by Sydney Croft
Figuring Ian needed some time alone to get his thoughts together, Tag checked and double-checked the monitors and the cabin’s security backup systems, and when he was done, he settled into the kitchen to finish making dinner.
The pot of stew had simmered for long enough, and the savory scent of venison and beer gravy made his mouth water. But stew always needed biscuits. Justice’s mom had taught Tag that. She used to say that it was up to Tag to keep her family recipe alive, since Justice had never gotten the hang of cooking anything that didn’t come in a can or a macaroni-and-cheese box.
He’d just finished making enough biscuits to feed an army—or Itor—when Justice shambled out of the bedroom in a pair of sweats he must have pilfered from Tag’s dresser. Bless his heart, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, just the way Tag always liked him.
“Just checked my phone,” Justice said. “Still no signal.”
“Storms always knock out comms.” He gestured to the couch. “Sit. You shouldn’t be walking on that leg. I’ll bring you some food.”
Justice scrubbed a hand over his face. “First, you gonna tell me if what happened in there was real?”
“Which part? When you recited poetry while dancing practically naked on the bed, or when Ian jerked you off while I kissed you?”
Justice blinked. “Ah . . .”
“All real,” Tag teased. He got flipped off for his effort.
Laughing for the first time in what felt like centuries, he scooped stew into a bowl and plopped a biscuit into it as Justice limped over to the couch and sank down in front of the fire.
“Where is Ian, anyway?” Justice asked.
Tag grabbed himself a beer and then handed Justice the bowl before taking a seat on the overstuffed chair across from Justice. “Out patrolling. He should be back at any—”
Speak of the devil. Ian, clothes crusted in snow and ice, threw open the door and barreled inside. “Fuck. Fuck a fucking duck, it’s fucking freezing out there. Storm’s here.” His teeth chattered as he stripped out of his gear. “And what, you couldn’t find a hideout in Mexico or the Bahamas? Hot shower. Now.” He finally noticed that Justice was up, and Tag swore the guy went the color of a beet. “Oh, ah . . . hey.”
Justice turned the same color. They matched. It was sort of cute. “Hey.”
There was no time for more awkwardness because Ian was off like a shot to the bathroom, and a moment later, Tag heard water running.
Which made him think of all the times they’d showered together.
Justice ducked his head and dug into his food, not coming up for air until every last bite was gone.
“More?” Tag asked.
“Thanks, no. It was good, though. You always were a damned fine cook.” Justice set the bowl on the coffee table, appearing more awake and alert than he had in days. “We need to talk.”
“About what happened in the bedroom? Look, it was my idea. I told Ian to—”
Justice held up a hand. “Not that. Well, maybe about that. Later. Right now I want to talk to you about you coming back to ACRO with me.”
Oh. That. Buzzkill. Tag would rather talk about Justice having an orgasm in Ian’s hand.
“I can’t.”
“You won’t.”
Tag shook his head. “It’s not that simple, Justice.”
“From where I’m sitting, it seems pretty fucking simple to me. ACRO can protect you. Itor will either kill you or use you. Not sure how that’s not the easiest choice ever.”
Tag stared at the beer bottle, but it didn’t look like Sam Adams had any good advice beyond drink responsibly. “I don’t trust ACRO.”
“Do you trust me?”
Just days ago, Tag would have said no, but it would have been a lie. Still, he’d have done it out of stubbornness. But the truth was that he did trust Justice. With his soul. “I trust you, but—”
“But what?” Justice asked, his voice low, soft, as if he didn’t want to spook Tag. “I’ve been there four years, and no one has tried to experiment on me, or hurt me, or enslave me. Yes, the training is rough. The assignments can be dangerous. But you can turn them down. You can be a desk jockey if you want to. You’re free, Tag. It’s not a job. It’s a family.”
Tag’s doubt must have still been obvious in his expression because Justice added, “There are people there who can manipulate the weather. Shape-shift into wolves. Talk to animals. No one feels like a freak, and when one of them gets hurt, they all rally. Give them a chance. You deserve it. We deserve it.” Justice leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “You can always leave. Just . . . try. Please.”
Tag didn’t think his heart had ever beat as fast as it was right now. It was as if he were facing an angry grizzly and not the man he’d loved since he was a teen. This was a huge decision, but ultimately, there was only one way to go. He’d refused before, and now he knew that had been a mistake.
“I’ll go with you,” he murmured. “I’ll give ACRO a chance.”
Justice narrowed his eyes at Tag. “I sense a ‘but’ coming on.”
And it was a big one. “But I hate using my powers. I don’t want to be forced to use them. And I did things at Itor. I . . . I killed people.”
Justice closed his eyes and blew out a long breath. When he lifted his lids, his eyes glinted with the kind of determination that had gotten them into trouble as kids. Once Justice decided something, there was no talking him out of it.
“It’ll work out. ACRO isn’t Itor. They won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Dammit, Justice, even so, I killed . . .” He trailed off, his mouth dry, his pulse pounding in his ears. Yes, he trusted Justice, but he’d just said that ACRO was family, and this . . . this wasn’t something families forgave.
“Tell me.” Justice laid a hand lightly on Tag’s thigh. “Who did you kill?”
“Two agents,” Tag blurted, before he lost his nerve. “Two ACRO agents. Do you really think they’re going to just let that slide?”
Justice laced his hands over his abs and leaned back on the couch, legs spread, looking completely at ease and so fucking sexy that Tag had to take a long drink of his icy beer to cool himself off. Even injured, with a bruise that extended from his hairline to his cheekbone on the right side, and his stitched leg and swollen ankle, Justice exuded a sensual masculinity that Tag had never been able to resist.
“I think they’re going to take the circumstances under consideration.” He pegged Taggart with a hard stare that somehow wasn’t absent of sympathy. “Like I said, ACRO isn’t Itor. They aren’t going to force you into anything, and they aren’t going to punish you.”
“Maybe you’re not clear on what I said. Two agents. Dead. One died because I was ordered to send his elevator plummeting thirty floors. It was an assassination, pure and simple.” Not that Tag had had a choice. Itor had known exactly how to force his compliance.
“And the other?” Justice asked quietly.
“It was a couple of months ago. During ACRO’s takedown of Itor.”
ACRO agents had stormed Itor’s Australian headquarters while simultaneously hitting all of their main satellite offices. Including the office in Spain where Tag had been working. Although “working” wasn’t exactly an accurate term. More like he’d been a leashed dog, forced to do Itor’s bidding. If he refused, they tortured him. If he refused again, they showed him surveillance footage of Justice and said they could get to him. Hurt him. Kill him.
Justice sat forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs. “What happened?”
Another long pull on the beer bottle. “I’d come in for a briefing. My handler wanted me to collapse a steel bridge. They didn’t tell me why, but I know they were planning to steal a nuclear device. I’m betting the collapse would come after the device moved over it.”
“They wanted to take out anyone in pursuit and create a massive distraction.”
“That’s my guess. Anyway, we came under attack. It happened so fast. No one knew
who was hitting us—ACRO, the Aquarius Group, one of the rogue startup agencies—no clue. But we were getting our asses kicked.”
Tag took another swig, but the alcohol wasn’t helping him mute the images and sounds of people dying in horrible ways. “All I wanted was to get out of there. Leave Itor to get smashed. But the people attacking us weren’t exactly handing out hall passes, you know?” Slamming the bottle down on the crate coffee table, he shoved to his feet and started to pace. “It was a bloodbath for both agencies.”
And Tag had added to the bloodbath by taking out his supervisor. He’d hated the Excedo psychopath, and not even the guy’s ability to lift a fucking car with his bare hands had been enough to stop a bullet to the head.
“I was trying to get out of there. Then there was an explosion, and I got pinned under a burning beam. Not sure when I took the bullet to the leg, but somehow I got out from under the beam and crawled my way to the exit. Almost made it, too, when some super-speedy son of a bitch came out of nowhere and tried to gut me with his Ka-Bar.” Taggart had been wounded and bleeding, but his self-preservation instinct was strong, and he’d managed to rip the blade away with his power.
“And you took him out? He was an ACRO agent?”
Tag nodded. “I found out later. Once I got away and healed from the burn and the bullet wound, I made some calls. Everyone told me the same thing. ACRO had dismantled Itor and everyone was in the wind. I figured it was my chance to escape.”
“So you came here.”
Tag looked down at his stockinged feet. “I went home.”
He heard Justice’s sharp inhalation. “Home?”
“Yeah.” He couldn’t look at Justice, knew if he did he’d lose it in some incredibly nonmasculine manner, so instead he grabbed the iron poker and messed around with the fire. “We still own the second property in Montana, you know. It’s in both our names.”
“I know.” Justice’s voice sounded like it had been dragged over the gravel road that wound through the land their moms had bought for them a couple of years before they died. They’d wanted another off-the-grid location if needed, and by then, they’d assumed Tag and Justice would always be together, might even make their home there.
“I wanted to hide there, but . . .” Too many reminders. “So I came here. No address, hard to get to, and well protected. Been here about a month, and then I found out that people have been asking about me in some of the nearest villages.”
“Jesus,” Justice murmured. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.”
Tag watched from out of the corner of his eye as Justice sat up straight, his muscular body tensing as if he was preparing to do battle right there on the couch. “We’ll keep you safe, Tag. You’ll never have to be alone again.”
Tag wanted to believe him. Wanted it desperately. But if ACRO wouldn’t take him, he was a dead man. Because one thing was certain; he wasn’t going back to Itor. His last stand would be here, and the house he’d bought to keep himself safe would be where he died.
Fitting, he supposed, that he’d join his mom at Christmas.
“Tag?”
He shoved a log into the wood stove, because fire was so much easier to deal with than emotions. “Yeah?”
“Come here.”
Tag’s first instinct was to pack on his snow gear and go out to patrol. To run, just like Ian had said he did whenever shit got real. And this was as real as it got.
So Tag put on his big-boy pants and stopped playing with the fire. When he turned to Justice, the other man was patting the cushion next to him.
That was all it took. Tag was next to him in an instant. Justice’s arms came around him and his mouth came down on his, and even though none of it was remotely sexual, it still felt amazing.
“You know what would make this even better?” Justice asked as he pulled back and tucked Tag’s head into the curve between his shoulder and his neck.
“What?”
Justice reached up and stroked Tag’s hair, lulling him into utter relaxation. He hadn’t slept well in days. Weeks. Months, really. And now he felt his lids beginning to droop.
“If Ian was here with us.”
If Tag hadn’t already been wildly in love with Justice . . . that would have done it.
Smiling, he closed his eyes, and for the first time in forever, he slept, knowing he was safe.
“You guys all right?” Ian asked, poking his head around the kitchen corner.
It had taken him half an hour in the shower to thaw out, and then a bowl of Tag’s mystery-meat stew had warmed him even more. He actually felt almost human again. Almost, because the nagging headache was driving him nuts and his appetite was off. Apparently, Alaska didn’t agree with him.
Tag motioned him closer, but he hesitated, glancing at Justice. Since they’d messed around, Justice had spent time sleeping and healing, and now, Justice was giving him a half smile, and yeah, there was something there. For all of them.
Ian had checked on them earlier and found Justice asleep, Tag resting, and hadn’t wanted to disturb them. He’d known the two of them were going to talk about Tag’s time at Itor when Justice woke. Obviously, they had to be alone for that, but fuck, he hated being on the outside of things.
But by the way they were watching him now . . . it was apparent that they didn’t want him on the outside now. It was in their look, and then Tag made it crystal clear by motioning for him to sit at the end of the couch.
He picked up Justice’s legs carefully and rested Justice’s hurt ankle on his lap.
“I told Justice about the ACRO men I killed,” Tag told him.
“And I told him that we’ll deal with it. A lot of ACRO agents come in under not-so-perfect circumstances,” Justice explained. “But it’s not going to be safe here soon. We can’t expect the blizzard to last forever.”
In fact, they hadn’t expected it to be this bad at all. They had plenty of supplies, but while the weather kept Itor out, it also locked them in . . . and Ian had never been comfortable with no escape route.
Tag had a “snow machine,” as he sometimes called it, that they could take to where Ian had parked his own snowmobile before making the long haul in snowshoes to the cabin. But all three of them couldn’t fit on Tag’s machine. Justice could ride with Tag, and Ian could get some exercise and go on foot until they reached his snowmobile and then rode on to Justice’s plane, but they couldn’t do any of that during the storm. For now, they were screwed.
“Your mom would’ve been so proud of you,” Tag said suddenly to Justice.
“I think so, yeah,” Justice said quietly. “And they’d both be proud of us, Tag, for surviving.”
Ian nodded. “Tag told me what happened to all of you. It sounded like they gave you both a great childhood.”
One corner of Justice’s mouth tipped up in a wan smile. “Our moms always pushed us to do what we wanted with our lives, as long as we were happy.”
“And safe,” Tag added. “I thought that’s what moms did, you know?”
“Yeah, well, not all of them.” Ian gave a small rueful smile, meant it to be a nothing statement, but it was too fucking loaded, and both men stared at him. “Forget it.”
“I don’t want to forget it,” Tag said. “I told you all about how I grew up. How Justice did too.”
“So what, it’s my turn now?”
“Yes,” Justice said emphatically.
Ian rubbed Justice’s calf gently, trying to avoid both men’s gazes. “I don’t remember much about my mom. I was young when she died. She was killed by another merc on a job—she was a Seducer who met my dad on a job.” He squeezed his eyes shut, the headache that had been behind his eyes all day suddenly getting a bit worse. Goddamned family stress will kill you every time. “Fuck, I don’t want to do this.”
“Yeah, I know,” Tag sympathized.
“No, I don’t think you do. Both of you, you’ve never had to live your lives whoring yourselves out. You’ve never had people look at y
ou like that’s all you’re good for. After a while, trusting people becomes difficult.” His words came out more harshly than he’d intended.
“Don’t.”
He stared at Justice. “Don’t what?”
“You were going to get up. Don’t.”
“Now you’re a mind reader?”
Tag laughed. “You’d be surprised. We all have our secret talents.”
“In these few days together, I’ve gotten good at reading you.” Justice leaned back against Tag’s chest. Seeing them together, so comfortable . . .
“Ian, come on,” Tag urged, “come closer.”
Ian shifted so most of Justice’s legs was draped over him. Tag’s arm was over the back of the couch and Ian put his arm back there too, so Tag could grab his hand. Connected by Justice—both odd and fitting—Ian told them his story.
He’d been the son of a merc, a man who’d claimed he couldn’t be bought by anyone. In the end, that had turned out to be the biggest lie he’d told, but he’d taught Ian two valuable lessons: trust no one, and use everyone you can.
And that’s how he’d spent the last fourteen years. He’d trained as a Seducer from the time he’d been eighteen. Before that, he’d trained as a regular mercenary who could be easily hired by Itor or any of her sister agencies. Having the gift of speed as an Excedo, and more than normal strength, like his father, and his father before him, made him perfect in that role . . . but his fluid sexuality made him an even more valuable commodity. And that was recognized early on by a couple who trained Seducers. They’d come to him, offered him a yearlong internship.
“And your dad just gave you to this couple?” Justice asked.
“If it meant money? Yeah. And if it meant me getting out of my dad’s house, definitely, yes.” Ian heard the fierceness in his own voice. “It was a blessing and curse, you know? I had more sex than any red-blooded guy could ever want.”
“And the bad?” Tag prompted.
Ian sighed. “Instead of being special, sex was just like anything else in my life—a job. A commodity. A thing that could be traded and forced, used and abused. And paid for.”