“The man deserved to die.”
“The vigilante defense,” John said icily, “or a dirty cop covering
his ass?”
“Last time I checked, I don't owe you an explanation,” Nikita
said.
“What about Chris?” Andrei asked in Russian. “He thought you
were on our side.”
“In the end, I'm on my own side.” Nikita pushed away and met
Andrei's glance. Andrei, almost imperceptibly, shook his head. You’re
making a mistake, that gesture said. Big mistake.
John took a step forward, as if to shield Andrei from him. “You
should consider handing in your gun and wait downstairs in a cabin.”
Nikita took his pistol, pulled the mag out, and released the bullet
in the chamber, then emptied the remaining bullets into his hand to toss
them overboard. He slid the mag into place and holstered the pistol
again. He handed the second mag over. “It's Chris's gun.”
John took the mag, and Nikita saw the knuckles of his hand
tighten around it. For a moment he thought the Chinese guy would
attempt to punch him in the face. A little violence would be welcome
now, clear the air and make him feel less helpless, less empty.
“You want to return it to him in person?” John asked, voice
controlled.
Nikita shrugged and walked away. If Chris wanted his pistol, he'd
get it.
CHRIS opened the door to Nikita's cabin once the yacht was back
safely in Bari harbor. He found Nikita lying on the couch wearing those
dark suit trousers, white shirt (rolled up to his elbows and unbuttoned at
the throat), shoes neatly arranged in front of the couch, feet propped up,
arms crossed in front of his chest. Chris had to restrain himself from
touching the man's face. Instead, he simply sat down in one of the
chairs opposite.
“What has John decided?” Nikita asked without even opening his
eyes or changing his pattern of breathing.
“That decision is made higher up. This whole… joint venture was
arranged much higher up.”
“Will you be okay?” Now Nikita turned his head and opened his
eyes.
“I'm always okay. I messed up big time, not securing Timofeyev.”
“You have a scapegoat. I'm taking the blame.”
“Fuck you, Nikita.” Chris stood and came to the couch. Nikita
just remained stretched out, pecs tensing for a moment. “That stunt of
yours fucked me but good. Did your side tell you to off Timofeyev to
avoid embarrassment if he squealed?”
“He deserved to die.”
Chris frowned. The same bullshit response he'd given topside,
according to John.
Nikita sat up. He was holding the gun Chris had given him for the
mission. He offered it back to Chris. Chris took it and stuck it in his
waistband.
“Your partner has the extra ammo.”
“Yeah, I know.” This wasn't how he'd wanted it to end. He
wasn't sure what he'd thought, but this hadn't been it. Yet it was
inevitable, wasn't it? Easy come, easy go. Wham bam fuck you man.
But…
This is mine
Yeah, well, fuck that.
Chris took one last look at Nikita and turned to the door.
“Chris.” Nikita's voice was rough. “I made the decision. I'll take
the fall.”
“You're not getting it, are you?” Chris turned. “You and your
whole trust bullshit? John and me risked our fucking careers trusting
you with this. You shouldn't even know what GORGON means. Shit,
you shouldn't even have heard the word. We don't deal with outsiders.
We trusted you a great deal there, and you just bent us over and fucked
us. No, my man, that wasn't nice.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Well, because it's fucking true. You've put us in deep shit.”
“No. You keep saying „my man'.”
“So? You want me to call you something else? Fine. You fucked
us over, Bud. Not cool.”
Nikita simply stared, but it wasn't his angry motherfucker stare or
even one of resignation. It was a look of… something he'd never seen
on the big guy's face.
“Just words, then. How foolish of me….”
He tried to pass, but Chris grabbed his arm. “Whoa. I don't think
we're on the same page here, Nicky. Let's step back and start again
while we have a minute.”
Nikita remained silent, the mean motherfucker look creeping back
into those cool pale eyes of his. Chris loosened his hold, slid his hand
down to grip Nikita's hand. It seemed to take forever for Nikita to
entwine his fingers with Chris's own. “I need the truth, here. I don't
care if it's not what you think I want to hear. I need the truth.”
“Go on.”
“What you cut into me. Did you mean it? Is that why you brought
up me calling you „my man'?” Why the fuck was it so hard waiting for
this answer? Why was his stomach jumping and twisting at the same
time?
“The truth?”
“Yes. No bullshit.”
Nikita's grip tightened, as if he were trying to keep Chris from
running away. “I wanted your submission like nothing else in my life.”
And damn the Russian's voice for being damn near unreadable. “I
wanted to claim you, make you mine. Everything. Every breath, every
thought.” Nikita inhaled deeply, broad chest expanding. He shook his
head, frowning. “I think from the first time I met you.”
“You stalked me there.”
“I did.” Nikita didn't let him go. “First as a hunter, then….”
Chris's pulse pounded against his throat. Fuck. “What now?”
Nikita glanced up. “That hasn't changed.”
Christ, why can’t he just say it? Why can’t he say the fucking
words so I would know the real deal?
Nikita's grip began to loosen. Chris clasped his hand tighter.
“You meant it, you mean it. You want me the way I want you?”
Nikita nodded. “Yes, but it's still complicated.”
Chris swallowed. “Katya?”
Nikita shook his head, his grip on Chris's hand remaining tight.
“It's all about the domination and submission between us. We care for
one another, of course, but not that way.”
He paused, and the flash of emotion deep behind his eyes was like
he was warring with himself.
“The bribes I took. It was to buy her. We grew up in the same
apartment block. She moved away. I thought she moved. She was sold
like those kids today. It was my first undercover case. I did what I
needed to do.”
“You posed as a buyer?”
“Yeah.” Nikita exhaled. “And don't ask me what else I did to be
credible. Don't. Ever.”
The raw pain in those last words tore Chris up. The GORGON
psychiatrist would likely make sense of it all, how it had all fit together
and made Nikita the man he was now, but Chris, right now, was only
glad that in all this fucked-up-ness, Nikita at least had had a good
reason. Sounded like a long time ago too.
You’re already making excuses for him again
, Skippy.
Yeah, well, that's what you did when you cared about somebody.
You took them as they came. Warts and all.
With his free hand, Chris reached up and touched Nikita's cheek.
“I might get booted out of GORGON or suspended without pay. I don't
want to dip into the old nest egg, that's meant to keep me out of the
pathetic old spies' home in thirty years. I'm not sure what I'll do. It'll
be legal, ya know, but not sure if I can keep to London or Germany.
But I do know I want to stay close to you.”
Nikita pulled him in for a kiss. It wasn't a goodbye kiss; it was a
here-and-now kiss, a things-to-come kiss.
When they parted, the big guy smiled. “I have to keep my job too.
It doesn't pay nearly as well as yours. I think you need to treat me to a
nice hotel on the weekends.”
“Do you, now?”
“Indeed.”
“My dime, my choice. Real bed—sturdy frames, hot tub, room
service, and kickass gym.”
“I'll make the most of that sturdy frame.” Nikita let him go and
gathered up his clothes before he looked up with another of his
surprisingly sweet smiles. “Promise.”
WHEN Chris stepped from the boat, he saw a huge limo with darkened
windows. Uh-oh. Stefan stood close by and opened the door for him.
Chris glanced over his shoulder and met Nikita's gaze with more
confidence than he felt. Nikita was willing to take the fall, but as far as
the Dragon Lady was concerned, outsiders couldn't take the fall
because they didn't exist.
Chris and John had taken responsibility, and there was no doubt
there would be a reckoning. Him first, then. Seemed John got a few
hours more before he got debriefed. Maybe he could take most of the
blame. John was the type that did shit by the book; he might just be
okay. Andrei was a rookie. He'd get cut some slack.
Looking at the European Director's stony face, he wasn't so sure
there would be slack left for him.
“I had such high hopes for you. Your skills are exemplary, your
single-minded dedication to get the job done, your ability to think on
your feet is the type of thing we prize most, but….”
“But I broke one rule too many. I get that.” He was fucked. Her
tone and look told him, no sense being businesslike and not speaking
his mind.
The corners of her red-lipped mouth turned down, her granite-
hard expression softened for one microsecond. “You were an Army
Ranger, Chris. A platoon leader. You should have led your team.
You've been given so many chances. That business in Paris showed
you have initiative to lead, but this….” She breathed a fed-up sigh. “We
at GORGON pride ourselves on a willingness to bend protocols—”
“When necessary,” Chris continued. “That isn't to say we'll
tolerate hearts leading our agents to act at purposes counter to the
mission as a whole.” Chris leaned heavily back against the leather seat.
“Yeah, I know the spiel. I'm the one who recited it to you when we met.
When I saved your cute little ass from that botched drug buy back in
Arizona when you were a fresh-faced rookie FBI agent.”
He'd stepped over the line, but fuck if he cared right now.
She seethed, her jaw tense, her pretty, pouty lips drawn back in a
snarl. “Don't you dare disrespect my authority or throw up the past to
me. I worked my fucking ass off to get where I am. Yes, you
introduced me to GORGON, but you know fucking well that I made it
in on my own skills.”
She stopped, closed her eyes and took time to replace her stony
mask of professionalism. “Outside of work, I'm happy for you. I'm
thrilled you've finally found something, someone to touch your heart.
As a friend, I think you're making a big mistake, but it's your life. As
your superior, I can't let this go.”
“I know. I understand. I'm not going to fight you on this,
Karen—Ms. Schumacher.” He rubbed his face with his hands, tried to
ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “My credentials are
locked in the safe at home. I'll turn them in ASAP.”
He thought he was dreaming when she touched her hand to his.
“One more chance.”
“I thought I used that up.”
She shrugged. “You did, but one of the Powers That Be has found
the „in' GORGON now has with Russia to be rife with potential.
Evidently, certain Russian persons have had possibilities of their own
opened up by the unexpected and accidental demise of Mr. Timofeyev.”
“So, Kazakov is off the hook as well? He's not going to
mysteriously disappear, is he?”
“I don't think so, but I don't know for certain.”
She seemed genuinely concerned and gave his hand a squeeze. He
placed his hand over hers and returned the friendly gesture.
Chris's back stiffened. “Off the record, I pity the poor fucker that
tries to take him out if one shows up.”
She offered him a half smile and then pulled away, sat back, her
professional mask once more in place. “You'll be given simple intel
jobs for awhile, I'm not sure how long. Your divisional leader wants to
get a deeper stronghold in Germany so we don't have the problems we
had there again. This business with the trafficking is far from over.”
“Yeah. They need to be stopped every chance we can. I don't
mind being on a leash if it helps. Even if Stefan is the supervisory leash
holder I'll need to report to. I'll play nice. I promise.”
“Good. That will be all.”
Chris nodded. “Thank you.”
HE GOT out of the limo and gave Stefan a big smile and clap on the
shoulder. “Catch you in Berlin, my brutha!”
“God, I hate you,” Stefan muttered.
Chris snapped his fingers. “Right back at ya, babe!”
Stefan shook his head and got into the front seat of the limo.
Chris watched as it sped away. He looked around the pier. John
and Andrei were nowhere to be found. The black op crew was pulling
out as well, the locals setting up shop to guard the yacht until whoever
was taking charge of it came to take it. There was no sign of Nikita,
either. Shit.
He needed a drink. Maybe an entire fucking bottle or three. Lights
beckoned in the distance at the far end of the wharf, where dockside
bars stayed open to supply the yachting crowd docked or pulling in to
layover.
Well, at least he still had a job, and that meant his credit was still
good. He could charge himself some top shelf booze to drown his
sorrows.
Slipping his hands into his trouser pockets, he ambled along the
shadowy pier, the darkened smaller boats bobbing in his peripheral
vision. The water sloshed below him, sounds of activity fading the
further he walked, the nightlife still off in the distance, a soft song
beckoning him to come forget his trouble, if only for a while.
A footfall from behind made his pulse quicken. Had one of the
mobsters gotten away? Had more been called in? Good. A kill would
go a long way toward working off some of the tension. He kept
walking, shifting his body weight ever so slightly, ready to go from
defensive to attack mode.
His Beretta was out and ready to fire before the man belonging to
the arm that wrapped around his throat had a chance to pull him back.
The feel of leather covering the tip of a knife blade was the only thing
that kept Chris from squeezing the trigger and firing up into the face of
his assailant. He let himself be pulled further into the darkness, pushed
face first into a small metal storage shed and down over a pile of coiled
ropes.
“You're mine, and I'm fucking your ass raw.”
“A little spit would be nice, big guy, but I'm not complaining.”
Nikita grabbed a handful of Chris's hair, jerked his head back.
“And none of that smart mouth, bitch.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Russian's laugh made his cock ache and strain to be released
from the confines of his pants.
“Let me see that ass. My ass.” Nikita backed off, and Chris heard
him unzip and pictured that thick dick springing free. Was he hard, too,
or was he only getting there, stretching, the foreskin pulling back to
reveal that swollen cockhead?
He jerked up the back of Chris's shirt and suit jacket, ran the very
tip of his knife blade across Chris's lower back. He drew blood, but it
was a mere scratch, a mark of ownership.
Chris moaned when he felt the Russian's hot tongue slide over
the wound, licking the blood away. He kissed the base of Chris's spine.
Dipped down, ran his wet tongue up and down the crack of Chris's ass.
Chris rose up, positioned himself.
“Do it. Ram that dick into me, tear me apart. Please.”
Chris smiled when he felt the unmistakable coolness of lube
drizzling down, being pushed into his entrance. Nikita drove in hard
and fast, balls deep, no sweet finessing. Chris grunted, sucked in his
breath as the flare of pain faded to be replaced by the perfection that
was Nikita's slow strokes.
Nikita bent over him, gripped his chin, tilted his face to take a
kiss. He licked the shell of Chris's ear. “You'll get a tattoo. The same
place as the first cut.”
“Yes,” Chris sighed as Nikita hit the sweet spot again and again,
pushing them to the brink and over the edge in record time.
When they were done, he held Chris close, pulled out slowly, and
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