Perfect Evil

by Loki Renard

  “You’re not getting a pill.” Angelo crushed Mark’s hopes.

  “I need…” Mark pushed back the covers. Angelo sat there, brow raised as if he thought Mark might be about to come for him. That wasn’t Mark’s target though. There was another door in the room, one he really hoped led to a bathroom and not a closet.

  He ran from the bed, threw the door open, and to his relief a sink was just a few feet away. He made it there before throwing up. There was just bile, but it was too much for his body to contain.

  “I need my pills,” he panted, turning the tap on to wash away the shame. “Please.”

  Job aside, this was fucking embarrassing. He was melting down in front of the last two men on earth it was safe to be vulnerable with.

  “Alright,” Angelo purred. I’ll give you a pill if you’ll tell me who and what you really are.”

  “This is stupid,” Bobby said impatiently. “He’s obviously a fucking cop or a fed.”

  Angelo’s grin was shark-like as those dark eyes which held the sum of all possible terrors locked with Mark’s own. “I want to hear him say it.”

  Shit. His cover was already blown.

  They were going to kill him for sure.

  It was now or never. He had to sell his life dearly. He had to break out of here, take as many of them with him as he could. He…

  Fainted.

  7

  Some fucking fed,” Bobby snorted.

  “Shut up and help me get him back to bed.”

  Bobby gave Angelo one of his rebellious stares, but he did as he was told. They settled Mark back into the bed and Angelo pulled the covers over him.

  “I don’t get why we’re doing this,” Bobby complained. Why don’t we just torture him for information and leave him in the woods?”

  Angelo gave Bobby an impatient, somewhat disappointed look. “Because that is what cartoons do, and we are a little more elegant than that. One of us is, anyway.”

  “You were harsher to me than you’re being to him, and I was never a fucking cop.”

  “I haven’t started with him,” Angelo said, leaning over Mark’s insensate form to hiss at Bobby. “But I can give you a reminder of what you get when you question me if you need one.”

  Bobby backed off, as Angelo had known he would. They had been together for about a year, and it had been about six months since Bobby last tried to have him killed. It practically counted as a gesture of affection at this point, though they both bore the scars of the last attempt.

  Mark started to stir beneath him. Angelo stood back. The interrogation was about to begin again.

  “I’m not a fed,” Mark insisted as he opened his eyes.

  Angelo restrained himself from bursting out laughing. “Oh, no?”

  “I’m just a male escort.”

  “Ah, so you’re used to servicing men for money.” Angelo reached into his wallet and pulled out five one hundred dollar bills. He tossed them down on the bed between Mark’s blanket covered legs. “What will that get me?”

  Calling this boy’s bluff was going to be so much fun. Angelo would have put every bit of that money on Mark having never so much as kissed another man before. That haircut was basically a sign saying ‘closeted and in denial’.

  Mark gave him a confused look. Angelo knew he was wondering the same thing Bobby was. Why wasn’t he dead yet?

  In the movies, mobsters killed cops as soon as they encountered them, like a game of whack-a-mole. In the real world, smart criminals built alliances, or used men like this as tools. That wasn’t to say Mark didn’t have anything to fear. It just meant that killing him would be a waste, and therefore, a last resort.

  “I’m, uh, not taking new clients?”

  Cute try. But it wasn’t going to work.

  “You were about to have your hole filled by total strangers yesterday. At least I know your name.”

  Angelo glanced over at Bobby to see how the scene was striking him. He was hoping that his protege was actually learning something here. He was glad to see that Bobby no longer looked sulky. He had perked up with interest as it finally started to dawn on him that he might not be the lowest on the totem pole anymore.

  “Well, I don’t work while shot. Personal policy,” Mark tried a charming smile. It was relatively cute. He had dimples, and his blue eyes would probably have sparkled if they weren’t so full of delicious worry.

  “I suppose that’s fair,” Angelo mused. He had no intention of letting Mark off the hook, but part of the game was always letting the prey think it had a chance of winning. He’d gone to extremes in the past to let someone he needed to control think that they had gained the upper hand.

  Bobby knew that. Bobby looked as though he could hardly stop from giggling.

  “Would you mind dropping me back off in the city?” Mark tried. “I need to feed my cat.”

  “Oh? You have a cat? What’s your cat’s name?”

  “Fl…Furry.”

  He wasn’t getting any better at coming up with names on the fly.

  “Flufurry. What a nice name for an imaginary cat,” Angelo said, letting his voice slip into his natural, unyielding tone.

  Mark paled again. He had to be terrified. His fingers were trembling, though he did his best to hide that by hiding them beneath the blankets. An anxiety ridden agent was an odd creature. How had he managed to get so far in this condition? Was he entirely dependent on the medication? Did Angelo at that moment effectively have a pocket full of FBI agent in a pill?

  “Where did you do your tour?” He changed tack quickly.

  “Afghanistan.” Mark’s head dropped as the answer fell out of his mouth. It was almost amusing how hard he’d been trying to hide his military background even though he was basically wearing it on his head in the form of that horrendous hair cut.

  “Now, why would you try to hide that from us? Bobby and I were just waiting to be able to thank you for your service.”

  “Shut the hell up.” Mark lifted his head, his eyes blazing with a sudden burst of bravery. “You know what I am, near enough, so either let me go, or get this over with. I’m not going to play twenty questions with…”

  His voice choked to a halt as Angelo grabbed him by the throat, his long fingers curling tight about Mark’s neck, cutting off the flow of air just enough to shut him up.

  “No,” Angelo growled. “You’re going to play whatever game I tell you to play. If I decide to put you in a dress and make you have a fucking tea party, you’ll do that, understand? You’re a long way from help, Agent Locke. This is my world. Here, there’s only one law: my word. Get it?”

  Mark nodded quickly. Angelo released his throat, admiring the red fingerprints which bloomed where his hand had been. He plucked the pills from his pocket and shook them in front of the agent’s panicked gaze.

  “You can forget about these too. You’re not going to have any chemical proxies propping you up. I want you scared, Mark. I want you fucking terrified. These help you hide from your fears, but there’s no hiding from me.”

  Those stunning blue eyes widened with awe. Mark was fucking beautiful in that moment, his brawny body bowed with frustrated masculinity. He wasn’t broken, not yet. And actually, he might be harder to break than some others. Men who thought they were strong and had no fear were often brittle. Put enough pressure on them and they’d shatter. But men who could bend? They were the ones who presented the biggest challenge. Looking at Mark, Angelo was certain that this man was a bender.

  8

  Mark had been trained to resist interrogation.

  He knew damn well that his survival depended on keeping his identity a secret. That had been drilled into him over and over - but he’d ended up practically screaming the truth and Vitali had barely touched him.

  What Angelo had just managed to get out of him in a well appointed bedroom usually required a specially equipped enhanced interrogation suite to extract from an agent. In that moment, Mark didn’t understand how he’d ever graduated from Quan
tico. Hadn’t they seen how fucking pathetic he was?

  He’d signed his own death warrant and he had no doubt that Angelo Vitali would kill him once he was done playing his sick little games.

  Having gotten what he wanted, Angelo left the room without comment. Bobby stayed behind. Mark wasn’t sure why. Just to gloat, maybe. Or perhaps he was supposed to be a guard. Not a great guard though, given he was both shorter and smaller than Mark.

  “You have no idea what you’re in for,” Bobby smirked unpleasantly.

  “Yeah?” Mark tried not to react as Bobby began to taunt him.

  “Angelo’s going to take you apart,” Bobby smiled unpleasantly. “There won’t be anything left when he’s done.”

  “You seem to be intact,” Mark replied, stretching. He got out of bed and stood up. He needed to move to dissipate some of the nervous energy. Without pills, exercise was the next best thing. If he hadn’t been wounded he would have dropped and started doing pushups.

  Bobby watched him with those dark, malevolent eyes. Unlike Angelo, who was practically impossible to read, Bobby’s emotions were far closer to the surface. He seemed genuinely upset by the revelation that Mark was an agent, and eager to do something about it.

  “What are you talking about?” Bobby asked the question after Mark’s comment had hung in the air a little too long.

  Mark turned around to face Bobby. They both had something to prove, it seemed. Mark certainly needed to prove that he wasn’t a total pussy - to himself, if nobody else,

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “Do I?” Bobby closed the distance between them, his words coming in a cold hiss. Oh yes. He knew exactly what Mark was talking about.

  “Word on the street is Angelo made you his bitch.”

  Bobby’s expression became venomous. His fist shot out and slammed into Mark’s jaw, knocking him back onto the bed.

  Mark’s head rung, but he had chalked up a piece of information: Bobby was sensitive about his position with regards to Angelo. Angelo definitely didn’t treat Robert like an equal. There was no question as to who was in charge of this sick duo.

  Maybe Mark’s cover was blown, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn about these men. If he got out alive, the information could be what put them away later on. He had a sense of the location of Angelo’s secret hideaway, and the fact that they were refusing to let him leave meant that they had kidnapped him. That was a real crime. The charges the FBI had never been able to bring were mounting and were more concrete than ever. Mark could take a crack or two to the jaw for that.

  “You shut the fuck up,” Bobby swore, his perfectly coiffed dark hair coming loose from its over-styled position. “I will beat you to death with my bare fucking fists.”

  “You have tiny hands, so that would take a really long time,” Mark cracked back.

  Bobby took another swing. This time it didn’t connect.

  Mark caught his fist with his good hand, twisted Bobby around, lifted his foot to the middle of the younger man’s back and pushed hard. He let go of Bobby’s arm to avoid breaking it - a mercy the little asshole didn’t really deserve, and Bobby went stumbling across the room, right into a fancy table of some kind. A plant that had been innocently sitting atop it went flying as Bobby impacted the wall, ceramic and dirt flying across the room.

  Bobby turned with a growl, his shirt coming out of his pants as he roared back toward Mark, his fists raised. He couldn’t have known it, but he was doing Mark a massive favor. Combat was the one place he didn’t feel any kind of fear. He was trained to be utterly calm, to slow himself, to watch the oncoming threat.

  Bobby was not a fighter. Not by a long way. A fighter would have known not to make another direct approach in exactly the same way. The first shot had been a sucker punch. The second had been a stupid attempt to do the same thing. The third was a huge mistake.

  This time Mark deflected the blow, grabbed Bobby’s arm and kicked at his leg, using Bobby’s momentum against him. The younger man went head over heels and slammed down on his back, winded. Mark took the opportunity to enforce his win, crouching down with a knee to Bobby’s chest.

  “What are you boys doing?”

  Angelo Vitali entered the room, speaking with an indulgent drawl which immediately threw Mark off-balance. He would have expected Angelo to come rushing to Bobby’s aid. But Angelo did nothing except stand there, tall and dominant, his arms folded over his chest, his brow raised.

  “He was talking shit,” Bobby said, trying to push Mark off him, and failing. “So I taught him a lesson.”

  “What lesson was that, Bobby? How to bottom?”

  Mark tried not to smirk.

  “I got a hit,” Bobby growled. “Look at his face.”

  “You sucker punched me,” Mark shot back.

  “Mark, if you’d be so kind as to let my boy up,” Angelo said kindly.

  Mark obliged, getting up and sitting on the edge of the bed. Bobby popped up from the floor and tried to straighten his clothing. He reminded Mark of a cat who had just fallen off a window sill and was cleaning himself to cover up for how embarrassed he was.

  “Not so fast,” Angelo said. He seemed annoyed at Bobby. Perhaps for hitting Mark, or more likely, for failing in his attempt to physically dominate their prisoner. “On your knees, boy.”

  Mark watched in amazement as Bobby did as he was told, sinking to his knees in a single graceful motion. What the hell did Angelo have over Bobby? It had to be something incredibly powerful, because Bobby looked reluctant as hell.

  “So this gentleman beat you literally one handed,” Angelo purred. “That’s not acceptable, Bobby. How many times have I told you not to start fights you don’t know you’ve already won?”

  Bobby wilted under Angelo’s disappointment. “Sorry,” he mumbled, putting his head down.

  When he wasn’t being an ass, Bobby was very attractive. Mark saw the appeal of having him on his knees. He looked good there. If it was up to Mark, he’d probably keep Bobby down most of the time.

  “And you’ve attacked our guest, which is very poor hospitality. I think you need to make it up to him.”

  Mark didn’t know what Angelo was referring to, but Bobby seemed to have some idea, judging by the way he shook his head.

  “Angelo, please…”

  “Suck his dick, Bobby.”

  What?

  Rebellion flashed in Bobby’s eyes, but he didn’t refuse.

  “Uhm…” Mark spoke up in a confused sort of rumble.

  “What? You don’t want Bobby to make it up to you by making you feel good?”

  Mark looked at Bobby. The boy did have a sweet mouth, and yeah, a blow job would probably take the edge off things, but he was sure the bureau had some kind of restriction against getting your dick wet while on assignment.

  Was he on assignment anymore? He was being held against his will by two very dangerous men, and refusing a blow job might just annoy Angelo Vitali. Mark didn’t want to be an ungracious guest.

  Fuck. His head was spinning. Angelo had him totally confused. Every time he thought he knew what to expect, something unexpected happened. Bobby was already sliding between his legs, his fingers at Mark’s crotch. Mark’s cock twitched to life, blood flowing away from his brain and toward his dick, making the decision so much harder.

  Mark looked down doubtfully. “I mean… what if he bites?”

  “He won’t bite,” Angelo said confidently. “Bobby knows what happens when he misbehaves. Any harm he causes is visited on him several times over - and in the same region.”

  Yikes. That sounded really fucking unpleasant.

  Mark closed his eyes as Bobby’s fingers worked at his underwear, freeing his cock. He wasn’t erect in the beginning, but as Bobby put his lips to the head of his dick and sucked the soft shaft into his mouth, he quickly began to respond.

  He couldn’t believe this. A criminal was sucking his dick. Bobby’s mouth was perfect and hot, and the slight relucta
nce he sensed in some of Bobby’s motions only made it better. Fuck. Was this wrong? It didn’t feel wrong. It felt fucking incredible. Bobby Vitali worked his mouth over the length of Mark’s shaft, paying special attention to the sensitive spot under the head of his cock.

  Bobby didn’t know how to fight worth a damn, but he knew how to suck a dick.

  This was wrong. Definitely wrong. Mark put his hand on Bobby’s head to push him away, but ended up running his fingers through the younger man’s hair as Bobby sucked him deep, sending a smooth sensation of pleasure right through Mark. How could he resist this? As much as his principles said he should do something to put an end to this perverted punishment, nothing in his body wanted this to stop.

  “Does that feel good?” Angelo stood over them both, smiling devilishly. “You can use him, Mark, don’t be shy.”

  Hell yes, it felt good! It was the first thing that had felt good in a really fucking long time. Mark’s hand had been his only lover of late, and that didn’t compare to a talented mouth moving in tight wet motions over his cock.

  He opened his eyes to look down at Bobby, those big brown eyes burning with reluctant fire as he did as he was damn well told.

  Mark was starting to understand how it must feel to be Angelo, to be able to command other men against their will. It was hotter than hot. It felt incredible to dominate this nasty little asshole who had been cruel to him.

  Inspired by Angelo, and aroused as hell, Mark grabbed hold of Bobby’s head with his good hand, curling his fingers in that perfect length of hair that allowed for a good grip. He’d have bet that was no accident. He started to fuck the little prick’s mouth nice and hard, his cock sluicing all the way to the back of Bobby’s throat. He loved hearing the little gasps and gurgles as Bobby fought, not pulling way entirely, but trying to resist without resisting.

  Somewhere in the very back of his mind he was aware that he shouldn’t be doing this. Angelo’s invitation had been a depraved and sick one. That knowledge only made his cock swell all the more. He was going to cum. It hadn’t been long since the BJ started, but under the circumstances, Mark was ready to blow his load almost right away. Sex and danger, illicit, illegal behavior. He suddenly understood the allure of it all in a physical way. It felt incredible.