“Indeed. However, I should probably have asked, why?” His broad back was warm under my hands, muscles sliding silkily as he moved against me.
“I thought I was the one who was supposed to fish for compliments. How does ‘you’re so fucking hot I can’t resist’ sound?”
Which would have otherwise convinced me if his body had been more responsive.
I pulled back and held him in place with my hands on his cheeks. Those glorious brown eyes couldn’t hide him from me and my chest ached with the trouble I saw in them.
“Jack, something’s wrong. Was it me? Do you not like me moving your things?”
Fierceness blazed in Jack’s eyes. “No. Fuck no. I don’t care about that. You do whatever you need to feel comfortable.”
Barely relieved, I nodded. “Then what upset you?”
Jack hesitated, then blurted, “It’s this case for work,” and the story of the Judge, a serial killer with a penchant for using Bible quotes, tumbled out uncontrolled, until he said, “It’s like he believes he’d doing a good thing by getting rid of these people he doesn’t like,” and instantly looked horrified with himself.
Because that was what I’d told him when he asked if I believed what I did was wrong. I broke the law, yes, but given a choice, I only ever did what the law was too restricted to do. Sometimes, it didn’t work that way and an innocent person died, but I tried. I truly did.
“He’s different from us,” Jack said firmly. “Adam says he’d playing God, like it’s his burden or something.”
Adam? Who was Adam? But in the diatribe about feeling as if he had nothing to offer in the investigation into this serial killer that followed, Jack explained that Adam was Dr. Adam Quinn, the profiler on the case. The familiarity of him calling the man “Adam” and not “Dr. Quinn” unsettled me somewhat, but was lost as Jack wound down, sagging against me, head resting desultorily on my shoulder, mumbling apologies for unloading on me.
Absurdly glad he felt he could, and worried that he had to, I wrapped him in my arms, wanting to protect and comfort. “It’s all right, Jack. You can trust me. I’ll help you any way I can.”
I’d even ignore Dejana and the police if I had to. Jack was much more important than any of them.
Not in the mood for sex after his venting, Jack let me take him to bed and we simply lay close until he drifted off. I dozed throughout the night but didn’t let myself fall into deep sleep. Jack was restless and I watched over him as he struggled in his dreams, wishing I could do more than brush the black curls off his forehead, or kiss his cheek, or hold him until he quieted. He woke well enough in the morning however, and dragged me into the shower with him, leaving me limp and sated when he returned to the Surry Hills LAC and the hunt for the Judge.
Cautious of igniting more interest from the local police, I decided against working on the Monaro and resigned myself to a day in the apartment. I sent a message to Nine asking if she could find out why the Sydney police were interested in me and got a curse-laden but generally positive response that boiled down to “I’ll try, don’t hold your breath.” Then I unpacked.
There was absolutely no organisational structure to Jack’s personal items. I supposed there was a vague demarcation between work and personal clothes in the closet and a general socks and underwear, shirts and shorts, and anything else order to the drawers of the tallboy, but it all overlapped with distressing frequency. With Jack’s words—do whatever you need to feel comfortable—in mind, I began rearranging, mostly to fit my clothes in alongside his, but to also quiet the buzzing need in my veins for order.
Occasionally I found myself replaying another thing Jack had said—It’s like he believes he’d doing a good thing by getting rid of these people he doesn’t like—and wondering if he’d ever felt that disgusted with me.
It was almost a welcome distraction when Dejana’s phone vibrated in my back pocket.
“Yes?” As it had the day before, it felt almost peaceful slipping back into the Ethan Blade persona. I knew this. Despite Jack’s reassurance, I didn’t know the etiquette of rearranging a lover’s home.
“Sniper nest, two hours,” Dejana said then hung up.
I was in place and secure on the rooftop half an hour early. In the shadow of the stairwell, I snapped the rifle together while keeping an eye on Dejana’s office window across the way. The plain white room was empty. From this angle I could see she hid nothing behind her desk. She really did carry everything she needed in her head.
Rifle ready, I set up my position on the edge of the roof, under cover of a light-coloured tarp I’d bought to help me blend into the cement surface. It was hot under my belly and quickly heated up between my back and the tarp, but I could ignore the temperature, focusing on the office through the rifle’s scope. Ten minutes after I was in place, Dejana entered the room and sat in her chair behind the desk. She didn’t turn to look at me, trusting that I was there.
I shifted focus to the door to the office, making sure I could find it fast. Then down the outside of the building to the front entrance. People came and went, none of them triggering my senses as potential danger. Half an hour past the time Dejana had given me, the door to the office opened and a woman entered. She was dressed in bike leathers, black from neck to toe, though her jacket hung open, showing no concealed weapons. The meeting with Dejana took less than ten minutes, then she left. Eighteen minutes later, the next client appeared.
Five people came to see Dejana at various intervals over the next three hours. Only with one of them did she start to raise her hand in a signal to fire, but lowered it before completing the gesture. Any relief I may have felt vanished the instant I saw her next visitor.
The nearly seven-foot tall frame in a dark blue suit was unmistakable.
Two.
My fellow Cabal assassin. My brother. My torturer.
The crosshairs framed the centre of his chest. A killing shot. Fast. Efficient. Done. The world would be free of one of the most successful and talented assassins. And I’d sleep deeper knowing he would never hurt me again.
Two sat opposite Dejana, an easy smile on his face, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He knew I was there, though, because when he spoke it was with his head turned so I couldn’t read his lips. That didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to communicate, however.
Ping.
I ignored it. It could have been a message from Nine, with the information I’d requested, but even if it was it was a distraction I couldn’t afford.
Ping.
The entire time he chatted with Dejana he continued to ping me, and I continued to ignore him while wondering what I would do if she signalled a shot. I wanted to think I would complete the job as required.
Not five minutes after walking into the office, Two stood and buttoned his suit jacket. He nodded to Dejana and left. I wanted to move, to go after him and demand a reason why he was in Sydney now, but Dejana didn’t indicate my part was over. I stayed as I was, emotions locked down, as yet another client came in. Even as the door to the stairwell behind me opened and footsteps headed towards my position.
Two didn’t need to make any noise as he approached. That he did told me he wasn’t here to kill—at least not before he’d amused himself.
“One-three,” he said. “How very surprising to find you here.”
I focused on the man reaching across the table in the office, pushing a folded piece of paper at Dejana insistently, even though she refused to accept it.
Two moved into my peripheral vision, long, lean legs spread, the swish of material as he pushed his jacket back to put his hands on his hips—to make drawing a weapon easier.
“I believe I heard through the wires you had retired, yet here you are. If you’re short of money, little brother, I’m sure we could arrange something more respectable than this.”
Dejana’s client was getting upset, shifting in his seat and glaring from her to the paper he’d left on the desk, then across the street at Two stand
ing tall and unmissable, clearly watching the meeting. From the client’s agitation and the intensity of the looks he was casting our way, Dejana had to know something was going on here, but she was a consummate professional, concentrating on the man in front of her.
Two hitched up his pants and crouched, forearms resting on his knees, empty hands dangling between them. “He’ll make his move in thirty seconds. Kick the chair back and dive for Dejana.”
I agreed with Two’s prediction but didn’t acknowledge it, even when it happened almost precisely to the second he said.
Dejana moved fast, pushing herself to the side as he lunged over the desktop. Swiftly, competently, Dejana had the client pinned with a thick heeled shoe against this throat and an arm twisted behind him, almost at the point of popping his shoulder out of the socket.
Still no signal.
Calm as you please, Dejana spoke to the client until he was crying and nodding frantically. When she released him, he curled into a hurting ball for a moment, then fled as fast as he could. Once the door was closed behind him and five minutes had passed, Dejana gave me the “stand-down” signal.
I rolled, flinging the tarp off and twisting to sweep my legs through Two’s. He jumped from his crouched position up onto the parapet, escaping my move. As intended. Its true purpose was to give me a precious second to aim the rifle at him.
Two balanced on the raised edge of the roof, lips warped into a vicious snarl, hands reaching for the knives I knew he carried at the base of his spine. My finger was heavy on the rifle’s trigger, only the barest extra pressure required to fire. Then Two’s face smoothed out and he flashed me a charming smile, familiar and fake, and as always, it ignited a tiny sliver of anxiety in my belly. That smile was a bright, welcoming, deadly trap.
“Why are you here, Two?” My tone was steady and firm.
Slowly, deliberately, Two sat down on the parapet, facing me. “I have a job.”
“Australia isn’t your territory.”
He smirked. “It isn’t yours either, yet here you are.”
Keeping the rifle trained on Two, I got to my feet, stepping clear of the tarp. “Why isn’t Seven on the job?”
Two stood with me, moving in the opposite direction, keeping the distance between us. He didn’t lose the smile. “She’s . . . sitting this one out. After the mess you left her with in Vietnam, I thought I’d help her.”
Normally, I had absolutely no reason to fear for my sister, but Two was different to any other threat Seven could ever face.
“Then do the job and leave.” I resettled the rifle in my grip.
“You have my word.” Two put his right hand over his heart, but his tone was mocking. Then his whole body shifted slightly. Just enough to put me on alert for an imminent attack. “I know why you’re here.” His voice had lowered and lost the sardonic inflection. “For the spy.”
Not showing him any reaction, I moved again and he moved with me until we were circling slowly.
“The target who should be dead,” Two continued. “The one you failed to kill, and then stopped me from killing in your place, One-three.” He ceased mirroring me and came forwards, slow but pointed. “I know now why you didn’t kill him. Why you submitted to the punishment. You . . .” Expression flicking through disgust, he spat out, “You bedded him. Tell me truthfully, brother, is he that good?” Mood as mercurial as always, Two suddenly looked concerned. “Do you think you’re normal enough for him?”
I would not talk about Jack with Two. Would not taint what we had by bringing it any closer to my past. To the one person who, more so than any of the sadists the Cabal gave us to as children, had turned my childhood into a bloody mess.
“You promise you will leave as soon as your job is done?”
Two kept advancing. “For you, brother, anything.” The smile came back, so like the one that had drawn me to him all those years ago, when I was scared and lost and I believed he was kind. “Anything,” he whispered and he was right there, at the very end of the rifle, chest a mere inch from the silencer.
I locked away all the chaos his appearance here in Sydney caused, and met the dark panes of his sunglasses unflinchingly. “Good.”
Two grabbed the silencer and wrenched the barrel of the rifle aside. I let it go without a fight. For a second, Two was unbalanced. My opening.
I stepped into him, one, two, punches to his abdomen. Spinning, I slammed an elbow into his side. Two grunted and one of his long arms snapped around my neck. I pushed back before he could tighten his hold, turning enough to hook a foot behind his leg. When he clamped his forearm over my throat and pulled, I yanked his leg forward and down he went. Taking me with him.
The fall broke his hold and I rolled away and to my feet, ready for the next attack.
Two flipped to his feet and came at me. I backed up, deflecting his kicks and punches, looking for another opening to get inside his reach.
“Come, One-three.” He feinted a punch with his right hand then tried to land a kick on my ribs. I danced out of the way as he said, “Why the hostility? You know I don’t want to hurt you.”
He may believe he didn’t want to, and yet found it necessary with disturbing frequency. I was older now. I knew his patterns and wouldn’t fall for his supposed sincerity anymore.
“You’ve made a mistake, that’s all,” he continued, a pleading note in his voice, even as he launched a fast combination of strikes I ducked and deflected. “Forget the spy. Come home with me.”
“No.”
I launched into a spinning kick and knocked Two backwards several paces. Followed it with a leap and knee to his chest. He staggered backwards and his calves hit the low parapet, arms pinwheeling for balance. Another blow would send him over the edge.
Backing off, I flexed my hands out of the fists they’d curled into.
Two, realising his display of ineptitude had failed to draw me close, stilled. “You always were too stubborn, One-three.” With a flick of his wrist, a knife appeared in his hand, then he came at me again.
He was a fraction too fast, and I moved to meet him, getting inside his space. I grabbed his knife arm, wrenched it down and, using my whole body to block and lift, tossed him over my back. Two hit the cement hard, but he rolled and came up on his feet, blade still in hand.
I popped one of my own knives from its sheath and we clashed again. I blocked his weapon high and drove mine towards his belly. Two dropped his knife, caught it in his free hand and slashed at my arm. I pulled my blow, disengaging, but he caught my high hand before I got away.
Two’s mouth curled into a snarl and he twisted my wrist, aiming to break. I went with the sharp turn, flipping my entire body. It broke his hold but I came down badly. My knife skittered away when I hit the hard ground on one knee, reaching out to steady myself. Long legs covering the distance between us in a single step, Two got a hand around my throat and hauled me upright. Other hand around my upper arm, he lifted me off the ground and in another long stride, slammed me against the side of the stairwell entrance. Something hard jabbed into my shoulder blade.
Fingers tight but not damaging around my neck, Two leaned in close so he could whisper directly into my ear.
“You’ll come home with me, little brother. One way or another.”
“Never,” I choked out.
“We’ll see.” He pulled back and his smile was soft and tender. “You could never stay away for long. You always come back to me . . . Paul.”
Air caught in my lungs, frozen and sharp. That name—my name—from his tongue scared me. None of the others ever used it, and if they ever did, they would never infuse it with the levels of intimacy and threat Two did.
Two let go of me and took several long steps back, straightening his suit. I slumped against the wall, dragging warm air into my lungs, trying to melt the shards of ice Two left in there.
“This has been pleasant, One-three. Maybe our paths will cross again.” With consummate arrogance, he turned his back on me and picked
up the knife he’d dropped.
I rolled my shoulder, pain sharpening and spreading. “Finish your job and leave.”
Tucking his knife away, Two threw me another smile and headed for the stairwell door. “That’s the plan.” Then he was gone.
I could’ve lied and said the time I spent leaning on the wall was to ensure Two wasn’t waiting inside to ambush me, and it was partially. It did, however, give me a few moments to catch my breath and settle my nerves.
When I was certain he was gone, and my hands were steady, I cleaned up the sniper nest, hiding my equipment in a vent opening. As I finished, Dejana’s phone vibrated. Rather surprised it had survived the altercation with Two, I answered it.
“Ensure nothing like that happens again while you’re on my clock. You’re done for the day,” she said and hung up.
By the time I made it back to Leichhardt, it was past sundown and yet Jack wasn’t home. I put away the groceries I’d bought—having food delivered constantly made me anxious—showered, iced my shoulder, and finished organising the clothes. And still Jack wasn’t home. I did some upgrades on the security system, making the sensors more sensitive and widening the range of the external cameras. That done, I went to bed, alone.
Jack came in not long later, crawling into bed and whispering his desires, hands imploring me to turn over for him.
The aches from the fight had set in when I stopped moving and I still felt rattled by Two’s proximity. “In the morning, Jack.”
He took it gracefully, settling down behind me, snuggled in close and was asleep in moments.
I ended up falling asleep around two a.m. but not so deeply Jack couldn’t wake me with a few well-placed kisses in the morning. This time, I rolled over and the sex was slow and tender, grounding me back in the life we were making together. Though the peace was dinted when Jack found the bruise on my shoulder blade in the shower. It did, however, lead to a scalp massage and blowjob that helped me through what could have been a disastrous breakfast.
Dealing in Death: A Death and the Devil Extended Novella Page 6
