “Well, thanks for letting me know. I’ll keep an eye out for anyone who meets the description.”
Ken nodded a few more times, taking the chance to look into the shed again, before I purposely stood back and started closing the door. With a parting, “Ah, okay, sure,” he backed up and step-step-grunted his way back towards his office.
I checked my weapons. It wasn’t at all comforting that the local police had an interest in me. They knew Victoria, yes, but they shouldn’t have any reason to come after me. I hadn’t acted professionally in Sydney since Jack and I had exposed the traitor within the Office. If Director Tan was serious about keeping on my good side—which was dependent upon my good behaviour within his borders—he shouldn’t allow the police to threaten me without an incredibly good reason.
Unless this was about Dejana. Yet no matter which path I followed, I could not find a logical reason she would have for selling me out. If it was connected to her, then it was probably tied into the death of her sniper. It was possible the authorities had images of me in the office building where he was killed, but for them to know of the killing, Dejana’s clean-up crew had failed spectacularly, which seemed highly unlikely given the longevity of her career.
I was doubly cautious making my way back to my storage unit, where I quickly packed a few more clothes before returning to Leichhardt. It was dark by the time I got there but Jack wasn’t home. I checked the security system and the footage from the front-door camera; no one but Rocco Cesare from next door had approached the apartment all day, and he only to knock a couple of times before heading out on his morning walk with his dachshund, Short Round. Unsure of what the police interest meant, I didn’t unpack anything and instead hid my bag under the bed in the spare bedroom. If anything went sideways, I would be able to clear out of Jack’s life easily that way.
Unable to settle even in this familiar, cherished space, I did something I hadn’t done in years. After making a clear area in the living room, I went through a tai chi workout. It was something I’d taught myself after the Cabal had set us loose on the world to make our own way between jobs. They had succeeded in creating a group of—mostly— loyal assassins skilled enough to do any job, but they hadn’t given us any means of dealing with the world they cast us into. Perhaps the others didn’t need a way to decompress; they had, after all, seemed much more capable than I. Yet within months of being on my own, I’d felt close to flying apart at the seams. I had thought once I was on my own, I would have been able to free myself from the Cabal. I had been wrong, and tai chi was one of the ways I’d learned to deal with the consequences of my choices.
I was calm when Jack got home, yet his presence centred me further, even as the appreciative rake of his gaze over my body awoke me in other ways. He joined me readily enough, his own tension bleeding out of his body with each move, though he still appeared a touch worried when we were done. Hoping it was nothing to do with the police attention on me, I distracted him with dinner negotiations. While waiting for it to be delivered—which didn’t sit well with my security needs—I found my eye being drawn to the picture of Jack’s parents he kept on his bookshelves.
It was such a beautiful image of two people in love, an undoubtedly happy memory for Jack of the mother he’d lost years before, and the father he was slowly losing to dementia now. A telling image of the man Jack was today. It needed a better position on the shelves, not tucked away in the corner. Which threw off
the symmetry of the shelves, requiring further rearrangement. When I caught Jack watching me with a bemused expression, I paused, worried he would object. His smile only grew wider, so I continued.
Jack’s preoccupied mood faded through dinner, to the point he laughed at my reaction to the mess he willingly made of his meal, but returned sharply later. We were watching “Black Books,” which I had seen before but, since Jack enjoyed exposing me to the things he loved so much, I pretended I hadn’t. I found I was enjoying it much more with Jack beside me. Until he went silent and the colour faded from his face.
“Jack? Are you all right?”
“Yeah, sure. Of course. Why?”
He was lying. “You went very quiet and pale.”
“I don’t go pale,” he scoffed.
“You do, Jack. Are you getting sick?” I set down the beer bottle I’d been flipping idly and touched his forehead, checking for fever. Sick Jack could be amusing, but he could be hurtful as well and for my sake as much as his own, I didn’t relish going through that again.
He took the empty beer bottles to the kitchen. “I’m fine, okay?”
Each repudiation only convinced me further something was happening inside his handsome head. Determined to find out what it was, I went into the kitchen, but before I could make another attempt, I was lifted up and set on the countertop.
“Jack! What the devil are you doing?”
He was between my thighs and pressed against my chest without me even considering refusing his advance. His wet tongue set my skin to shivering from shoulder to ear. “Think that’s pretty obvious.”
Teeth joined the assault on my earlobe, the nibbles sending sparks of electricity down my spine, but when he started sucking on the flesh behind it, I melted even as my cock hardened. Jack knew exactly how to take me apart, effortlessly and oh so thoroughly. I struggled to recall what we’d been talking about. Oh yes, what he was attempting to distract us both from.
Dealing in Death: A Death and the Devil Extended Novella Page 5
