by Sara York
He shoved his pants down, holding onto Marshal as he pushed off his shoes and stumbled when he tried to kick the material free. Marshal spun him around, knocking him off balance. Then he was on the bed, Marshal grabbing his pants and ripping them over his ankles. The stiff material scratched but he didn't complain. It was rougher than he liked, but he had Marshal naked in bed, and not in a platonic way. This was hot and heavy, all testosterone and lust.
Marshal kissed him, punishing his mouth as he pressed against him. Zander's hands were caught by Marshal and raised over his head, held by one of Marshal's. Zander judged that he could have gotten away from Marshal if he wanted to, but nothing would drag him away from this. The slide of Marshal's other hand against his chest caused goose bumps to break out over his arms. Marshal's teeth nipped at his earlobe then his neck, biting and sucking were followed by licking and kissing.
Everything was so good, and Zander felt like he was in heaven until Marshal slid his hand lower and lower, grazing over his bellybutton and down his trail of hair that led to his dick. He gasped, opening his mouth to another harsh kiss as Marshal touched him. The contact of Marshal's hand on his cock took him to a place he'd only experienced once before. Sure, he'd had other guys, fucked some so silly they couldn’t walk, but this went beyond the physical of sex, into the soul deep connection that rarely ever happened.
Nothing mattered but Marshal and his touch. The room grew dim and all of his focus was on the feel and the excitement of Marshal touching him. He arched up, wanting more. Then Marshal was humping his leg. Sweat slicked their bodies, the heat ramping higher each second. He ground against Marshal's hand, pumping his hips as his toes curled. Muscles shook and his breath game in gasps. He clenched his ass and whimpered. Balls tight. Body overheated. Head spinning. He came as Marshal humped him, his lips plastered against Zander's.
The feel of hot come splashing against his leg made him shiver. Marshal broke the connection between their lips, breathing heavy as he buried his head against Zander's neck. The stillness was almost shocking. Marshal had come at him so rough that he hadn't expected the calm. Zander smiled to himself, loving how their legs were intertwined, and how Marshal's softening dick rested against his hip. He drew in a deep breath, marveling at the scent coming off Marshal. Zander closed his eyes and relished the moment, loving how easy it was for them to just be.
Marshal let go of his wrists and Zander thought for a moment they were going to snuggle close and talk, but Marshal rolled to sitting then hopped up without a pause and strode into the bathroom, shutting the door. He hadn't looked back even once.
Zander sat up and heard the lock click on the door. "Fuck," he whispered before climbing off the bed. He pulled on his pants and shirt, wondering if he should say something to Marshal.
He'd just let his best friend come on him. The one guy he could count on no matter what the situation, and now it was messed up. He didn't know if he should stay or go. Leaving things like this with Marshal wasn't cool. The few steps to the bathroom door were the hardest he'd ever had to take. Even difficult missions didn't cause him so much anxiety.
After sucking in a breath, he lifted his hand and tapped the door. Silence greeted him. He knocked again, praying they could salvage their friendship. The sound of shuffling could be heard through the wood. He waited patiently for Marshal to open the door. A full minute passed before the door was flung open, revealing Marshal. Zander gasped at the raw pain marring Marshal's visage.
"Marsh, I think we—"
"Get out." Marshal's eyes were flat, the brown of his irises murky instead of lit with fire.
"Don't push me away."
"I can't fucking do this."
Zander bit his lip and closed his eyes. He'd fucked up. Losing Marshal's friendship would kill him. "Please, talk to me."
"No, now leave."
Marshal wouldn’t meet his gaze. Before today, he'd thought nothing would ever have separated them. How naïve was he? Now he didn't think they'd ever be friends again. Marshal looked so angry and pain was etched all over his face. Zander slowly turned, and took a step before swinging back to Marshal, anger burning hot.
"You fucking bastard. I'm not leaving. You're going to tell me what the fuck is wrong. I didn't throw myself on that bed, you did that. If you didn't want this, you could have stopped at any time, but you didn't. You wanted this as much as I did."
Marshal's shoulders sagged and he covered his face with his hands. "I can't do this again."
"What?" Again? What the hell was Marshal talking about? As far as he knew Marshal hadn't really slept with any guys, and he sure as fuck didn't have sex with guys on the ranch.
The silence chilled Zander and he thought Marshal wasn't going to answer. Then Marshal sighed and began speaking. "I—oh God, this is difficult."
Zander reached out and took Marshal's hand, squeezing twice. "I'm your best friend. You can tell me anything."
"I don't know if I can."
The prickly feeling coming off Marshal eased. Zander stepped closer, resting his hand on Marshal's naked hip. He gazed up into Marshal's eyes, praying that his caring showed through.
"Do you trust me?" They stood together naked, their only contact was Zander's hand on Marshal's hip. He'd feel more confident about his position if Marshal would touch him too. Though they'd just had an amazing experience, he'd never felt so far away from Marshal as he did now. He didn't like it. They'd been best friends for so long, their lives interwoven to the point they could finish each other's sentences, and now all of that was gone.
Marshal stared at the wall behind Zander, finally turning a bit so their gazes connected. The air whooshed out of Marshal's lungs, his whole body deflating. Zander wanted to step closer and hold him tight, but he feared cuddling his friend would have the opposite effect of what he wanted.
"Zander, I trust you more than I've ever trusted anyone."
"Then don't shut me out."
"But we just..."
"Yes, we did. Did you like it?"
Marshal's mouth turned down in a frown and his eyes closed. He groaned and swayed before reaching out, placing a steadying hand on Zander's hip. "Mmm, so soft." Marshal slid his hand into Zander's pants and rubbed his fingers over Zander's side then around to his back and over his asscheek. Zander went with it, allowing Marshal to touch him everywhere. The man's eyes were still closed as he rubbed his palm over Zander's body, pushing his clothes out of the way. "You know what I really like?"
"What?" Zander whispered.
"This." Marshal had his hand on Zander's dick and balls, cupping them lightly. He squeezed a small amount before moving his hand up Zander's chest. "And this." Marshal flicked his nipple and Zander cried out. "That's it, that's the sound I like."
"I want to see your eyes as you talk."
The rebellion was plain to see. Marshal closed his eyes tighter before biting his lower lip. His eyelashes fluttered, his gaze stayed lowered at first. Then his eyes rose and their gaze connected again. Zander saw something other than anger.
"Marshal, I care so much for you."
"It hurts."
"My caring?"
"Yeah."
Zander placed his hand on Marshal's chest, feeling the beat of his heart. "I will always care about you. Even if you decide that we can't be together, I'll always care."
Marshal shuddered and sucked in his lower lip, his teeth sinking into the flesh. "Before Craig and Grant got together, I was in love with Grant?"
The news hit Zander hard, leaving him stunned. He'd never heard that Marshal and Grant were together, and yet they'd lived in harmony once Craig and Grant got together. He vaguely remembered the time. Marshal had been different after Grant and Craig started their relationship.
"I didn't know you two were together."
"We never were. Grant and I were good friends, best friends, then Craig took him."
"Did Grant know you were in love with him?"
"I'm straight, remember. He never would have suspected."<
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The reminder that Marshal was straight was another hit. He had no chance with this man. He should have remembered that before he stripped naked for him. "Marshal, I don't know what to say."
"Neither do I. I just can't see another guy drop me because of someone else. I can't let myself feel."
Zander cupped Marshal's cheek, "There is no one other than you."
"That scares me."
"Why?"
Marshal stepped away, turning to the vanity in the bathroom, his face visible in the mirror. "I can't open myself up again and lose it. I don't have the strength to do that again."
"Don't force me out of your life."
"I won't. But I can't do a relationship. I can't do this again."
The words ripped through Zander, destroying his heart. He nodded like he understood, but he'd never understood anything less. "I'll always be here for you."
Marshal nodded, his expression not giving anything away. Zander grabbed his shoes and socks before heading out of Marshal's room, searching for a place he could let the pain come out. Marshal had destroyed him, but he couldn't pin this on Marsh. Zander knew before kissing him, long before falling in love with him, that Marshal was straight and that wouldn’t change.
Chapter Three
Grant shook with rage as he stared around the office. Craig had planned the double-cross long before he walked out on them. The evidence was right in front of his face, and yet Grant couldn't believe it. It was as if everything they had was a lie.
He'd been waiting to hear from Duff as he combed through the stacks of papers and files. He wasn't silly enough to believe that Craig would have a computer without levels and levels of passwords, so he ignored that, focusing on the printouts. Of course, that there were printouts, giving dates and listing plans, was shortsighted. Craig was a professional and knew how to hide his shit. He must not have been the person in charge of this office. Of course, how the fuck could he have been since he was supposed to be in a relationship with Grant at Wild Bluff Ranch, helping the team eradicate men like himself.
Grant had to close his eyes and calm himself at one point. The massive amount of evidence against Craig left Grant unable to breathe properly. His head swam and his body ached. He'd never recover.
At the bottom of a short stack of papers, he found a correspondence from Craig. The date was from one year ago. Craig hadn't left Wild Bluff by then. Of course, Craig didn't use his real name, but an alias. How likely was it that some other guy involved with this group used an alias that Craig used when Craig was involved with this group too? It's not like Jordan Bush was a common name. How many other people would use the name Jordan Bush?
His phone vibrated and he answered, his words clipped. "Yes."
"Find Craig. Don't worry about the paper. Call the police with a tip. We can't handle the workload." Duff's voice calmed him. The man was his friend, and someone he could trust. If he let Duff lead his steps, he'd not go wrong.
"Got it." Grant hung up and glanced around. He hadn't left anything behind, no fingerprints and no DNA. He'd been careful, wearing a cap to keep from dropping hair and gloves to keep from leaving prints. When the police came, they wouldn't find a trace of him.
A small part of him wanted to stick around and figure out where he'd gone wrong with Craig, but he didn't think he'd ever figure that out. Maybe he hadn't done anything wrong, but what if he had? What if he'd pushed Craig into this? But no, Craig going to the dark side wasn't his fault, it couldn’t be. They all dealt with issues from serving in the military, each one of them needed some form of counseling, and they each had to pass an evaluation each year. Surely something like this would have shown up. But Craig wasn't being honest. Maybe he'd never been honest and his betrayal was such an integral part of him he didn't need to hide the evil because it came so naturally.
Grant shivered as he looked over his shoulder at the stacks of damning evidence, wondering if he would ever be able to trust again. He left the building, wiping the door handle on the outside before striding up the street, away from the area. Forcing himself to focus, he debated about his next move. At the office he'd found two addresses listed for Craig, or Craig's alias that he hadn't known about before. That the guy had been stupid enough to allow that information out showed Grant how cocky the bastard really was.
Few taxis were on the street and he didn't see any bus stops. The walk to a more populated area of Leeds took over thirty minutes. The first cab he saw, he hailed, requesting to be dropped around the block from the first address he had for Craig. The neighborhood was quiet with only an occasional car driving past as he strolled to the building where Craig's flat was listed.
He watched the building for a few minutes, feeling that he was wasting time. Craig could be anywhere, but the more he stared at the building, the less he though the man was here. Breaking in proved to be easy. Once the door had closed behind him, Grant breathed easier. Doing breaking and entering was dangerous. If Craig had been holed up here, he could be in the middle of a fight right now, or worse, he could have been shot before he even closed the door. Silence greeted him, leading him to believe this was another dead end.
A thin layer of dust had settled on the furniture and nothing looked disturbed. This flat might have been a staging area or a place Craig intended to use if things went sideways for him. After an hour of looking through the place, Grant decided that Craig didn't use this flat. He caught a cab across town to the other address. As the cab parked around the block from the new flat, Grant saw Craig pull from a parking spot on the street and drive away.
"Oh shit, could you follow that black car?"
The driver shook his head and huffed out a breath. "No way. I don't do that kind of crap."
"Please, I really need to catch up with my friend."
The cabbie turned to stare at him, his eyes narrowed like Grant was crazy. He'd been lucky before, finding a guy who could follow like a pro. This guy's response was more like what he expected.
Grant grabbed a few pounds out of his pocket and paid the driver. He headed in the opposite direction of Craig's flat, not waning the cabbie to stick around and see him try to break into the apartment.
After a minute, once he was sure the taxi had gone, Grant turned and headed to Craig's place, using his lock picking skills to enter. Slowly, he slid the door open enough for him to step through. A cabinet banged, most likely in the kitchen. Grant froze. Fuck, he'd forgotten about the other man in the car.
"Chérie, tu es déjà de retour?" The guy called out from the kitchen. "Laisse tomber pour l'argent. Je t'ai déjà dit mille fois—" The man, tall and thin, stood in the doorway, his lips rounded in an O, shock evident on his face.
Grant didn't hesitate and was already halfway across the room before the other man moved. He couldn’t allow this guy to get outside or to use a phone. He doubted there was a back door to this small flat, but he couldn’t depend on assumptions. Quick steps and a leap over a small chair had Grant in the kitchen door, finding the man tapping buttons on a phone. The guy's fingers shook and he cursed, clicking the phone off before trying to dial again. It was an older house phone that beeped as the man pressed the buttons. In two steps, Grant had the phone in hand, ripping it out of the other guy's grasp.
"Where is he?" Grant growled.
Cowering and crying, the man slumped against the refrigerator and slid to the ground. Grant grabbed his shirt, pulling him to standing. He not only had height on the man, but muscle too. This man must be Craig's lover or something, certainly not an operative.
"Tell me, now. Where is he?" Grant waited but the man wasn't saying anything. The guy was young, and his face had few lines marking it to show any passage of time. His eyes were blue and his hair blond, his features almost elfin. Maybe he didn't speak English. Grant's French wasn't very good, but the guy didn't respond at all when Grant spoke in halting French. He tried German and Russian. Still nothing.
He couldn’t trust that Craig wouldn’t return. Glancing at the stove, Gra
nt noticed the pot of boiling water, spaghetti at the ready, and sauce on the back burner. No bread sat on the counter or table. Craig would be back any minute, and Grant needed to have the situation contained.
It took two seconds to make the decision to knock the guy out. A quick strike to the side of the man's head had him down for the count. Grant picked him up, carrying him through the apartment. The bedroom was just off the living area. Grant gambled that if this guy woke up, he'd make a lot of noise. He opened a door, revealing a closet full of clothes and travel bags. Grant didn't have a choice so he laid the man on top of the bags, finding a belt to cinch his legs and a tie to secure his arms behind him. Working with a body that was out cold and didn't help him was harder than tying up a conscious man. Even with a person who was alert and fighting, he could induce them to help. This guy was worse than a limp noodle.
After finishing the task, Grant shoved part of a shirt in the man's mouth, making sure he could still breathe before shutting the closet door. When Craig came home with bread, he'd head to the kitchen. Grant did a quick sweep, looking for obvious hiding spots for guns. He found a Glock under the mattress and one in a drawer. He took both. Using a gun was messy and loud. He didn't want that type of attention, and since guns weren't used often in the England, a noise complaint would be called in.
After doing a quick check in the living room, Grant moved to the kitchen, turning off the burners and emptying the hot tomato sauce and water down the drain. Knives sat close to the doorway, giving Craig an advantage. Grant didn't want this to be a fair fight. He need to get Craig incapacitated as soon as possible.
Grant placed the knives in the refrigerator, the last place Craig would look for them, and then waited. Five minutes passed then ten. The guy in the closet had come to and Grant had to threaten him. The man wasn't talking though Grand suspected he understood English by the way the guy quieted when Grant told him what he'd do if he wasn't silent. Two hours passed then three. Obviously Craig had figured out Grant had found him. How, he didn't know.