Bargaining with the Devil: A Death and the Devil Novella Read online

  “You did this for me?” he asked softly.

  “As we discussed, the Office now has no official recourse to pursue you while you’re in Australia, so long as you don’t do anything overtly illegal. Turns out it isn’t a big deal.”

  Ethan read the statement again and shook his head. “It is. You’ve agreed to be seconded to External Threat Assessment at Director Tan’s request.”

  “A job’s a job.”

  “Jack, you don’t want to work for ETA.”

  As if Jack hadn’t known that, and there was no point in asking how Ethan knew it, either. He wouldn’t say, or he would, and his insight would lay Jack open to the bone.

  “It’s not like I’m transferring from Internal Threat Assessment. He can’t just make me work all his jobs. I can say no if I want. He’s specified a certain amount of time I can spend on ETA jobs.”

  Ethan frowned. “It’s twenty-five percent of your yearly working hours, Jack. I don’t believe Director McIntosh would be very happy with it.”

  Jack flinched at the memory of her icy regard when he’d gone to her with the statement. “She wasn’t over the moon, but asset sharing happens a lot. She can also veto any request if she wants.”

  Seemingly out of objections, Ethan folded the paper and laid it very carefully on the coffee table. Then he took the water from Jack’s hand and put that down as well. Slowly, he moved into Jack’s personal space and moulded his body against Jack’s, arms winding around his neck. One amazing and excruciating inch at a time, he worked his lips along Jack’s jaw until he reached his ear.

  “Please do anything you want to me, right now.”

  Jack’s legs almost gave out at the pure sex in Ethan’s voice. He clung to him for support. “Anything?”

  “Mm hmm. Anything.”

  “Jesus,” Jack moaned, pulling Ethan down to the floor right there. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  Ethan laughed, low and deliciously. “I’m certain you will work it out.”

  Devil on his Shoulder

  When the dust cleared, Jack’s ears were still ringing. He couldn’t hear what Harry McGill was saying, but even under a coating of grey dust his second’s angry expression was apparent.

  Ignoring the diatribe, Jack grabbed the younger man and checked him over. His own shoulder ached from impact with the road and something had landed on his leg, then rolled off, leaving him unpinned but hurting. Harry tried to get away from him but didn’t get far, fetching up against the remains of the wall that had just fallen all over them.

  “What the fuck?”

  That one Jack deciphered well enough. “You’re bleeding,” he shouted back. “Let me check it out.”

  “Bleeding? Oh, God! What is it? Have I been impaled? Did something burn me? Oh, God.” Harry’s Kiwi accent got stronger with each panicked question.

  Jack caught his hands and held them down. “I don’t think it’s too bad, but just let me check, okay?”

  With his brown eyes wide and bright in his dusty face Harry settled a bit and let Jack tilt his head to see where the trail of gritty blood on his temple and cheek was coming from.

  Jack couldn’t really blame the younger man for freaking out. He wasn’t as calm as he was acting. His guts were still frozen in shock from the explosion, and if he hadn’t had something to occupy his hands, they would have been shaking. It wasn’t as if he’d set out to make his first job with his new second so—well, explosive, but shit had a habit of happening.

  He never started any task for the International Security Office thinking it would all go smoothly. It was, after all, his job to plan for the worst possible scenario and he was fairly good at it. This time it just so happened things hadn’t even followed the worst possible scenario. In fact, all things considered—one half-destroyed building, a mildly concussed second and only two fatalities—it was a close runner-up to a smooth job.

  “Found it,” Jack yelled over the ringing. “You’re not bleeding at all. You just caught some debris.” He carefully removed the offending object from Harry’s hair. It wasn’t a large piece, just the ragged edge of the bomber’s hand. The little finger was mostly unscathed, but the ring finger was ripped open and hanging on by a few stretched strips of skin.

  “What? Show me! What?” Harry gaped at the hunk of blackened flesh. “Is that bone . . . ?”

  “Yup. Oh, no it isn’t. Looks like metal to me.”

  As Jack held it up for closer examination, the bit of metal moved and sliced through the last of the skin holding the ring finger on. It dropped into Harry’s lap.

  “Argh!” Harry jerked frantically, trying to dislodge it without touching it. When it bounced to the ground, he rolled away and threw up.

  Tossing the remaining finger aside, Jack slowly tested his leg. His thigh was throbbing and the muscles ached when he straightened it, but it wasn’t broken. Using what was left of the wall as a prop he got to his feet, swearing all the way. Once upright and balancing on his good leg, Jack gave himself a quick pat down. A few twinging ribs but no impaling objects, protruding bones, or blood—his or anyone else’s. For once God was smiling on him. He sent a salute skyward even as the adrenaline rush ebbed, leaving him feeling light-headed. And alive. He grinned, a laugh bubbling up his dry throat.

  “Glad you’re so happy!” Harry yelled, hauling himself up.

  “What’s to be sad about? We’re alive!”

  Harry gaped at him. His hand curled into a fist and he seemed to be eyeing up Jack’s face for targets. Jack couldn’t blame him. If their positions were reversed he would certainly want to punch Harry. So, he stood still, hands at his sides, willing to give Harry his shot.

  He didn’t though. All Harry did was press his fist to his forehead and then burst out with, “Alive? You realise that wouldn’t be an accomplishment if you hadn’t tried to blow us up in the first place!”

  Relieved he wasn’t punched, Jack said, “I wasn’t trying to blow us up.”

  Arms flailing as he gestured to all the rubble, Harry nearly fell over again, but caught himself on a twisted hunk of black metal. “Then what the hell is all this?” After a double take, he realised what he was leaning on. “Our car. You blew up our car!”

  “Christ! I didn’t blow up our car.” Jack peered at the flattened remains of the Humvee. “It was crushed by the falling wall. In fact, that’s probably what saved us. And,” he added, starting to get a bit pissed that Harry was blaming him for everything, “none of this would have happened if those two nutjobs hadn’t decided to load up a shitbox of a car with C4, which then broke down next to this half-ruined building. This is the job, Harry. To make sure people like those two don’t murder people like our customer with things like a car bomb.”

  “No, yeah, I know. That’s why I’m here, to keep people safe from things like those terrorists and their car bomb. A bomb, Jack! That you shot at. That you blew up! Next to me!”

  “They were about to get away. I was neutralising a threat! It’s called getting the job done. And I did tell you to duck.”

  With a harrumph, Harry stalked off, limping slightly.

  It was probably a good idea to get away from the wall. Loosened masonry was still a hazard. Jack hobbled out of the rubble, looking around for anything salvageable as he went. He’d lost his gun when the bomb went off and it was probably pancaked under a brick somewhere. The Humvee, too, was a total write-off. No one would be driving along the road for a while, either. Luckily, Lim Chu Kang was a mostly rural area with a low population density, which was a miracle in itself. There wasn’t a lot of rural areas in Singapore. Had they encountered the bombers anywhere else along their route the casualties could have been much, much worse.

  On the far side of the road, Harry was leaning against a fence post and poking at the cracked screen of his phone.

  The ringing in Jack’s ears had dropped down to a dull thud which rumbled through his head, making him not want to think too hard, but they needed to call this in. He connected to the main
group through his implant.

  “Scout One to Caravan, come in.”

  “Caravan to Scout One, what’s the sitrep?”

  “Threat has been neutralised. Both perps are down. The coast is clear. Bring the customer through.”

  “Got it. Secondary team is on the way, ten minutes out.”

  “We’ll wait here for them. You get the customer squared away. Scout One out.”

  “Yes, sir. Caravan out.”

  Jack dragged his leg over to Harry and used the other side of the fence post for support. “Caravan’s underway. Backup will be here in ten.” He sighed as he took the weight off his leg.

  “Good.” Harry wasn’t shouting. Either his ears had cleared up some or he wasn’t as angry anymore. Or both. “You okay, boss?”

  “Yeah, it’s just a bruise.” Hopefully.

  They leaned in silence for a while, surveying the damage.

  “I like that it’s very contained,” Harry said. “Very precise.”

  “We’re in a foreign country. It’s only polite to not make a big mess.”

  “Ah, the Tao of Jack.”

  “The what?”

  The Kiwi grinned, his teeth impossibly white against the dust on his skin. “Lewis Tomas told me about it. He said that since we’d be working together I should know all about it.”

  Jack grunted, part in pain as he shifted weight, part in derision. “You shouldn’t listen to anything that man says about me.”

  “That’s funny, he said the same about you.”

  Jack eyed him speculatively. Maybe this wouldn’t be a terrible partnership after all.

  The Caravan—four more Humvees and an armoured limo decoy; the customer was in the third Humvee—passed them a couple of minutes later, safely delivering the customer the rest of the way to the highly classified meeting of signees to the Meta-State Agreement. The conflab was set to take about four days, at which point Jack, Harry, and the rest of his team of ISO security officers would have to do this all over again. Hopefully with fewer explosions. In the meantime, security would be handed over to the on-site team, leaving Jack some R & R in exotic Singapore. He was looking forward to it.

  After a thorough medical check-up back at base, and a “brief” debrief that nevertheless took several hours, Jack and Harry were finally released for their four days of R & R. Jack was booked into the Park Regis and when Harry realised he’d booked into the Park, across the river and several blocks away, the disappointment was evident on his hastily cleaned face. Grey grit still coloured the creases in his forehead as he muttered about “bonding” and “developing working dynamics.” Vaguely agreeing to meet up at some point for drinks, Jack left him at the Park and finally got to the Park Regis. He managed a shower and application of analgesic cream on his bruises. His thigh still ached, though not as bad, and he’d been advised to keep off it as much as possible. Jack had already decided on a regimen of lazy laps in the hotel pool and was happy he had a legitimate excuse for lounging on a poolside chaise while tanned and buffed waiters bought him drinks. But until the pool opened in the morning he was going to sleep, which happened about a second after his head hit the pillow.

  When a strong hand closed around his sore shoulder, he didn’t wake gracefully.

  There was a lot of gasping, punching, rolling, tumbling off the bed and when his knee connected with his attacker’s ribs, a startlingly loud cry of pain. Good. Jack had the prick pinned on the floor between the bed and wall, thighs clamped to the intruder’s sides to keep him from getting away. About to deliver a crippling punch to the man’s throat, he made out a gasped “Jack!”

  “Shit.” Jack scrambled off Ethan. His blood still hummed with unused adrenaline. The ingrained instinct to fight burned in every muscle and if he didn’t put some distance between them, he wasn’t sure he could keep himself from punching the crazy bastard.

  Ethan, too, needed space. He scrambled into the corner, his back braced between both walls. As Jack’s own breathing eased, he heard Ethan’s. It was shallow and hitched on every second gasp.

  “Fuck. I hurt you?” Jack got to his feet, prepared to help Ethan up, but his thigh throbbed so badly he had to sit on the bed.

  “Not precisely, Jack.” Ethan’s voice was a little strained. “You merely aggravated a prior injury.”

  Compassion was a bit hard to come by right then, so Jack said, “You did come at me while I was sleeping.”

  “For which I will be eternally sorry,” Ethan assured him, climbing to his feet with the aid of the walls.

  “Right.” Jack gently rotated his sore shoulder. “What the hell are you doing here, anyway? And how the fuck did you know I was in Singapore?”

  “I have my means, Jack.” With cautious steps and a slight hitch in his stride, Ethan came around the bed and sat next to him. “I believe it was part of our arrangement. If we found ourselves in the same place at the same time, then we would get together.”

  “Yeah, I guess, but I had no idea you were here. Jesus, Ethan, whatever possessed you to come in here while I was sleeping?”

  There was a short silence, then a sheepish, “Overwhelming desire?”

  “You mean you’re horny.”

  “I suppose that would be part of it, yes.”

  There wasn’t enough light in the room to make out much of his expression, so Jack took a stab in the dark. “Are you blushing?”

  “No,” Ethan snapped.

  “Yeah, you are.” Jack laughed. “Why can’t you just say it? Call me, say you’re close by and you want to fuck.”

  “Jack.” A low-level warning.

  “Come on, Ethan. Say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “Say ‘Fuck me, Jack.’ Say ‘I’m really horny and I need you to fuck me right now.’ ”

  Jack loved that Ethan blushed when confronted with his physical desires. He also loved that the man refused to swear, or even use “fuck” as a verb. It was just part of the intriguing and intoxicating mix of part-innocent, part-ruthless, all-sexy mess that was Ethan.

  “Why do I need to say it?” Ethan asked, hesitant but honestly enquiring. “I’m fairly certain you already know it’s true.”

  Jack slid closer and tipped his head to get close to Ethan’s neck. “Yeah, but hearing it is nice.”

  “It’s vulgar,” Ethan whispered.

  “It’s honest.”

  Head shifting until they were cheek to cheek, Ethan said softly, “Then, Jack, please shag me.”

  His dick warming, Jack rubbed stubble over stubble. “That’s not what I want to hear. You can do better.” He blew a gentle breath onto the skin of Ethan’s neck.

  Ethan shivered, then flinched and bit off a sudden gasp.

  Jack pulled back. “What is it?”

  “Nothing, just a bruise on my ribs.” Belied by the way he pressed his hand to his right side, leaning that way a little to ease the strain.

  “Like shit,” Jack muttered. “Get your glasses out, I’m turning the light on.”

  While Ethan put on his sunglasses, Jack turned on the bedside lamp. It was enough light for him to use and wouldn’t be too blinding if Ethan lost his glasses.

  “All right.” Jack limped around the bed to stand in front of him. “Let’s see the damage.”

  Ethan wore black tactical clothes that, with the addition of a hoodie or coat, would pass for casual. Thin gloves peeked out of a pocket and a rolled-up cap, also black, from another. He began to unbutton the top, but Jack sighed at his slow going and took over the job. When it was open, he gently but swiftly pushed it off Ethan’s shoulders. Ethan pulled his arms free, wincing as he did.

  “Arms up,” Jack commanded, taking hold of the hem of the black undershirt.

  “Jack.”

  “Just do it.”

  After a moment, Ethan slowly raised his arms. Jack peeled the tight shirt up and off, taking care not to jostle him.

  “Holy fuck.” He sat on Ethan’s right and studied the bruise. “Have you had this looked at?”


  Jack was horrified. It went from under his right arm down to his hip and wrapped around his lower ribs until it was an inch or so off his navel. It was a rich purple, mottled with red and blue. At his waist was a straight line of distressing purple so dark it looked black. “What the hell was that?”

  “Edge of my armour. It protected me from any broken ribs. I’m rather practiced at judging my injuries. It’s just bruised, nothing else.”

  “Christ. You need more than a best guess with something like this.”

  Ethan sighed. “It’s fine, Jack. Please, trust me.”

  Giving Ethan a thorough appraisal, Jack found other, smaller injuries. A long, rough graze on his left forearm, more bruising on his left shoulder, and two short cuts on his left cheek, hidden from a casual glance by his glasses. They’d been cleaned and had skin-coloured butterfly strips applied.

  “Tell me what happened,” Jack ordered as he stood to find the cream the doctor had given him.

  “You’re limping, Jack. What happened to you?”

  “You first.”

  “I don’t think I should. Plausible denia—”

  “Just tell me,” Jack snapped. He found the analgesic cream on the counter in the bathroom and stalked back out, his leg not liking it but his growing irritation overriding it.

  “As you wish. I was sabotaging a car that was to be used in the attack on—”

  “What the fuck? You were involved in the attack today?”

  “I wouldn’t say involved, Jack.”

  “Then what the fuck would you say?” God. He hadn’t had the urge to strangle Ethan like this since the desert when he’d found out he was just a pawn in Ethan’s little game.

  Calm as you please, Ethan said, “I was in Port Dickson for completely unrelated reasons and I heard there was to be an attack on a dignitary attending the Meta-State gathering in Lim Chu Kang. Of course, I wondered if you were involved so I looked into it.”

  “Of course,” Jack agreed with bitter sarcasm. “Continue.”

  Ethan ignored his tone. “When I discovered the means of the attack, namely a car bomb, I decided to derail it. I couldn’t do anything overt because I didn’t want anyone to link me to why the attack didn’t work. So, I sabotaged the car.”