Breaking: Fall or Break, Book 2

by Barbara Elsborg

  “Of course you do.”

  “Not surprised?”

  “I’m just relieved you’re good at your job. I need you to check a number.” He read it out.

  “Shouldn’t take me long.”

  Conrad had just cleared away the breakfast things when Sev called back.

  “The number belongs to an Archer Hart. No criminal record. Clean driving license. No debts. Business Degree from Lancaster University. Previously employed by Centricat who appear to have gone out of business. Set up his own company two years ago. Address is 17 Monroe Park, Matlock, Derbyshire. Hmm.”

  “What’s the hmm for?”

  “Squeaky clean but looks a little thin. Want me to keep looking?”

  “No, it’s okay, thanks.”

  Conrad ended the call. He didn’t want Sev to come up with something negative, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be careful.

  Archer headed toward the main road rerunning the entire encounter with Conrad. When he’d glanced through the bedroom window and spotted the good-looking guy trying to fend off Deefor and laughing, Archer had seen an opportunity. That Conrad was physically attractive was a bonus. But when Archer had opened his eyes and looked at Conrad lying next to him on the floor, he had the uncomfortable feeling he’d just made a terrible mistake. Not the sort that would get him killed, though maybe the jury was still out on that, but the sort that might lead him down a path he’d never imagined himself traveling.

  His first impression was of intense unblinking bruised blue eyes, long thick lashes, a straight nose, freaky silver-tinged hair, pale skin and perfect lips he wanted wrapped around his cock. Archer had stared. So had Conrad until Archer had come to his senses and risen to his feet.

  When he’d seen Conrad struggling to get up and then to walk, he’d been amazed the guy had managed to rescue him. Even the effort of dragging him over the threshold had made him breathe heavily. If he’d known how difficult Conrad would find shifting him, he’d have just knocked on the door instead of pretending to be unconscious in order to engage his sympathy. He could see the guy was in pain from the measured way he moved and held himself.

  Archer hadn’t needed to ask if he could stay, Conrad had offered, which was far better. Though that comment about someone trying to kill him had temporarily made him reconsider his scheme. But the guy was probably wrong. If you wanted someone dead, hitting them with a car wasn’t the best way to do it. But then not everyone could afford his services.

  He indicated left and took the Alnwick road. He was partial to good-looking guys but he didn’t usually bother with them when there were easier pickings. Conrad was older than the type he went for too. Far more intelligent. Dominant. Archer usually restricted his sexual encounters to quick fucks in club or pub toilets, and on the odd occasion a couple of hours in some guy’s apartment or in a cheap hotel. All willing younger guys who wanted to be fucked hard. Some of them also wanted to see him again but that was never going to happen.

  While he’d been working, he couldn’t afford to get involved, to leave a trail, to make himself vulnerable. He couldn’t trust anyone. Well, he still couldn’t, but he and Conrad had met by accident—literally. There was no one pulling his strings, which meant Archer was safe for the time being, for a couple of days at least, and if anyone tried to touch Conrad while he was there, they wouldn’t live long enough to be sorry. His rule about not killing on UK soil was defunct if it was a matter of saving Conrad’s life. Archer owed him.

  He was interested in Conrad, as much as he could be interested in anyone. Something about him had touched Archer in some dark, half-forgotten place. The guy had made him smile. Distracted by the thought of fucking him, he had to brake hard when a tractor pulled out of a field ahead and he resigned himself to a slow few miles. He planned to buy enough food and wine that Conrad would feel obliged to let him stay a while, maybe long enough for Archer to get what else he’d like from him. The guy’s legs might not work properly but the rest of him would. Tall and sexy, long and lean, and definitely gay, he was just right. Apart from the fact that he was bright and probably didn’t bottom. The bright part was beginning to appeal and Archer could work on the other.

  The White Swan advertised free Wi-Fi so Archer pulled in and grabbed his tablet from the boot. Techie stuff wasn’t his forte, but he was aware that using a public hotspot didn’t hide his location. He ordered a coffee and settled in a corner of the lounge. The Surface Pro was a new purchase. An impulse. He should have waited until he was certain he was safe, but when would he ever feel that? He’d deleted his email account two weeks after coming back into the country. A couple of weeks later, he’d set up a new account, checked it regularly and never found anything but spam.

  As the site loaded, Archer saw that was no longer true.

  “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. How the fuck had Phoenix found out his new email address?

  The message had been sent a week ago. He hesitated. Was it about the identity of the shooter? Archer had grown to believe that Phoenix had been behind the hit. Now Archer had logged into his account, Phoenix’s guys could trace him, or at least the IP address. To track that to an actual street would require hacking into the Internet Service Provider’s database but despite the no doubt large security measures taken to ensure hackers were kept out, Phoenix might well have a guy with the capability.

  The other possibility was fixing his location by using Google’s location API, Application Programmable Interface, which gathered data from wireless base stations and linked it to information collected by Google’s Street View cars. The faster he logged off the better. He’d hoped to Google Conrad Black but not now he knew his actions might be being monitored. He clicked on the email. The damage had been done. He might as well read it.

  I’m disappointed, dear boy. No word from you? Your emails returned as undelivered? Your phone number no longer working? The guy on the roof had nothing to do with us. His name was William Connor. Freelance American. No gossip about his broker or client. I’m still checking. No need to walk away. I have another job for you. Contact me.

  So who had William Connor been working for? Archer didn’t believe Phoenix didn’t know. There would be a reason for not telling him. He clicked on reply and typed Fuck you. Pressed send, then wished he hadn’t replied at all. He cancelled his account and shut down the tablet. He tossed a few pound coins on the table and left before his coffee arrived. Doubtful that Phoenix had anyone in the vicinity but Archer didn’t take chances.

  He put the tablet in the boot and drove around the streets of the town for a while, his attention on the rearview mirror, paranoia just held at bay, before heading to the supermarket. Although Phoenix had uncovered his new email, there was no reason to believe he knew the name Archer Hart. Archer had used a forger in Brighton called Partridge to supply fake documents for several names. Archer had known him for many years and Partridge hadn’t let him down yet, though it was a risk using someone with whom he had a history. He’d paid Partridge a lot of money both for the documents and to keep quiet, but he was aware that offered even more or threatened with pain, Partridge would forget Archer’s promise to return and make him eat his own balls if he opened his mouth.

  Chapter Six

  Conrad had plenty of time to think before Archer came back from the supermarket, which was not a good thing. He was unable to fathom why he’d invited a complete stranger to share his accommodation. Yeah, okay, I can fathom why. My cock told me to. He cringed. Apart from a few vague details, he knew nothing about the man. Questions tumbled in his head. Including the rather pathetic one: What if they had little in common?

  There might be one thing. An interest in other guys.

  Conrad exhaled. Did Archer think he looked and behaved like a bottom? Fuck. He furiously chopped onions and leeks and carrots for a vegetable soup, risking his fingers, while he contemplated what an idiot he was. Correction. What an i
diot his cock was. Not him, obviously. Now he had a choice. Be a gracious host and do nothing. Or make a move and if he didn’t like the way it was going, ask Archer to leave. Two extremes. Active or inactive. Confident alpha or wimpish beta?

  A confident wimp. Arggh. It infuriated him to be so indecisive. Seven years of telling Malachi what to do and now he was floundering? Although maybe that was why. Could be he wasn’t dominant at all, he’d just liked to dominate Malachi. But when he thought about Archer, he wasn’t thinking of sticking his butt in the air for him, but of Archer on all fours while he fucked him. All Conrad had to do was say—can I fuck you? Even the thought made his throat swell up. Clearly, those words weren’t going to come out of his mouth anytime soon.

  I’m pathetic. Had that car knocked more than the stuffing out of him?

  The back door opened and Archer came in laden with bags. He nudged the door shut with his knee and put the bags on the counter. “Something smells good.”

  “Vegetable soup. I wasn’t sure if you were a big meat eater.” Oh God, did I really just say that?

  Archer raised one eyebrow. “Do I look like I don’t eat big meat? Do you have big meat for me to eat?”

  “I’ll defrost the T-rex. Thigh bone obviously, not forearm.” God, shut me up now.

  Archer laughed and started to unpack. “Dog food for you, Deefor.” He opened cupboard doors until he found where to put the nonperishable items, then loaded the fresh food into the fridge.

  “I bought a loaf of bread. It was still warm when I picked it up. I nearly started eating it in the car.”

  “I love bread,” Conrad said.

  “Me too.”

  See? Something in common. Conrad wanted to batter himself over the head. Jesus!

  He ladled soup into two bowls, carried them one at a time to the table and went back for plates and spoons. “You want butter?”

  “I prefer it without.”

  “So do I.”

  “Don’t want to freak you out but I don’t like caviar or oysters either,” Archer said. “But I do like lobster, truffles and Kobe beef. The supermarket was all out of those.”

  Both being alphas wasn’t a good thing to have in common. Conrad eased down onto the chair and began to eat. Rams butting heads. Bulls locking horns. Stags tangling antlers. How could two tops work?

  Stop thinking about sex. But he didn’t. Well, his cock didn’t. Damn thing. Conrad couldn’t figure out how one type of frustration with the offending organ had changed so quickly to another. Desperation for a hard-on, desperation to lose a hard-on.

  “This is very good,” Archer said. “I can’t remember when I last ate homemade soup. Do you enjoy cooking?”

  “When I have the time. Course, now I have plenty.”

  “I’m looking forward to the T-rex.”

  Conrad smiled. “Tastes remarkably like chicken.”

  “Along with every other weird food in the world. Are you planning to stay here until you’ve recovered?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much longer?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “It’s just your muscles, right? I assume you broke your legs and need to build up your strength?”

  “I broke my back as well as my legs. I was paralyzed for several weeks. I had to learn to walk again.”

  Archer paused with his spoon on the way to his mouth. “Shit.”

  His surprise looked genuine.

  “I’m slowly getting there. Too slowly but today’s my first full day not using crutches. I have you to thank for that.” Conrad sighed. “I managed after a fashion yesterday and I’m too vain to…yeah, well I thought by now I’d be jogging on the beach every morning.”

  “Do you like to run?”

  “Yes. Do you?”

  “I’ve run ever since I was a kid. From children’s homes, from boys out to beat me up, from guys trying to fuck me. I’ve always wondered if that’s why I never seem to be able to settle anywhere. An intuition that I’m safer when I’m on the move.”

  Conrad caught the flash of alarm on Archer’s face as if he regretted saying that much. He understood what Archer was telling him. That was fine. He wasn’t looking to settle down and get married either. He put his hand on the table and pushed himself up, getting his balance before he carried his bowl to the dishwasher.

  “You don’t have to stick around to keep me company,” Conrad said with his back toward Archer. “Do whatever you’d planned to do in the area, apart from more surfing. I’d give that a miss. But you ought not to miss the Harry Potter experience at Alnwick Castle. You can learn to ride a broomstick.”

  “Already done that.”

  Conrad turned and laughed. He walked over to get Deefor’s bowl to refill it, slipped on a wet patch of floor where the dog had slurped water, and his legs went from under him. He crashed down with a cry of pain, agony exploding inside him. Archer was at his side before he could blink. Conrad’s back went into spasm, his legs cramped and his world turned to one of dark agony where even inhaling hurt. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “Breathe through it,” Archer said.

  Conrad was so desperate not to make a sound he tensed even more.

  Strong arms scooped him up, carried him out of the kitchen and laid him on the bed. Conrad rolled to bury his face in the pillow and hide his expression. Shit. Fists clenched tight, he was determined not to cry.

  “Tell me what to do to help.”

  Conrad couldn’t speak. His legs were locked in a vise and some bastard was twisting the handle. He flinched as Archer swept his hands down his rigid thighs, and groaned when he started to knead his calves.

  “Cramp, right?”

  Conrad managed to nod before he sank into the bed under the pressure of firm hands. Gradually, the pain lifted as muscles unknotted. Archer’s touch was more tentative than Mark’s but at that moment, his hands felt better. Conrad’s shoes were removed, then Archer pressed, pushed and twisted his feet, working his thumbs into his soles and around his ankles, which just happened to be one of “those” spots, and his cock began to swell. Oh hell.

  “You do realize I have no idea what I’m doing,” Archer said.

  Conrad really hoped he didn’t know that playing with his ankles had given him an erection.

  “Might be easier if you didn’t have your pants on.”

  Maybe he did. Oh God. Did he think that or did Archer say it?

  “I’d be able to see what I was doing,” Archer added.

  Yes, you would. Pants on? Pants off? Was this the move he’d hoped for?

  “Unless you’re not wearing shorts.” Archer squeezed behind his knees.

  Before he thought too long about it and changed his mind, Conrad slid his hand under his body, flicked open the button on his pants and pulled down the zipper. He told himself he’d only done it to stop his cock making a great escape or alternatively to stop Archer doing it and discovering just how much one part of him was really enjoying the massage. Yeah, right.

  Archer tugged on the bottom of his pants and pulled them over his backside and down his legs and feet. Conrad had to fight not to hump the bed. He panicked then. What the hell was he doing? No way would Archer think he was a top when he was behaving like this. But he couldn’t move. Warm hands massaged his thigh muscles, strong thumbs circled and twisted, and Conrad closed his eyes, biting back moans of pleasure and pain, and soft cries that lay somewhere in between. Archer worked his way up and down each leg, cupping his fingers under Conrad’s thighs as he pressed his thumbs into the muscles above.

  The closer Archer came to the bottom edge of Conrad’s shorts, the faster his heart pounded and the more his dick swelled. Do not hump the bed. Do not hump the bed. Just as he thought Archer was going to slide his fingers under the material and onto his bare backside, he started massaging Conrad’s arms instead. Conrad mourned and rejoi
ced.

  “Say something,” Archer said. “I have no idea whether I’m helping or freaking you out.”

  “In the event of a nuclear attack, don’t stop.”

  Archer chuckled. “Want me to do your back? I don’t want to make things worse.”

  “You couldn’t. Well, maybe avoid that scar where they inserted fifty-three steel rods.”

  “Shit.”

  “I’m kidding. Not quite that many.”

  “Maybe you should pull off your T-shirt so I’m sure I don’t mess with that spot.”

  Conrad was as liquid as mercury, and totally unable to lift himself or his arms. In fact the only thing lifting was his cock and he had no control over that. “I think you might have to help.”

  His spine tingled as Archer climbed on the bed. When he felt his T-shirt being rolled up his back and over his head, his heart thudded and he tensed. Could he behave more like a bottom, aside from thrusting his backside toward Archer’s face and begging him to stick his cock in his arse? What the hell was he doing? He might be face down on the bed in just his shorts, dizzy with lust, desperate for more of Archer’s touch, but there was no way he’d let the guy fuck him.

  So tell him.

  The words didn’t make it past his lips.

  “Let me know if I’m using too much pressure,” Archer said as he circled his thumbs over Conrad’s kidneys.

  “How would I know?”

  “If you see dead relatives beckoning you toward a bright light that would be a clue.”

  Conrad smiled and then groaned when Archer found a trigger point in the small of his back. If he bit the junction of his neck and shoulder, Conrad would come. Just like that. Probably. He wasn’t sure if the subliminal message he was sending was asking for a bite or not.

  “Relax.” Archer pushed his palms up from Conrad’s waist, over his back and along his shoulders leaving swathes of fire in their wake. “You’re rigid.”

  You have no idea.

  “Your skin’s really smooth,” Archer said.

  “Wash, tone and moisturize.” Oh shit. “Obviously that was a joke.” Damn you, Malachi.