When the Devil Drives

by L. J. Hayward

  “Ma’am?” The cop turned to follow her. “Is everything okay now?”

  Throwing him a big smirk, she said, “Yeah, no wukkas, mate,” and kept going.

  In the back of the shed, Calhoun was muttering to himself, but nothing in it seemed more threatening than a few half-hearted kicks at the back fender of the Porsche. Jack and the cop backed off.

  “Wish all conflicts ended like that.” The cop took off his cap and dragged his brown hair away from his sunglasses. “Make my day a lot easier.”

  Jack snorted. “She had him dead to rights, no worries.”

  “Yeah.” The flashed grin vanished in favour of a serious expression aimed at Jack. “Thanks for coming to help, sir. Not many people would.” He was clean shaven with a strong jaw and slightly too thin lips. His utility belt sat on a trim waist, strong, tanned forearms shown off by short sleeves and lean legs not totally disguised by the many-pocketed pants. The name badge on his chest read Constable Stewart.

  “Only thing I could do,” Jack reasoned as the gathering of onlookers broke up and wandered off in various directions.

  Giving him a once over, Stewart smiled. “Look like you can handle yourself, at least.”

  Jack’s dick was still too charged from Ethan to miss the nuance in the look. Or maybe it read too much into it because Stewart gave him a mock salute and stepped away.

  “See you round, sir.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “Maybe.”

  Drama over, Jack resumed his own mission. Eventually he found several food stalls, the scent of sizzling lamb drawing him to a kabab place. Two kebabs with everything and two cans of drink in hand, he returned to the grandstand over pit lane. A red Maserati was just coming in, having finished its time trials. When the times came up and then the little cartoon cars whipped past, Jack was proud to see the black Vanquish still in second place. Jack found Ethan and Vicky in pit lane just as the hot-pink Ferrari eased out onto the track to start the practice laps. Ethan was too busy calming Vicky down to pay much attention to the food Jack shoved into his hands. Unwilling to be the third wheel, Jack retreated to the grandstand and found a relatively quiet seat to have his late lunch.

  Jack, in his far-from-expert opinion, decided Katie was a good driver. She took the low-profile car through the practice laps without any issues. When she pulled it back into pit lane and got out to talk to Vicky, she looked happy, even smiling at Ethan.

  “Who’s your pick?”

  Jack looked up. Constable Stewart stood a couple of seats away, looking over the row of expensive cars in pit lane. Arms crossed, legs spread, he was a glorious image of man in uniform. Not having a uniform fetish of any sort didn’t stop Jack from appreciating the view.

  “Aston Martin,” Jack said.

  Stewart frown-smiled. “Really? It’s such an outsider, considering the rest of the cars on the track.”

  “He’s currently in second position.”

  “Time trials rarely mean anything in the pack.” He motioned to the seat next to Jack. “Taken?”

  Jack waved him down. “Nope. I’m Nishant, by the way. Nish.”

  “Aaron.”

  They shook hands and Jack asked, “So, who’s your favourite?”

  “The TVR. Like you, I’m sort of going for the underdog.”

  “TVR?”

  Stewart pointed to the chameleon-coloured car Jack hadn’t recognised. “British-made sports car. You don’t see them over here much.”

  “Is everyone here a car nut?” Jack said, scrunching up his empty kabab bag.

  With a laugh, Stewart nodded. “If you’re not, why are you here?”

  “Came with the Aston Martin driver.”

  “That explains it.”

  “Currently second,” Jack reminded him.

  Stewart pointed to where Katie was nudging the pink Ferrari up to the line. “Not for long, I reckon.”

  Jack took a swig of his drink, then said, “We’ll see.”

  Despite his general preference for Ethan, Jack found himself hoping Katie did well, holding his breath each time the Ferrari blurred past them. She had a perfect run and when her times came up, Jack clapped. In the pit, Vicky and Ethan rushed to congratulate the stunned redhead. On the screen, the silver Lamborghini went past, then the black Vanquish, then the pink Ferrari. She’d placed third. Stewart conceded with a nod, then smiled impishly.

  “Wait for the TVR results before rubbing it in,” he said, standing. “Gotta do a walk around. Will you be here in fifteen?”

  “Not sure. I might get bored and go to the beach.”

  Stewart hesitated. “Do you have a phone?”

  “Actually, I don’t.” Jack wasn’t about to admit his telecommunication capacity was hardwired into his brain.

  Pulling a pen, Stewart motioned for Jack’s hand. He wrote a number on the back of his forearm. “In case you’re interested. Hopefully it won’t wash off if you go for a swim.”

  With that, he was away on his rounds again. Jack watched him go. When he looked back at the pit, the familiar dark shades pointed in his direction. The distance was too great to make out if the expression meant Jack should duck for cover or not. Recalling how he had felt wondering about Brendan’s and Vicky’s intentions for Ethan, Jack made a show of licking his thumb and rubbing it over the inked numbers—but not before he snapped a shot with his implant. He didn’t know why he’d taken the photo, and as Ethan turned back to Katie, he considered deleting the image. The hook up back in February hadn’t meant anything beyond immediate gratification, and as nice as it was to know Aaron was attracted to him, it wouldn’t go anywhere. Especially when one look at the black-and-silver race suit bending over the engine of the Ferrari was enough to make Jack think “Aaron who?”

  Oh God. Jack dropped his head into his hands. This was serious. Somehow he’d ended up in a relationship type thing with Ethan-fucking-Blade. He got jealous of people he had no real reason to think Ethan was seeing. The idea of being found attractive was nice, but not something that got him excited. When he thought about sex, it was only Ethan who popped into his fantasy.

  Shit. He was in trouble.

  Even after the pink Ferrari was driven away, Vicky and Ethan trailing along after it, Jack remained where he was, blindly watching another Ferrari go through practice laps and time trial. The beach didn’t hold any lure for him now, not when ogling surfers wasn’t going to do much more than frustrate him.

  He shouldn’t have come. Alone at home, he wouldn’t have had to confront this new and troubling realisation.

  “No beach, huh?”

  Jack suppressed a groan. This was all he needed. “No,” he said as Aaron sat down beside him again. “How was the patrol?”

  “Uneventful, thankfully.” He grinned, infectious and cute with dimples appearing in his cheeks. “The TVR’s up now and I couldn’t miss it.”

  If he hadn’t been in the midst of a crisis, Jack would have enjoyed sitting through the practice laps of the odd little British car. Aaron was fun company, making sly observations about the drivers in the pit, comparing them to the various cars in the event. Jack found himself laughing several times, especially when as the TVR took off for its time trial, Aaron said, “And that’s how fast his knickers would drop for the Lambo driver, too.”

  A strong hand landed on Jack’s shoulder and his laugh choked off in surprise. As the fingers squeezed a little tighter than comfortable, Jack looked up and met Ethan’s shuttered gaze. Even through the dark panes of his sunglasses, Jack could feel the steeliness of the man’s expression.

  Before Jack could stutter anything out, the grip turned into something more like a caress, his thumb brushing against the corner of Jack’s jaw.

  Ethan turned his attention to Aaron. “Hi,” Ethan said in his Aussie accent, holding his other hand out. “I’m Roy.”

  Aaron looked from the proffered hand, to Ethan’s face, to the hand on Jack’s shoulder, and swiftly modulated his reaction. So, instead of looking like he wanted the earth
to open up and spew lava all over him, he managed a thin smile and to shake Ethan’s hand. “Aaron.”

  As Brendan had done, Ethan had shucked the top of his race suit, tying the sleeves around his waist. His dark-blue T-shirt showed off his arms, muscles flexing as he gripped Aaron’s hand with unnecessary strength.

  “Nice to meet you.” Ethan’s tone was pleasant but the straight line of his mouth spoke another tune. “I’m glad Nish found someone to keep him company. I was worried he’d be distracted by all the surfers.”

  Recovering, Jack gave Ethan’s wrist a gentle squeeze. “Nothing to worry about. Trust me.” He hoped Ethan got the message before Aaron had cause to pull his Glock.

  Ethan looked down at him. After a moment, his face relaxed a bit. “I do,” he murmured, a touch of his real accent in it. Letting his hold on Jack go, Ethan claimed the seat on Jack’s other side. “I’ve been interested in seeing the TVR. I drove one of the new Sagaras on the Silverstone Circuit in Towcester. Much improved over the older models, though the braking is still troublesome.”

  The TVR whizzed past them on its second lap, and then on the third, before anyone spoke.

  “Yeah,” Aaron said, “I had heard that. And no airbags.”

  Ethan huffed. “I believe the philosophy is ‘don’t crash.’” He and Aaron chuckled.

  In the end, the TVR ended up bumping Katie down to fourth.

  A Roadster roared around the track while the men on either side of Jack debated the merits of the various cars and then the last time trial was announced.

  “They look familiar,” Aaron muttered as Calhoun and his companion got out of the Porsche that had just arrived in pit lane.

  “Calhoun.” Ethan sat forward, arms on knees, watching intently as Calhoun argued with the officials.

  “Is that a GT3?” Aaron asked absently.

  “GT2. An old RS model.”

  “You sure?”

  Ethan sat back, lips in a thin line. “Certain. I have a GT3 RS myself.”

  “Jeez,” Aaron hissed. “Why the hell aren’t you racing that here?”

  “It’s in Germany.”

  “Oh.”

  Jack sort of hoped Calhoun would get himself disqualified by arguing with the officials, but sadly, he got back into his car and headed out for his practice laps. Also sadly, Ethan and Aaron had nothing scathing to say about the man’s driving. He even got a grudging nod from Ethan when he whipped across the finish line at the end of his time trials. Jack’s stomach knotted when the animated cars raced past on the screen. Silver Lambo, blue Porsche, black Vanquish, chameleon TVR, pink Ferrari.

  “Third’s pretty good,” Aaron said sympathetically. Then smirked. “Brilliant for a Vanquish, in fact.”

  Feeling a little protective, Jack said, “It’s not what you drive, but how—”

  “The defence of all Vanquish drivers.” Perhaps there was a bitter tinge to the words, Aaron sore at Jack for various reasons. Or maybe it wasn’t there at all, because the smile that followed seemed genuine. “I’m due back at the station. It was good to meet you both. Good luck tomorrow, Roy. Nish.”

  They shook his hand in parting and when he was gone, Jack braced for impact. Ethan, however, stood and stretched. “The formal dinner starts in a couple of hours. Shall we go to the hotel and get ready?”

  “Is it really going to take a couple of hours to shower and put on a jacket?”

  Ethan looked down at the track for a long moment, then turned to Jack. Softly, he said, “No, but I need to be alone for a while. Today has been very good, but also trying. Normally, I wouldn’t attend any of the social activities associated with these events, but I want to this time. With you.”

  Anyone else wouldn’t have heard the strain in his tone, but Jack had become familiar with Ethan’s quirks over the past months. Ethan had been playing the part of a well-adjusted guy all day and now he needed to retreat and recharge before doing it all over again.

  “Okay.” Jack stood. “We’ll go book in and then I’ll leave you alone for a while.”

  Ethan smiled, touching Jack’s arm briefly. “When I said ‘alone,’ I meant us together, alone. I’m sure we can fill at least an hour with something relaxing.”

  The fact that, however Ethan had meant to play their relationship at the start, it now appeared he wanted them to be here together, made Jack grin stupidly wide. “Okay.”

  They had to leave Victoria locked up in her shed and get a taxi to Q1. Ethan had booked a room on the seventy-fourth floor, three below the SkyPoint Observation Deck where the dinner was taking place. Jack barely got a chance to take in the white kitchenette, dark-grey carpet, red rug and wide windows overlooking the ocean. Rather, he was all but thrown onto the couch, allowed maybe a second to catch his breath, and then Ethan was on him. Straddling his lap, Ethan didn’t waste any time, peeling them both out of their shirts, his nails and teeth scoring Jack’s skin with light marks that felt suspiciously like brands. Not that Jack cared. He made his own claims on Ethan’s body, biting his neck and shoulders, sucking a nipple into aching stiffness, tugging on the strangely blond hair until Ethan whimpered and melted against him. Ethan won the time trials of getting naked, goading Jack to better efforts by tumbling to the red rug and opening his arms and legs in invitation. Jack had rarely been so inspired.

  An hour filled up with frantic moments. Ethan’s mouth on his neck. Jack’s fingers dragging down his arms. Gasping in unison when Ethan wrapped a hand around both their dicks, stroking them to mutual orgasms. Holding on as Ethan rolled against him.

  Then Ethan was on his back, one leg hooked around Jack’s waist, back arched as Jack drove into him, his fingers digging into Jack’s spine. The complete abandonment in Ethan’s actions, the utter openness of his expression, the plaintive tone to the way he moaned Jack’s name, was as captivating as his fixed concentration at the wheel had been.

  “Jack, please.” Ethan twisted under him. “I need . . . I, I . . .” He groaned and heaved off the floor. “Please!”

  The sight of pale, dishevelled passion caught Jack fast. Dark lashes resting on flushed cheeks, curls of sweaty hair around his face, lips parted, the indelible scent of Ethan winding around them. It was all just so fucking much it swamped Jack. It stole the air from his body, swept his metaphorical feet right out from under him.

  Christ. He couldn’t help himself, drawn like iron to a magnet. All the manic, driving need to come fell away. His hard thrusts slowed, smoothed. Lowered himself until they were chest to chest, bodies gliding against each other, slicked by the sweat of their wild fucking. He wound his fingers through Ethan’s, feeling him grip back, as desperate, as tight. Burying his face in Ethan’s neck, he locked his lips on the pulse thrumming under the corner of his jaw so he wouldn’t do other, silly, things with his mouth. Ethan clamped his knees to Jack’s ribs, ankles crossed over his lower back, breathing out Jack’s name, over and over, shuddering with every slow, deep stroke.

  This wasn’t fucking anymore. It was . . . something else. Something Jack tried to shove away with all the powers of denial he had. Something he threw into the deepest drawer of his mental filing cabinet, where he sent all his most troubling memories. Yet, for the bloody life of him, he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t get back to the wild, manic pounding of moments earlier. Coming wasn’t the most important outcome all of a sudden—the here and now with his Ethan was.

  It was inevitable, though, and when it happened, it was simultaneously both the quietest and most powerful of orgasms. The rush of heat through his body from the explosion of his chest grenade, the burst of light behind his eyes, the marrow-deep thrum of connection through release. All of it stole Jack’s voice and he pressed his open, silent mouth to Ethan’s skin, drawing in everything that was Ethan until he was full to bursting.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  He came back to himself with the soft touch of a gun-calloused hand resting on the back of his neck, his body cradled within Ethan’s.

  “Jack.” Ethan nuzzled in
to his cheek. “Are you all right?”

  No. No, he wasn’t. His carefully ordered world was falling apart around him.

  “Yeah.” Jack lifted his head enough to breathe something that wasn’t Ethan. He had pretty much collapsed on him, his entire weight pinning Ethan to the rucked-up red rug. “Sorry.” As he moved, a still hard, insistent dick poked into his belly. “Shit, you didn’t come.”

  “It’s fine, Ja . . .” Ethan trailed off into a groan as Jack pulled out of him. A groan that turned into a startled gasp when Jack took his dick into his mouth. “Jack!”

  It didn’t take much, a few licks across the head, swirls along the pulsing vein under the thick shaft and a couple of swallows while Jack’s nose was planted in the springy hair around the base.

  Afterwards, Jack settled down with his head on Ethan’s belly. Screw the dinner. He was going to spend the rest of the night right here, mesmerised by the contrast between his brown hand stroking across pale skin. Ethan, too, seemed happy with the situation, twining his fingers through Jack’s hair, rubbing his cotton-clad foot along his leg.

  As with everything, though, it had to end. The filled condom quickly got uncomfortable and Ethan had to dislodge Jack to relieve a cramp in his back. The quiet between them as they collected themselves and headed for the shower was new. Not weird, just different. It stayed with them all through getting clean and grooming side by side before the huge mirror. They moved together and around each other with sure, certain motions, passing razors back and forth, chuckling when they each picked up the wrong toothbrush. Ethan finger combed Jack’s usually unruly hair until he was happy with it. Jack styled Ethan’s into a mohawk and laughed at his scowl when he saw the results in the mirror. He watched, fascinated, as Ethan inserted blue contacts, not sure if he liked the result of normal eyes on him.

  Jack dressed in the suit Ethan had packed for him, a dark-grey Hugo Boss he’d bought with the intention of attending the wedding of an old SAS mate. He hadn’t made it. Instead, he’d gone undercover with a paramilitary group in the Great Sandy Desert, where he’d met Ethan Blade. Who looked, unsurprisingly, deadly and sexy in a slim-fitting black suit paired with dark-blue-tinted, wire-rimmed glasses.