Matthew breathed out slowly. “Yes.”
“Why?” Achmed was watching him curiously. “Why do you take pictures of our food?”
Matthew gestured to the shelves. “Most people don’t keep their ammo next to their soup.”
Achmed looked from him to the shelves, then back to him. “Ah.”
Matthew smiled, wiping his forehead with the hem of his T-shirt. He met Achmed’s eyes.
“Do you think I won’t kill you?”
Bizarrely, it was the calm, conversational way that Achmed said it that made Matthew’s blood run cold. He cleared his throat twice before he trusted himself to speak without his voice breaking. “I think you’d like me to think that you might kill me.”
Achmed grinned widely. “Yes, that’s true.”
Matthew couldn’t decide whether to laugh or get angry. He shoved Achmed hard enough to back him into the bulkhead. “This shit’s getting old, okay? Stop playing games with me, man.”
Achmed caught his hand before Matthew could shove him again, and Matthew froze in place, aware of how close they were. Achmed’s fingers were tight around his own, and he was pulling Matthew in, slowly, until Matthew had to step closer not to be thrown off balance.
They were nearly chest to chest, and Matthew was holding his breath, waiting for what was coming, wondering in a split second if this was another test and what would happen if he failed it.
There were voices yelling in the corridor again, and they broke apart. Matthew sucked in a few lungfuls of air tainted with the scent of diesel fuel and coughed. By the time he’d recovered, Achmed had already disappeared down the corridor. “Keep up!” he yelled back, and Matthew scrambled to follow him up to the deck.
What had been quiet when they’d arrived was now a bustle of activity. Several men with automatic rifles, all dressed in dark clothing, were piling into the small dinghy they’d arrived in. Achmed selected a vantage point away from the scramble and leaned against the railing. Matthew joined him. “What’s going on?”
“They’re going on a raid.”
“You said no raids.” Matthew could feel embarrassment creep up alongside his anger. “How many times are you going to fuck me over?”
Achmed turned to him, his dark eyes boring into Matthew’s. “I said this ship wouldn’t go on any raids with you on board. It’s not. But my operations continue, whether you’re here or not. I’m not sending you on that boat with them.”
“You couldn’t send me anywhere if you wished,” Matthew snapped.
Achmed’s answering smile was condescending.
“Can I take pictures?”
“No.”
Matthew wanted to turn away, pointedly look at something else, or go back below deck, but his journalistic instinct wouldn’t let him. He paid attention to the four men who were climbing into the dinghy, the way their dark skin and clothing made them blend perfectly into the night. He spared a brief thought for the people they were about to raid; to have these pirates come out of the night and storm your ship with their AK-47s had to be everyone’s worst nightmare.
At last, they were settled in and supplied, and the boat pushed off. The dinghy’s engine coughed and turned over, and it was lowered into the water. The small boat sped off into the quickly darkening night, and for a moment, Matthew felt sick with the knowledge of what they could do.
He turned away, staring over the railing into the waves, the chilling expanse of dark water broken only by the quickly fading sight of the dinghy. The waves breaking against the ship sounded soft and gentle in comparison, harmless until Matthew imagined drifting alone at sea in this dark night. He shivered.
A hand landed on his shoulder, warm and strong, and he nearly jumped. “They’ll do no harm unless they have to,” Achmed said in a low voice.
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Matthew replied bitterly.
“Let’s go below.”
It wasn’t so much a suggestion as an order, and Matthew could feel it in the way Achmed’s fingers dug into his skin and led him unerringly to the hatch. He climbed down carefully this time and managed not to slip, and Achmed led him to the galley.
Matthew sat wearily on the small bench and watched as Achmed brewed strong, bitter coffee, accepting the mug held out to him and taking a sip before making a face. “The one thing I won’t miss is your coffee.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my coffee,” Achmed replied, meeting his gaze. His smile was genuine this time, and Matthew couldn’t help smiling back. He liked this man too much, liked his company too much, and managed to forget too often that Achmed was a pirate leader who was wanted in more than one country.
“You’re too sympathetic,” he complained.
Achmed laughed curtly. “You’d prefer if I were evil?”
“I don’t know what evil looks like,” Matthew replied morosely, and stared at the chipped tabletop. He took another sip of the coffee, which hit the back of his throat in a wave of bitterness and sent a jolt of caffeine into his system. “But… my readers will not want to like you. They want black and white, and… if there’s anything I’ve learned here, it’s that there is no black and white.”
Achmed set down his coffee mug and laid his forearm alongside Matthew’s.
Matthew stared at Achmed’s darker skin next to his own pale whiteness, feeling the warmth of the contact against his body, and sighed. He dragged his eyes up to Achmed’s face, meeting his eyes, feeling the connection that, after all, might go beyond friendship. “What are you trying to tell me? That this can never happen?”
Achmed opened his mouth to reply but never spoke. Above them, voices started yelling, and only moments later the sound of bursts of automatic gunfire traveled down the hatch. Matthew stared at Achmed. “What the—”
He was cut off by Achmed’s hand over his mouth, silencing him while Achmed listened intently. “Foreigners,” he said, voice low and barely audible. He reached for the gun on his hip and readied it, and Matthew suddenly started to feel a whole different kind of fear.
Achmed pulled him along to the doorway, making him stand against the wall just inside of the galley, out of sight of anyone coming down the corridor. Above them, the firefight continued, voices yelling unintelligible commands to each other, and then other voices, a different rhythm of speech, incomprehensible through the deck plating.
Achmed’s eyes met his briefly, and the command in them was clear. Matthew nodded and stayed in place as Achmed, gun held out in front of him, stepped into the doorway.
“Don’t move! Drop the gun!”
The voice was so clearly American that Matthew thought for a moment he was imagining things. He looked at Achmed, who was frozen in place, but the pirate leader didn’t even glance at him.
“Drop the gun! Do you understand me?”
“I understand,” Achmed answered, and slowly moved the gun down. “I’ll put it on the floor.”
“Drop it!”
The soldier Matthew couldn’t see didn’t sound sure; he sounded scared and young, and Matthew suddenly knew how this could play out. Who really cared if Achmed got shot on this boat in this night? Not this young soldier, not his commanding officer either.
He took a deep breath. Achmed’s eyes flicked to him briefly, the warning in them clear, and Matthew realized with irony that they were both trying to protect each other. “Stop,” he said loudly, and stepped into the soldier’s line of sight.
He was young, and while his hands were steady around the rifle he was holding, his eyes were wild. “Don’t move!”
Matthew held his hands out, palms turned up. “I’m an American.”
The soldier’s eyes were moving from Achmed to Matthew and back again. “What are you doing here? Are you a hostage?”
“I’m a reporter,” Matthew said, and just stopped himself from adding, and please put that gun down. It was still unerringly trained on Achmed’s chest.
“What the fuck?” the soldier said, focusing his attention on Matthew.
Barely two feet away from him lay Achmed’s gun, which he’d dropped seconds earlier. Matthew scrambled for it, picking it up. It felt heavy in his hand, heavy and alien, and as he stepped into the corridor with it in his hand, he felt like a complete fraud.
Achmed had wrenched the gun from the soldier’s hand, and the kid looked terrified and young.
Matthew spoke. “Achmed.”
The pirate leader glanced over his shoulder, caught sight of his gun in Matthew’s hand, and met his eyes. “You choose your own,” he said slowly.
“I don’t choose sides,” Matthew replied without having to think about it. “Let him go.”
Achmed loosened his grip on the kid, and the soldier wrenched himself free. He took a few steps backward, eyeing them both warily. He reached for his radio, and Matthew froze, bringing up the gun without thinking about it. The kid spoke, and the radio responded with a burst of chatter Matthew couldn’t make out, and the hatch opened.
Achmed yelled something Matthew couldn’t understand and dived for the rifle he’d taken off the soldier, and Matthew wanted to yell back that he should put it down or he’d be shot, and then someone dropped through the open hatch and opened fire.
Achmed slammed into him, pinning him against the bulkhead, and for a moment Matthew thought Achmed had been shot. Then a bullet hit his shoulder and he cried out as fire spread through his left arm. Achmed was pushing him into the galley and returning fire at the same time, and Matthew stumbled over the threshold, hand clamped over his arm, feeling warm liquid seep through his fingers.
Voices were yelling outside, American voices and then the unmistakable sound of the garbled French of Achmed’s men, and Achmed was shouting commands, clearly in charge, and Matthew felt his body begin to shake.
Shock, he thought clinically, and sagged down the wall to sit on the floor.
He didn’t know how long it took before he heard the sound of an engine starting, and then footsteps down the corridor and the ship’s own engine roaring to life, the heavy stamping of the diesel motors making the deck plating vibrate.
Moments later, Achmed came in, crouching by his side. “Let me see.”
“What—” Matthew began, and then hissed as Achmed pried his fingers away from the wound.
“They left,” Achmed said curtly.
“Where are we going?”
“Away from here.” Achmed met his eyes, and his voice softened slightly. “Hiding. So they can’t come back to finish the job.”
“Is anyone….” Matthew stared at the blood seeping through his sleeve and had to look away. “Is anyone dead?”
“We lost two men.” Achmed coughed, gritting his teeth. “Mo’s shot. I don’t know if he’ll live.” He pulled a knife out of his belt and cut the fabric of Matthew’s T-shirt apart, peeling it back from the wound.
It would leave him with a scar, and it hurt like a son of a bitch, but it looked superficial to Matthew’s untrained eye. “I’m sorry,” he managed through teeth that were still chattering a little. “Achmed, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” Achmed stood. “You’ll survive. I’m getting supplies. Stay here.”
He turned on his heel and left, and Matthew leaned back against the bulkhead, feeling the metal cold against his back and staring up at the ceiling. Tears were prickling in his eyes, and he hated himself, hated that he was feeling sick and hated that he was wondering about the American soldiers who’d abandoned their mission.
Achmed returned with a bag in his hand, and in the harsh lighting of the galley, Matthew could see he was pale under his dark skin, his eyes bloodshot. Achmed didn’t say a word as he opened the bag and pulled out antiseptic and bandages. Matthew gritted his teeth as Achmed began disinfecting the wound, but couldn’t stop himself from crying out. When it was over, he held up his uninjured hand, making Achmed pause so he could catch his breath.
“It’s a flesh wound,” Achmed said, but it didn’t sound condescending.
“I know,” Matthew managed. “It just hurts, okay?”
Achmed nodded, waiting until Matthew gestured for him to continue. Achmed’s hands were experienced, carefully pressing the skin closed before covering it with bandages and wrapping it up.
Matthew leaned his head back and waited for the pain to subside a little while Achmed packed the supplies back into the bag. He sat down next to Matthew, his thigh against Matthew’s leg, his shoulder against Matthew’s uninjured one.
“You need to—” Achmed broke off. “Make sure you don’t have a fever.”
Matthew nodded. “I know.” He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Achmed. Achmed met his gaze, dark eyes inscrutable and yet open, and Matthew couldn’t worry anymore; he had to do what he had wanted to do for far too long. He reached up with his right hand, running two fingers down Achmed’s cheek, and leaned in to kiss him.
It was a brief touch of the lips, Achmed’s chapped and dry against his own, and then Achmed groaned and opened his mouth and kissed Matthew properly. Matthew’s injured shoulder was straining in protest at the way his body was twisted, but he didn’t care. Achmed’s hand settled on the back of his head and held him in place, and Matthew tried to shift closer.
Achmed was pushing him back, and Matthew had to break the kiss to unfold his limbs. They stared at each other for a moment, and Matthew tried to find words and failed.
“You…” Achmed said, sounding slightly dazed, and Matthew couldn’t help the smile that was creeping up on his face. Achmed chuckled; then the grin slid off his face, and he kissed Matthew deep and hard, pressing him back into the deck plating. Matthew shuddered a little at the first contact with the cold metal, then forgot about it a second later when Achmed settled against him.
He could feel the line of Achmed’s half-hard dick against his thigh, and Achmed’s hand was sliding up under his ruined T-shirt, touching Matthew’s skin. He sighed into the kiss and let his own hand roam, sliding it down the back of Achmed’s pants.
Achmed was pushing his shirt up, sliding down his body to kiss his chest, and Matthew strained up into the contact, realizing as it was happening how much he’d been wanting this. His arm throbbed in counterpoint, but he tried to ignore it, focusing on the sensation of Achmed’s mouth against his skin. He reached down and pulled his T-shirt up, nearly getting tangled in it because he could only use one hand. Achmed tugged it away from his face, and Matthew threw it to the floor. He reached for the hem of Achmed’s own T-shirt and pulled that up as well.
Achmed stripped it off and dropped it somewhere, grinning cockily at Matthew. Matthew reached out and pulled him down again, unable to stop the sound that escaped his mouth when he felt Achmed’s warm skin against his own.
Achmed kissed him again, rocking his hips against Matthew’s thigh, and Matthew turned his head to gasp for breath. “You should…” he panted, “have told me sooner….”
Achmed chuckled again. “Like what, ‘I want to make wild, violent love to you’?”
Matthew burst out laughing. “Skip the violent bit, and I would have so been there.”
For a moment, Matthew just looked at Achmed, his eyes sparkling and alive. Then he slid his hand into Achmed’s hair and pulled him down, kissing him again, open-mouthed and dirty.
Achmed’s hands were sliding down, skimming over Matthew’s ribs, fingers sliding into his waistband. Matthew arched up and pressed his erection against Achmed’s groin, making them both groan into the kiss.
Matthew reached down to undo Achmed’s belt, cursing when it wouldn’t give because he could only use one hand. Achmed laughed, briefly nipping his lower lip before helping him undo his trousers and then
undoing Matthew’s as well, reaching in and palming Matthew’s cock though his underwear.
Matthew let his head fall back against the floor with a thud. “God, don’t stop.”
Achmed worked his hand up and down Matthew’s length, rubbing the fabric of Matthew’s boxers against his skin until it became too much and Matthew grabbed his wrist and stilled him. “I… we….”
He let go of Achmed’s hand and fumbled for his wallet, managing to open it and pull out the condoms he kept in there. His fingers were shaking a little, and he was startled when Achmed took his hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing his fingertips.
“I understand,” he said softly.
Matthew strained up in spite of the stab of pain shooting through his left arm and kissed Achmed, pushing him onto his back. He abandoned Achmed’s mouth to kiss a trail down his neck, taking a brief moment to bite down on Achmed’s shoulder and enjoy the sound of Achmed’s garbled French curses as he did so. He mouthed his way down Achmed’s abdomen and pushed down the waistband of his boxers, freeing his impressive erection.
He managed to tear the condom packet open with his teeth and took the latex in his mouth, effortlessly unrolling it over Achmed’s hard cock as he went down on him.
Achmed groaned loudly, and his hand landed on Matthew’s neck, the pressure a little tight but just shy of uncomfortable, keeping him firmly in place as Matthew swirled his tongue around the head and pressed it up against the underside.
He flicked his eyes up to catch sight of Achmed leaning back on one elbow, watching him with dark, satisfied eyes, and couldn’t help but smile around Achmed’s dick. He pulled back and set a slow rhythm, carefully building it up as he held Achmed’s gaze, watching him strain to focus as Matthew slowly undid his careful composure.
Achmed swore under his breath, hips pushing up of their own accord, and Matthew had to pull back to prevent being choked. He cautiously took the head in his mouth again, applying a little suction, and Achmed came hard, cock twitching against his tongue.
Cross Bones Page 17