“I’m aware of that, sir, and I appreciate your efforts and concern.”
Hugo left the room. True, they’d helped two scared Americans retained against their will at that villa in Perugia, but jumping in the middle of a drug related kidnapping wasn’t their job. Their resources were for other endeavors, like rescuing Angel from the hands of Juggernaut.
The jarring noise of the chopper greeted Hugo as he reached the roof. Snyder smiled when he sat beside him, behind the pilot. “We’re going to find him this time, baby.”
“We must, his time is running thin.” Hugo sighed.
The church of Our Lady of the Chalice might have not been able to offer sanctuary in the past, but for Angel and Malachi it had been a blessing. The good priest not only had two pairs of house shoes in the office (even if they fitted Malachi better than him) but a modern desktop without a password to engage it. Not to mention that the keys of an old Volvo were right beside the keyboard.
They made a donation of two thousand euros (you know: broken window, stolen shoes, borrowed car) and discovered after a few miles why the vehicle had been resting in its garage. It sputtered and coughed dark fumes, stopping altogether and leaving them stranded in the middle of nowhere.
Malachi said the goddess never abandoned the brave, and it appeared to be true since after five minutes under the baking sun, they heard braying. Manning a ridiculously similar to an old West wagon full of fruits and vegetables, the old man stared suspiciously at the one hundred euro bill (perhaps he had never seen one of those up close), turning it this and that way with his gnarly hands. After a long hesitation, he agreed to take them to the outskirts of Jannar, the fabled capital of Merbha, a two hour donkey ride.
Angel didn’t want to think how little that would have been in Volvo minutes.
“If this were a Stephanie Plum novel, the bad guys would make this veggie cart explode.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Well, you need to get your head out of the stars and embrace popular culture, they did a movie and Katherine Heigl was in it and everything.”
“Is she like a spy or something?”
“Far from it. A bounty hunter.”
“Genius.”
Grateful for the shade over their heads, they rested in each other’s arms. Malachi petted him as if he was the most precious thing in the world, and that conflicted and encouraged Angel simultaneously in a scrambling mash up of feelings.
“Are you gonna tell me what is really going on?” Angel scowled as Malachi traced his lips in a poorly disguised effort to make him shut up. “You can’t avoid it any longer.”
“Shh, I’ll tell you everything once we’re safely ensconced in a hotel room.”
“I thought we were going to our embassy.”
“That’s the first place they’d watch, don’t you think?”
Angel sighed. “The same as airports and any other method of transportation then. What are we gonna do?”
Malachi picked up a fruit and took a bite. “Do you think this is organic?”
“Seriously, we need to find a way to go home, and you’re worrying about chemicals?”
“Hey, an earthquake didn’t kill us. I don’t want a pesticide-related death.” Chuckling, Malachi took another bite and (after chewing for a moment) kissed Angel.
One of those let me fuck you all the way to your soul kisses obscenely heightened by the sweet flavor of the unnamed fruit.
A good thing his borrowed house shoes had enough room for his toes to curl.
After Malachi finished screw (ahem) kissing him, and he came down from the ethereal mental orgasm, Angel found his voice and grumbled, “I refuse to be quieted in that fashion every time I want answers.” He glared to save some of his almost non-existent dignity.
“I thought you liked it. This misguided me.” Malachi squeezed Angel’s achingly hard cock.
Well, at least I didn’t make a mess in my pants.
“Not a matter of distaste but of fairness. I can’t think when you make me soar like that!”
Malachi gave a solemn nod. “Okay. I’ll reserve those for more important occasions.”
They realized they were in a more urbanized place when a car honked behind them, making both jump, startled.
Minutes later, they bade their farewells to their grumpy savior and got a cab to the center of their destination.
If Ibiza had drunken sex with Manhattan, Jannar would be their offspring. Just visualize a Time Square’d seaside resort. They stopped at a restaurant for a much needed meal and went in search of a bank afterward to get as much cash as possible from the credit cards. Whoever was behind their captors would situate them in Merbha, but after that, they would not leave an electronic trace to pinpoint them again. Even if those hunting them learned they were in Jannar, the city was big enough to allow them to lay low until they figured out what needed to be done.
Amid this chaotic situation, something about Malachi made Angel feel secure (and protected?), and as much as he wanted to protest against the sensation, he couldn’t deny it; no matter how hinky this pile of dung was. This didn’t mean Angel wasn’t ready to wring the truth out of Malachi the second they were behind closed doors.
CHAPTER TEN
“Sir, face recognition pinned them entering Orange’s, a ten-story department store on Mediterranean Avenue in Jannar.”
That was a several blocks down from where Hugo had settled his command center in a suite of The Excelsior. “Good, hack into the building’s cameras and find them. I’m sending men to all possible exits.”
It has a massive underground garage, sir. A good place to collect the targets.”
“Noted. Check back in fifteen.” Hugo heard the “yes, sir” and visualized Aaron nodding as if Hugo were in front of him.
On the humongous screen Snyder had a blueprint of the store, Hugo swore under his breath. Half a block wide, it had so many escape routes including cargo bays that it screamed we’re not gonna sneak but prance out, you bee-atch.
“I know what you’re thinking. It might seem a logistic nightmare, but my men have handled worse.”
“I’m not worried about your men, Snyder. The innocent bystanders are my concern. You know Juggernaut doesn’t give a flying fuck what they wreck on their way.” Com-pad in hand, Hugo plopped beside Snyder, circling his free arm around him. “I want to trust Angel’s intelligence, but what if that bastard quote unquote astronomer has brainwashed him?”
“Unless he has super powers, I don’t see how in so few days. We’re not talking hostage situation here to fear some Stockholm syndrome. The email seemed normal enough. I’d say in some twisted way Angel is having fun.”
Hugo smirked. “Yeah. That boy’s not easily broken. You have no idea how many times I thought he was going to snuff his fucker of a father off.”
“I seriously question the wisdom of that man. How is it possible, for what you’ve told me, that he forced Angel into learning all the things that could easily turn the boy into a weapon against him?”
“I can answer that no more than I can explain you why buttercups smell the way they do.”
“Destiny?”
“Perhaps,” Hugo sighed. “Unit one is in place. Aaron should bring a report about now.”
In cue, a soft beep alerted Hugo of Aaron incoming voice. “Sir, we cannot find them.”
“What?” Hugo jumped from the sofa and started pacing. “As in you lost them?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I have ten men browsing every single camera in and out of that building, and the targets are not visible anywhere.”
“That must be a mistake. It’s just been fifteen minutes.”
“I’m aware of that, sir. It appeared as if they simply vanished.”
“Where was the last place within the building any of you saw them?”
“An escalator. By the time they were supposed to exit it, they were gone.”
“Son of a bitch,” Hugo growled. Snyder stood behind him,
kneading the million knots taking possession of his neck and shoulders. “All right, keep the search going. I’m counting on you.”
Snyder huffed, “This means I’m not getting any tonight.”
“You most certainly are not.”
“Fuck.”
Armed with hats and sunglasses, they bought new clothes and other necessities, including a wig and hair bleach, and rented a bungalow from where they would plan their strategy to reach his contacts in Italy.
Angel came out of the bathroom—after a much needed shower, turned into a sexy platinum blond hunk of a man. Malachi didn’t know if his go-go dancer had done it before, but he even managed to bleach his eyebrows closer to a light shade of brown. Thank the goddess Angel hadn’t been ensnared by Jersey guidos with their overdone eyebrows like fucking Vulcans.
Time to see if blonds really have more fun.
“Blessed be all those sweatshop children.” Angel padded into the bedroom wiggling his less swollen feet. “These flip flops are like walking on a darn cloud.”
The white things looked nice on Angel’s pale feet. As he turned to put the towel back in the bathroom, Malachi studied the sweet, sweet form. Malachi couldn’t say those were girl jeans, the crotch was extremely bulge-appropriate, but the sexy muscle-hugging contour of the backside, especially because it didn’t have pockets, screamed destroy me now.
Really hard to focus on a mission when your target is so… fuckable.
But it was becoming something else quicker than a plummeting satellite, and Malachi didn’t know if he had the strength to fight it. The time to explain Angel the seriousness of his crossroads neared.
Angel donned a red tank top, much like the one he had been wearing the first time Malachi made contact with him behind the bar top of Septima Luna. He admired the fine youngster, wondering if he should pick up a shirt to complement his caramel cargo shorts and go for a walk on the beach, despite the fact that they were fugitives.
I can go shirtless, it’s a beach.
An absolutely even sillier thought seized his mind. “Dance for me.” After all, their quarters had modern commodities, and the sound system looked phenomenal.
Without answering, no visible shock on his lovely face, Angel grabbed a chair and put it in the middle of the room. “Take your place, then.”
Fast music, devoid of vocals, surrounded them. Angel started to sway in time with the bass, moving closer and sidling, just near enough to touch Malachi with feathery fingers for a second.
The gyrating pelvis was an invitation. Angel unbuttoned his jeans slowly. Rhythm muffled the teasing snaps, and Malachi realized Angel was doing the show commando. And the carpet matched the curtains! He became dizzy, not that he had a preference for blonds, just the fact that Angel thought about it was breathtaking.
A pocketless backside undulated over his lap, revealing enough skin to make Malachi’s mouth water. The pressure of Angel’s solid ass over his chest as the lad dragged it down in a torturing maneuver left Malachi questioning the sanity of this request. Was he supposed to touch or titty bar rules applied here too?
Angel gave him the solution when he sat completely on Malachi’s lap, grabbed one hand and made him squeeze Angel’s almost-out-of-the-jeans crotch. Rock hard cock and supple balls tempted Malachi; his brain only functioned to utter a breathless, “Oh, baby.”
Still rocking, Angel craned his neck a bit and murmured over the swelling tempo, “My eloquent astronomer.”
Angel strutted away from Malachi’s aching groin, sinful cadence enveloping the lean hips as he whirled to face him and with practiced dexterity got rid of those insanity-driving jeans in four movements. Malachi hadn’t seen real stripper pants disappeared as quick. Astonished would be an understatement.
Naked, except for the tank top, Angel continued his sinuous contortions around the chair, tracing a pattern that only he understood but that finally had him with lube and condoms in hand, just to leave them at grabbing distance from Malachi’s feet.
Displayed as banners, wicked intentions shone on Angel’s eyes, causing a constant fluctuation between desert and flood in Malachi’s mouth. He’d never been frozen and on fire at once in his entire adulthood like this. The red cotton over creamy, moving skin was worse than the passes of a bullfighter’s cape; Malachi ought to be the sword this time, to pierce, to command, to conquer.
The full mast bobbing with each swing had Malachi enthralled, and every fiber of his being wanted him on his knees worshiping Angel, just as he deserved. The soul inside him had made men crazy before, and Malachi had a glimpse of why now. How something so adorable could be this enticing and dangerous?
A triangular back stopped, owning his vision, and Angel folded his body slowly, caressing his ankles with hands that should have been Malachi’s. The ascension continued, undulating music in tandem. Narrow hips and velvet buns oscillated.
Malachi couldn’t see Angel’s hands now, but the concave arch from nape to coccyx was the most erotic offer he’d ever received. He should be doing something instead of gawking like a monumental fool.
His trembling fingers ventured forward, and Angel grabbed them, mischievousness decorating his sideways, currently golden features. He swallowed one digit, pristine lips wrapped around it, making a conscious effort to drag the action to a point where Malachi was about to cream his shorts.
Malevolence guided his dancer as he directed the wetted finger toward his puckered hole and inserted it, sending Malachi to cross-eyed blurriness. “You like that, don’t you?”
“Oh fuck yes.” there was no point on being shy about it.
Muscles clenched, and Malachi groaned, his arm a piston into buttery regions.
Moans and curses overpowered the music. Angel withdrew the creamy heat and turned, his cock leaking and ready to be of service. However, he knelt between Malachi’s legs, eyes lidded and sultry.
Before Malachi could help, his zipper had been opened, and Angel’s tongue swirled around his glands, putting emphasis on his sensitive, son of a bitch frenulum.
Angel hummed and stared at Malachi, all hollowed cheeks and dark windows. His head bobbed in a languid rhythm, taking more and more of Malachi’s length with each motion.
“If we’re really using those condoms, you need to stop.”
A smile was a smile even with a mouthful lodged between sexy lips, and Angel let go of Malachi’s cock, a wink the last departing gesture. “Now I get the chance to ride this chunky aardvark.”
Amid the lust consuming him, Malachi felt his laughter bloom; a soft breeze stirring a bonfire. “An aardvark. Damn, you’re something.”
“Tip of an iceberg, baby,” Angel assured him and had him latex-covered with some expert flicks in a flash. “I hope you caught the negative metaphor because there’s nothing gelid about the flesh I’m about to sit on.”
Yeah, an incandescent machinegun is more like it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Angel impaled himself. Goose bumps sprouted over his arms and legs. His Adam’s apple bobbed as his head was thrown backward, and he exhaled a labored moan.
Malachi had thought Angel inside him was sublime; this was beyond reality. The guilt fighting to surface drowned in the potent current of feverish need and irrevocable recognition. He had to make things right for Angel.
He kissed and lapped the lovely neck—masculine, thick, and arresting in its softness.
Liquid eyes focused on Malachi, plump lips slamming against his mouth a second later. Angel put a hand on either side, taking hold of the high back of the chair for leverage, and started a completely different dance. Utterly intimate, there was no bouncing but a brutally slow circular motion, an inverted whisking of sorts, where the bowl moved instead of the fork.
Only able to keep his hold onto Angel’s hips as a wonderful haze clouded his brain, Malachi accepted the invasion. He planted his feet firmly to handle the heavenly weight turning him inside out. So many truths to yell when those lips ceased their assault, but Malachi settled for
a simple question instead. “Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?”
The moan, the tightly shut eyes and the twisting squeeze on his cock were more than enough answer. Still, Angel colored it all with an exhaled growl, “Oh fuck.”
Malachi purred words of encouragement and reined in some neurons to caress silky flanks, muscled arms, square shoulders. Through this, Angel groaned, his languid dance becoming jerkier, until Malachi’s hands reached his bottom and kneaded and spread. A hissed “oh sweet Mississippi” was the only warning before ropes and ropes of warm sperm covered their abdomens, chests and necks.
The throes of his little platinum dancer’s orgasm triggered Malachi’s, and volley after volley filled the latex sheath. Shiny dots knocked his sight and tremors seized him. From a fogged distance, he recognized the sting on his lower lip as Angel bit it.
And the pain was brazenly welcome.
And the release was stellar.
Angel finally came down from the blissful heights of ecstasy, swinging like that cartoon dog after eating his doggy snacks, with what he was sure was the stupidest grin plastered on his face. He felt boneless and drained and happy like a ray of sunshine, no matter how much the nocturnal wind tried to tell him it was night, night, night.
Malachi seemed relaxed even if a possessive arm kept Angel clutched to him. With uttermost care, Angel released the muscled latch and padded toward the kitchen for a glass of water.
Refreshed by the soothing cold in his throat, he returned to find Malachi sitting and fully alert. “Hey, everything is alright,” Angel whispered, “I’m here, nothing happened.”
Muscles softened a teensy bit, but the watchfulness didn’t leave Malachi’s eyes. “It’s time for knowledge, Angel.”
“Well, we’re going backwards. I thought I was baby already,” Angel singsonged cheerfully.
“If you don’t shoot me after what I’m going to tell you, I won’t call you anything else but baby for the rest of my life.”
Séptima Luna Page 7