Bargaining with the Devil: A Death and the Devil Novella Page 4

  “Okay. And then?”

  “And then I was discovered before I could complete my sabotage. Had I not been interrupted the car would have exploded upon ignition.”

  Jack crossed his arms, his right shoulder twinging. “But you were interrupted. By what? A wreaking ball?” He nodded to the ugly bruise.

  Ethan’s lips quirked up at one corner. “No, by another car.”

  “You got hit by a car?”

  “Yes. It wasn’t going very fast. I got away but with my injuries I couldn’t go back and finish the job.” He wouldn’t look at Jack and his tone took on a decidedly self-recriminating tone. “It’s my own fault. I rushed and didn’t plan for all contingencies properly.”

  “When did you learn of the planned attack?”

  “This morning, around six a.m.”

  “You had under six hours to get from Port Dickson to Singapore and then hunt down a pair of terrorists?”

  “Yes. Plenty of time.”

  The shame in the admission tugged at Jack’s heart. The Office had been aware of a potential attack for three days prior and they hadn’t been able to get as close as Ethan had in six hours, four of which he probably spent getting there. If Jack had managed what Ethan had in that period of time, he wouldn’t be ashamed. He’d be using the story for free drinks for years. Well, maybe not. He’d probably fixate on how he could have done better but seeing Ethan so embarrassed about it ignited Jack’s need to protect him. If there was one person in the world who didn’t need protecting, it was Ethan, and yet Jack couldn’t convince himself of that.

  Anger at the nameless, faceless bastards who’d turned Ethan into this deadly, damaged man was pointless. Ethan would never tell him who they were and despite dedicating a team to unearthing his past, the Office probably wouldn’t get answers quick enough for Jack to do anything about the bastards. Jack’s rage was directionless, and right now it defaulted to the man in front of him.

  “Fucking hell, Ethan. You had no right to interfere in this. We knew about the attack, okay? I know you think our techniques are slow and mired in red tape, but we do know what we’re doing. Sure, we didn’t know it was going to be a car bomb, or where it was going to happen, but we had contingencies. I had contingences. I’ll admit I didn’t actually consider we’d find a car bomb broken down on the side of the road, but we dealt with it all the same. Jesus, do you know how badly that could have gone? I nearly blew up Harry, for fuck’s sake. Christ!”

  Jack paced away from Ethan, growling at his sore leg as he went. He’d made three passes before he realised Ethan hadn’t said anything. He stopped and looked at him.

  Ethan sat statue still, hands gripping the edge of the mattress, head bowed, shoulders so stiff and straight Jack could have rested a bowl of soup on them.

  The expected spark of fear at what that meant didn’t arrive. Instead, Jack’s guts twisted in guilt. He’d done this. He’d pushed Ethan and now he’d retreated into his cold, hard assassin’s shell. Once, Jack would have taken it as a sign to run—which he’d never managed to do. Back in the desert, stressed out and messed up, Jack hadn’t run from cold-blooded Ethan Blade. He’d stayed and argued instead, which had had the odd effect of making Ethan start to view him not as a target, but as a human. It had saved his life. So now, seeing Ethan go distant and still, Jack wasn’t worried. He was concerned.

  “Ethan, look at me.”

  Jack had no idea if Ethan complied. His sunglasses hid so much. Jack boldly stepped up to him and, finger under his chin, lifted his head so his face was pointed at Jack’s. Nothing in Ethan’s expression changed but he didn’t fight the gesture.

  “I’m sorry for getting upset but you get it, don’t you? This is my job. What I’m trained to do. Yeah, you can do it too, but we use different methods and they don’t mesh. So, unless you want to give up your life of international crime and come work for Tan at the Office, you can’t jump into my work like this.”

  After a long moment when Jack started to doubt his confidence that Ethan wouldn’t hurt him, Ethan sighed and nodded.

  “Good.” Relief eased muscles Jack hadn’t realised he’d tensed, and he sank back onto the bed beside Ethan. Into a not-quite uncomfortable quiet, Jack muttered, “I’m not bad at my job, you know.”

  “I know, Jack.” Ethan’s tone was soft and, not meek, but carefully not disagreeable. “I just . . . worry about you.”

  “Why?”

  Ethan made a sound that wasn’t a grunt or a sigh, or even an exasperated growl, but a combination of all three. “Because I like you, Jack.”

  Ignoring the curl of warmth under his ribs at those words, Jack smirked. “You like the way I give you orgasms.”

  Another of those mixed noises, more exasperated this time.

  “Don’t deny it. You told me you did.”

  A teeth-grinding moment later, Ethan muttered, “I did.”

  “So say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “You know.”

  “We’ve come full circle, I see.”

  “If you don’t say it, I won’t do it.”

  “Whoever said I wanted you to do it?”

  “You did. You said you were driven here by ‘overwhelming desire.’ ” Jack put his outrageous British accent on the last two words.

  “How strange. That urge seems to have vanished.”

  Laughing, Jack hauled himself up the bed and settled against the pillows. It always surprised him how quickly he could go from murderous anger to lusty laughter when Ethan was around. He’d never experienced it before. Arguing with Hamish, his last serious boyfriend, had been like an air strike, hot and deadly for a short time, but the damage took much longer to fix. He and Ian, his first lover, hadn’t really argued, but then they’d been teenagers in the midst of their first sexual relationship. Too busy screwing to do much else, until Ian started screwing others. Their first argument had been their last. Not that his arrangement with Ethan was like either of his big relationships. It was just semiregular sex. Maybe that was why he could shift from one to the other so swiftly, so completely.

  Unscrewing the cap of the tube, Jack said, “Get your arse up here.”

  Ethan came cautiously. Whether because of his side or general wariness was anyone’s guess.

  “Lie down. Let me know if I hurt you.”

  Watching while Jack smeared cream on his side, Ethan said, “Don’t fear, I will.”

  Jack chuckled and gently worked the pain relief in. When he was done, he helped Ethan out of his shoes and pants and, leaving him on the bed, went into the bathroom to wash his hands. Coming back out, he was caught by the sight of a nearly naked Ethan curled up on his uninjured side, glasses off, eyes closed, and body relaxed.

  Jesus. His heart tripped over the simple idea of Ethan being in his bed, not for sex but for comfort and care. Jack realised the reason he could get over his anger with Ethan so quickly wasn’t because this thing between them was just sex. He didn’t know what it was, but their arrangement wasn’t it.

  Because this wasn’t just sex.

  Sufficiently disturbed by that thought, Jack lay back down. Ethan moved over and after negotiating with various sore bits, they found a comfortable position with maximum contact.

  “In the morning we’re going to discuss just how to safely wake up a sleeping man,” Jack mumbled.

  “As you wish, Jack.”

  Snorting at the fake contriteness, Jack turned out the lamp and they settled into silence.

  “Jack?”

  The seriousness of this tone drew Jack back from the edge of sleep. “Hmm?”

  “Who’s Harry?”

  Death of the Party

  Harry was doubled over, laughing so hard it had gone silent. One hand was braced on the tabletop while the other waved helplessly. Tears streamed down his reddening face and each time he managed to pull his shit together and stop, all it took was one look at Jack and he was off again.

  “Ignore him.” Lewis blocked Jack’s escape route fro
m the small operations room he and Harry were using to monitor Delta Subject.

  After the near disaster in Singapore, Jack and Harry had been given their next job by Director Tan of the ETA. Not exactly thrilled to have his agreement with Tan brought into play so soon, Jack nevertheless took the responsibility very seriously. Even if watching Delta Subject—a young Indonesian man in Sydney thanks to his uncle, an unusually generous gangster with links to radical religious groups—wasn’t a challenge. The worst part about the whole deal was making bland reports about non-suspicious movements to Unit Leader Keri Sing in the Singapore branch.

  “I am.” Jack was proud of his calm tone. Between Harry and Lewis, he was about an inch from losing his patience. He’d been at work since 3 a.m., woken from a nice sleep by an alert from the tech assigned to Delta Subject overnight. It had turned out to be nothing, just a midnight run for more pot and snacks, but Jack had stuck around anyway, deciding he’d take an early finish over trying to go back to sleep for a couple of hours. It was now very nearly 2 p.m. and Jack was going home. It didn’t matter that Lewis was starfished in the doorway. If he didn’t move in the next two minutes, Jack had no qualms about moving Lewis himself. “And I will ignore the urge to punch you, too, if you get out of my way right now.”

  “Come on, Jack,” Lewis pleaded, his grip on the door frame going white. “I really, really need your help on this one. I promise, it’s a simple in-and-out job. Couple of hours, tops. I’ll owe you one.” At Jack’s continuing scowl, he added, “Two. I’ll owe you two. All right, three, but that’s as high as I go.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. He’d already made all his objections to Lewis’s request—it wasn’t Jack’s operation, Lewis had his own field team, Jack was too old to pull it off, it was stupid. All of which Lewis had shot down—it was an ITA operation and despite Jack running a job for ETA he was still an ITA asset; none of his field team were appropriate and McIntosh couldn’t spare anyone else at the last minute; age was a state of mind; it wasn’t stupid, it was a vital part of Lewis’s operation. Jack had to grudgingly admit they were all legit, except for the age one, but that didn’t mean he had to do this.

  To gauge the level of desperation, Jack smiled grimly at Lewis’s offer. “Three favours, huh? Tempting.” Jack pretended to consider it, sighing like he was going to give in. Just as Lewis was starting to relax, Jack shook his head. “I’m not doing it.”

  Lewis scowled, finally releasing his hold on the door frame so he could cross his arms. “Stop being so stubborn. You know I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t desperate.”

  Waving at the discarded items on the table, Jack said, “Believe me, I know. You’d have to be absolutely gasping to go to anyone with that.”

  Which only sent Harry off into more gales. If Lewis didn’t back off and let Jack go soon, they’d probably have to resuscitate Harry.

  “And,” Jack continued while Lewis’s scowl deepened, “if you’re that desperate, why not do it yourself? I mean, after all, age is just a state of mind.”

  Lewis was a year older than Jack but with his blond hair and bright eyes, he could have passed for late twenties. Jack, however, felt he’d lived more than his thirty-six years and knew he looked it, too. Occasionally.

  “Yeah, but a six-pack isn’t,” Lydia said.

  Jack and Lewis both turned to her. Lewis’s second—a gross understatement of the fact she was the one who not only ran their cases on a day to day basis, but also corralled Lewis’s often erratic but generally brilliant mind, at home as well as at work—stood next to Harry, making sure he didn’t actually expire from hilarity. Lydia smiled serenely at them.

  “What?” Lewis asked, frowning.

  “Age might be a state of mind,” she said, “but a good body isn’t. And that, Jack, is why you’re more suited to the job.”

  “Hey!” Jack and Lewis protested at the same time.

  “That’s objectification,” Jack added.

  “Not to mention insulting,” Lewis muttered.

  “It’s not objectification,” Lydia said to Jack. “It’s the truth, and a compliment, so take it. And while you’re at it, take this as well”—she shoved the items on the table towards him—“and go home. Sleep for a couple of hours and I’ll call when we have the details set.”

  There were no more arguments. The moment Lydia joined any discussion, things just happened, whether everyone agreed. Jack liked her. She was one person who didn’t annoy him on a regular basis, but he did wonder how she got him—and everyone else—to do what she wanted so easily. He and Lewis had tried to work it out and the only conclusion they’d come to was that she was some sort of super-genius.

  Thus, a half hour later, Jack walked into his apartment, still puzzling out how, and when, he’d agreed to Lewis’s cockamamie plan. Replaying the last moments of the discussion, he put the case Lydia had given him on the kitchen counter and headed for the bedroom, unbuttoning his flannel shirt as he went.

  A whisper of sound alerted him, rocketing him out of his thoughts.

  Spinning, Jack faced the man coming up behind. Recognising Ethan in a split second, he morphed the start of a punch into grab. Hand on the back of Ethan’s neck, he turned them further and pushed with his whole body. Ethan fetched up against the table with a startled gasp, hands on Jack’s upper arms for support.

  “Hello, Jack.” Below his dark sunnies, Ethan’s cheeks were flushed and his lips were parted.

  “Ethan,” Jack managed, his brain still somewhere back in the operations room, mulling over Lydia’s particular brand of voodoo. He couldn’t think right now, his body was operating on muscle memory. The most prominent memory his muscles were working off was one of moving over Ethan, of driving this desirable, passionate body beyond control. A memory spearheaded by his dick.

  “How are you?” Ethan’s hands ran up and down his biceps.

  Swallowing hard, Jack said, “Good. You?”

  Ethan’s lips quirked into a smile. “Tolerably well, if a little frustrated.”

  “Yeah.” Jack’s gaze raked over Ethan’s face, finding no new scars, which pleased him. “It’s been a while.”

  They’d both been injured the last time they’d been together, which had put a stop to anything too physical, making it two months since their last fuck. Neither of them had promised exclusivity, though, so Jack hadn’t been entirely celibate since then. Still, several nights with a guy from Melbourne, whom Jack had pretty much forgotten the moment he was out of sight, was next to nothing compared to even this much of Ethan.

  “Mm.” Ethan wriggled, then made a sharp motion and, suddenly, he was seated on the table. He slid his arms around Jack’s chest, legs wrapping around his. “It has.” He rolled his hips and his thickening dick rubbed alongside Jack’s.

  “Christ,” Jack hissed and closed his eyes before he did something stupid.

  Ethan’s lips grazed Jack’s cheek, sliding warm and dry up to his temple, where he pressed a lingering kiss. He repeated the move on the other side, then along Jack’s jaw, nudging his way in to kiss the soft skin under his chin. Jack angled his head to give him room. Ethan kissed and nibbled, ranging down Jack’s throat and as far into the collar of his flannel as he could. His dark curls tickled Jack’s nose and lips, brushing against the skin Ethan’s lips were sensitising so Jack shivered with each touch. Quite involuntarily, he turned his head and pressed his face into Ethan’s hair, pulling in a deep breath of his scent.

  “Jack,” Ethan moaned against his neck. He was breathing hard, his chest pushing into Jack’s, the silk of his button-down sliding with gentle hisses over the cotton of Jack’s flannel.

  Needing to taste, Jack dragged his face through Ethan’s hair to his temple, kissing down his cheek to his jaw. He teased Ethan’s earlobe with his tongue, drawing it into his mouth and suckling on it gently. Ethan gasped and squirmed against him. His hands scrabbled at Jack’s shirt, pulling it up until Ethan got skin on skin. Fingers spread over Jack’s spine, he hauled himself even closer.<
br />
  “Jack.” Ethan whimpered as Jack attacked the sensitive spot just behind his ear, grazing his teeth over the soft skin, then laving it with his tongue.

  The sensation of Ethan starting to lose control—the way his body shook and his fingers dug into the muscles of Jack’s back, the sound of his name torn by need and lust—ripped through Jack like a bullet. It left him as breathless and stunned as it did every bloody time.

  It would be so easy to just do it right here. Grind on Ethan until they both came. Collapse on the table while they caught their breaths, then go at it all over again. Even as he rubbed hard against Ethan’s hips, grunting at the heat building between them, Jack knew he needed more. Needed more skin and more horizontal. He also didn’t need to hear Ethan bitch about Jack making him come in his expensive suit pants again.

  With a moan of displeasure, Jack pulled back. Ethan, still wrapped around him, came off the table. The sudden weight tipped Jack off balance. Lightning fast, Ethan reached back and caught the table with one hand, the other clamped around Jack’s waist. Both legs snapped out, his feet bracing against the kitchen counter behind Jack. Wedged between Ethan’s legs, Jack realised he was still upright. A couple of seconds of stunned silence, then both of them laughed in relief.

  “So,” Jack said, “should we take this to the bedroom?”

  “Mm, I think we should.” Ethan slithered to the ground, keeping his body pressed tight to Jack’s. “Before someone suffers a lasting injury.”

  “Or a tough-to-remove stain.”

  Ethan laughed, leaning back in Jack’s arms, locks of his dark hair tumbling across his forehead.

  Jack couldn’t help it. He stared, mesmerised. It felt as if a grenade had gone off in his chest; a sudden burst of heat centred under his solar plexus. There wasn’t enough air to fill his lungs. Not enough space to let him escape. His hands were in Ethan’s hair before he knew what he was doing. Fingers digging into those thick, soft locks, he tilted Ethan’s head back. Laughter dying away, Ethan caught his breath, as if he too was suffering his own internal explosion.