Sunday, November 12, 2017
Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Men of Honor by SE Jakes
The Men of Honor series features a different couple in each book. There is a slight crossover between the books, as heroes are introduced and re-visited throughout the series. These are all men in uniform (military / CIA / cops) who find love when and where they least expect to.
The Men of Honor series is connected to the Phoenix, Inc. series. In book 1, 2 & 4, we see Styx, Law and Paulo and learn they’re opening up their own PI Business. Phoenix, Inc. is the name of their PI Business, and although book 1 introduces brand new heroes, you’ll see glimpses of many couples from the Men of Honor series.
In Bound For Keeps, a mercenary named Prophet makes a few brief appearances. Prophet also has his own series, called Hell or High Water.
Summary:
A promise forces two men to bare themselves…completely.
One year ago on a mission gone wrong, Tanner James failed to save the life of Jesse, his Army Ranger teammate. Before dying in that South American jungle, Jesse extracted a promise that won’t let Tanner rest until it’s fulfilled—no matter what it costs him.
Damon Price loved Jesse, but problems in their relationship had come to a head right before Jesse left on his final mission. Now a reluctant Dom and a man still in mourning, he’s not happy when Tanner appears at his BDSM club. And even less happy with Jesse’s last request—that Tanner sub for him for one night.
After a rough start, Damon realizes that the tough soldier, despite his protests, aches for someone to take control. And Tanner senses a hesitance, an insecurity in Damon that makes him wonder if he’s simply a placeholder for Jesse, or if their tentative connection could grow into something more.
For Jesse’s sake, they agree to try one weekend together. Then duty calls, and a series of attacks that have been happening near the club hits too close to home, making both men wonder if giving their hearts is a maneuver fraught with too much risk…
**This is a reissue of a previously published work.
Summary:
The one man he can’t forget is the one whose memories could destroy them all.
After the one man he trusted disappeared, it took Law Connor ten years to take a chance on another relationship. Trouble is, right about the time he’s finally ready to let go of the past, the past stages a hostile takeover.
Back when they were teens, Styx was the boy with no memory. He and Law had each other’s backs until he was forced to leave to keep Law safe. Now a CIA agent, he’s finally discovered who he is, and why he’s a hunted man.
Detective Paulo McMannus has almost succeeded in helping Law forget his lost love when Styx comes plowing back into their lives. No way is Paulo giving up his lover without a fight.
Suddenly Law finds himself on the run with Styx, the man who can still bring him to his knees…and with Paulo, the man who brought him back to life. The worst part? He can’t choose between them. And it’s getting harder to remember why he should.
**this is a reissue of a previously published work.
Summary:
Can two men let go of the past in order to find their future together?
When helo pilot Glen Rhodes flies Navy SEALs into the most dangerous places on earth, he has nerves of steel. Since his trusted Dom’s death three years ago, though, the thought of submitting makes him panic.
Determined to move on and long past ready to release the adrenaline rush from his job, Glen returns to home ground—and to the bar he hasn’t had the heart to enter for three long years. There, he meets a man who seems to fit naturally into the void.
Derek Mann has suffered his own losses, and he isn’t looking for permanent. Easy conquests don’t interest him, either. One look at Glen’s proud military bearing and sad eyes tells him that he has a challenge on his hands. And that winning Glen’s trust will unleash something wild and beautiful.
The plan is to tread lightly. But from the first touch of skin on skin, there’s no holding back…except when it comes to their deepest emotions. A Christmas Eve crisis pushes them both to their limits, leaving them no choice but to let go of the past...or let it pull them apart.
*This is a reprint of an earlier version - the only change that has been made is to the cover.
Summary:
The danger that drew them together could send them over the edge…
Playing the role of enforcer in the Killers motorcycle club, all CIA operative Clint “Tomcat” Sommers has to do is make sure he has a body to show for his work. Thanks to his ability to move stealthily and easily between the two worlds, the CIA is damned close to making one of its biggest MC gang busts.
Two years undercover have taken their toll, but there’s no backing out now. Tomcat’s only reprieve from the pressure is fantasizing about the newest member of the gang.
Worry for his cousin’s involvement in the Killers drove Navy SEAL Jace Reynolds to agree to infiltrate the gang to do some short-term surveillance for the FBI. The deal: do the job, and his cousin gets witness protection. When he meets Tomcat, though, his fantasies kick into overdrive. Meeting men while on active duty is tough. Acting on his desires within the club could have deadly consequences.
Despite the risks, Tomcat’s and Jace’s off hours flare hotter than a full-throttle burnout. But the smoke is bound to attract unwanted attention. And when Tomcat suddenly disappears, the secrets both warriors keep could send one of them to the grave.
*This is a previously published work. The only difference between this version and the original is the cover. If you purchased this book already, there is no need to repurchase.
Summary:
They can’t deny the attraction…or the danger…
Since losing their beloved third to cancer, Keith Masters and Johnny Lou Reed haven’t thought about filling the void in their lives with anyone else. Until a stormy Christmas Eve, when a half-frozen, newly discharged Army Ranger shows up on their doorstep—with no memory of who he is or how he got there.
The former Marine in Keith is suspicious that he can’t turn up any information about Shane anywhere, not even an address. Direct questioning will have to wait until they’ve gotten the boy well.
Shane knows it’s only a matter of time before Keith and Reed figure out his past. And when they learn the depth and the darkness of the secrets he holds, he could get them all killed.
In the heat of the dark winter nights, the three men discover a passion that heals the gaping wounds in their hearts. And Shane wonders, despite the danger hot on his heels, how he will ever bear to leave…
** This book was previously published - the only change is the cover. If you purchased this book before March of 2017 there is no need to repurchase.
Summary:
Four men fighting against their pasts…and for each other.
Several years after washing up on a beach in South Africa with absolutely no memory—not even his name—Lucky would rather not remember his past. Based on the number of scars on his body, it couldn’t have been anything good.
Then a man claiming to be his former Navy SEAL teammate walks into the bar and insists that Lucky’s real name is Josiah Joshua Kent. Turns out he’s been listed as KIA, and since he’s not dead, he’s now considered a deserter—and under suspicion.
Discovering Josh is alive throws Rex, and his relationship with Sawyer, into a tailspin. Rex can finally lay to rest the nightmares of the night he couldn’t save his teammate. And Sawyer is faced with his worst nightmare—a relationship threatened by a very real ghost from the past.
As Josh begins to piece his memories back together, another man with a shadowy connection to his past—and maybe his heart—holds the key that could free him. Or send him to a traitor’s fate.
** This book was previously published - the only change is to the cover. If you purchased this book before March 2017, there is no need to repurchase.
Bound by Honor #1
Damon remained brooding there at his desk for the next hour. Pulled out and stared at the picture of Jesse he kept in his desk drawer. Tried to figure out what the hell Jesse had been thinking.
And while he couldn’t ever really know that, thanks to LC, he had the most important thing—Tanner’s address.
He headed to his truck and drove around aimlessly for a while, radio blasting, wondering why the hell he would do this when he’d successfully gotten the boy out of his life.
Because you owe Jesse. Or Jesse owed you. Whichever way it was, Damon knew he’d get no rest until he made Tanner an offer…and an apology. And so he pulled in front of the address he’d programmed into the GPS, the soothing female voice telling him he’d arrived at his destination.
It was the right place—a townhouse near the base, nicely groomed. No car in the driveway but Damon hoped it was in the garage, wanted the boy—Tanner—to be home.
He stared at the house, his nerves still jangled. They’d been that way after his first meeting with Jesse as well.
Jesse. It had been so complicated. And at first that had Damon jumping right in and helping. Fixing.
Losing himself in the process until he didn’t know who he was or what he wanted anymore.
Had he ever?
Jesse. Big brown eyes. Biting wit. And a need for submission as big as the state of Texas, where he’d been born.
Jesse had come to the club to survey the scene, check things out and, most of all, to find Damon, who, at his peak, was one of the best and most coveted Doms around.
He’d initially refused to play with the beautiful boy with the aching need in his eyes, knew how much work it could be to train a new sub.
“I’ll do whatever you say,” Jesse had told him earnestly, but the boy had the devil in his eyes.
Damon remembered frowning, saying, “They all tell me that.”
But he hadn’t refused.
It was supposed to be one night. One time with Jesse strapped to the spanking bench, writhing under the weight of Damon’s hand, the steady slaps bringing him into subspace far more quickly than Damon could ever have anticipated.
Under the weight of the memories, Damon felt sluggish, like he could easily drown. The man in the house could be his lifeline…or could sink him even further.
Without knowing which, Damon got out of the truck and headed up the walk, rang the bell and waited. A long four minutes later, just when he was about to walk away, Tanner answered the door, dressed only in a pair of low-slung sweatpants. His eyes were red-rimmed and that tore at Damon’s gut.
Tanner’s chin jutted stubbornly when he saw Damon, his eyes blazed and yeah, Damon deserved it and the anger of Tanner’s first words.
“How do you know where I live?” Tanner demanded.
“Your wallet.”
Tanner went to close the door but Damon’s hand shot out, stopping it. “That wasn’t a proper scene,” he started.
“Felt pretty real to me.” Tanner’s voice was hoarse, and he still held the door half closed.
“If it had been proper, you wouldn’t have been alone. I would’ve been there to help you through it. I would’ve been there afterward, when you fell apart.”
“Yeah, one night and you would’ve been able to put me back together, right?” Tanner’s voice held the bitterness Damon had expected, but the boy didn’t deny that he’d fallen apart. Instead, he let the door go and Damon pushed it open fully and took a step closer.
“I can do better. Give you what Jesse wanted you to have,” Damon offered, his voice quiet.
Tanner flicked a surprise gaze at him. “You want another chance?”
“Not at the club. At my place. Just the two of us.”
“I don’t think…I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” Tanner admitted.
“There’s more I want to know…about Jesse.”
Tanner was still guarded, but he was a man of his word—Damon was counting on that…needed to make all of this right somehow.
“I can do that. The rest…I don’t know,” Tanner said.
“Why?”
“Look, it’s not my scene, all right? I’m not a sub. I’m not a bottom.”
Damon stared at the boy as the picture of him bound and spread and coming flashed before his eyes. He’d been out of the game for longer than he’d realized. That—and the fact that Jesse had clouded his judgment—because he should’ve realized from the second he’d met the boy that Tanner thought he was a top. Damon knew, from the second he met the unarguably alpha male, that he wasn’t. How to convince him was another issue in itself. “You sure about that?”
Tanner shrugged like it was no big deal, but the casualness of the gesture didn’t match the confusion in his eyes. “Yeah, I am. Nothing wrong with it, though. I just prefer being in control.”
Damon leaned in and put a hand around the back of Tanner’s neck, waiting for the man to resist.
He didn’t, and Damon rubbed the heated skin, still damp from a recent shower. He pulled Tanner a little closer although the boy tugged back a little.
Damon tugged harder, told him, “No, baby—you’d prefer someone to take all that control from you until you’re moaning like a sweet little bitch.”
Tanner’s jaw dropped and his eyes glazed slightly, like Damon had just revealed his deepest, darkest fantasy.
He let his hand slip away from the boy’s neck reluctantly. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“No,” Tanner agreed, not believing it, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck where Damon’s hand had been. And he was still hard. “It’s just something I’m not.”
Tanner would insist that until Damon proved it otherwise, so for now, he didn’t press it. “That’s why it was hard for you to walk into the club and submit.”
“Well, that and bringing up Jesse.” Tanner shook his head as though saying the name was as hard for him as it was for Damon.
“You were close.”
“We were on the same team. Leave no man behind.”
“You didn’t leave him behind, Tanner.”
Tanner didn’t answer and Damon knew that, no matter what he told the boy, he’d believe he somehow let Jesse down.
Damon knew that better than anyone. “Tomorrow night—after midnight. My loft’s above the club—you can use the private entrance in the back. Be prepared to stay the weekend.”
He turned and headed back to his truck before Tanner could say anything, before he could turn Damon down, because suddenly Damon wanted nothing more than Tanner.
Bound by Law #2
“I was glad you came over,” Paulo said after they’d finished the appetizers and waited on the next course.
LC had been surprised, too. He’d been restless for months and prowling the club scene no longer held his interest. Crave was sold and things were moving forward.
Everyone was moving forward and he’d been standing still. At first, there had been a lot to do with the sale of the club and the lofts and the construction of the new apartments he and Damon bought, along with the rest of the building. They were now living on opposite ends of the top floor, and the plan was to renovate and rent the rest of the apartments.
There was still a hell of a lot to do, but LC didn’t feel like handling any of it, especially not last night. No, he’d wanted to handle someone, and his car had pointed in the direction of Paulo’s place almost as if he’d had no control.
But LC knew that was bullshit.
Paulo had barely been able to get out a hello before LC had him pinned, telling Paulo he’d been dreaming about him before he could stop himself. After that, it was a blur of hands and tongues and oh yeahs, and then LC was agreeing to dinner, because he’d just taken the man without so much as a this-is-where-I’ve-been-for-the-past-few-months explanation.
He’d stayed through until the sun came up and straggled back to his new place, and now he was here, next to this man in this dark restaurant, and he’d been turned on from the time Paulo had picked him up.
If he was honest with himself, Paulo was handling him, and LC liked it.
Paulo hadn’t asked him any more about the dreams LC had about him, and for that, LC was grateful. Because this, the tug in the stomach when Paulo looked at him, was new…the first time since Styx, and he knew this man could make him happy, if he allowed it.
He downed the rest of his wine and stood before he told Paulo that. “Headed to the restroom—I’ll be back.”
“I’d join you, but I have a reputation in this place,” Paulo said with a sly smile.
“I’m sure.” LC threaded his way through the back hallway, found the men’s room. He pissed and washed up in the private restroom, wiped his hands on a paper towel, and it was all normal. So normal.
Until the lights went out and shots rang out inside the restaurant and an arm came up across his body, a hand over his mouth, and his natural instinct to fight like hell was quelled with a single breath.
Styx. He’d recognize the man’s scent—his touch—blindfolded. Many a time he’d actually done so, but this situation was a thousand percent different.
“Not a word.” Styx’s voice, rough like gravel. Rougher when he was angry or aroused. His breath was warm and minty—Altoids. The man had always been addicted to them.
Damn, you remembered the oddest things when your ass was on the line. And speaking of asses, his was pressed hard to Styx’s groin…and the man’s arousal was unmistakable. Nice to know he wasn’t the only one affected by the close proximity.
He moved his head and Styx took his hand away.
“Paulo,” he said, and Styx answered, “Your friend’s safe—my associate has him.”
Good, that was good, but Jesus, what was going on here?
He heard the slight snick of a gun’s safety being released and then heavy footsteps. Whoever was coming wasn’t interested in stealth.
Not good.
“Whatever happens, stay put in here. I’ll take care of everything.” Styx barely mouthed the words but LC heard them loud and clear. And then he was left alone in the dark, and yeah, that was the story of his goddamned life with and without Styx, and he listened and waited.
No more shots, but someone had been killed. LC had been around stealth and death long enough in the Army to the point where he could taste the violence. He’d been on the receiving end of it since birth.
Goddammit, LC, shake it off.
And then Styx was back, tugging at him, and LC resisted. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell’s going on out there.”
“There’s trouble. Now shut up and do what I say.”
“I’m so beyond listening to you.”
“You have no idea who and what you’re up against. Come with me,” Styx said, and LC reluctantly followed him into the restaurant’s storeroom, close to the parking lot. And even though it was dark as night inside the restaurant’s back room, LC would know the man, could practically see the dark blond hair, longer than it had been, eyes that never failed to mesmerize him, the hard body and even harder cock that had probed him earlier.
LC knew what he was up against—and he was powerless to stop it. And when he started to edge past Styx, Styx let him go at first and then pushed him hard against the wall by the door.
“Are you with that guy?” he whispered into LC’s neck, and he wanted to tell Styx not to do that.
Instead, he ground out, “His name is Paulo. And now you’re worried about my dating habits?”
“I’m always worried about you.”
“The not calling or writing is a great way to show that.”
“It’s the way it has to be.”
Has to be…not using the past tense meant that’s what would happen after Styx did whatever it was he needed to here. “What, exactly, is happening out there to get the CIA involved?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“Right. I don’t have the clearance to be involved in any part of your life.” Never did. Never would. “Let go of me.”
“You can’t leave now.”
“Then you’ll have to arrest me.”
With that, Styx reached up and yanked LC’s arms down and behind his back, and when the cuffs snicked on his wrists, he cursed bitterly. “Where’s Paulo?”
“Safe.”
“Not what I asked.”
“Are you two serious?”
“Why don’t you tell me? You’ve been spying on me for God knows how long.”
“I call it keeping you safe.”
Ties that Bind #3
A shiver brushed the back of Derek’s neck seconds before he spotted the blond walk through the door.
The boy was beautiful—handsome, maybe mid-to-late twenties. The tattoos that ran up and down his arms were a promise of many more under the black wife-beater that he revealed when the black leather jacket slipped off.
He turned to the older Dom, James, sitting next to him at the bar. “Who’s that?”
“That’s Glen,” James said with a half-smile. He’d been watching the boy as well. “I didn’t think we’d ever see him here again.”
Derek’s gut tugged—usually that meant the boy was a pain in the ass or not a good sub at all. But typically, this bar wouldn’t allow someone like that inside. “Why not?”
James pointed to the wall and Derek turned his head toward the picture of John.
“He was John’s?” John was a legend at this place—part-owner, friend to all. A Dom who taught others what the term really meant. He’d also been retired CIA, although Derek was only privy to that because of his own time in the military.
“For five years, until John died. After that…” James shook his head.
“He’s never taken another Dom?”
“He tried. But it didn’t work. John was a hard memory to live up to.”
“Maybe he tried someplace else?”
“No way—this is Glen’s home. He knows that. John wouldn’t have wanted him to go someplace he wasn’t known to sub.” James looked at Derek. “If he’s back here, that means he’s looking.”
“Any advice?” Because Derek was chomping at the bit to approach him. The shiver touched his neck again and he rubbed the skin there and wondered why this boy hit him so hard.
James fixed him with a hard gaze. “He’s not easy. Never was, never will be. He doesn’t want the traditional relationship. But if he respects you, the submission you get…”
James didn’t finish but Derek knew—could tell by the strut the boy had, even with the sadness in his eyes—that Glen submitting would be a wild and beautiful thing. He’d had that once, a long time ago, and some said he’d been purposely picking the wrong boys since.
They were probably right.
A widowed Dom and a widowed sub typically didn’t mix well—both had expectations that were impossible to meet. But he was being tugged in Glen’s direction by something, and he glanced at the picture of John and back to Glen.
He watched the other men come up to the boy, hug him, welcome him as he drank his beer slowly. Glen looked overwhelmed after about fifteen minutes, was having trouble making eye contact with people, had his hands stuffed in his pockets, and Derek could see they were fisted. He couldn’t think of a better time to make his introduction.
He came up behind the boy and put a hand on the back of his neck, his palm tingling with the contact of the warm skin. Glen stilled immediately and Derek murmured, “Come on—you’re about to lose it.”
Glen didn’t fight, turned and walked next to Derek, not meeting his eyes, walking with his head down. Derek kept up the light rub on his hot skin until they moved to a more private area, ignoring the whispers that started immediately.
“Face the wall,” Derek told him.
“I don’t do that punishment shit,” Glen growled, tried to break away but Derek held him in place, inhaling the boy’s scent—beach and cinnamon and that pure scent of a man aroused.
“It’s not a punishment. You’re on sensory overload, headed to a panic attack. Now stay. Breathe.”
Glen gave a short nod, a flash of appreciation in his dark blue eyes, and did just that. Hung his head, stuffed his hands in his pockets again, and the men remained silent for a few minutes until Glen’s breathing became slow and steady. Derek studied his profile—his bearing was military, straight and sure, even with his head down with the kind of perfect posture of a sub. Derek had an urge to kiss him, but that would only end in disaster at the moment.
“Thanks,” Glen said finally, lifted his head and looked Derek in the eye. Half challenge, but there was also something else there…uncertainty. Lust, too.
It was enough. “I’m Derek Mann. Come sit. Have a drink.”
Glen nodded, sat next to Derek on the couch but asked for a soda when the waiter came to take their order. The waiter obviously recognized Glen, nodded at him, and Glen nodded back and drank half the Coke on his first pull. “I guess you know who I am.”
“I know who your Dom was,” Derek said. “That’s not the same thing at all.”
Glen frowned a little, as if he’d never considered that. “You’re the only one who had the balls to approach me like that.” That obviously sat well with Glen—with Derek too.
“Are you here to play?”
Bound by Danger #4
He dragged the boy behind him, his gun down at his side until they reached his car. Safely inside, neither man said a word until Tomcat pulled in to the garage that attached to the building where his loft was.
His loft—the entire building, actually—was CIA-owned and had been a part of his long-assed cover. His loft was steel-reinforced, soundproofed, had bulletproof glass with blackout tint, and no one was allowed up here, not even the agent who played his old lady—for her safety. Still, it was furnished so anyone who visited wouldn’t notice any of the high-tech gadgetry or the insulation.
He still checked for bugs daily and changed the alarm code every morning as well. Now, Jace came in behind him, and Tomcat closed and locked the door, alarmed it and swept the room silently.
“Can’t be too careful,” he said, more to himself than to Jace when he was finished. Jace would think the paranoia normal for someone in the MC, especially a hired gun.
If he thought differently, it didn’t show. He just nodded, at least until Tomcat slammed him against the wall, his gun pulled.
“You set me up?” he demanded.
“No.” The kid barely blinked, even with Tomcat’s elbow at his throat, gun to his head. “In case you didn’t notice, I saved your ass.”
The he leaned in and whispered, “UC. I’d say Fed, but I think you’d be offended.”
Tomcat pressed the gun harder to Jace’s temple, but still he continued, “Spook,” with a warm puff of air against Tomcat’s cheek. “I’m young, but I’m not dumb.”
No, indeed; to be a special forces soldier, he wouldn’t be. He could be as dangerous as Tomcat himself was, if not more so.
“I know you need to deny it, but dude, come on,” Jace said.
“Dude, you need to shut it.” But Tomcat wanted more from him. The man was so close—they were both hard—and no, he definitely hadn’t been wrong about Jace’s wants.
“We clean in here?” Jace asked. “I saw you sweep, but I still need to know.”
Tomcat ignored his question, said instead, “You f***ed up my job.” When Jace didn’t answer, he admitted, “We’re clean here.”
“I was stopping you,” Jace told him.
“Why? Trying to save my soul? Don’t bother.”
“From shooting Jerry’s brother. It was a setup.” Jace stared at him with those goddamned deep blue eyes. What the hell—had Tomcat gotten sloppy, or was the club being deliberately sly because they’d stopped trusting him?
“How do you know this?” he demanded.
“I’m a little smarter than the average MC member.”
What he meant was better trained, would notice far more than the others. And Tomcat had no reason not to trust him. “You’re going to have to tell me everything you know.”
Jace nodded, and he did, told him about the rival gang’s—and its president, Jerry’s—issues. “It’s not about you—Cools trusts you. But he also knows that if you killed Jerry’s brother, Carl would be blamed, and it could start the internal war they want. Cools wants a leg up on Jerry and Carl’s territory.”
Damn. Tomcat slid a hand through his hair and turned away. He knew that the Killers fought with lesser gangs like Carl’s all the time, but he hadn’t seen this coming.
“You’re not telling them I ratted, are you?”
“Never.”
“I’d trust you more if you were an MC member.”
Tomcat wanted to be offended but couldn’t. There was too much truth in that statement. Finally, he put his gun away, pocketed it but kept his arm on Jace’s throat. Mainly because he was enjoying the proximity, never mind that his entire job could be blown to sh**.
But this kid wouldn’t turn him in. The consequences to his career would be too great.
“We’ve got to lie low for the weekend, especially since we’re already well into Saturday.” Tomcat stared at him hard. “You’re sure no one saw you?”
“They know there’s nothing I can do without putting my military career on the line. No one f***s with me—no one follows me.”
Tomcat didn’t know how completely true that was, but if what Jace had told him about the setup proved true, there were way too many people watching Tomcat’s six. Hell, even one was too many. “You’re going to have to drop out and figure out a story as to why we met up.”
Jace shrugged. “Can’t we just be hanging out? I mean, your background’s military. They know that. Keeping the lie as simple as possible and as close to the truth usually works best.”
Tomcat finally pushed away from him because he needed space. Needed to think. He poured himself a soda and chewed on some crushed ice as he mulled Jace’s suggestion over. Could work, he supposed, but something nagged at him.
He didn’t want anything about this mission to come back and haunt him. And Jace…hell, they’d killed men for less. “Why the hell did you think hanging out with this group would be such a good idea?”
Jace’s jaw tightened—if he had an answer, he wasn’t about to spill it. Not tonight, but Tomcat was confident he could get it out of him, so for the moment, he changed tactics. “You hungry?”
“Maybe.”
Yeah, SEALs ate like teenage boys. He was pretty sure Jace was no exception. “Fridge is stocked. Make yourself comfortable. Oh, and give me your phone.”
He brushed past Tomcat. “Make me.”
Oh, this boy was going down. Would lie writhing and begging under him by the time all was said and done.
It was like Jace knew it, too, and was taking advantage as much as possible before that happened. And after the boy downed a sandwich or two and a soda, Tomcat asked, “So the only reason you found me was to warn me?”
“Yes.” Jace flicked his gaze coolly over him.
“I don’t think so.” Tomcat was done forcing himself to believe it was nothing more than a natural suspicion—he knew better. “No one knows I live here. No one knows you’re here. Do you understand how much trouble you could be in?”
Jace moved from the table over to where Tomcat was pacing. He slid his body in between Tomcat’s and the wall and breathed, “Yeah. Go ahead and punish me.”
There were inches separating them, and Tomcat liked to pretend he was made of steel—and most of the time it worked—but the proximity was too much. Jace might’ve been teasing, but Tomcat would up the ante, take it to the next level and see what the boy would do then.
The boy. An intimate term he’d never thought he’d use on anyone again. This night was turning out to be full of surprises.
Bound for Keeps #5
Keith stomped the snow off his boots, stripped down and found that Reed had carried Shane into the spare bedroom, gotten him comfortable. There was a warm saline IV running into his arm and IV antibiotics on the bedside table.
“He’s got pneumonia. I’ll be monitoring him all night,” Reed said.
“We’ll be monitoring him all night,” Keith corrected. “I didn’t find any bag. Let me go try to get the word out about him first.”
He went into the small office on the other end of the living room and shot off some emails to friends who were still enlisted. He figured he should hear something back by the morning. He also checked local missing person’s reports and found nothing. Something in his gut told him not to report Shane to the authorities, though.
The boy was in trouble—or he was trouble—Keith was sure of it.
Then again, he’d thought the same thing about Reed when he’d shown up half dead on the doorstep on Christmas Eve, just the way the local legend said would happen. The realtor had been the one to tell Keith about it originally—she liked that bit of local flavor and thought Keith might as well.
Supposedly, the cabin was at least a hundred years old, and it had a reputation of bringing lovers together on Christmas Eve. People came there in bad weather, looking for an inn, but there was no record of an inn being on or near that property. There was a Motel 6 twenty miles away and nothing beyond that Keith had ever been able to find on any map, no matter how old.
No one had a clue where the inn rumor had started, but when Keith bought the house he’d inherited that story along with a good foundation, sixteen-foot ceilings and a nonexistent electrical system. Over the years, with Bobby’s help and then Reed’s, he’d rebuilt almost everything while keeping the original feel of the place.
And yeah, his sentimentality had definitely shown through.
From the outside, it looked like little more than a sturdy log cabin. It was exactly the way they liked it, because their business was as secret as their private life and it provided the men with the necessary security.
Having any kind of personal life or attachments as a mercenary was never recommended. Once anyone knew you had something—or someone—you’d rather die than lose, you were in trouble.
Keith and Reed had been off the grid for so long, it was a concern only at times like this. If Shane had been sent in to hunt them, he’d done a piss-poor job of it.
Keith would make sure it stayed that way and dammit, Christmas Eve and investigations didn’t go together. He sipped his Scotch, the smell of ham and other foods cooking in the kitchen wafting over him. Reed had insisted on making a feast, and Keith’s stomach rumbled appreciatively at the thought of the spread. Both men had learned to cook relatively well in their years in the military when they’d been living alone. Over the course of the years, they’d picked up a lot from Bobby too, who’d actually gone to culinary school at some point, just for fun.
Keith would’ve paid money to see that—an active-duty Marine in culinary school. Smiled thinking about Bobby using his KA-BAR knife to peel potatoes.
In a way, this meal was Reed’s tribute to the man who’d died a week before Christmas last year. The men had promised Bobby they wouldn’t stop celebrating the holiday.
Pulling his mind back to the present, Keith flexed his fingers over the keys, tapping into databases he had no business being in and coming up blank. That in and of itself brought up a number of red flags, in Keith’s book.
“Anything?” Reed asked, coming into the den, leaning his hip against the desk facing Keith, who shook his head. “Special forces?”
“No way.”
Reed seemed to agree. “Definitely military, which means this ID’s fake. Good, but fake.”
“Shane’s his real first name though—even half unconscious, he responds to it,” Keith pointed out.
“Witness Protection?”
“I’ll email Dan in case someone’s missing. That’s a Christmas Eve email no one would mind getting,” he said, knowing the US Marshal would appreciate the heads-up.
“I’d hate to think of Kyle out looking for him. No one should be alone during the holidays,” Reed said somberly as he moved closer to Keith.
They both had, at various points throughout their lives. “He’s not alone.”
“No, just shut in with one of the most suspicious men on the planet.” Keith merely smiled because Reed said it with an affectionate rub to his shaved head, followed by a kiss. “I can still see the bite mark.”
“You were a little excited,” Keith said wryly, and Reed snorted.
“Yeah, just a little. Not your fault at all.”
“I was planning a repeat performance tonight, but I guess it’ll have to wait.”
“Looks that way.”
Keith sighed. “When he wakes—”
“You are not going to interrogate him.”
“You’re really going to owe me,” Keith told him mutinously as Reed moved away and shrugged.
“Not a hardship,” Reed called over his shoulder as he walked across the hall toward the guest room.
Through the open door, Keith watched his partner rub the young man down with water and alcohol. Managing fever on top of hypothermia took skill, but Reed had dealt with much worse.
After another hour of emails, including hearing back from Dan, his marshal contact, that all their WITSEC men and women were safe and sound, Keith got up and went to the doorway of the guest room, noting the flush of fever on Shane’s face had subsided somewhat. But the boy’s eyes still held that hazy, faraway look whenever they opened to Reed quietly saying, “Hey, Shane, can you open your eyes for me?” And then just as suddenly they’d close again and sleep would take him.
Reed looked up at him. “You okay?”
Keith put his hands up to grab the doorframe above his head, stretched himself as he gave an unconvincing, “Yeah.”
“You’ve got to admit this is weird,” Reed said finally. Of the three of them, he believed the least in that old legend about this house drawing those in need to it, but he couldn’t deny the oddness of this. “I mean, eight years to the day. To the hour.”
Keith shrugged. “’S’what the legend says. Travelers in need find their way here on this day at this time.”
“Like me.” Reed’s blue eyes shone in the soft light, the memories making him smile a little. His blond hair was on the longer side, and he was shorter than Keith—six-two to Keith’s six-five, but his build was lankier. He was strong as hell, though, as Keith well remembered when he came to that night he woke on the living room floor and immediately tried to punch both Keith and Bobby.
Reed had war in his eyes. Sometimes, when he woke, he still did. He told Keith he always dreamed of the rain.
“There’s no one like you,” Keith told him. “We can’t keep him here longer than tomorrow.”
“There’s your suspicious side coming through,” Reed grumbled.
“You know I’m right to be cautious.”
“I know. He’s beautiful, though,” Reed murmured, and Keith rubbed a hand over his shaved skull as he moved forward toward the bed and wondered what the hell they were doing not calling the police.
“Yeah, a beautiful con artist,” he muttered. Reed turned and shot him a sharp look as their patient suddenly opened his eyes and stared directly at Keith, a gaze that made him feel a sharp tug from gut to groin.
F*ck. It had been a mistake to let him in this far.
Shane struggled to sit up, but Reed was pressing his shoulders back down to the pillows. “Easy, big guy. You’ve been out of it for a while.”
Keith held out the cup of water and Shane took a greedy pull from the straw, until he coughed. Reed eased him back, covered him back up and waited until he’d caught his breath.
“What’s your name?” Keith asked.
Shane looked at him, a sudden confusion covering his handsome face. “It’s um…f*ck.”
“Um f*ck, huh?” Keith started, but Reed interrupted with a glare at Keith.
“It’s Shane Wills. Did you hit your head?”
“I don’t remember,” Shane admitted.
“What the hell were you doing out there?” Keith barked.
Shane pressed his lips together, shook his head as if attempting to clear it. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? It’s a simple question,” Keith asked, but Reed put a hand against his chest to stop him, asked instead, “What’s the last thing you remember, Shane?”
“I remember walking down a street in Philly…some guys hassled me and I fought them off, but not before I lost my wallet and they got in some good punches,” he started slowly. “A truck driver took pity on me—cleaned me up and took me as far as here, I guess. When he dropped me, he told me there was an inn a mile from here. And then I walked.”
Keith mentally cursed the driver for dropping this kid into the middle of nowhere in this weather. “No one’s ever found that inn.”
Because this is the inn.
He caught Reed’s eye and both men fought a smile.
“And before that?” Keith pushed Shane, who shook his head.
“I don’t remember. I’ve been trying to for the past few days—the whole ride…I was panicked.”
“Maybe we should call the police—file a missing person’s report—” Reed said.
“No!” Shane’s hand shot out, grabbed Reed’s wrist. “No.”
Keith’s eyes met Reed’s. No doubt about it—Shane was nothing but trouble.
Bound to Break #6
He dragged the boy behind him, his gun down at his side until they reached his car. Safely inside, neither man said a word until Tomcat pulled in to the garage that attached to the building where his loft was.
His loft—the entire building, actually—was CIA-owned and had been a part of his long-assed cover. His loft was steel-reinforced, soundproofed, had bulletproof glass with blackout tint, and no one was allowed up here, not even the agent who played his old lady—for her safety. Still, it was furnished so anyone who visited wouldn’t notice any of the high-tech gadgetry or the insulation.
He still checked for bugs daily and changed the alarm code every morning as well. Now, Jace came in behind him, and Tomcat closed and locked the door, alarmed it and swept the room silently.
“Can’t be too careful,” he said, more to himself than to Jace when he was finished. Jace would think the paranoia normal for someone in the MC, especially a hired gun.
If he thought differently, it didn’t show. He just nodded, at least until Tomcat slammed him against the wall, his gun pulled.
“You set me up?” he demanded.
“No.” The kid barely blinked, even with Tomcat’s elbow at his throat, gun to his head. “In case you didn’t notice, I saved your ass.”
The he leaned in and whispered, “UC. I’d say Fed, but I think you’d be offended.”
Tomcat pressed the gun harder to Jace’s temple, but still he continued, “Spook,” with a warm puff of air against Tomcat’s cheek. “I’m young, but I’m not dumb.”
No, indeed; to be a special forces soldier, he wouldn’t be. He could be as dangerous as Tomcat himself was, if not more so.
“I know you need to deny it, but dude, come on,” Jace said.
“Dude, you need to shut it.” But Tomcat wanted more from him. The man was so close—they were both hard—and no, he definitely hadn’t been wrong about Jace’s wants.
“We clean in here?” Jace asked. “I saw you sweep, but I still need to know.”
Tomcat ignored his question, said instead, “You f***ed up my job.” When Jace didn’t answer, he admitted, “We’re clean here.”
“I was stopping you,” Jace told him.
“Why? Trying to save my soul? Don’t bother.”
“From shooting Jerry’s brother. It was a setup.” Jace stared at him with those goddamned deep blue eyes. What the hell—had Tomcat gotten sloppy, or was the club being deliberately sly because they’d stopped trusting him?
“How do you know this?” he demanded.
“I’m a little smarter than the average MC member.”
What he meant was better trained, would notice far more than the others. And Tomcat had no reason not to trust him. “You’re going to have to tell me everything you know.”
Jace nodded, and he did, told him about the rival gang’s—and its president, Jerry’s—issues. “It’s not about you—Cools trusts you. But he also knows that if you killed Jerry’s brother, Carl would be blamed, and it could start the internal war they want. Cools wants a leg up on Jerry and Carl’s territory.”
Damn. Tomcat slid a hand through his hair and turned away. He knew that the Killers fought with lesser gangs like Carl’s all the time, but he hadn’t seen this coming.
“You’re not telling them I ratted, are you?”
“Never.”
“I’d trust you more if you were an MC member.”
Tomcat wanted to be offended but couldn’t. There was too much truth in that statement. Finally, he put his gun away, pocketed it but kept his arm on Jace’s throat. Mainly because he was enjoying the proximity, never mind that his entire job could be blown to sh**.
But this kid wouldn’t turn him in. The consequences to his career would be too great.
“We’ve got to lie low for the weekend, especially since we’re already well into Saturday.” Tomcat stared at him hard. “You’re sure no one saw you?”
“They know there’s nothing I can do without putting my military career on the line. No one f***s with me—no one follows me.”
Tomcat didn’t know how completely true that was, but if what Jace had told him about the setup proved true, there were way too many people watching Tomcat’s six. Hell, even one was too many. “You’re going to have to drop out and figure out a story as to why we met up.”
Jace shrugged. “Can’t we just be hanging out? I mean, your background’s military. They know that. Keeping the lie as simple as possible and as close to the truth usually works best.”
Tomcat finally pushed away from him because he needed space. Needed to think. He poured himself a soda and chewed on some crushed ice as he mulled Jace’s suggestion over. Could work, he supposed, but something nagged at him.
He didn’t want anything about this mission to come back and haunt him. And Jace…hell, they’d killed men for less. “Why the hell did you think hanging out with this group would be such a good idea?”
Jace’s jaw tightened—if he had an answer, he wasn’t about to spill it. Not tonight, but Tomcat was confident he could get it out of him, so for the moment, he changed tactics. “You hungry?”
“Maybe.”
Yeah, SEALs ate like teenage boys. He was pretty sure Jace was no exception. “Fridge is stocked. Make yourself comfortable. Oh, and give me your phone.”
He brushed past Tomcat. “Make me.”
Oh, this boy was going down. Would lie writhing and begging under him by the time all was said and done.
It was like Jace knew it, too, and was taking advantage as much as possible before that happened. And after the boy downed a sandwich or two and a soda, Tomcat asked, “So the only reason you found me was to warn me?”
“Yes.” Jace flicked his gaze coolly over him.
“I don’t think so.” Tomcat was done forcing himself to believe it was nothing more than a natural suspicion—he knew better. “No one knows I live here. No one knows you’re here. Do you understand how much trouble you could be in?”
Jace moved from the table over to where Tomcat was pacing. He slid his body in between Tomcat’s and the wall and breathed, “Yeah. Go ahead and punish me.”
There were inches separating them, and Tomcat liked to pretend he was made of steel—and most of the time it worked—but the proximity was too much. Jace might’ve been teasing, but Tomcat would up the ante, take it to the next level and see what the boy would do then.
The boy. An intimate term he’d never thought he’d use on anyone again. This night was turning out to be full of surprises.
Damon remained brooding there at his desk for the next hour. Pulled out and stared at the picture of Jesse he kept in his desk drawer. Tried to figure out what the hell Jesse had been thinking.
And while he couldn’t ever really know that, thanks to LC, he had the most important thing—Tanner’s address.
He headed to his truck and drove around aimlessly for a while, radio blasting, wondering why the hell he would do this when he’d successfully gotten the boy out of his life.
Because you owe Jesse. Or Jesse owed you. Whichever way it was, Damon knew he’d get no rest until he made Tanner an offer…and an apology. And so he pulled in front of the address he’d programmed into the GPS, the soothing female voice telling him he’d arrived at his destination.
It was the right place—a townhouse near the base, nicely groomed. No car in the driveway but Damon hoped it was in the garage, wanted the boy—Tanner—to be home.
He stared at the house, his nerves still jangled. They’d been that way after his first meeting with Jesse as well.
Jesse. It had been so complicated. And at first that had Damon jumping right in and helping. Fixing.
Losing himself in the process until he didn’t know who he was or what he wanted anymore.
Had he ever?
Jesse. Big brown eyes. Biting wit. And a need for submission as big as the state of Texas, where he’d been born.
Jesse had come to the club to survey the scene, check things out and, most of all, to find Damon, who, at his peak, was one of the best and most coveted Doms around.
He’d initially refused to play with the beautiful boy with the aching need in his eyes, knew how much work it could be to train a new sub.
“I’ll do whatever you say,” Jesse had told him earnestly, but the boy had the devil in his eyes.
Damon remembered frowning, saying, “They all tell me that.”
But he hadn’t refused.
It was supposed to be one night. One time with Jesse strapped to the spanking bench, writhing under the weight of Damon’s hand, the steady slaps bringing him into subspace far more quickly than Damon could ever have anticipated.
Under the weight of the memories, Damon felt sluggish, like he could easily drown. The man in the house could be his lifeline…or could sink him even further.
Without knowing which, Damon got out of the truck and headed up the walk, rang the bell and waited. A long four minutes later, just when he was about to walk away, Tanner answered the door, dressed only in a pair of low-slung sweatpants. His eyes were red-rimmed and that tore at Damon’s gut.
Tanner’s chin jutted stubbornly when he saw Damon, his eyes blazed and yeah, Damon deserved it and the anger of Tanner’s first words.
“How do you know where I live?” Tanner demanded.
“Your wallet.”
Tanner went to close the door but Damon’s hand shot out, stopping it. “That wasn’t a proper scene,” he started.
“Felt pretty real to me.” Tanner’s voice was hoarse, and he still held the door half closed.
“If it had been proper, you wouldn’t have been alone. I would’ve been there to help you through it. I would’ve been there afterward, when you fell apart.”
“Yeah, one night and you would’ve been able to put me back together, right?” Tanner’s voice held the bitterness Damon had expected, but the boy didn’t deny that he’d fallen apart. Instead, he let the door go and Damon pushed it open fully and took a step closer.
“I can do better. Give you what Jesse wanted you to have,” Damon offered, his voice quiet.
Tanner flicked a surprise gaze at him. “You want another chance?”
“Not at the club. At my place. Just the two of us.”
“I don’t think…I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” Tanner admitted.
“There’s more I want to know…about Jesse.”
Tanner was still guarded, but he was a man of his word—Damon was counting on that…needed to make all of this right somehow.
“I can do that. The rest…I don’t know,” Tanner said.
“Why?”
“Look, it’s not my scene, all right? I’m not a sub. I’m not a bottom.”
Damon stared at the boy as the picture of him bound and spread and coming flashed before his eyes. He’d been out of the game for longer than he’d realized. That—and the fact that Jesse had clouded his judgment—because he should’ve realized from the second he’d met the boy that Tanner thought he was a top. Damon knew, from the second he met the unarguably alpha male, that he wasn’t. How to convince him was another issue in itself. “You sure about that?”
Tanner shrugged like it was no big deal, but the casualness of the gesture didn’t match the confusion in his eyes. “Yeah, I am. Nothing wrong with it, though. I just prefer being in control.”
Damon leaned in and put a hand around the back of Tanner’s neck, waiting for the man to resist.
He didn’t, and Damon rubbed the heated skin, still damp from a recent shower. He pulled Tanner a little closer although the boy tugged back a little.
Damon tugged harder, told him, “No, baby—you’d prefer someone to take all that control from you until you’re moaning like a sweet little bitch.”
Tanner’s jaw dropped and his eyes glazed slightly, like Damon had just revealed his deepest, darkest fantasy.
He let his hand slip away from the boy’s neck reluctantly. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“No,” Tanner agreed, not believing it, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck where Damon’s hand had been. And he was still hard. “It’s just something I’m not.”
Tanner would insist that until Damon proved it otherwise, so for now, he didn’t press it. “That’s why it was hard for you to walk into the club and submit.”
“Well, that and bringing up Jesse.” Tanner shook his head as though saying the name was as hard for him as it was for Damon.
“You were close.”
“We were on the same team. Leave no man behind.”
“You didn’t leave him behind, Tanner.”
Tanner didn’t answer and Damon knew that, no matter what he told the boy, he’d believe he somehow let Jesse down.
Damon knew that better than anyone. “Tomorrow night—after midnight. My loft’s above the club—you can use the private entrance in the back. Be prepared to stay the weekend.”
He turned and headed back to his truck before Tanner could say anything, before he could turn Damon down, because suddenly Damon wanted nothing more than Tanner.
Bound by Law #2
“I was glad you came over,” Paulo said after they’d finished the appetizers and waited on the next course.
LC had been surprised, too. He’d been restless for months and prowling the club scene no longer held his interest. Crave was sold and things were moving forward.
Everyone was moving forward and he’d been standing still. At first, there had been a lot to do with the sale of the club and the lofts and the construction of the new apartments he and Damon bought, along with the rest of the building. They were now living on opposite ends of the top floor, and the plan was to renovate and rent the rest of the apartments.
There was still a hell of a lot to do, but LC didn’t feel like handling any of it, especially not last night. No, he’d wanted to handle someone, and his car had pointed in the direction of Paulo’s place almost as if he’d had no control.
But LC knew that was bullshit.
Paulo had barely been able to get out a hello before LC had him pinned, telling Paulo he’d been dreaming about him before he could stop himself. After that, it was a blur of hands and tongues and oh yeahs, and then LC was agreeing to dinner, because he’d just taken the man without so much as a this-is-where-I’ve-been-for-the-past-few-months explanation.
He’d stayed through until the sun came up and straggled back to his new place, and now he was here, next to this man in this dark restaurant, and he’d been turned on from the time Paulo had picked him up.
If he was honest with himself, Paulo was handling him, and LC liked it.
Paulo hadn’t asked him any more about the dreams LC had about him, and for that, LC was grateful. Because this, the tug in the stomach when Paulo looked at him, was new…the first time since Styx, and he knew this man could make him happy, if he allowed it.
He downed the rest of his wine and stood before he told Paulo that. “Headed to the restroom—I’ll be back.”
“I’d join you, but I have a reputation in this place,” Paulo said with a sly smile.
“I’m sure.” LC threaded his way through the back hallway, found the men’s room. He pissed and washed up in the private restroom, wiped his hands on a paper towel, and it was all normal. So normal.
Until the lights went out and shots rang out inside the restaurant and an arm came up across his body, a hand over his mouth, and his natural instinct to fight like hell was quelled with a single breath.
Styx. He’d recognize the man’s scent—his touch—blindfolded. Many a time he’d actually done so, but this situation was a thousand percent different.
“Not a word.” Styx’s voice, rough like gravel. Rougher when he was angry or aroused. His breath was warm and minty—Altoids. The man had always been addicted to them.
Damn, you remembered the oddest things when your ass was on the line. And speaking of asses, his was pressed hard to Styx’s groin…and the man’s arousal was unmistakable. Nice to know he wasn’t the only one affected by the close proximity.
He moved his head and Styx took his hand away.
“Paulo,” he said, and Styx answered, “Your friend’s safe—my associate has him.”
Good, that was good, but Jesus, what was going on here?
He heard the slight snick of a gun’s safety being released and then heavy footsteps. Whoever was coming wasn’t interested in stealth.
Not good.
“Whatever happens, stay put in here. I’ll take care of everything.” Styx barely mouthed the words but LC heard them loud and clear. And then he was left alone in the dark, and yeah, that was the story of his goddamned life with and without Styx, and he listened and waited.
No more shots, but someone had been killed. LC had been around stealth and death long enough in the Army to the point where he could taste the violence. He’d been on the receiving end of it since birth.
Goddammit, LC, shake it off.
And then Styx was back, tugging at him, and LC resisted. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell’s going on out there.”
“There’s trouble. Now shut up and do what I say.”
“I’m so beyond listening to you.”
“You have no idea who and what you’re up against. Come with me,” Styx said, and LC reluctantly followed him into the restaurant’s storeroom, close to the parking lot. And even though it was dark as night inside the restaurant’s back room, LC would know the man, could practically see the dark blond hair, longer than it had been, eyes that never failed to mesmerize him, the hard body and even harder cock that had probed him earlier.
LC knew what he was up against—and he was powerless to stop it. And when he started to edge past Styx, Styx let him go at first and then pushed him hard against the wall by the door.
“Are you with that guy?” he whispered into LC’s neck, and he wanted to tell Styx not to do that.
Instead, he ground out, “His name is Paulo. And now you’re worried about my dating habits?”
“I’m always worried about you.”
“The not calling or writing is a great way to show that.”
“It’s the way it has to be.”
Has to be…not using the past tense meant that’s what would happen after Styx did whatever it was he needed to here. “What, exactly, is happening out there to get the CIA involved?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“Right. I don’t have the clearance to be involved in any part of your life.” Never did. Never would. “Let go of me.”
“You can’t leave now.”
“Then you’ll have to arrest me.”
With that, Styx reached up and yanked LC’s arms down and behind his back, and when the cuffs snicked on his wrists, he cursed bitterly. “Where’s Paulo?”
“Safe.”
“Not what I asked.”
“Are you two serious?”
“Why don’t you tell me? You’ve been spying on me for God knows how long.”
“I call it keeping you safe.”
Ties that Bind #3
A shiver brushed the back of Derek’s neck seconds before he spotted the blond walk through the door.
The boy was beautiful—handsome, maybe mid-to-late twenties. The tattoos that ran up and down his arms were a promise of many more under the black wife-beater that he revealed when the black leather jacket slipped off.
He turned to the older Dom, James, sitting next to him at the bar. “Who’s that?”
“That’s Glen,” James said with a half-smile. He’d been watching the boy as well. “I didn’t think we’d ever see him here again.”
Derek’s gut tugged—usually that meant the boy was a pain in the ass or not a good sub at all. But typically, this bar wouldn’t allow someone like that inside. “Why not?”
James pointed to the wall and Derek turned his head toward the picture of John.
“He was John’s?” John was a legend at this place—part-owner, friend to all. A Dom who taught others what the term really meant. He’d also been retired CIA, although Derek was only privy to that because of his own time in the military.
“For five years, until John died. After that…” James shook his head.
“He’s never taken another Dom?”
“He tried. But it didn’t work. John was a hard memory to live up to.”
“Maybe he tried someplace else?”
“No way—this is Glen’s home. He knows that. John wouldn’t have wanted him to go someplace he wasn’t known to sub.” James looked at Derek. “If he’s back here, that means he’s looking.”
“Any advice?” Because Derek was chomping at the bit to approach him. The shiver touched his neck again and he rubbed the skin there and wondered why this boy hit him so hard.
James fixed him with a hard gaze. “He’s not easy. Never was, never will be. He doesn’t want the traditional relationship. But if he respects you, the submission you get…”
James didn’t finish but Derek knew—could tell by the strut the boy had, even with the sadness in his eyes—that Glen submitting would be a wild and beautiful thing. He’d had that once, a long time ago, and some said he’d been purposely picking the wrong boys since.
They were probably right.
A widowed Dom and a widowed sub typically didn’t mix well—both had expectations that were impossible to meet. But he was being tugged in Glen’s direction by something, and he glanced at the picture of John and back to Glen.
He watched the other men come up to the boy, hug him, welcome him as he drank his beer slowly. Glen looked overwhelmed after about fifteen minutes, was having trouble making eye contact with people, had his hands stuffed in his pockets, and Derek could see they were fisted. He couldn’t think of a better time to make his introduction.
He came up behind the boy and put a hand on the back of his neck, his palm tingling with the contact of the warm skin. Glen stilled immediately and Derek murmured, “Come on—you’re about to lose it.”
Glen didn’t fight, turned and walked next to Derek, not meeting his eyes, walking with his head down. Derek kept up the light rub on his hot skin until they moved to a more private area, ignoring the whispers that started immediately.
“Face the wall,” Derek told him.
“I don’t do that punishment shit,” Glen growled, tried to break away but Derek held him in place, inhaling the boy’s scent—beach and cinnamon and that pure scent of a man aroused.
“It’s not a punishment. You’re on sensory overload, headed to a panic attack. Now stay. Breathe.”
Glen gave a short nod, a flash of appreciation in his dark blue eyes, and did just that. Hung his head, stuffed his hands in his pockets again, and the men remained silent for a few minutes until Glen’s breathing became slow and steady. Derek studied his profile—his bearing was military, straight and sure, even with his head down with the kind of perfect posture of a sub. Derek had an urge to kiss him, but that would only end in disaster at the moment.
“Thanks,” Glen said finally, lifted his head and looked Derek in the eye. Half challenge, but there was also something else there…uncertainty. Lust, too.
It was enough. “I’m Derek Mann. Come sit. Have a drink.”
Glen nodded, sat next to Derek on the couch but asked for a soda when the waiter came to take their order. The waiter obviously recognized Glen, nodded at him, and Glen nodded back and drank half the Coke on his first pull. “I guess you know who I am.”
“I know who your Dom was,” Derek said. “That’s not the same thing at all.”
Glen frowned a little, as if he’d never considered that. “You’re the only one who had the balls to approach me like that.” That obviously sat well with Glen—with Derek too.
“Are you here to play?”
Bound by Danger #4
He dragged the boy behind him, his gun down at his side until they reached his car. Safely inside, neither man said a word until Tomcat pulled in to the garage that attached to the building where his loft was.
His loft—the entire building, actually—was CIA-owned and had been a part of his long-assed cover. His loft was steel-reinforced, soundproofed, had bulletproof glass with blackout tint, and no one was allowed up here, not even the agent who played his old lady—for her safety. Still, it was furnished so anyone who visited wouldn’t notice any of the high-tech gadgetry or the insulation.
He still checked for bugs daily and changed the alarm code every morning as well. Now, Jace came in behind him, and Tomcat closed and locked the door, alarmed it and swept the room silently.
“Can’t be too careful,” he said, more to himself than to Jace when he was finished. Jace would think the paranoia normal for someone in the MC, especially a hired gun.
If he thought differently, it didn’t show. He just nodded, at least until Tomcat slammed him against the wall, his gun pulled.
“You set me up?” he demanded.
“No.” The kid barely blinked, even with Tomcat’s elbow at his throat, gun to his head. “In case you didn’t notice, I saved your ass.”
The he leaned in and whispered, “UC. I’d say Fed, but I think you’d be offended.”
Tomcat pressed the gun harder to Jace’s temple, but still he continued, “Spook,” with a warm puff of air against Tomcat’s cheek. “I’m young, but I’m not dumb.”
No, indeed; to be a special forces soldier, he wouldn’t be. He could be as dangerous as Tomcat himself was, if not more so.
“I know you need to deny it, but dude, come on,” Jace said.
“Dude, you need to shut it.” But Tomcat wanted more from him. The man was so close—they were both hard—and no, he definitely hadn’t been wrong about Jace’s wants.
“We clean in here?” Jace asked. “I saw you sweep, but I still need to know.”
Tomcat ignored his question, said instead, “You f***ed up my job.” When Jace didn’t answer, he admitted, “We’re clean here.”
“I was stopping you,” Jace told him.
“Why? Trying to save my soul? Don’t bother.”
“From shooting Jerry’s brother. It was a setup.” Jace stared at him with those goddamned deep blue eyes. What the hell—had Tomcat gotten sloppy, or was the club being deliberately sly because they’d stopped trusting him?
“How do you know this?” he demanded.
“I’m a little smarter than the average MC member.”
What he meant was better trained, would notice far more than the others. And Tomcat had no reason not to trust him. “You’re going to have to tell me everything you know.”
Jace nodded, and he did, told him about the rival gang’s—and its president, Jerry’s—issues. “It’s not about you—Cools trusts you. But he also knows that if you killed Jerry’s brother, Carl would be blamed, and it could start the internal war they want. Cools wants a leg up on Jerry and Carl’s territory.”
Damn. Tomcat slid a hand through his hair and turned away. He knew that the Killers fought with lesser gangs like Carl’s all the time, but he hadn’t seen this coming.
“You’re not telling them I ratted, are you?”
“Never.”
“I’d trust you more if you were an MC member.”
Tomcat wanted to be offended but couldn’t. There was too much truth in that statement. Finally, he put his gun away, pocketed it but kept his arm on Jace’s throat. Mainly because he was enjoying the proximity, never mind that his entire job could be blown to sh**.
But this kid wouldn’t turn him in. The consequences to his career would be too great.
“We’ve got to lie low for the weekend, especially since we’re already well into Saturday.” Tomcat stared at him hard. “You’re sure no one saw you?”
“They know there’s nothing I can do without putting my military career on the line. No one f***s with me—no one follows me.”
Tomcat didn’t know how completely true that was, but if what Jace had told him about the setup proved true, there were way too many people watching Tomcat’s six. Hell, even one was too many. “You’re going to have to drop out and figure out a story as to why we met up.”
Jace shrugged. “Can’t we just be hanging out? I mean, your background’s military. They know that. Keeping the lie as simple as possible and as close to the truth usually works best.”
Tomcat finally pushed away from him because he needed space. Needed to think. He poured himself a soda and chewed on some crushed ice as he mulled Jace’s suggestion over. Could work, he supposed, but something nagged at him.
He didn’t want anything about this mission to come back and haunt him. And Jace…hell, they’d killed men for less. “Why the hell did you think hanging out with this group would be such a good idea?”
Jace’s jaw tightened—if he had an answer, he wasn’t about to spill it. Not tonight, but Tomcat was confident he could get it out of him, so for the moment, he changed tactics. “You hungry?”
“Maybe.”
Yeah, SEALs ate like teenage boys. He was pretty sure Jace was no exception. “Fridge is stocked. Make yourself comfortable. Oh, and give me your phone.”
He brushed past Tomcat. “Make me.”
Oh, this boy was going down. Would lie writhing and begging under him by the time all was said and done.
It was like Jace knew it, too, and was taking advantage as much as possible before that happened. And after the boy downed a sandwich or two and a soda, Tomcat asked, “So the only reason you found me was to warn me?”
“Yes.” Jace flicked his gaze coolly over him.
“I don’t think so.” Tomcat was done forcing himself to believe it was nothing more than a natural suspicion—he knew better. “No one knows I live here. No one knows you’re here. Do you understand how much trouble you could be in?”
Jace moved from the table over to where Tomcat was pacing. He slid his body in between Tomcat’s and the wall and breathed, “Yeah. Go ahead and punish me.”
There were inches separating them, and Tomcat liked to pretend he was made of steel—and most of the time it worked—but the proximity was too much. Jace might’ve been teasing, but Tomcat would up the ante, take it to the next level and see what the boy would do then.
The boy. An intimate term he’d never thought he’d use on anyone again. This night was turning out to be full of surprises.
Bound for Keeps #5
Keith stomped the snow off his boots, stripped down and found that Reed had carried Shane into the spare bedroom, gotten him comfortable. There was a warm saline IV running into his arm and IV antibiotics on the bedside table.
“He’s got pneumonia. I’ll be monitoring him all night,” Reed said.
“We’ll be monitoring him all night,” Keith corrected. “I didn’t find any bag. Let me go try to get the word out about him first.”
He went into the small office on the other end of the living room and shot off some emails to friends who were still enlisted. He figured he should hear something back by the morning. He also checked local missing person’s reports and found nothing. Something in his gut told him not to report Shane to the authorities, though.
The boy was in trouble—or he was trouble—Keith was sure of it.
Then again, he’d thought the same thing about Reed when he’d shown up half dead on the doorstep on Christmas Eve, just the way the local legend said would happen. The realtor had been the one to tell Keith about it originally—she liked that bit of local flavor and thought Keith might as well.
Supposedly, the cabin was at least a hundred years old, and it had a reputation of bringing lovers together on Christmas Eve. People came there in bad weather, looking for an inn, but there was no record of an inn being on or near that property. There was a Motel 6 twenty miles away and nothing beyond that Keith had ever been able to find on any map, no matter how old.
No one had a clue where the inn rumor had started, but when Keith bought the house he’d inherited that story along with a good foundation, sixteen-foot ceilings and a nonexistent electrical system. Over the years, with Bobby’s help and then Reed’s, he’d rebuilt almost everything while keeping the original feel of the place.
And yeah, his sentimentality had definitely shown through.
From the outside, it looked like little more than a sturdy log cabin. It was exactly the way they liked it, because their business was as secret as their private life and it provided the men with the necessary security.
Having any kind of personal life or attachments as a mercenary was never recommended. Once anyone knew you had something—or someone—you’d rather die than lose, you were in trouble.
Keith and Reed had been off the grid for so long, it was a concern only at times like this. If Shane had been sent in to hunt them, he’d done a piss-poor job of it.
Keith would make sure it stayed that way and dammit, Christmas Eve and investigations didn’t go together. He sipped his Scotch, the smell of ham and other foods cooking in the kitchen wafting over him. Reed had insisted on making a feast, and Keith’s stomach rumbled appreciatively at the thought of the spread. Both men had learned to cook relatively well in their years in the military when they’d been living alone. Over the course of the years, they’d picked up a lot from Bobby too, who’d actually gone to culinary school at some point, just for fun.
Keith would’ve paid money to see that—an active-duty Marine in culinary school. Smiled thinking about Bobby using his KA-BAR knife to peel potatoes.
In a way, this meal was Reed’s tribute to the man who’d died a week before Christmas last year. The men had promised Bobby they wouldn’t stop celebrating the holiday.
Pulling his mind back to the present, Keith flexed his fingers over the keys, tapping into databases he had no business being in and coming up blank. That in and of itself brought up a number of red flags, in Keith’s book.
“Anything?” Reed asked, coming into the den, leaning his hip against the desk facing Keith, who shook his head. “Special forces?”
“No way.”
Reed seemed to agree. “Definitely military, which means this ID’s fake. Good, but fake.”
“Shane’s his real first name though—even half unconscious, he responds to it,” Keith pointed out.
“Witness Protection?”
“I’ll email Dan in case someone’s missing. That’s a Christmas Eve email no one would mind getting,” he said, knowing the US Marshal would appreciate the heads-up.
“I’d hate to think of Kyle out looking for him. No one should be alone during the holidays,” Reed said somberly as he moved closer to Keith.
They both had, at various points throughout their lives. “He’s not alone.”
“No, just shut in with one of the most suspicious men on the planet.” Keith merely smiled because Reed said it with an affectionate rub to his shaved head, followed by a kiss. “I can still see the bite mark.”
“You were a little excited,” Keith said wryly, and Reed snorted.
“Yeah, just a little. Not your fault at all.”
“I was planning a repeat performance tonight, but I guess it’ll have to wait.”
“Looks that way.”
Keith sighed. “When he wakes—”
“You are not going to interrogate him.”
“You’re really going to owe me,” Keith told him mutinously as Reed moved away and shrugged.
“Not a hardship,” Reed called over his shoulder as he walked across the hall toward the guest room.
Through the open door, Keith watched his partner rub the young man down with water and alcohol. Managing fever on top of hypothermia took skill, but Reed had dealt with much worse.
After another hour of emails, including hearing back from Dan, his marshal contact, that all their WITSEC men and women were safe and sound, Keith got up and went to the doorway of the guest room, noting the flush of fever on Shane’s face had subsided somewhat. But the boy’s eyes still held that hazy, faraway look whenever they opened to Reed quietly saying, “Hey, Shane, can you open your eyes for me?” And then just as suddenly they’d close again and sleep would take him.
Reed looked up at him. “You okay?”
Keith put his hands up to grab the doorframe above his head, stretched himself as he gave an unconvincing, “Yeah.”
“You’ve got to admit this is weird,” Reed said finally. Of the three of them, he believed the least in that old legend about this house drawing those in need to it, but he couldn’t deny the oddness of this. “I mean, eight years to the day. To the hour.”
Keith shrugged. “’S’what the legend says. Travelers in need find their way here on this day at this time.”
“Like me.” Reed’s blue eyes shone in the soft light, the memories making him smile a little. His blond hair was on the longer side, and he was shorter than Keith—six-two to Keith’s six-five, but his build was lankier. He was strong as hell, though, as Keith well remembered when he came to that night he woke on the living room floor and immediately tried to punch both Keith and Bobby.
Reed had war in his eyes. Sometimes, when he woke, he still did. He told Keith he always dreamed of the rain.
“There’s no one like you,” Keith told him. “We can’t keep him here longer than tomorrow.”
“There’s your suspicious side coming through,” Reed grumbled.
“You know I’m right to be cautious.”
“I know. He’s beautiful, though,” Reed murmured, and Keith rubbed a hand over his shaved skull as he moved forward toward the bed and wondered what the hell they were doing not calling the police.
“Yeah, a beautiful con artist,” he muttered. Reed turned and shot him a sharp look as their patient suddenly opened his eyes and stared directly at Keith, a gaze that made him feel a sharp tug from gut to groin.
F*ck. It had been a mistake to let him in this far.
Shane struggled to sit up, but Reed was pressing his shoulders back down to the pillows. “Easy, big guy. You’ve been out of it for a while.”
Keith held out the cup of water and Shane took a greedy pull from the straw, until he coughed. Reed eased him back, covered him back up and waited until he’d caught his breath.
“What’s your name?” Keith asked.
Shane looked at him, a sudden confusion covering his handsome face. “It’s um…f*ck.”
“Um f*ck, huh?” Keith started, but Reed interrupted with a glare at Keith.
“It’s Shane Wills. Did you hit your head?”
“I don’t remember,” Shane admitted.
“What the hell were you doing out there?” Keith barked.
Shane pressed his lips together, shook his head as if attempting to clear it. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? It’s a simple question,” Keith asked, but Reed put a hand against his chest to stop him, asked instead, “What’s the last thing you remember, Shane?”
“I remember walking down a street in Philly…some guys hassled me and I fought them off, but not before I lost my wallet and they got in some good punches,” he started slowly. “A truck driver took pity on me—cleaned me up and took me as far as here, I guess. When he dropped me, he told me there was an inn a mile from here. And then I walked.”
Keith mentally cursed the driver for dropping this kid into the middle of nowhere in this weather. “No one’s ever found that inn.”
Because this is the inn.
He caught Reed’s eye and both men fought a smile.
“And before that?” Keith pushed Shane, who shook his head.
“I don’t remember. I’ve been trying to for the past few days—the whole ride…I was panicked.”
“Maybe we should call the police—file a missing person’s report—” Reed said.
“No!” Shane’s hand shot out, grabbed Reed’s wrist. “No.”
Keith’s eyes met Reed’s. No doubt about it—Shane was nothing but trouble.
Bound to Break #6
He dragged the boy behind him, his gun down at his side until they reached his car. Safely inside, neither man said a word until Tomcat pulled in to the garage that attached to the building where his loft was.
His loft—the entire building, actually—was CIA-owned and had been a part of his long-assed cover. His loft was steel-reinforced, soundproofed, had bulletproof glass with blackout tint, and no one was allowed up here, not even the agent who played his old lady—for her safety. Still, it was furnished so anyone who visited wouldn’t notice any of the high-tech gadgetry or the insulation.
He still checked for bugs daily and changed the alarm code every morning as well. Now, Jace came in behind him, and Tomcat closed and locked the door, alarmed it and swept the room silently.
“Can’t be too careful,” he said, more to himself than to Jace when he was finished. Jace would think the paranoia normal for someone in the MC, especially a hired gun.
If he thought differently, it didn’t show. He just nodded, at least until Tomcat slammed him against the wall, his gun pulled.
“You set me up?” he demanded.
“No.” The kid barely blinked, even with Tomcat’s elbow at his throat, gun to his head. “In case you didn’t notice, I saved your ass.”
The he leaned in and whispered, “UC. I’d say Fed, but I think you’d be offended.”
Tomcat pressed the gun harder to Jace’s temple, but still he continued, “Spook,” with a warm puff of air against Tomcat’s cheek. “I’m young, but I’m not dumb.”
No, indeed; to be a special forces soldier, he wouldn’t be. He could be as dangerous as Tomcat himself was, if not more so.
“I know you need to deny it, but dude, come on,” Jace said.
“Dude, you need to shut it.” But Tomcat wanted more from him. The man was so close—they were both hard—and no, he definitely hadn’t been wrong about Jace’s wants.
“We clean in here?” Jace asked. “I saw you sweep, but I still need to know.”
Tomcat ignored his question, said instead, “You f***ed up my job.” When Jace didn’t answer, he admitted, “We’re clean here.”
“I was stopping you,” Jace told him.
“Why? Trying to save my soul? Don’t bother.”
“From shooting Jerry’s brother. It was a setup.” Jace stared at him with those goddamned deep blue eyes. What the hell—had Tomcat gotten sloppy, or was the club being deliberately sly because they’d stopped trusting him?
“How do you know this?” he demanded.
“I’m a little smarter than the average MC member.”
What he meant was better trained, would notice far more than the others. And Tomcat had no reason not to trust him. “You’re going to have to tell me everything you know.”
Jace nodded, and he did, told him about the rival gang’s—and its president, Jerry’s—issues. “It’s not about you—Cools trusts you. But he also knows that if you killed Jerry’s brother, Carl would be blamed, and it could start the internal war they want. Cools wants a leg up on Jerry and Carl’s territory.”
Damn. Tomcat slid a hand through his hair and turned away. He knew that the Killers fought with lesser gangs like Carl’s all the time, but he hadn’t seen this coming.
“You’re not telling them I ratted, are you?”
“Never.”
“I’d trust you more if you were an MC member.”
Tomcat wanted to be offended but couldn’t. There was too much truth in that statement. Finally, he put his gun away, pocketed it but kept his arm on Jace’s throat. Mainly because he was enjoying the proximity, never mind that his entire job could be blown to sh**.
But this kid wouldn’t turn him in. The consequences to his career would be too great.
“We’ve got to lie low for the weekend, especially since we’re already well into Saturday.” Tomcat stared at him hard. “You’re sure no one saw you?”
“They know there’s nothing I can do without putting my military career on the line. No one f***s with me—no one follows me.”
Tomcat didn’t know how completely true that was, but if what Jace had told him about the setup proved true, there were way too many people watching Tomcat’s six. Hell, even one was too many. “You’re going to have to drop out and figure out a story as to why we met up.”
Jace shrugged. “Can’t we just be hanging out? I mean, your background’s military. They know that. Keeping the lie as simple as possible and as close to the truth usually works best.”
Tomcat finally pushed away from him because he needed space. Needed to think. He poured himself a soda and chewed on some crushed ice as he mulled Jace’s suggestion over. Could work, he supposed, but something nagged at him.
He didn’t want anything about this mission to come back and haunt him. And Jace…hell, they’d killed men for less. “Why the hell did you think hanging out with this group would be such a good idea?”
Jace’s jaw tightened—if he had an answer, he wasn’t about to spill it. Not tonight, but Tomcat was confident he could get it out of him, so for the moment, he changed tactics. “You hungry?”
“Maybe.”
Yeah, SEALs ate like teenage boys. He was pretty sure Jace was no exception. “Fridge is stocked. Make yourself comfortable. Oh, and give me your phone.”
He brushed past Tomcat. “Make me.”
Oh, this boy was going down. Would lie writhing and begging under him by the time all was said and done.
It was like Jace knew it, too, and was taking advantage as much as possible before that happened. And after the boy downed a sandwich or two and a soda, Tomcat asked, “So the only reason you found me was to warn me?”
“Yes.” Jace flicked his gaze coolly over him.
“I don’t think so.” Tomcat was done forcing himself to believe it was nothing more than a natural suspicion—he knew better. “No one knows I live here. No one knows you’re here. Do you understand how much trouble you could be in?”
Jace moved from the table over to where Tomcat was pacing. He slid his body in between Tomcat’s and the wall and breathed, “Yeah. Go ahead and punish me.”
There were inches separating them, and Tomcat liked to pretend he was made of steel—and most of the time it worked—but the proximity was too much. Jace might’ve been teasing, but Tomcat would up the ante, take it to the next level and see what the boy would do then.
The boy. An intimate term he’d never thought he’d use on anyone again. This night was turning out to be full of surprises.
Previous Covers
SE Jakes is the pen-name of New York TImes Bestselling author Stephanie Tyler. SE writes m/m romance. She believes in happy endings and fighting for what you want in both fiction and real life. She lives in New York with her family and most days, she can be found happily writing (in bed). No really...
She spends most of her time writing but she loves to hear from readers!
KOBO / AUDIBLE / SMASHWORDS / iTUNES
EMAIL: authorsejakes@gmail.com
Bound by Honor #1
Bound by Law #2
Ties that Bind #3
Bound by Danger #4
Bound for Keeps #5
Bound to Break #6
Promo Tour: The Unwilling Recruit by John Evans
Title: The Unwilling Recruit
Author: John Evans
Series: John Hunt
Genre: Supernatural Thriller
Release Date: July 11, 2017
Summary:Journalist John Hunt is known for taking any risk necessary to get the story. That is until his careless ambition leads to a hefty price. Reporting in Syria, John leads his cameraman Andrew three miles out of the safe zone. An explosion strikes. No one should have survived. But John did. After six months of rehabilitation, John is finally out of the hospital, he’s also out of work, and a horrific disfigurement is a constant reminder of that day. Already skating the edge of sanity, he is pushed further when his deceased cameraman pays him a visit. Both men should have died that day, yet one survived. Why, and to what end?
Hunt fearfully watched as Carl proceeded to withdraw a long, straight blade from within the folds of his jacket. It had twin edges which glinted wickedly in the pale light that came into the alley and it’s total length was a little more than a foot, easily enough for the job in hand. Carl’s face clearly showed what he intended to do next, however, he never got the chance.
Without warning Hunt heard a strangled grunt from the assailant holding him. The mans’ grip released and Hunt dropped, surprised, to one knee while the big bruiser collapsed like a felled tree, flailing futilely at his own neck.
Hunt had no time to ponder this development as, before he could move, he felt, rather than saw, a figure pass swiftly over his head, rebounding lightly off the wall where he had been restrained. Before he could look up Hunt heard three more grunts of pain swiftly followed by heavy thumps. By the time he could view his surroundings there was only one of his attackers left standing. Carl was in a fighting stance, his blade held low in his right hand, face firmly fixed on the figure facing him.
It was this figure that also drew Hunts’ attention, it belonged to a female. She was crouched low in a wide fighting stance with most of her weight balanced onto her right leg. Dressed in a figure hugging, one-piece black cat-suit which zipped up the front, calf-length military style boots and black leather gloves she looked both incredibly sexy while at the same time being extremely dangerous. She held a small curved blade in her left hand which reminded Hunt of an eagles’ talon. Hunt was transfixed. He knew this woman, he’d met her once before under very different circumstances. The jet black, waist length hair, the strong, prominent cheekbones and aquiline nose. This was Jane, his nurse from the hospital.
Carl and Jane were facing each other with respectful wariness, both poised like coiled springs. Hunt held his breath in rapt fascination. In the end it was Jane who moved first. She lunged forward, obviously hoping to catch Carl off guard, but he had been expecting this and immediately moved to parry with his own blade, only realizing too late that the entire move had been a subtle feint. At the last moment Jane ducked to the side and spun on one foot, bringing her tiny blade in a wide arc towards Carl’s now exposed side. With a speed that belied his bulk Carl altered his direction just enough to bring his blade around and block the strike, but now he was off balance, and he knew it.
A breathtaking flurry of strike and counter strikes erupted as Jane inexorably forced the larger, slower man back, their blades igniting sparks as they connected.
Carl cried out in pain, his blade slipping from nerveless fingers to clatter uselessly on the cobbled ground. Carl grabbed at his right forearm and Hunt could see blood flowing freely to the ground from his hand. Realizing he had lost this battle Carl cast a last, hateful glance towards Hunt, before turning and fleeing. Jane followed him as far as the entrance to the side alley before stopping to watch him make his getaway.
Hunt sat in silence, his back against the wall of the alley as he watched Jane return, her movements now casual and relaxed. She reached the first of the four prone figures and placed two fingers to his neck, checking for any signs of life. Satisfied, she wiped her blade on his shirt and placed it back in her scabbard, then moved quickly to the next figure. The silence in the alleyway was quickly becoming oppressive.
“Are they…….?” Hunt couldn’t muster the word.
“Dead?” Jane finished.
Hunt nodded.
Jane took a hard look at Hunt. “They were here to kill you. This seemed like a better option to me.”
Having spent ten years working as an actor and film-maker John was forced to give that career up five years ago in order to look after his mother following a debilitating stroke.
Today, John works from his home in Northern England, exploring new ways to bring out his creative nature. The Unwilling Recruit begins a long running series of novels that John hopes will keep readers entertained for many years.
KOBO / BaM! / GOODREADS TBR
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