Dealing in Death: A Death and the Devil Extended Novella

by L. J. Hayward

  “Stay down,” I instructed, then rolled over, tracking the shooter with my Desert Eagle.

  The shadowed figure darted back into deeper cover, heading towards the remains of the swamp that once covered the entire park area.

  I quickly scanned the rest of the tree line and found no other signs of hostiles. “Looks clear,” I reported to Dejana.

  “Then go.” If she was rattled at all she gave no indication. “Make sure they don’t get a second chance at us.”

  As I ran into the trees, I switched out the Eagle for the silenced Glock. This part of the park wasn’t heavily trafficked after the morning tai chi class finished, but it wasn’t entirely empty of innocent bystanders. Thankfully none of them were taking a stroll on the wooden walkway in the Lachlan Swamp, and from the lack of footsteps on the hollow boards, neither was the shooter.

  Tall, scraggly paperbarks spread away to either side of the pathway, the long-bladed grass between them almost as tall as I was. Anyone rushing through it would create enough noise to pinpoint them. The swamp was silent.

  “Damn it,” I muttered and jogged back the way I’d come.

  I didn’t go far, instead sliding in behind a large tree trunk a couple dozen yards away and waiting. The shooter certainly wasn’t a patient sort, leaving their hiding spot amongst the long grass within a couple of minutes. I listened carefully to the rustle of the plants, to the soft tread of their shoes, judging distance and direction. Then I moved.

  The shooter was creeping out of the paperbarks, scanning the direction I’d retreated, their gun at the ready. They still weren’t fast enough.

  My bullet caught them in the right shoulder, knocking them back and sending the gun flying from their hand. With a startled yelp, they held their injured arm close and, this time uncaring of the noise, jumped up onto the wooden path and ran.

  I followed. The hip I’d hit the cement on gave out little bursts of fire with each step, but it was easily ignored. The pound of our heavy feet was loud but I still heard the shooter’s pained gasps, even when I lost sight of their forest-camouflaged body around a curve in the path. I also heard the surprised cry that was cut off very abruptly.

  Skidding to a stop before moving around the curve, I listened carefully and heard the heavy thump of a body hitting the wooden planks.

  “It’s all right, One-three. I took care of it for you.”

  Two.

  I should have expected he’d reappear at some point. It would have been impossible for him to leave the country without a final visit. That hope gave me the steadiness to walk around the curve, still cautious and gun at the ready, however.

  The shooter lay on the planks of the boardwalk, sprawled in an ungainly tumble of limbs that said they wouldn’t be walking away from this. Sightless eyes stared at me through the holes in their dark green balaclava. Two stood over them, arms crossed and satisfied smirk on his face.

  “My gift to you, little brother,” he said.

  “What if I’d required them alive?”

  Two shrugged. “He was a hired goon pretending to be an assassin. What could he have known, apart from the target’s face?”

  “Precisely. The target. Who hired him. Why that target.”

  “Oh, dear. Has the spy recruited you to the cause?” Two chuckled. “Poor One-three. You always did latch on to anyone who showed you even the barest hint of kindness.”

  Doing my best to ignore his barbs, I crouched by the shooter and patted the body down. He certainly hadn’t been a professional assassin of the class I was used to encountering. Perhaps he had been silly enough to keep information about the job upon his person.

  Two squatted opposite me, watching keenly. He wore dark pants and what appeared to be a white undershirt, as if he’d ditched a recognisable part of his clothes.

  “I thought you were leaving when your job was done.” I went through the pants pockets on the body.

  “I will. When it’s done.”

  Hiding my shock, I said, “You don’t usually take so long on a job.” Generally because Two didn’t bother with proof that his target required killing. He found them, killed them, left the body and never considered them again. I sometimes believed he didn’t consider them as human. To him, they were only targets. We were all targets.

  “I’m taking a leaf from your book.”

  The shooter had been smart enough to not bring anything incriminating with him at least. Which gave me nothing to do but look at Two enquiringly. “What do you mean?”

  Two’s smile was a little shy. “I’ve made a plan, One-three. I’m making sure I have the right target. Making sure he’s guilty.”

  “That’s good,” I murmured even as I wondered where the trap was. If Two was being this reasonable, then he was hiding a knife somewhere, waiting to strike. “You shouldn’t trust the Cabal implicitly.”

  “Oh, I don’t. At least, not on this matter.”

  We stood at the same time, not once taking our gaze off the other. I kept the Glock in hand, while Two was empty handed, which didn’t diminish his threat level in the least. Tension strummed through my muscles, trying to anticipate where the attack would come from.

  “See you soon, little brother.” Two turned and walked away, casual and relaxed.

  I watched until he was out of sight, then waited another ten minutes. He didn’t come back, either openly or stealthily. Accepting that there would be no fight this time, I pushed the body off the boardwalk and jogged back to where I’d left Dejana. She had moved Owen into the cover of the trees, standing with their backs to trunks opposite each other, so they could cover all approaches. Owen squeaked in surprise when I appeared silently from behind him. Dejana had seen me coming but hadn’t warned him.

  I escorted them out of the park and into their respective cars, then called a taxi for myself. I went straight to Leichhardt, wanting the security of home more than anything else right then.

  I didn’t find the serenity I needed at home, however. Jack had put our boxer-briefs in the T-shirt drawer of the tallboy and before I knew it, all the clothes were on the floor of the bedroom and I was folding and refolding everything at least twice before putting it back where it belonged. Jack didn’t mean anything by it. He was just a bit careless or didn’t understand. That was all. It wasn’t malicious. He just didn’t understand.

  Why didn’t he understand?

  There was so much chaos in the world that couldn’t be controlled, but this was something I could keep ordered. Was that so hard to fathom? Was it too much to ask of him? It was just one small matter in the great messy scheme of things and it wouldn’t hurt him to just accept that this was the only way to store our clothes.

  At least when Jack came home, earlier than usual for him lately, he didn’t push the matter and left me alone. He kept to the living room, trying to be unobtrusive, yet I could feel him out there, pacing, wondering, questioning. So I ran through argument after argument in my head about why this was important. About why unpredictability was a danger we had to avoid whenever we could.

  I couldn’t eat dinner and I don’t think Jack did either, but we did go to bed together. Jack kept to himself and I lay beside him, unable to sleep, listening to his snores, and thought perhaps this wasn’t going to work. We were clearly worlds apart, and maybe he felt my need for order was just another tick in the serial killer column.

  It was illogical. Jack couldn’t think I was anything like a serial killer. He wouldn’t have wanted to continue seeing me if he did. And yet he had to have made the connection on some level to bring it up. For as long as I’d been aware of what the Cabal had tried to turn me into, I had fought them. I hadn’t won all of the time, but I’d gotten to a point where I could live with it, and myself. I only killed when the target deserved it. I killed for the right reasons . . . just as the Judge believed they did.

  My thoughts spiralled around the same arguments, keeping me awake and half convinced Jack couldn’t really want me. Then he rolled over in his sleep and wound a
round me, face smashed mostly into my armpit. I had lost count of the number times this had happened over the past year. Usually after we’d spent hours having sex and messing around. This was one of Jack’s affections that always disarmed and charmed me, his unconscious need to hold me close.

  This meant more than a thoughtless comment said in a tired rant.

  I still didn’t sleep but at least my head wasn’t clogged with dark thoughts. Turning into Jack, I held him back.

  By the time Jack awoke, I felt more ordered. He was wary still, for which I was grateful. One kind touch or overly caring word would knock me off balance again and Jack seemed to pick up on that. Though he did hesitate at the door, helmet under his arm. It had become a ritual of sorts, if I was awake when he left, that he gave me one of a variety of kisses to my cheek on his way out.

  “I’ll be here tonight,” I promised him.

  Jack smiled. “Good. I’ll miss you.” Then he left.

  I needed a day of quiet and peace, so I worked on the Monaro. She was coming along very well as sourcing genuine parts was easy with my car-thief contact three doors down in the complex. Ken came by to mention another visit by the same police officer as before. I thanked him and asked him to call me if the officer appeared again. Without an official case, following the cop was my only recourse to find out what it was about.

  A couple of days later, Rocco caught up to me in the garage at home and broached the subject of a security system for his apartment.

  “Shorty’s been a bit nervous lately,” he explained as I cradled the dachshund in my arms on the way upstairs. “He barks at people passing in the hallway more than usual, and I could barely get him out of the apartment this morning for our walk.”

  Not liking the pattern Rocco was innocently describing, I assured him I would have them safe and sound within a couple of days. I spent the afternoon measuring his place for sensors and cameras. Of course Jack found me there and his eyes lit up with barely restrained lust as he wolf whistled. We hadn’t had sex since before the underwear incident, and my cock responded so fast to Jack’s expression I nearly jumped him then and there.

  Gaze locked onto my toolbelt, he asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Rocco asked if I’d look at installing an alarm system for him.”

  “And you actually are?”

  “I don’t see why I shouldn’t. He’s a lovely gentleman, and I don’t mind helping him. Don’t worry, I’m only charging him for the cost of the system.”

  As if on cue, Rocco returned with the drink he’d offered me. “Your drink, son.”

  I took the iced tea with a warm rush of fondness. I’d decided I liked this man calling me “son.”

  “Hello, Nishant.” Rocco used Jack’s Indian middle name. “I hope you don’t mind, but I stole your young man today for my own purposes.”

  “It’s all good, Mr. Cesare. Just check his pockets before he leaves. I fear I’m going to find Shorty held hostage in our place soon.”

  Rocco said something and left and Shorty made a fuss at our feet. All of it faded into the background as I stared at Jack.

  “What?” The word was warily amused.

  “You said ‘our place.’” Two small words but they reverberated in my head like bullets ricocheting in a closed space.

  “Yeah. Is that okay?”

  Words abandoned me. I nodded.

  “Good. You going to be much longer here?”

  “I have a few more measurements to get, but that won’t take long.”

  Jack started walking towards our apartment. “I’ll be waiting for you, then. Oh, and when you come in, leave the toolbelt on.”

  I had to remind myself over and over that I’d promised to help Rocco and Shorty as I got the final numbers down. I did, however, leave without finishing the tea Rocco brought me.

  Inside the apartment, I found a trail of Jack’s clothes leading from the door to the bedroom—his riding gloves, tie, belt, a single sock. Just a few items to lead me to him, naked on the bed, lying back against a pile of pillows, the fingers of one hand trailing idly up and down his hard cock. I stalled in the doorway, breathless and entranced. Mostly by the beautiful body waiting for me, but partly because the majority of Jack’s clothes were in the laundry basket.

  “Thank you.” I barely had the air to give the words sound.

  “Anything for you.”

  I tossed the items I’d gathered in the general direction of the basket and prepared to throw myself at him. Jack sat up and stopped me at the end of the bed. Sitting, he positioned me between his legs and just touched. Fingers skimmed over my thighs and arse, waist and groin, the briefest of brushes before moving on to trace the shapes of the tools hanging in the toolbelt.

  “This is hot,” Jack murmured. “Never had a handyman fetish before. Pretty sure it’s going to stick around, though.” He tugged on the leather and moaned when the belt pulled the waistband of my jeans down, exposing a strip of skin from hip to hip and the top of my pubic hair. “Fuck.” His fingers traced it slowly.

  “Jack.” I carded my fingers through his curls. He was setting nerves afire with the lightest of pressure. With the pure desire in his voice and eyes.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, Jack moved his hands upwards, dragging the T-shirt up. “I got this shirt when I lived in Canberra for officer training. It was a joke from some guys in my course. They overheard a call from my sister, giving me her yearly reminder of what she thought of my life choices.”

  As he pushed it up, I watched the image of Parliament House disappear, as did the slogan, “You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.” When I’d found it at the bottom of the drawer, I hadn’t gotten the reference but thought it amusing all the same. I had been unable to not put it on, imaging this very moment as I did so. “Do you mind me wearing it?”

  Jack pressed his face into my bare belly and breathed in deep. “Hell no. If I didn’t have to take some clothes off you to fuck you, I wouldn’t.”

  In the end, the T-shirt stayed on the longest. The jeans went first, then the toolbelt when it proved too cumbersome in the positions Jack put me in. But even the shirt was cast aside when Jack needed to “see me” while he drove into me with a fierce passion that left me utterly wrecked.

  When the muscles in my legs solidified enough to allow for walking, I staggered into the bathroom to clean up. Coming back with a towel around my waist, I discovered Jack in the kitchen, wearing only shorts and an apron to protect his chest. I’d noticed the chicken pieces marinating that morning, but even so, I nearly skipped when I saw the curry ingredients out on the countertop.

  “You look like a kid on his birthday,” Jack muttered, smiling. “This isn’t that special.”

  I leaned against his broad, bare back and rested my hands on his biceps as they flexed and bulged. “I have to disagree. If I had a birthday, I would be very satisfied with this.”

  Jack froze for a second, then slid the chicken pieces into the hot pan. “What do you mean, if you had a birthday?”

  Tucking my face against his tattoo, I found the courage to speak. The lullaby discussion had gone down rather well, after all.

  “I don’t know my birthday. I don’t recall it ever being celebrated while I was with my mother, and afterwards . . . That wasn’t the sort of thing they cared about. I suppose it’s not something I’ve thought about since. No need to.”

  For a long while the sizzle of the meat was the only sound. I stayed where I was, wanting the warmth and closeness, and breathed deep of Jack’s scent and the heady aroma of the marinade. This was home.

  “You need a birthday,” Jack eventually said, stirring the curry.

  “I’ve lasted this long without one.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t have me around to want to make it special for you.”

  He sounded almost flippant, but the words touched me deeply. I could find no response worthy of the simple yet profound statement. So I kissed his tattoo and stepped back, needing a clear s
pace to fully absorb it.

  Jack looked over his shoulder at me, brows pinched together, but smoothing out when he saw my face. “Pick a date.” He winked and turned back to the cook top. “I’ll take you out to dinner and a movie.”

  I loved him.

  As easy as that I knew it. There were no doubts about if I knew what it felt like, no wondering if I could even fall in love. This wild, crazy, frightening jumble of emotions and physiological oddities couldn’t be anything other than love. Otherwise I would have been terrified of them and I wasn’t. Almost everything else about this relationship scared me, but not that.

  “Jack.”

  “Yeah? Got a date already?”

  “Jack.”

  Another look over his shoulder, which made him turn around and reach for me. “You okay? Did I say something wrong?”

  I wound my arms around his neck and held him tight. My heart was thumping wildly and he must have felt it because he wrapped me up like he was protecting me from an explosion. One hand went to my head, stroking my hair, and I melted.

  “Hey,” he whispered. “You’re scaring me. Ethan, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” I sighed and relaxed my hold a fraction. “I just need you to know that—”

  “Ow! Shit! Move, move.” Jack pushed me against the opposite counter, all but dancing on the spot.

  “Jack?”

  He spun and reached out to take the boiling curry off the heat. His back was splattered with spots of creamy sauce.

  It was a few moments of dashing about to save the butter chicken but in the end, there was little damage to either the dinner or Jack’s skin. He cooked the rice while I cleaned up his back, assuring him the tiny red marks would fade by morning.

  He smacked my arse playfully. “Go put some pants on at least. Wouldn’t want anything delicate getting in harm’s way.”