Butterfly Assassin

by Annabelle Jacobs

  On the one hand, he liked the idea of showing off for Michael. Aaron knew he looked good out there, knew he could fight. Michael had only seen him worried for Harry or scared of being arrested. But when Aaron fought, he wasn’t scared, wasn’t frightened of anything. He was focused solely on keeping his strength contained and making each blow as precise as he could.

  And on the other hand, he worried that having Michael there would affect his concentration. Would he be so desperate to show off that he slipped up and gave himself away?

  “I think we’ve covered everything.” Michael stood and so did the others.

  Aaron was slower to get up as the thought of Michael watching him fight lingered.

  Everyone filed out, but Michael hung back, concern in his eyes. “You okay?” he asked Aaron, moving closer. “You weren’t with us for the last part of that discussion, were you?” He put his hand on Aaron’s shoulder, grip firm, and Aaron’s breath caught.

  “No.” Aaron forced out a laugh. “I zoned out for a bit. Sorry.” Michael gave his shoulder a squeeze but didn’t step back like Aaron expected. “You didn’t miss anything.”

  This close, all he could smell was Michael’s scent, and he found himself leaning in to get more of it. In danger of embarrassing himself, Aaron straightened and attempted to ignore the effect Michael had on him. “So you were all just talking bollocks then?”

  That surprised a laugh out of him. “No. But I’m pretty sure you know all about how Harry gets in to see the fights and how much money I should bring with me to appear like I know what I’m doing. Stuff like that.”

  “Yeah.” He did know—it was why they were in this mess. Well, no that was unfair to Harry. After the first couple of fights, Aaron had wanted to keep going as much as Harry. “I do already know about that.” He sighed, his lips felt dry from the air conditioning, so he flicked his tongue out to wet them, not realising what he was doing until Michael’s gaze dropped to his mouth.

  The heated look in his eyes set Aaron pulse racing. He let the tips of his fangs slide out and gently bit his bottom lip. Sometimes guys forgot what he was, and a little reminder either stoked the flames or sent them running. Michael had liked it before. Was that just a one-off?

  Michael’s sharp inhale sounded loud and clear to Aaron, but he didn’t move.

  The room was now empty apart from them, and Aaron moved until they were almost flush. The tease of Michael’s body, so near yet not touching any part of Aaron, sent a ripple of anticipation through him, and he shivered at the promise of what might happen. All he had to do was lean forward a little and they’d brush against each other.

  The faint hint of arousal filled the air and Aaron wasn’t sure who it was coming from. The scent mixed with whatever aftershave or shower gel Michael used, and Aaron closed his eyes, inhaling with a soft smile. His jeans were getting tighter by the second as his cock stiffened, and he wanted to see if Michael was in the same predicament.

  Reaching out, Aaron placed a hand on Michael’s hip, squeezed just a little to feel the firmness of it under his palm, then trailed his fingers ever so slowly lower, until—

  “Aaron, are you coming or…? Oh.” Harry’s amused exclamation had Michael abruptly stepping away just as Aaron’s fingers reached the head of his cock.

  That one fleeting touch was enough to whet his appetite, and it took all Aaron’s resolve not to follow him. The message was clear though, judging by the distance he’d put between them.

  “I’ll just um… wait outside for you.” Harry left, leaving the door wide open.

  Aaron rolled his eyes—it reminded him of his mum when he used to have mates round in his teenage years.

  After adjusting himself in his work trousers, Michael blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair before meeting Aaron’s gaze. A blush covered his cheeks, but he didn’t seem all that embarrassed, and his eyes still held that heated expression. “I can’t do this at work.”

  “This?” Aaron asked, not quite sure why he was being an arse.

  Predictably, Michael raised his eyebrows, looking less than impressed. “Yes. This.” He gestured between the two of them. “Almost kiss you and end up with a hard-on that’s not going away any time soon.”

  Aaron licked his lips at the mention of kissing, an automatic response, and he couldn’t help but glance down to see that, yes, Michael still sported a considerable bulge in his trousers. Aaron grinned.

  “It’s not funny.” The smile Michael tried to suppress said otherwise.

  “Sorry.” He wasn’t. At all, and Michael saw straight through him.

  “Yeah, right.” Michael sighed, and Aaron knew what was coming, could see it a mile away. “We can’t do this anyway, inside or outside of work. Not while we’re working on this case.”

  Aaron cocked his head to the side, considering. “I’m not under investigation any more, though.”

  “No, but you are a witness, and despite the ethical questions it might raise, I need a clear head Friday night. I can’t afford to lose focus.”

  “And you think kissing me will do that? Cause you to lose focus?”

  Michael laughed, looking up at the ceiling for a second as if searching for answers there. “Yes,” he said finally. “I definitely think that kissing you would affect my ability to focus on anything other than you.”

  Aaron’s grin widened, and he shoved his hands in his back pockets, stretching the front of his jeans and showing off his semi.

  “Stop.” Michael’s pained expression just fuelled Aaron’s urge to tease him.

  “You like me though, right?”

  “Yes, Aaron.” He glanced pointedly at the front of his trousers. “I thought that was fairly obvious.”

  Aaron made a show of inhaling, the scent of arousal stronger now and catching him off guard. His voice was rougher than he intended when he said, “It is. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

  “It doesn’t change anything.”

  Aaron’s smile was wry. “You just told me that you like me but that we can’t do anything about it.”

  “I did.”

  “You do realise that makes me want it all the more?”

  Another huff of laughter. “Believe me, I know exactly how that feels.”

  Aaron nodded. “Okay.” He gave Michael one last look, then headed for the door.

  “Okay?” Michael’s voiced had an edge of incredulity to it. “That’s all you’ve got to say? What does that even mean?”

  Turning back, Aaron walked up to Michael, dipped his head, and ran his nose along the side of his throat. He breathed in deep, smirked at Michael’s full-body shiver, then let out a soft moan. “It means that I respect what you’re saying, even if the temptation is going to drive me mad, but the fact that you’re going to suffer as much as me makes it better. Hotter.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. I like knowing that however frustrated I’m feeling, you’re feeling it too.”

  Michael smiled at him. One eyebrow arched. “Are you saying you like me too, then?”

  Quick as a flash, Aaron grabbed one of Michael’s hands and pressed it against the front of his jeans, his cock hard enough to prove his point. “Yes.” Then just as quickly, he stepped towards the door, smiling smugly as Michael’s gaze flicked between his groin and his face. “See you Friday.”

  “Yeah.” Michael shook his head. “Go before you get me in trouble.”

  Aaron winked at him, then forced himself to walk out the door. Despite his bravado moments before, it was harder to leave than he wanted to let on.

  Harry leant against the wall in the corridor, pretending to look at his phone, but Aaron knew he’d heard everything. He glanced up as Aaron approached.

  “I knew you liked him.”

  “Shut up.”

  They walked towards the exit, no sign of the others.

  Aaron frowned. “Where’s Isaac and Sam?”

  “Fortunately, they already left before witnessing that in there.” He waved behind t
hem. “Isaac had to get back, so I said we’d catch the tube. Most people are still at work, so I figured the chances of running into anyone are slim. That okay?”

  “Yeah.” Aaron hadn’t given a thought to who might be listening. Maybe Michael had a point about losing focus. “Come on, then.” Truth be told, he wasn’t all that thrilled at risking the tube, but that was his own fault. Might as well get it over with.

  FRIDAY NIGHT came way too soon.

  Aaron looked down at the text on his phone detailing the fight venue and the time he should arrive.

  He wasn’t ready. Wasn’t in the right headspace for fighting.

  And he knew exactly why that was.

  The moment he chose to quit, he’d lost that edge. He’d accepted that he didn’t need to exercise such rigid control over his body, and now he was struggling to get it back.

  “Fuck.” Setting his phone on the bathroom counter, Aaron rested his hands on the edge of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. Apart from that one scar, there were no marks on his skin. Would anyone think it odd that he had no yellowing bruises lingering after his last fight? Would they be able to tell in the dim lighting of wherever they ended up tonight? Fluorescent lights always did weird things to his skin tone anyway. Maybe he’d get away with it.

  But maybe not.

  With a resigned sigh, Aaron flicked his claws out and cut his cheek, hopefully in the same place Crossford had struck him. He let it heal enough so it looked old, then forced his body to stop. It hurt for a second, made him grit his teeth as he fought against his body’s natural instinct to heal itself, but then weeks of training kicked in and he let out a shaky breath, gripping the sink tight.

  The bruises would have to be painted on. The make-up he used was expensive, designed to stay perfect for hours. He just needed it to stay in place until whoever he was fighting made new ones.

  Thirty minutes later, he was done and ready to go. Harry and Michael should already be there by now. As had become typical in the last couple of months or so, Aaron’s was the final fight of the evening. There would be at least one or two fights before him, maybe more, depending on how many rounds they lasted, of course, but Aaron fought no matter what.

  He grabbed his bag and his keys and headed out. They weren’t meeting up at Lycanis tonight—couldn’t take Michael there—they were all coming back to Aaron’s flat instead for a quick recap of the night’s events before heading home. No point driving there since hopefully he’d be getting a lift back with Harry, so Aaron walked the two minutes down the road to the tube station.

  The place Smith had found for tonight was five stops and one change away. No one looked Aaron’s way as the train swayed along the tracks. The people in his carriage were either on their way out for the night, chatting excitedly, or half-asleep as they made their way home. Either way, no one was particularly interested in him.

  When he arrived at the empty building, Aaron stopped, searching past the scaffolding on the front of it for a way in. He hoped the interior was in better shape. Having a building fall down on him wasn’t part of his plans for tonight.

  A dim light came from down the left-hand side of the building, and Aaron followed it, surprised to see Blake standing just inside the doorway. By this time of night, he was usually guarding his boss.

  Blake nodded in greeting. “Bass.”

  The abbreviated form of his stupid fucking nickname grated on him like always. And just like every other time, Aaron smiled like he didn’t give a shit. “Blake.” Aaron nodded back.

  “A few of Smith’s friends are in tonight,” Blake said, still blocking enough of the doorway that Aaron couldn’t slip past him.

  “Oh?” This was new. Usually Aaron only uttered a few words to whoever was on the door.

  “He’d like you to make it last tonight. Give everyone their money’s worth for a change. Your fights are getting a little predictable.”

  Aaron bristled. “I’m not going to—”

  “So he was thinking maybe go six rounds this time.” Blake kept eye contact as he talked over Aaron, smugness radiating off him as though he knew Aaron was in no position to argue if he wanted to continue to fight.

  If only you knew how wrong you are.

  Aaron would like nothing better than to tell Blake that Smith could go fuck himself and then turn and walk away.

  But he had to fight. He’d made a deal with the SCTF and he wouldn’t go back on it. He wouldn’t embarrass his alpha like that.

  “Fine,” he gritted out. “I’m sure whoever I’m fighting tonight will be more of a challenge than my last one.” Aaron felt guilty referring to Crossford like that, but it was what Blake expected.

  “Speaking of Cross…” Blake moved closer, and Aaron held his ground. “Have the police been to see you?”

  “Why would they?” Aaron’s heart kicked into overdrive as he wondered what Blake could possibly know.

  “You know he’s dead, right?”

  “Yeah, I saw the news.”

  “Well, it said he was killed in the early hours of Saturday morning.”

  “And?”

  Blake frowned as though it was obvious. “He lives miles from where they found him. I doubt he’d been home after the fight, so odds are he had his bag on him.”

  “What’s your point?” Aaron knew exactly what point he was making, but feigned confusion.

  “Well, your blood would be all over that tape. If they have anything on file to match it to—”

  “They don’t.” Aaron’s heart thumped against his ribcage, and he struggled to keep his expression neutral, to give nothing away. “And no, the police haven’t been to see me.” Not a lie. The SCTF weren’t technically the same as the regular police. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Blake held up his hands. “Calm down. I’m not gonna fucking tell them anything. Just wanted to make sure they weren’t looking our way.”

  “I have nothing to tell the police.”

  “That’s right. You don’t.” Blake smiled, although it lacked sincerity, and he patted Aaron on the shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you where you can stash your stuff.”

  Aaron followed him inside, feeling more unnerved than ever.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Hey, Archie?”

  Michael glanced round to see Rob beckoning him over to where he stood with a couple of guys.

  Harry followed where he was looking and leaned in to whisper. “The bloke on the right is one of Smith’s bookies. Not sure about the other one.”

  “Might as well go and place a bet.” He looked up at the fight currently taking place. It’d be over within the next round or so judging by the state of one of the fighters.

  If this were licenced and legal, Michael was pretty sure it would’ve been stopped already, and he itched to get in there and break things up. He also missed the weight of his gun nestled against his side. “Who’s up next?” he asked, shaking off the naked feeling of being unarmed in a place like this.

  Harry’s expression said it all.

  “Aar—”

  “Al Hunter. Otherwise known as the Butterfly Assassin.”

  “The what?” Michael whispered, eyebrows scrunched together. “Why the fuck do they call him that?”

  “You’ll see.” Harry grinned. “Go place your bet. Can’t see this one lasting much longer.”

  “You coming?” He didn’t want to encourage Harry to gamble after Thursday, but they had to look the part.

  Harry shrugged. “Yeah, okay. But I’m not betting on him. I never do.”

  Fair enough.

  Michael let that go, figuring it wasn’t the place to start that discussion.

  The SCTF wasn’t short on cash, but Michael didn’t want to draw anyone’s attention, so he made what Harry assured him was an average bet on Aaron to win. To say he was eager to see Aaron fight was an understatement, and he struggled to rein in his building excitement.

  This was still his job, no matter that lately it seemed to com
e with a few more perks than it usually did. He needed to focus on what they’d gone there for, not Aaron’s fighting technique.

  A cheer went up, and Michael looked over to see one of the current fighters, bloody and bruised but with his arms held up in victory.

  His opponent had to be carried out.

  Michael watched them drag his semi-conscious body from the middle of the crowd. The sight left a nasty taste in his mouth. That was why these places needed to be shut down. Why Smith needed to be stopped, whether by the SCTF or by Miller’s lot. Someone had to put a stop to it.

  Michael fully appreciated that by making this type of fighting illegal, they’d made it easy for people like Smith to throw safety precautions out the window. There were no rules or regulations he had to follow anymore. Michael didn’t make the law, but it was his job to see it upheld.

  Harry’s nudge to his kidneys grabbed his attention, and he looked up in time to see the announcer step into the middle of the makeshift ring. The crowd didn’t exactly quieten for him, but the noise level dimmed considerably, more so than they had for any of the previous three fights.

  “The last fight of the night, the one I know you’ve been waiting for.” Another cheer. Most of the people there had been drinking steadily, and it showed. “Mac Martin, in his first fight, will be facing a veteran of these nights.” Michael rolled his eyes at the grandstanding of it all. “Undefeated in his last five fights, Al Hunter, otherwise known as the…?” He raised his arms out to the crowd and they yelled back as one, “Butterfly Assassin.”

  Michael had a sudden image of Aaron fluttering into the ring and landing on tiptoes, and he had to smother a laugh. A couple of people next to him gave him the side-eye.

  Then both fighters walked in, and Michael’s laughter disappeared in a heartbeat because, fucking hell, there was nothing funny about this version of Aaron.

  Nothing at all.

  Dressed only in loose-fitting jeans, slung low on his hips, and a pair of what looked like combat boots, Aaron sauntered into the ring as though he owned it. And from the way everyone chanted his name, he did.