Fortune's Favor (A Power Up! Story)

by Marie Harte

  People like Avery.

  A vision of the black-haired giant took over his mind’s eye. Massive arms, a broad chest, thick thighs. Grappling with Avery and dealing with his sharp wit always gave him a hard-on. Avery was such a fucking man. With a groan, Nathan took his cock in hand and stroked. Envisioning Avery’s deep, dark blue eyes, that short black hair, and his square jaw, Nathan stroked faster. Avery had lips made for sucking cock. With a fuller lower lip and a wide mouth that didn’t often curl in amusement, Avery was sheer perfection wasted on a straight man. Nathan had a tough time not sighing like a lovesick teenager whenever the big man smiled.

  But in Nathan’s fantasies, Avery begged to touch, to suck, to feel. Avery would want to kneel, open his mouth, and swallow Nathan’s cock. He’d rim Nathan’s ass, lick and fondle his balls, and jerk Nathan off. Then he’d bend Nathan over and take him without restraint.

  Nathan panted as his climax neared. In another scenario, he imagined Avery bending over, allowing Nathan to fuck him hard. No condom, no protection, just Nathan buried to the hilt up that fine, muscular ass…

  “Oh fuck,” he whispered and shot over the tile of the stall.

  The water erased the evidence of his need, if not the need itself. Now freed from the frustration riding him hard, Nathan finished his shower and turned off the water. He dried off and left the bathroom wrapped in a towel. In the morning light, he glanced at Avery, now asleep and on his back, the sheets bunched around his waist.

  A dusting of black hair covered his brawny chest. The flat copper of his nipples made Nathan’s mouth water. But they needed some rings, clamps, or better yet, Nathan’s mouth.

  To his irritation, he started to get hard again.

  Hell, no. Avery Holton, you are nothing but Mr. Wrong. Though his partner certainly could be counted on when it came to the job, such close proximity played hell with Nathan’s libido. He had an insane urge to rip away Avery’s covers. He thought of sucking Avery’s nipples, those tempting buds now erect due to the frigid air in the room. But knowing his unflappable partner, Avery would wake up calm. The control freak wouldn’t let annoyance show on his face, but he’d clench his fists tight and lock his jaw, the way he did every time Nathan bothered him.

  Sucking his nipples will do more than annoy him. The thought of Avery’s horrified, stunned reaction surprised a chuckle out of his mouth. His mood oddly lightened, Nathan crawled into his bed to catch a few hours of sleep. Now that his drunk had worn off, his brain refused to function past the need to close his eyes.

  He woke to dirty clothes hitting him in the face.

  “Rise and shine, twinkle toes.”

  Nathan shoved his beer-smelling clothes to the floor and cracked his jaw on a yawn. “I really hate it when you try to be cute.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m not the fucking maid. Clean up after yourself.”

  “Um, we’re in a hotel. They actually hire maids to clean up.”

  “Pack up your shit, and let’s go.” Avery glared down at him from an impressive height.

  Nathan knew the man had an inch on him, putting him close to if not over six-four. God knew, Avery didn’t need another edge over Nathan. Mr. Cool and Collected could rarely be beaten in the gym. The major had huge muscles and the wherewithal to use them. Even Nathan, for all his prowess in martial training, had rarely beaten Avery in hand-to-hand combat.

  “Today, princess.” Avery sighed. “Checkout is in a half hour. You were supposed to wake me up at ten.”

  The clock read eleven thirty. “Sue me.” Nathan sat up and stretched.

  Avery turned away and hauled his duffel bag over his shoulder. Already packed and ready to go. Typical. “I’ll meet you at the car. Now get it in gear. We have a meet-and-greet with our realtor in another hour.”

  Nathan groaned. “I still don’t like this. It’s stupid. Malcolm will see through us in a heartbeat. Just because you had a vision of him in that stupid town is no reason to think he’ll find us now.”

  “I saw snow on the ground in my vision, like the white stuff there today.”

  “There’s snow in Bloomville eight months out of the year,” Nathan said drily. He knew. He’d spent three long years there. Just outside of Erie, Pennsylvania, Bloomville had harsh winters, short summers, and a small population. “You know this cover is stupid. There’s no way we won’t be noticed right away.”

  “But that’s the point. We’ll be noticed. Business partners sharing a house in Bloomville while we make renovations on the Dixon house. What could be better?”

  It was on the tip of Nathan’s tongue to ask why Avery hadn’t considered them posing as lovers instead of business associates, but he didn’t want to push the bully. Not until he’d had a cup of coffee at least. “It’s the Dixon House Inn now. Oh man, I friggin’ hate Bloomville.” Nathan had never been so glad to see the end of that house in his life. And now he was going back to it…and all the memories stored there.

  “Suck it up, and quit whining. I’ll be waiting.” Avery left without another word.

  “Asshole.” Nathan got up, brushed his teeth, and dressed. Then he threw his belongings in his bag and carried it over his shoulder and out the door with five minutes to spare. He met Avery at their rental SUV at noon.

  Instead of acting like an annoyed SOB, Avery reclined in his seat, his hands behind his head, while he listened to classic rock. At least he had decent taste in music.

  Nathan tossed his bag into the back, then joined Avery in the front. “Why is it you’re always driving?” Nathan sat in the passenger seat. Again.

  “Because I’m in charge of our little operation.”

  “Says who?”

  “My seniority. I served twelve years—eleven years in the service and another with the PWP. So that makes me top dog. You did what? A few years with the government? Lightweight.”

  Nathan glared at him. “I’ve been with the PWP longer than you have. Three years, Major. So give me the keys.”

  Avery snorted and sat up. He adjusted his seat, strapped in, then started the vehicle. “Dream on. You’re probably still a little drunk from last night. You smelled like a brewery.”

  Nathan flushed. “Yeah, well, it won’t happen again.”

  They pulled out of the parking lot and drove through snow-cleared roads. The weather looked bleak. The gray, cloudy sky promised more snow. No sun in sight.

  “Good to know you plan to sober up,” Avery murmured. “’Cause next time I might let them have you.”

  Nathan scoffed. “Yeah, right. Your savior complex won’t let you. Mr. Responsible? Not do the right thing? That’ll be the day.” He stared straight ahead, but a glance out the corner of his eye showed Avery’s fingers tighten on the wheel.

  He smothered a grin.

  “Being responsible is not a curse. It’s a calling.” Avery turned up the radio, and Pink Floyd blared through the speakers. “Remember your cover. You blow this, I’m gonna take it out on your ass, and not in a way you’d like.”

  Nathan shot him the finger.

  Avery grinned.

  Instead of anger, arousal lit Nathan from head to toe.

  The hour until Bloomville seemed to last forever.

  Chapter Two

  In a small forgotten town in Mexico, Malcolm Dixon closed his eyes and let the whisper of steel kiss his skin. Such a tender lover, so close to his soul. The blade was bigger than a knife, yet not long enough to be classified as a long sword. A gladius, perhaps, one that had been used in countless kills over the years. The hilt was made of an ivory-colored bone and knobbed in an exquisite red wood. The double-edged steel blade sang of increased carbon content, the impurities in the blooms of metal giving it a durability pure steel would not, as the material was too soft to make a good weapon. Along the blade, the word Sangre had been inscribed on each side in loving detail.

  It would be hard to conceal unless a man with Malcolm’s many talents knew how to hide it. A hidden pocket in his overcoat, twenty inches deep and reinforced with
a silken-Kevlar blended sheath, protected the blade from detection.

  He glanced at the coat flung over a nearby chair. On the floor next to the chair, five corpses stared unseeingly at each other. A drug buy gone sour, or so the local paper would say. But Malcolm had the information he needed to satisfy his superiors. He’d already sent the files to his contact at headquarters. He’d eliminated the dealers and their buyers, and their money would fund the many black ops he wasn’t cleared to know about. Not that he cared.

  He brought the blade up and read the word aloud. “Sangre. My Espada de Sangre.” Blade of Blood. So fitting, and so perfect for his needs. Weeks ago, he’d bought it at an underground auction, where most people went to sell stolen goods. He’d seen it and known he was meant to wield it. Then to find out Danielle had never died as he’d been told…

  Just after he’d purchased the blade, he’d done a bit of research. The blade’s rightful owner wanted it back, no cost too great to reclaim the weapon. But he had help searching for it. A group with unique skills and more unique members. Intrigued, Malcolm dug further and found gold. Nathan Kraft was alive and well. And the bastard had led him right to Danielle, that faithless whore. All because of Sangre.

  Fate surely had a hand in his life. With Sangre, he’d carved a hole where her heart should be, where the faithless woman had ripped out his own and replaced it with a stone-cold rock. Since her death, the only time he experienced a rush of emotion occurred on the cusp of another’s death. He wanted so badly to hold on to that feeling, and the sword gave him what he wanted—a short respite from the bleak existence he faced daily before the emptiness returned.

  But gripping Sangre, he felt so much more. Malcolm closed his eyes and saw every death and murder committed by those holding the blade. He’d always been able to touch a weapon and gain the knowledge of how best to use it. But this blade was different. It called to him, sang to him with the sweet skill of a seductress. When he took a life using it, energy swelled and crashed inside him with such drugging ecstasy that he wept at the feel of it.

  The bodies on the floor had been the notes to his latest composition, and he hummed under his breath as he kissed Sangre and carried it to his coat. After donning the jacket, he slipped the blade inside, content to have it so near. Then he made a call.

  Danielle had been undeservedly blessed to feel Sangre as it slid between her ribs and sliced through her flesh. What a beautiful chorus of pain, and such emotion. He could still hear her pleading and begging and crying. But none of that made up for the secrets she’d kept. Had he known the truth from the beginning, things might have been different. His rage built as he pondered the past. He would have…

  Footsteps sounded close. Malcolm gripped the hilt of Sangre and withdrew it from its sleeve inside his jacket. He stood and waited, grateful for another reprieve in his otherwise dreary life.

  Two swarthy men entered with semiautomatics. He was already moving when the bullets flew. And then he danced, his partner graceful, the gladius all but glowing as he moved closer to perfection. The blade dipped and thrust and sucked up energy like a vacuum.

  The men shrieked. Blood spattered the walls and floor, covering the dead already blanketing the wood like a stained rug.

  Malcolm smiled, content, and carved a pattern in flesh. A design for Danielle, and for his nephew, whom he couldn’t wait to see once more.

  * * * *

  Avery stood with Nathan and watched him charm the woman out of her seat. Within minutes of meeting Mr. Nathan Jackson, she’d offered not only to call the utility companies to turn the gas and cable on, but she’d also offered to buy them both dinner as a welcome to Bloomville.

  “You’re so sweet, Ginger.” Nathan took the older woman’s hand in his and kissed the back of it.

  Avery refrained from rolling his eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Hall. Thank you.”

  The woman wore a ring and had a picture of herself, her husband, and two teenagers on the corner of her desk. Yet she blushed like a schoolgirl under Nathan’s attention. “It’s a pleasure, I assure you, Mr. Jackson. I mean, Nathan.”

  Him she called Mister. Nathan got the first-name treatment. How was it his partner could charm total strangers but got on his last goddamn nerve half the time?

  “We’ll leave you to it, then, Ginger. And thanks so much for dinner.”

  She nodded. “It’ll be delivered, no worries. Best pizza in town.”

  “You’re so sweet.” Nathan grinned, and those damn dimples made the woman melt. The way they made Avery melt every time he saw them.

  Good thing he had a backbone made of iron. “Nathan? We need to get a move on.” He smiled politely at Ginger. “We have some cleanup to do before our investors come out to see the place in a few weeks.”

  Ginger nodded. “You two restoring the Dixon house will be a draw for the town. We used to have a lot of visitors come to stay when the last couple ran it. It’s haunted, you know.”

  Avery coughed to cover a laugh. Nathan shot him a dark look before turning to her. “Yes. That’s why we’re so interested in putting it back in top shape. Once we do the repair work, we’ll look into hiring local talent to run the place.” He nodded to Avery. “My partner and I are businessmen, not innkeepers. I handle the money; he does the grunt work.”

  Trust Nathan to twist their cover around to make himself look important. Grunt work, my ass.

  “Well, while you’re here, we’re more than glad to have you. And if you’re looking for a place to wind down when you’re not working, the Blooming Rose is a terrific bar. Lots of nice girls in town.” Apparently realizing how forward that sounded, she added, “Who’d be perfect to work in your B and B. Friendly faces to get to know better, if you were interested.”

  Nathan didn’t react other than to smile. A good thing, because smaller towns tended to be more conservative. It was imperative they blend in just enough to give themselves time to look around. Avery’s visions had shown him that they’d find the blade, and hopefully Dixon, in Bloomville. But they’d get more answers out of the locals if they looked like part of the community. Those in Bloomville might not take to a gay man running their local inn. And God forbid they realize the gay man’s partner was bi.

  That was a secret he was keeping under wraps until he knew he could fuck Nathan and not feel more than physical pleasure. Avery was attracted to the guy, but he’d seen Nathan go through men like tissues. He had no intention of becoming a notch on Nathan’s bedpost, and especially not if they had to work together. No matter how much he ached for the bastard. Hell, maybe he should check out the Blooming Rose.

  Nathan gave him a slap on his back that felt less than friendly. “Come on, Avery. Let’s go.”

  Avery held on to the keys Nathan motioned for and walked outside with him. Once out of earshot, he shook his head. “I can’t believe you sweet-talked that woman into getting us dinner.”

  “She offered.”

  “And the utilities? I know the heat and water were working, but do we really need the other stuff?”

  “Hey, the gas fireplace is nice. And I’m not staying out in hickville without cable. Jack will reimburse us.” Nathan slanted him a look. “Not like there’s anything better to do.”

  Avery nodded. “Good point. Not like you can go around sucking every dick in town if we want to keep a low profile.”

  Nathan mouthed an obscenity and slammed his way into the vehicle.

  Avery allowed himself a short grin. Ten minutes later, he parked in the side driveway of a large colonial-style home. He knew Nathan had at one time lived here. Over five thousand square feet, with original hardwood floors, wainscoting, and the original paned glass, the Dixon House had belonged to Malcolm Dixon’s ancestors, back when the place had been opened as a hotel before the Great Depression. In the years since, the large home had been renovated a few times to serve as both an inn and a private residence.

  Avery hadn’t realized Nathan still owned it.

  “Are you going to do something w
ith this place once we’re done with the job?”

  “Hell, yeah. I inherited it from my aunt—from Danielle. Soon as this case is over, I’m selling the thing.” Nathan looked up, and Avery wondered what he really saw when he viewed the whitewashed paint, weathered dark blue shutters, and falling gutters. Snow covered the massive yard, dusting the tops of the shrubbery growing wild around the property. Five large acres of trees, brush, snow, and more snow. It would have been the perfect place for a getaway weekend if they weren’t trying to trap a murderer.

  “This house isn’t going to make security easy.” Avery took note of all the avenues of approach an enemy might use. “We need to get inside and lock down our control point.”

  “Aye, aye.” Nathan gave him a mock salute, and Avery immediately thought of how satisfying it would be to paddle that ass.

  His partner unlocked the front door, and Avery followed him inside. The musty smell of disuse hit him the minute they crossed the entranceway. But inside was a pleasant surprise. A warm yellow painted the walls not covered in glossy cherrywood. The floors had been refinished in the recent past, and the décor was charming in a Victorian, antique-y kind of way. Or at least what Avery could see of it past the dust cloths covering everything.

  “Fully furnished,” Nathan muttered. “Just gotta take off the ghosts.”

  “The what?”

  “The white covers over the furniture. Always looked like ghosts to me.”

  That sadness was back, and Avery wanted it gone. “So you want me to make this place feel like home for you? I could find you some twinks and a bottle of Jack, maybe.”

  The sadness vanished to be replaced by a look of disgust. “Funny, he-man. What should we do to make it a home for you? Maybe some tits-and-ass calendars and religious right videos?”

  Avery chuckled. “I thought you were going to say porn videos. More my speed.”

  Nathan blinked. “You? Porn? My God. I think the floors just shook.”