by Cari Z.
“Oh, you will?” Lennox turned sharply down the road to Elliot’s house, the tires squealing on the road. Elliot would be paying for damages to the car if Lennox kept this treatment up. “How, exactly, are you gonna do that? What’s your brilliant plan?”
“Get him before he gets me.”
“How, by stalking him with rat poison in your back pocket?”
“No,” Elliot said quietly. “He’ll wait until the Black Box meeting to make his big move. He wants to ruin me at the apex of my career, just how he ended up ruined. I’ll find a way to expose him then, once nothing that happens could hurt my sister.” Lennox pulled to a stop in front of the house, and Elliot looked at his profile. “You don’t have to stay. You helped me out when I needed it, and I’m grateful, but I’m not going to make you a part of anything you don’t want to be part of. Although I hope that you still want to help.”
Lennox was silent for a long moment before he finally spoke. “So you don’t have a plan.”
“I don’t have a plan yet, but I will. Whatever it ends up being, it won’t work unless I hold off until the night of the Meetup, though.” Elliot knew that; he knew it like he knew his own mind. Pullman was in many ways a more extreme version of himself, and a better showman. He’d wait until the last possible minute. “I honestly don’t think it’ll get any more dangerous than this.”
Lennox shook his head. “Don’t say that. That’s begging for the universe to give you hell.”
“Yeah, probably,” Elliot said. “So . . . will you stay?” Please stay.
“I’ll stay.” There was an implicit for now in there that Elliot didn’t like, but he wasn’t going to push his luck. “Come on, let’s get in. I need to reset those motion detectors.”
“I’ll clean up in the kitchen,” Elliot said. Mmm, poisoned meat and dog vomit. He’d never be able to scrub the floor, or himself, hard enough. He got out of the car with a sigh. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable evening.
Partial transcription of most recent appointment with West, Lennox, Staff Sergeant US Army Rangers (R), January 28, 3:25 p.m.:
JS: Are you still in contact with any of the people who were in your unit?
LW: I keep in touch with all of them. Facebook, emails, that kind of thing. Just casually.
JS: Do you think it helps them, to know that you care about their well-being now?
LW: I’m not sure. A couple of them never write back. I don’t know if I’m shooting my thoughts off into the void when I send them messages, but if they want to block me, that’s their call. If they want to read and not respond, that’s their call too. Whatever they have to do to take care of themselves.
JS: And how do you feel, about putting your interest out there and having it disregarded by some of your soldiers?
LW: It’s my job to take care of them, not the other way around. Even if it gave me a heart attack every time, I’d still do it.
JS: Why?
LW: Because I told them I would.
The motion detector went off at six the next morning. Lennox was out of bed and on his feet before Elliot had opened his eyes, shutting the alarm down with a quick press of the fob on Elliot’s keychain.
For the first time since they’d shared a bed, Lennox hadn’t been able to sleep. Too many thoughts, too many issues, swirling together like a hurricane inside his skull, until it was all he could do to keep from rolling over and pummeling his pillow. He needed to do something, he needed to move. The alarm’s siren was like a godsend to his nerves.
“What the hell?” Elliot mumbled. His freshly cleaned hair was a total mess, sticking up on half his head. Lennox had to resist the urge to run his fingers through it.
“I’m going to go check it out,” Lennox told him. “It might be nothing, but I’ll lock the door behind me.”
“Oh . . . kay?”
That semiconscious acknowledgment was all Lennox was waiting for. He jogged downstairs, grabbed his Kahr pocket pistol from the drawer Elliot had reluctantly designated as the “if you’ve got to have a freaking gun, at least keep it out of my bedroom” drawer, slipped into his shoes, and headed to the back door. He opened it quietly, stepped outside, and stared into the gray predawn light.
Lennox held still as he scanned the area, shielding his steaming breath from his face with a hand while he searched for movement. One sweep . . . another sweep . . . he was about to go for a third when on the left side of the backyard, farther into the woods, something shifted. Something tall―taller than a deer.
Lennox didn’t waste time second-guessing before darting off the porch and across the brief stretch of snowy lawn, keeping his gun down but ready at his side. He paused at the edge of the woods, half-crouched, and looked again. It was freezing out, but he felt hot, the surge of adrenaline an old, familiar friend. He’d seen something in the depths of the trees. He took one slow step forward, then another.
The figure he almost thought he’d imagined took off like a shot twenty feet ahead of him, apparently heedless of the noise he or she was making. Lennox followed, building to a sprint. Dead branches cracked and broke, pine needles crunched underfoot, and the remnants of most of a winter’s snow made sprinting hard, but Lennox was gaining on the intruder. He was gaining fast. He could shoot the figure, but bullets meant cops. It didn’t matter. He could catch them without a gun.
The figure turned suddenly, left arm rising in a familiar arc, and Lennox swore and ducked behind the nearest tree. Bang-bang-bang. Three shots were fired in rapid succession, only one of them actually hitting anything: a tree about fifteen feet to the right of Lennox’s. He heard splinters of bark scatter across the ground, and had to stifle a gleeful laugh. For the first time in a long time, he felt vital again, vibrantly alive in a way only nearly dying could make him feel. His heart beat a war song through his chest, and he readied his Glock. After a few more bullet-free seconds, he peered around his tree for any sign of the lurker-turned-shooter.
Nothing. He or she had taken off, probably not even waiting to see if their shots had done any damage. The road was close; once Lennox got there, the intruder would be long gone.
“Shit,” he muttered. Was Jonathan Lehrer a left-handed shooter? Because this person certainly had been, and a poor one at that. Or had they been deliberately bad?
Elliot might know, but―the thought crystallized in his mind before Lennox could put words to it—Lennox wasn’t going to ask Elliot anything, because Elliot wasn’t going to know anything about the shooter. Unless he’d heard something, Lennox wasn’t going to enlighten him.
Dead snakes, car crashes, poisoned pets: these could possibly be explained as acts of simple intimidation, but firing a weapon? That brought things to a new and lethal level, and Lennox knew without a doubt that despite that, Elliot still wouldn’t involve the police. He might, however, think better of having Lennox stick around if he thought he was putting Lennox in danger, especially after their argument last night. And if someone was turning up the intensity, then Lennox was exactly where he needed to be. Not only that, it was where he wanted to be.
He turned and started walking back to the house, going slow to give himself time to come up with a believable story. Flexible morality, Gaby had scolded him after she’d found out that he’d been briefly arrested in Nigeria, isn’t much better than no morality at all. You have to follow the laws even when you’ve got something personal at stake, you idiot.
She’d been talking about him helping Oliver with his ammo-smuggling operation, which . . . yeah, had been very illegal, but the part of Lennox that put ideals ahead of people in his mental hierarchy? That had been broken, irreparably, after Afghanistan. Oliver had offered him a purpose after he got out of the service, something he’d been desperate for. It might not have been a pretty purpose, keeping Oliver alive while he did his illegal deals, but Lennox hadn’t cared back then. He’d been desperate for diversion, for anything to distract him from the darkness inside himself. He almost hadn’t survived that time, but he didn’t r
egret it.
Elliot might not be doing the right thing either, but to hell with it: right now Lennox’s purpose was keeping Elliot alive. If he could do that and get the cops to come into it on their side in the end? Great.
If not? Well . . . he wasn’t going to let people start shooting at Elliot without shooting back. Your hero complex, he heard Oliver tease. Fuck it. There were worse complexes to have.
Elliot was waiting for him at the back door, his body silhouetted behind the glass. He opened the door for Lennox as his foot hit the first step of the porch. “What was it?” he asked, his eyes full of concern.
Lennox shook his head. “Only a deer. I followed a ways to make sure.” He shrugged. “Just me jumping at shadows.”
“You’re bleeding.” A warm thumb brushed across his cheekbone and came back smeared red. “What, did the deer chase you into a thorn bush?” Elliot smiled a little. He had a tiny dimple in his right cheek when he smiled. Lennox suddenly couldn’t look away from it.
“I don’t have night vision, give me a break,” Lennox said, before brushing a kiss over that dimple.
Elliot laughed. “Running through the woods in the dark and the cold makes you horny? Really?”
“I don’t have to want to fuck you to want to kiss you.” Lennox pressed another kiss onto the side of his neck. “Although I’ve gotta say, I could use a shower now. You should join me.”
Elliot raised one eyebrow. “Oh yeah? How are you going to make it worth my time?”
All Lennox’s capacity for being suave was buried under his fight-or-flight reaction. He gripped Elliot’s lower back, pulled him close in a way he wouldn’t have yesterday, when he had still been so mindful of his bruises. He pulled him in hard, slotting his leg between Elliot’s thighs and grinding up against his groin. Elliot groaned, but it sounded about as removed from pain as possible.
“Does this feel worth your time?” Lennox asked, voice almost guttural as he slid his hands under the band of Elliot’s soft, cotton sleep pants. “Or should I tuck you back into bed and take care of things on my own?”
Elliot’s multicolored eyes sparked with heat. “You don’t want to go to bed with me?”
“I told you.” Lennox bent his head to Elliot’s neck and inhaled, slow and deep. He smelled a bit like the fabric softener Elliot used on his clothes, a bit like sweat, but mostly like warm, inviting skin. “I need a shower.”
“Then I need to join you.” Elliot leaned back and smirked at him. “Since you’re making it worth my time.”
“So fucking gracious,” Lennox snarked, right before he bit down on the smooth curve of Elliot’s shoulder. Elliot stiffened in his arms, but didn’t jerk away. If anything, he pressed closer, and humped the top of Lennox’s leg shamelessly.
Lennox pulled off before he made any lasting marks. “If you weren’t already black and blue, I’d pretty you up some,” he rumbled.
Elliot actually whined. “Oh god, don’t talk like that unless you’re planning on bending me over the counter and fucking me right here.”
“Maybe in front of the bathroom mirror instead,” Lennox offered, then let go of Elliot and prodded him toward the stairs. “March.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” he said mockingly as he led the way. Lennox swatted him on the ass.
“If you were one of my troops, I’d have you on the ground giving me push-ups until I thought you were sorry enough for sassing me,” he said as they got to the bathroom. He reached into the shower—an epic affair, all glass and marble, with a convenient bench on the far side—and turned on the water. He stripped off his clothes, then leaned over the sink and looked at the cut on his cheek in the mirror. It was hardly more than a scratch.
Behind him Elliot’s eyes were wide, his reflection completely entranced. “I’d happily get on the ground for you,” he said. “Or did you change your mind about who should be fucked in front of the mirror?”
Lennox smiled. “Nope.” He straightened up and got into the shower. The warm spray felt amazing; why hadn’t they done this in here yet? “But you might want to make sure we’ve got supplies.”
Elliot was gone and back in a heartbeat. He took off his own clothes without ceremony and joined Lennox in the shower. Seeing him naked was a stark reminder that no matter how much Lennox wanted to fuck Elliot until he screamed, he was still covered in purple from the top of his shoulders to his hips. That seat belt hadn’t been kind to him.
“No, no, no.” Elliot grabbed Lennox’s face in both hands and kissed him insistently. “Don’t look at me like I’m broken,” he murmured when he drew back to take a breath. “I don’t want nice. I want you to want me like you did downstairs, like you’re so wound up you want to hoist me up against the glass and fuck me until I can’t breathe without saying your fucking name.”
You asked for it. Lennox kissed him savagely, sinking his teeth into Elliot’s lower lip until he cried out, then soothing it while he slid his hand down and curled his fingers around Elliot’s balls. Elliot’s moan of pleasure turned into a gasp of dismay as Lennox pulled down, hard enough to sting.
“No coming until I’m in you.”
“Then fucking get in me already!”
Lennox spun him around to face the wall. Elliot pressed his hips back invitingly, and Lennox had to remind himself that jerking off over that luscious ass could wait for another day. He opened the door and grabbed the lube—silicone-based, perfect for the shower—slicked his fingers up, then swept them over Elliot’s hole. Elliot shivered as his breath caught, and that was enough for Lennox.
There was no slow, teasing play like the last time. He remembered how much Elliot had liked being touched here, how he’d quivered and moaned when Lennox pressed in on his tender skin. Now there was no cloth to stop him, and he smoothed his slick index finger over the tight muscle, then began to penetrate Elliot.
Elliot bore down, almost sucking Lennox’s finger in. Lennox chuckled darkly and placed a hand on Elliot’s neck, keeping him bent and exposed. “So ready for this, aren’t you?” Elliot took the second finger just as easily, biting off swear words every few seconds. He tried to thrust back, but Lennox held him firmly in place. “My speed.”
“I thought you were desperate,” Elliot gasped.
“Mmm, I am.” Lennox leaned in close and added, “But I like feeling desperate.”
He didn’t push, curling his fingers until he could tap against Elliot’s prostate. Elliot whimpered.
“I like needing something I can’t quite have. I like hovering at the edge, ready for whatever’s going to happen. I like the thrill of it, the danger. I like the rush.”
“Lennox, please . . .”
“Say that again and maybe I’ll say yes.”
“Lennox, please.” Elliot clenched his hole around Lennox’s fingers, clearly hungry for more, for anything. Lennox grinned but didn’t move, stroking slowly over Elliot’s prostate until he was barely intelligible. Elliot smacked his palm against the tile. “Fuck you, oh my god, I’m going to come like this and you’ll miss it, and then where’ll your edge be?”
“I’m sure I can get off fucking you after you’ve already come,” Lennox assured him as he added a third finger. Easy, still, and for a moment he honestly considered finishing Elliot off this way.
“No, god!” Elliot kept his head down, but managed to turn far enough to catch Lennox’s eye. “Please, please, get your dick in me and let me come on it. Please, I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t breathe, I want to think about you every time I sit down, I want— Ahh, please—”
Lennox stroked him once more, then pulled his fingers out. “It’ll be rougher in the shower,” he warned as he reached for the condom. Silicone lube could only do so much.
“We can save fucking me in front of the mirror for when I’m pretty again.”
Lennox covered his cock in lube, hunching to avoid the worst of the spray. He leaned in close and slid inside, slowly but steadily. Elliot hissed but didn’t try to move away. He pressed both hands fl
at to the wall, then brought one foot up on the bench, spreading his cheeks apart and making it easier for Lennox to bottom out.
“Goddamn,” Lennox swore. He pulled back, added lube, then pressed forward. It was easier this time, and Elliot relaxed into it. Good enough.
It was simplest to stay in close, bodies touching so the water couldn’t wash the slick away. Lennox rolled his hips in rough, short bursts, covering Elliot’s outstretched hands with his own as he licked drops of water off Elliot’s shoulders. He nipped at the base of his neck as he fucked, and Elliot’s hands turned into fists.
“Harder,” Elliot breathed, and Lennox gave it to him harder. Every thrust went deep, into a more welcoming heat than the hot water provided. Elliot groaned and tried to free his hands, but Lennox held fast.
“You think you’re not pretty now?” he breathed into Elliot’s ear. “Whiny and eager and spread apart like this? I think you’re the one with the slutty streak, you pretty thing. You’re so pretty right now I can barely stand it.”
“Nnn-not—not to look at,” Elliot gasped. “Oh fuck, please touch me, I’ve got to come, Lennox—”
“Come on my cock or come after I’m done, one or the other,” Lennox said. He was too keyed up to make either of them wait much longer, for all that he wanted to. “God, Elliot . . . you feel so fucking good.” He drew back and pushed in hard, one last time, and that was it. His hands clenched around Elliot’s as he came in a rush.
Elliot laughed shakily. “You bastard.”
“I’m only a bastard if I don’t follow through,” Lennox said breathlessly before letting go with one hand to stroke Elliot’s cock from base to tip. His grip was rougher than he knew Elliot liked it, too harsh without fresh lube, but Elliot was so ready that a few strokes was all it took before he cried out and came, spilling over Lennox’s hand and onto the bench below.
“Holy shit,” Elliot said with a groan, leaning against Lennox as he pushed himself upright. “Ugh, I have to go to work now? Why do I have to go to work now? I want to go back to bed, not to work.”