by Abigail Roux
“When was the last message sent?"
A cry from the other bedroom almost made Nikolaus jump out of his skin. It
wasn’t a cry of pleasure like the ones Carl made, but a plea for mercy.
“No!” the voice called out softly.
“Jesus,” Nikolaus breathed in horror. He got to his feet and lunged forward,
but was halted by an iron grip around his elbow. He looked back at Thiago to
question him, but the man was staring intently into the darkness of the hallway, his body taut as a bowstring.
“Leave them to it,” Thiago whispered. “If they’re fighting then they have
good reason.”
“And if one of them kills the other?” Nikolaus questioned incredulously.
Thiago looked at him, and his oddly colored eyes flashed in the firelight.
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“Then we hope the one who lives is on our side.”
XII.
BRANDT rested his head on the pillow beside Carl’s, breathing heavily and smirking as the tingling in his body receded once more.
After a few more moments Brandt raised his head to look down at Carl
appraisingly. The man still had his eyes closed, but his breathing had returned to normal and his body had gone limp. Most of it, anyway. Brandt always appreciated a lover who could keep up with him, and Carl could certainly do that. Brandt leant
down and nipped lightly at the other man’s nose.
“Your methods worry me,” Carl mumbled as he cracked one eye open.
“I didn’t hear you complaining before.”
“That’s because I was too busy screaming. I should have figured you for a
biter, you crazy fuck,” Carl observed with a slight smile. Brandt creased his brow in confusion. He could tell before they’d begun that the man wasn’t accustomed to being on the receiving end of such attentions, and Brandt had been reasonably gentle. Carl wasn’t bleeding, was he? Or on fire? What was he complaining about? What was
wrong with biting? And for that matter, what was wrong with his methods?
“What’s wrong with my methods?” he asked in a hurt voice
Carl cracked open his other eye slowly and tried to focus his gaze on
Brandt’s face. Brandt lifted himself further so Carl could see him better without going cross-eyed and Carl hummed warningly.
“You’ve got quite a lot of stamina, Sparkplug,” Carl observed in amusement.
Brandt rolled and crawled back on top of Carl and looked down at him in confusion.
“That was just the warm up,” he informed Carl unashamedly.
“Warm up?” Carl repeated incredulously as he shifted his hips, planting his
feet flat on the mattress as if preparing to be slammed into again.
Brandt grinned at him and felt Carl shiver in response. He reached down to
the area of the bed near his knees and grabbed the covers they’d pushed aside during their earlier struggles. He pulled them up over their bodies to help stop the shivering, and Carl moaned wantonly as the motion produced some pleasing side effects.
“Ready for more, are you?” Brandt asked in amusement. “It reminds you of
that sheep blanket, yeah?” he asked, gesturing to the white quilt he held in his hand before wrapping it tightly around their bodies. It felt good to press against Carl in the warmth of the blankets. “I could go get it from Thiago,” he offered in a growling voice, and Carl snorted in irritation. He lifted his hips, and Brandt felt his body go momentarily weak.
There was something very gratifying about making a man like Carl call out,
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especially when it was a scream of pleasure. A plea for more.
Brandt really liked fucking Carl.
“If you make any bomb jokes I may have to kick you out of the bed,” Carl
warned him sleepily. It was a single bed, and it probably wouldn’t take much effort to do just that. Brandt rolled to his side and took Carl into his arms, nuzzling his neck affectionately.
“If I go, you’re coming with me, Trigger,” he whispered just before they
heard a soft cry coming from the other room.
“No!”
Brandt looked blankly up at Carl, who shot to a sitting position and stared at
the door of the bedroom like a cat stalking a mouse.
“Was that Remy?” Carl whispered after several seconds of tense listening.
“I think so,” Brandt answered nonchalantly. “I wouldn’t worry. Shawn is…
vigorous.” Carl looked at him sharply before rolling his eyes and lowering himself slowly back onto the mattress. “If something’s wrong Thiago will look into it,”
Brandt said assuredly. “And if Shawn’s gone crazy and attacked that damn Cajun, I rather like the odds of that fight.”
“In our favor, though?”
“Of course.”
They stayed motionless, listening for more cries or any sounds of movement,
but they could hear very little through the thick wooden doors of the old cabin.
“No shots or screams,” Carl observed in a murmur.
“Or explosions,” Brandt added in a disappointed voice as he nuzzled into
Carl’s neck once more.
Brandt managed to suppress a yelp when he found himself being shoved to
the ground. He sat up and peered over the edge of the bed at Carl, who was now
propped on one arm and looking at him bemusedly.
“Can’t say I didn’t warn you, Wally.”
Brandt grinned and climbed back into the bed.
“My ass,” he mumbled plaintively.
“No, mate. My ass. Rug burn is no contest.”
Brandt grinned again and this time he snuggled into Carl’s arms, resting his
head against Carl’s shoulder.
“Your turn next time, Trigger,” he said in amusement. Carl hummed in
response.
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“What are we going to do about him?” Carl asked abruptly, reverting back to
the discussion they’d been having before Brandt tackled him. Brandt hated to admit it, he was terrified of the man, Archer or not, but there was really nothing they could do.
It could be that he was just simply dangerous, no matter whose side he was on. Brandt could feel it.
He could feel the Cajun’s madness, and it scared him.
“Wait him out, I suppose,” he said uncertainly. “Just because he acts as if he
has something to hide doesn’t mean he’s the Archer, or even that he’s working for the Archer. He really hasn’t done anything to warrant suspicions. He’s just been too– ”
“Perfect.”
“Yes,” Brandt agreed. He held his breath, wondering if he should say what
he thought. But then he decided that either he trusted Carl or he didn’t, and he hoped the other man would understand his meaning. “It’s just a feeling I get when I look at him,” he explained tentatively. “Like a… a grenade that didn’t go off after the pin was pulled.”
Brandt felt Carl nod his head, and he was relieved to have found someone he
could relate to in his own way. He supposed his life would be much easier if he
simply put a little effort into wrangling in his own madness. Because he could do so.
And did, when necessary. He could be perfectly normal when he had to be.
But where was the fun in that?
Carl understood weapons. He even understood fire. More importantly
though, he understood Brandt and apparently understood the way Brandt’s mind
worked.
But most important of all, Carl shared Brandt’s suspicions. He understood
Remy Bergeron was a little unhinged; a ticking bomb with a broken timer. Brandt
w
as happy to have found an ally in this improbable group, and with that thought in mind, he drifted off into a light sleep.
XIII.
REMY questioned his methods for the first time in years as Shawn watched him
sadly. What was so different about this situation that he needed to resort to such drastic measures? Against Shawn, no less? He was playing a very dangerous game
with the only man he trusted, and if he lost the game, he would not only lose his only friend, but probably his life as well.
Shawn stood looking at him, waiting for an answer. How much to tell him?
Should he tell Shawn all he knew about his activities over the past months? Should he tell him everything or keep certain things to himself? Remy decided the truth was the only way to go now. They’d been hiding too much from one another for too long.
“I know that this is your last mission,” he admitted. Shawn looked slightly
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taken aback for a brief moment, but then he recovered and lowered his gaze. “How
could you not tell me?” Remy asked, hating the pleading quality of his voice, but for once letting his own emotions take control. “How could you just pack up and leave without a word to me? Abandon me? We were partners, Shawn!”
“How did you find out?” Shawn asked in a hoarse voice, his green eyes
glinting a little as he looked up at Remy.
“That won’t work on me. I know you too well,” Remy said, referring to the
oldest method of diversion in the world. Classic change of subject. Remy was almost insulted. He continued. “Answer my question. Please,” he begged, hoping it was
merely shame that kept Shawn from telling him his plans to retire after this mission.
“I….” Shawn couldn’t seem to get the words out and Remy’s heart sank a
little further. He’d hoped Shawn would confide in him without having to prompt him, but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen. Did he have something more to hide?
A bigger betrayal? Something more serious than simply abandoning him?
“Shawn?” Remy ventured tentatively. Shawn took a step back and looked
away from him, and Remy swallowed hard before continuing. “I never asked you this.
I never thought I had to,” he said in the same hurt tone of voice. “Are you the Archer, Shawn?”
Shawn’s head snapped back around and he looked at Remy as if the younger
man had just stabbed him in the heart.
“I would follow you,” Remy continued in a low voice. “You know that. I
would follow you to Hell and back. Just tell me the truth.” He looked into Shawn’s clear green eyes and waited for the axe to fall.
Shawn didn’t answer, though. He stood staring at Remy in shock for what
seemed an eternity. Just when Remy was about to ask again Shawn lunged at him and took him into his arms, pressing their mouths together and holding Remy so tightly the younger man thought perhaps he was trying to crush the breath from him.
“You’re a bloody fool, lad,” Shawn ground out as soon as their lips had
parted. Remy’s eyes widened at the tone of voice. He sounded angry, almost
desperate. Remy didn’t think he’d ever heard Shawn sound quite like that, but he
didn’t have much time to think it over before Shawn once again kissed him and
pawed desperately at his clothing.
“Shawn,” Remy finally managed to gasp as Shawn started to fumble with his
belt buckle and nip at his earlobe. Remy’s knees started to go weak, and he cursed Shawn for knowing how to press his buttons so well.
He was quite handily rid of his jeans as Shawn thrust his tongue roughly into
his mouth and maneuvered him back to the bed. Remy moaned into the kiss and held
Shawn tighter, briefly entertaining the thought that they could avoid the discussion they’d been having and simply curl up in bed together for the rest of their lives.
They were both breathing heavily, and Shawn finally pinned Remy’s legs to
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the mattress behind him and pulled his T-shirt over his head. Remy twisted to help when the shirt seemed to catch on his nose, but Shawn held him tight and pressed
their bodies together. Remy’s arms caught in the material of the shirt, and his vision was cut off.
Remy belatedly realized his mistake. He’d let his emotions cloud his
judgment and now he was at Shawn’s mercy. The man would no doubt be getting
answers now.
Shawn shoved him backwards, and he felt himself falling, landing on the
mattress with a grunt. His arms were still trapped by the T-shirt and Shawn’s iron grasp no matter how much he struggled to free himself, and his eyes and nose were covered as well as Shawn took both his wrists in one hand and held them against the bed.
Remy hated not being able to see almost as much as he hated not being able
to move.
He began to struggle to free himself, pondering the advantages and
disadvantages of kneeing Shawn in the groin, but then Shawn’s callused hand brushed gently over his chin and soft lips grazed his own. Remy shivered uncontrollably and groaned despite his best efforts to the contrary.
Perhaps he had been wrong?
“How did you find out?” Shawn asked, his voice a threatening whisper in the
darkness.
Nope. Not wrong then.
“Fuck,” Remy breathed in agitation.
He felt Shawn’s hand on his face, gentle and almost loving in the way it
caressed his cheek. The thumb rubbed over the fabric covering his cheek as the other four fingers dug beneath his jaw line, and then Shawn shifted and the fingers drifted down his cheek and rested on his lips.
“How did you find out that I had taken the deal they offered me?” Shawn
questioned again. Remy answered by biting Shawn’s finger. A pained hiss came from the other man and then an amused chuckle. “You want it that way then, do you?”
Shawn murmured, almost to himself. Remy shivered again and smiled around the
finger he was still sinking his teeth into lightly. He felt Shawn shift again and Shawn’s lips were moving at the shell of his ear. “I don’t want to hurt you, lad,”
Shawn murmured. “Just tell me what I need to know and we’ll be done with it.”
The finger was pulled from his mouth as the weight of Shawn’s body lifted
from his chest, and Remy tilted his head back and forth, desperately trying to see.
Shawn’s hand still held his wrists down, but the other lightly caressed his ribs, tickling him and sending an anticipatory shiver through his body. He snorted lightly and then clenched his jaw stubbornly. It was going to take more than that to get
answers from him. He heard Shawn sigh sadly.
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“Am I going to have to torture you again?” he asked softly.
“Fuck,” Remy breathed again, remembering the last time Shawn had
‘tortured’ him. It always culminated in being uncomfortably sticky in hard-to-reach places.
“Tell me, lad,” Shawn coaxed. Remy winced and squirmed and shook his
head back and forth in answer to Shawn’s plea. He wasn’t about to break that easily.
Shawn’s knee was summarily shoved into his ribs, and Remy bit down hard
on his lip, only to have Shawn’s tongue lap at it gently and coax his teeth to loosen their grip. Remy groaned again as Shawn’s mouth met his.
His mind spared a moment’s thought to appreciate how difficult the position
must have been for Shawn to get into, but then Shawn moved away again, and Remy
felt the man’s breath gust across his own damp lips as he spoke. “How did you find out?” he queried again.
<
br /> Remy’s jaw clenched again.
“Dixie,” Shawn murmured against his lips coaxingly, “quit being stubborn.”
“St. John told me,” Remy murmured as soon as Shawn’s voice took on the
serious note. The games were over.
“Why would Thierry tell you that?”
“I don’t know,” Remy murmured as he shifted his hips and tugged at his
wrists. “Let me go, Shawn.”
“Not yet.”
“I’m getting twitchy!” Remy protested plaintively.
“Not until you tell me the truth.”
“I told you the truth!” Remy huffed as he tried to move the T-shirt enough to
be able to see.
“I don’t believe you,” Shawn told him matter-of-factly.
“Maudit!”
“Tell me and maybe I’ll fuck you, hmm?” Shawn practically cooed.
“Everyone got it,” Remy admitted finally as the blood rushed through his
body at warp speed with the offer. “Thierry was trying to convince me to take the same deal. He thought if I knew you’d accepted it then I would, too.” Shawn was
silent, and Remy thought he was either processing the information or trying to figure out something painful to punish him with. “Shawn, please,” he murmured, deflating with the memory of that scene in Thierry St. John’s office when his handler had told him about Shawn’s retirement.
“Did you take it?” Shawn asked in an oddly strained voice.
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“Shawn,” Remy pleaded, wanting desperately to be done with this
conversation.
“Did you take the deal they offered?” Shawn asked again, more forcefully
this time.
“No!” Remy called out in frustration, not caring whether the others heard
now, but simply wanting to be done with this.
Instantly, Shawn was gone, leaving him alone on the bed and tangled up in
his own T-shirt. He began to struggle inelegantly to free himself so he could locate Shawn and possibly kick him a few times.
“Hey,” he finally said in irritation. “Can I get some help here?”
Shawn chuckled from somewhere in the little room, and Remy finally freed