Blaze of Glory

by C. J. Strange

  I squirm sheepishly beneath her gaze. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Are you in love with her?”

  “I—well, do you think I am?” I try my best to redirect the sass back in her direction. “Do I act like I am?”

  Juniper affixes me with a knowing look. When I dare to glance up at it, it’s not as painful to be under as I assumed. Perhaps because I know what’s she’s going to say before she even parts her lips.

  “Without a doubt.”

  Bugger. I laugh awkwardly, scratching my head and letting my bangs fall into my eyes to hide them. My hair’s been getting longer and longer on the road, but since Penny told me she likes running her fingers through it, I’ve not once wanted to cut it.

  “She’s something else,” I finally murmur, my tongue still trapped in thoughts of her against it. “Everything, all of it, all of her. I don’t think there’s a single thing I don’t love about her.”

  “Even when you unwittingly mis-vouch for her?” Juniper asks, without any sense of teasing.

  A frown fights for jurisdiction over my face, but doesn’t win. “Even when.”

  Truth be told, the idea of Penny hiding anything that important from me—from the brigade, for that matter—is a painful one. It hurts to not be informed, to not be trusted. Especially when I put myself on the line so loyally, insisting to the other lads that there was no way, no way, she would ever keep anything business-related from us.

  All I can tell myself? Is that she must have had her reasons.

  I hope I can trust her enough to continue to believe in that. And I hope she can trust me with anything that bothers her again in the future.

  “And she’s okay with me, with us?” Juniper is asking. It makes me smile, which is much needed and much appreciated.

  “It’s actually quite nice to have a girl I can talk to but don’t want to sleep with,” I tell her honestly. “I think the captain gets that. I’m used to having mostly female friends, but things around here are a bit…”

  We both hesitate, neither one of us knowing which word to choose.

  “Masculine?” she guesses. I chuckle.

  “I don’t know if I would ever use ‘masculine’ as a word to describe Felix,” I say wryly, and we share a laugh.

  It’s a laugh that is sadly cut short, and not seconds after it starts. The #TearTheWorldOpen feed open on my FaceFolio refreshes as seven o’clock roll over. And when it does, the KING News channel itself is the one to break a brand new related story of their own.

  “Oh my gif,” I’m mumbling before I can stop myself. "Oh my gif, oh my—I, I, I need to get Hope. She needs to see this. Needs to. Like, now.”

  I’m up from the driver’s seat and out the side-door of the van before Juniper can stop me, leaving the latest special guest announcement for Pyronamix open on my laptop screen.

  9 Penny's Good Boy

  All we ever do is push and pull. I like it like that, though. With Alfie, when it comes to the sex, I seem to know where I stand every time. I just have to rile him up and he’s mine, crumbling in my hands until he’s panting and begging for it.

  Most of the time. The rest of the time? He’s the one who’s got me begging for it. This time, though, it’s his turn to plead.

  I grin up at him, licking my lower lip.

  “So you think you’ve got what it takes to do your job and handle me at the same time?” I ask, knowing it’s going to set him off. Sure enough, his eyes flash. C’mon, little boy, take the bait. He reaches for me, and I avoid his grip with a jerk of my shoulders. He curses and a laugh bursts out of my lungs. “Not that easy, Deez.”

  “C’mon, Pen’, don’t be like that. You know you’ve been hungry for my cock since—”

  I shut him up, standing on my toes, fisting my fingers in the front of his shirt as I kiss him into silence. He groans, and I feel his hand palming the back of my head before it cups my neck. I can’t help but shiver at the heat he’s throwing off. Alfie burns me, in the best way possible. I want it to burn.

  When I pull away, he lets out a soft moan I don’t dare tease him about. His skin’s thin in some places. Being anything close to intimate in bed with me is one of them.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” I breathe, trying to catch the air that’s been sucked right out of my lungs. “You keep watch like a good boy, and I’ll think about letting you get inside me.”

  His freckled cheeks are flush and he squints down at me.

  “What’s the catch?”

  I pat the side of his face, and he scowls as the patronizing move. I pull back and down, falling to one knee, then the other. My hands wrap around his hips and his eyes sink shut.

  “Fuck,” he says, realizing what I’ve got planned for him.

  “Maybe, if you’re good,” I whisper, pushing up the front of his shirt. His skin is smooth, tight over rippling muscle, sprinkled with a trail of hair that thickens closer to the button on his jeans.

  “Bitch,” he says weakly, with affection, as I thumb at his waistband before popping the button. Well, he’s not wrong. I’m going to tease him until he’s shuddering for it, and he’s going to love every second of it.

  I have no idea which one of us if the biggest bitch.

  “Sweet-talker,” I taunt, “you catch a lot of flies with that vinegar?”

  “The fuck you on about?” He’s confused, his voice hitching when I slowly tug on his zipper. He’s hard, the bulge of him straining against his boxers, and I work my hand into his pants to cup him lovingly.

  “Never mind,” I breathe, pressing a kiss to his bare stomach, the flutter of his shirt teasing at my brow. I lick a hot stripe on his belly, and his fingers bury tight in my braids, pulling at the loose strands. I swear I can feel his pulse right through the skin of his hard cock as I palm it, rubbing in slow circles. He’s leaking pre-cum, a dark patch on the fabric, and I flick him right there. His hips jerk involuntarily, and he growls down at me.

  “How’d you like it if I bite your girly bits next time I’m between your legs,” he curses at me, yanking my hair. I laugh and give his hip-bone an apologetic nuzzle.

  “Just bringing you back down to earth,” I say. He grumbles, a noise that melts into a low, throaty moan from behind clenched teeth as I get my fingers inside his boxers and wrapped around the smooth, hard, sleek length of his cock. “Remember what I said back in Arundel: don’t be a total and utter wankfuck, and you’ll get more of this.”

  With a drag of my hand, palming the uncut head of his dick, he’s panting roughly, already half-way there for me. “You keeping an eye out?” I ask, trying not to squirm my thighs together. God, he’s hot, in so many ways. Literally and sexually. The sounds Alfie makes are always unrestrained, they come easy—just like him.

  “Nowt to see. Everyone’s quiet, minding their own damn business, and—fuck,” he hisses and his hand steadies, cupping the back of my neck as I slip his cock out of his jeans and mouth at the head. It’s blistering hot, even through the cotton. A tremor in his fingers tells me more than his words ever would, and I ride the feeling of power like an addict.

  He truly is the best drug. Better than any social media high, anyway.

  All the lads look to me to have all the answers, to lead them, and more than half the time I feel out of my depth. Maybe it’s cheap, but this is where I feel sure. A man I love, his pleasure in my hand, it’s so easy to feel confident. Especially when he growls my name like I’m killing him slowly. Softly.

  “Could you be any more cruel, Pen’?” He sounds ragged, needy, as I mouth along his cock, teasing with my tongue, trailing it along all of the soft-hard ridges. For a brief moment, I imagine one of the other guys in my little brigade watching us, and the heat in my cunt blossoms, going full-on riot.

  Duncan would lose his mind, grab at me, and probably fuck me from behind as I suck Alfie down into my throat. He wouldn’t be able to control himself.

  Fuck me, that’s so hot.

  I moan, letting the sound vibrate along Alfie�
��s cock until he’s fisting both hands in my hair and cursing, turning the air around us blue with his foul mouth.

  “Can’t keep watch if you’re focused on your dick,” I taunt him as I come up for a breath and he swears at me again, but his hands soften their grip, and he strokes his thumb along my cheek, a tender touch that belies his normally brash and rough personality.

  I close my eyes and lick delicately at the head of his cock until his hips are thrusting through the air for more. I pull back and look up at him. His eyes are half-lidded, lashes wet with something as he blinks back at me, need clear on his face.

  “C’mon,” he says, half-begging. “Don’t stop.”

  My fingers drag along his cock, too loose to really give him what he wants, and he shudders.

  “Penny,” his voice is wrecked. I lean in and, without any warning, swallow him down hard, taking him in deep. His fingers spear in my hair and he clings to me, fucking my face with short, shallow thrusts.

  The feeling of power fills me and I stroke my fingers at the base of his cock. He swears once, his voice low and dark, and I feel him tense up. Heat up.

  “I’m—” he can’t even form the words.

  I close my eyes and swallow him down, the salty-hot taste of him at the back of my throat. It burns. He’s shaking when I pull away and I smirk at him, crouched on my knees like I’m the one in charge here, although anyone looking at us would think it was obviously the other way around.

  I’m breathing hard, and so is he. He lets go of my hair, reaches for my hand, helps me up. I’m tucking his cock back into his trousers when he pulls me in for a rough kiss, his tongue licking into my mouth like he’s chasing the taste of his own cum, a thought that makes me shiver a little.

  “Uh—”

  A soft noise behind me has me freezing. My head snaps around to where—to my total and utter dismay—Oliver is standing against the bloodied pink hue of the sunset, his cheeks an even brighter red.

  Alfie snorts. His arms wrap around me tight, pulling me into him.

  “She’s mine right now, muppet, so jog on,” he says, grinding his soft cock into my belly. “This ain’t a free show. You wanna stay and watch, you can pay for the privilege. Or whip it out and show me what you’re packing.”

  Oliver makes another hysterical, aborted attempt at a noise. It’s immediately obvious his dismay is far, far greater than my own.

  “I, uh, um—there’s been something. A development.”

  “I’ll say, in my pants,” I chuckle, dizzy in the aftermath. There’s a burn on my lips and a second between my thighs, and the second Oliver skedaddles back off into the night, I plan on letting Alfie know whether or not he’s earned his reward.

  The look on Oliver’s face, however, tells me fate may have other plans for us this evening.

  In fact, it’s so serious, it erases the smile from my facer completely. I tug my body away from Alfie’s, my tone sharpening in sincerity.

  “OP, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “There’s been another guest announcement,” he says hesitantly, clearly more disturbed by whatever he’s about to tell me than he was catching me blowing Alfie. “And I swear, it’s the absolute last person you’d expect.”

  Alfie rolls his eyes impatiently. “Me?” he huffs.

  “No,” Oliver answers. The stunned look on his face speaks volumes, as does his complete oversight of Alfie’s terribly sarcastic remark. “It’s the globerover, the CEO of KING News’ little brother. Guys—Mason King is coming home.”

  10 Oliver's Awkward Ride

  This is absolutely, one-hundred per cent, and without a single bloody doubt the most awkward ride of my entire life.

  “And how was that Craig bloke doing with his fire Magick, good enough to keep the camp warm and fed until we get back?” Penny’s asking Alfie as she drives. “I’m glad you had a couple days to work him through it all. No better teacher than you, seriously. As much as I don’t want to pour gasoline on that ego of yours.”

  Her focus is on the old dirt road ahead, cut clean through a field of barley. She’s incapable of seeing the side-eye the aforementioned redhead keeps tossing across the van at me.

  “He’s doin’ a’right,” Alfie drawls, stroking Tesla’s head as she nestles more comfortably into his lap. In doing so, when he arbitrarily stares at me, he’s begun to resemble a Bond villain.

  Penny nods. “And Juniper’s got a line of contact to you if anything goes awry?” This time, her question is directed at me.

  “Um.” I avoid the burn of Alfie’s stare. “Y-yeah. All under control.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “They cannae be relyin’ on us forever, lassie,” says Duncan from the gangway. He’s making what could be classified as a sandwich. As in, it’s whatever food he could scrounge together placed between two slices of bread.

  “They won’t,” our captain answers confidently. “This is temporary, just so they can get the feel of their feet under them. They’re going to thrive.”

  “Like Arundel,” Rhys chimes in from the passenger seat. It’s hard to deduce if he’s being sarcastic or not.

  Penny twists her head just long enough to shoot him a glare. “Without all the murder and corruption, sure,” she stipulates, looking back at the road. “You’re close to losing co-pilot privileges.”

  “Aye, again?” Duncan grins at the comedy routine in the cab, his balance impeccable in keeping him upright as he yanks open the fridge.

  I catch Alfie’s side-eye in my peripheral. I do my best to ignore it.

  “What’s the occasional sacrificial ritual between friends?” mutters Rhys, leaning sideways on the window.

  “Alfie,” orders Penny. “Replace Shields, would you?”

  Alfie snorts. “Can’t.”

  “What?”

  “I’m spending some quality time with Ollie.”

  Alfie’s answer spurs no sassy remark from our captain. There. That’s the moment she realizes how awkward things currently are for the pair of us.

  Well. Unbeknownst to Alfie or otherwise—and I’m going to assume ‘otherwise’, in this case—things are considerably more awkward for me than they are for either of them. For multiple reasons, none of which I’m prepared to entertain right at this moment.

  Not while Alfie’s eyes are searing into the side of my skull like this, anyway.

  “Ye know, I like that,” Duncan is chuckling to himself. “Maybe ye’ll learn a thing or two, laddie, about respect and the like,” he says, directing his comment straight at Alfie.

  Alfie snorts, still petting the cat, who is more than content to sprawl on him as long as he’ll remain in one place. “From him?” he mutters back, and while there’s no malice in his voice, the playfulness sends shivers down my spine. “I doubt it. More likely I’d end up rubbing off on him.”

  I suck back my need to choke on my tongue.

  There is no way, I insist inwardly. No way. There is absolutely no way he means that in the same way I am taking him to mean it.

  “Alfie,” barks Penny, with a timbre that makes us all snap erect—to attention, that is. “Co-pilot.”

  “Fuck you,” he shoots back, again with zero venom. We’re all used to Alfie’s colorful language, even if there’s no hostile intent. We’ve decided as a group to see it as his own brand of affection. “I’m gonna smoke.”

  “Out the bloody window,” she demands. Alfie huffs in resentment, but nudges the cat off his lap regardless. He slides across the couch to open one of the rear windows.

  Rhys is next to speak, as Duncan hulks over to him and jabs a thumb alee, a clear signal to vacate the spot.

  “You know, I’m starting to feel like I’m being punished for something,” he grumbles, hoisting himself up and allowing the burly Scotsman to replace him. “I didn’t even want to come on this trip, you know. I wanted to stay in Catsfield with the camp full of happy new faces and the adorable little Shakespearean girl.”

  Penny cranes her neck up. “Do I nee
d to drop you off somewhere and pick you up on the way back through?”

  Ah, the moment where she calls his bluff. We all appreciate this part of the play more than any other. A beat elapses in near-perfect silence, then another, and another.

  But this time, it lasts just a beat too long. The jovial silence grows heavy and thick, and—if Alfie’s goddess Nova truly does exists—I imagine she’s taking great joy in proving me wrong when I had thought there was nothing that could make this journey more awkward than what I unwittingly became a voyeur to three mornings ago.

  Does—does he seriously not want to be here right now?

  I’m not the only one thinking it. There are rare few occasions where we all connect as a brigade telepathically, despite none of us possessing a Magick that would allow us to initiate such a thing. This is one of them. We all know it, we can all sense it.

  Including Rhys.

  “Of course not, Captain,” he purrs, switching on the charm as if it were a hot faucet. Warming the van and thawing the frost that’s started setting in. “Why, there’s absolutely nowhere I’d rather be than on another suicide mission with four of my favorite fellow outlaws, and the third book certainly seems an appropriate time to throw ourselves headfirst into Sovereign territory!”

  Penny checks the road several times, she and Duncan staring up at him in some manner of disbelief. “What?” she finally demands, incredulous and indignant. “What—what?”

  Rhys rolls his dark, impassive eyes. “Never you mind, darling,” he waves her off, sitting across the dinette table from me. “Just focus on the part where you tell us the plan. We really should be more organized about this whole being heroes business.”

  The three of us exchange awkward glances as Alfie lights a messily hand-rolled cigarette and Penny returns her attention to the road.

  “Go on,” urges Rhys, waving a hand in our direction. Tesla chirps, as if scolding him, and he pulls a face at her.

  “He’s got a point, gang,” says Penny, a great deal more soberly. “It’s only another hour to the first security checkpoint. Heavy radar and audio monitoring’s going to kick in quarter of an hour before that. Time to finalize everything, get our story straight. Alfie?”