First Blood

  “The vigilante defense,” John said icily, “or a dirty cop covering

  his ass?”

  “Last time I checked, I don't owe you an explanation,” Nikita

  said.

  “What about Chris?” Andrei asked in Russian. “He thought you

  were on our side.”

  “In the end, I'm on my own side.” Nikita pushed away and met

  Andrei's glance. Andrei, almost imperceptibly, shook his head. You’re

  making a mistake, that gesture said. Big mistake.

  John took a step forward, as if to shield Andrei from him. “You

  should consider handing in your gun and wait downstairs in a cabin.”

  Nikita took his pistol, pulled the mag out, and released the bullet

  in the chamber, then emptied the remaining bullets into his hand to toss

  them overboard. He slid the mag into place and holstered the pistol

  again. He handed the second mag over. “It's Chris's gun.”

  John took the mag, and Nikita saw the knuckles of his hand

  tighten around it. For a moment he thought the Chinese guy would

  attempt to punch him in the face. A little violence would be welcome

  now, clear the air and make him feel less helpless, less empty.

  “You want to return it to him in person?” John asked, voice

  controlled.

  Nikita shrugged and walked away. If Chris wanted his pistol, he'd

  get it.

  CHRIS opened the door to Nikita's cabin once the yacht was back

  safely in Bari harbor. He found Nikita lying on the couch wearing those

  dark suit trousers, white shirt (rolled up to his elbows and unbuttoned at

  the throat), shoes neatly arranged in front of the couch, feet propped up,

  arms crossed in front of his chest. Chris had to restrain himself from

  touching the man's face. Instead, he simply sat down in one of the

  chairs opposite.

  “What has John decided?” Nikita asked without even opening his

  eyes or changing his pattern of breathing.

  “That decision is made higher up. This whole… joint venture was

  arranged much higher up.”

  “Will you be okay?” Now Nikita turned his head and opened his

  eyes.

  “I'm always okay. I messed up big time, not securing Timofeyev.”

  “You have a scapegoat. I'm taking the blame.”

  “Fuck you, Nikita.” Chris stood and came to the couch. Nikita

  just remained stretched out, pecs tensing for a moment. “That stunt of

  yours fucked me but good. Did your side tell you to off Timofeyev to

  avoid embarrassment if he squealed?”

  “He deserved to die.”

  Chris frowned. The same bullshit response he'd given topside,

  according to John.

  Nikita sat up. He was holding the gun Chris had given him for the

  mission. He offered it back to Chris. Chris took it and stuck it in his

  waistband.

  “Your partner has the extra ammo.”

  “Yeah, I know.” This wasn't how he'd wanted it to end. He

  wasn't sure what he'd thought, but this hadn't been it. Yet it was

  inevitable, wasn't it? Easy come, easy go. Wham bam fuck you man.

  But…

  This is mine

  Yeah, well, fuck that.

  Chris took one last look at Nikita and turned to the door.

  “Chris.” Nikita's voice was rough. “I made the decision. I'll take

  the fall.”

  “You're not getting it, are you?” Chris turned. “You and your

  whole trust bullshit? John and me risked our fucking careers trusting

  you with this. You shouldn't even know what GORGON means. Shit,

  you shouldn't even have heard the word. We don't deal with outsiders.

  We trusted you a great deal there, and you just bent us over and fucked

  us. No, my man, that wasn't nice.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “Well, because it's fucking true. You've put us in deep shit.”

  “No. You keep saying „my man'.”

  “So? You want me to call you something else? Fine. You fucked

  us over, Bud. Not cool.”

  Nikita simply stared, but it wasn't his angry motherfucker stare or

  even one of resignation. It was a look of… something he'd never seen

  on the big guy's face.

  “Just words, then. How foolish of me….”

  He tried to pass, but Chris grabbed his arm. “Whoa. I don't think

  we're on the same page here, Nicky. Let's step back and start again

  while we have a minute.”

  Nikita remained silent, the mean motherfucker look creeping back

  into those cool pale eyes of his. Chris loosened his hold, slid his hand

  down to grip Nikita's hand. It seemed to take forever for Nikita to

  entwine his fingers with Chris's own. “I need the truth, here. I don't

  care if it's not what you think I want to hear. I need the truth.”

  “Go on.”

  “What you cut into me. Did you mean it? Is that why you brought

  up me calling you „my man'?” Why the fuck was it so hard waiting for

  this answer? Why was his stomach jumping and twisting at the same

  time?

  “The truth?”

  “Yes. No bullshit.”

  Nikita's grip tightened, as if he were trying to keep Chris from

  running away. “I wanted your submission like nothing else in my life.”

  And damn the Russian's voice for being damn near unreadable. “I

  wanted to claim you, make you mine. Everything. Every breath, every

  thought.” Nikita inhaled deeply, broad chest expanding. He shook his

  head, frowning. “I think from the first time I met you.”

  “You stalked me there.”

  “I did.” Nikita didn't let him go. “First as a hunter, then….”

  Chris's pulse pounded against his throat. Fuck. “What now?”

  Nikita glanced up. “That hasn't changed.”

  Christ, why can’t he just say it? Why can’t he say the fucking

  words so I would know the real deal?

  Nikita's grip began to loosen. Chris clasped his hand tighter.

  “You meant it, you mean it. You want me the way I want you?”

  Nikita nodded. “Yes, but it's still complicated.”

  Chris swallowed. “Katya?”

  Nikita shook his head, his grip on Chris's hand remaining tight.

  “It's all about the domination and submission between us. We care for

  one another, of course, but not that way.”

  He paused, and the flash of emotion deep behind his eyes was like

  he was warring with himself.

  “The bribes I took. It was to buy her. We grew up in the same

  apartment block. She moved away. I thought she moved. She was sold

  like those kids today. It was my first undercover case. I did what I

  needed to do.”

  “You posed as a buyer?”

  “Yeah.” Nikita exhaled. “And don't ask me what else I did to be

  credible. Don't. Ever.”

  The raw pain in those last words tore Chris up. The GORGON

  psychiatrist would likely make sense of it all, how it had all fit together

  and made Nikita the man he was now, but Chris, right now, was only

  glad that in all this fucked-up-ness, Nikita at least had had a good

  reason. Sounded like a long time ago too.

  You’re already making excuses for him again, Skippy.

  Yeah, well, that's wh
at you did when you cared about somebody.

  You took them as they came. Warts and all.

  With his free hand, Chris reached up and touched Nikita's cheek.

  “I might get booted out of GORGON or suspended without pay. I don't

  want to dip into the old nest egg, that's meant to keep me out of the

  pathetic old spies' home in thirty years. I'm not sure what I'll do. It'll

  be legal, ya know, but not sure if I can keep to London or Germany.

  But I do know I want to stay close to you.”

  Nikita pulled him in for a kiss. It wasn't a goodbye kiss; it was a

  here-and-now kiss, a things-to-come kiss.

  When they parted, the big guy smiled. “I have to keep my job too.

  It doesn't pay nearly as well as yours. I think you need to treat me to a

  nice hotel on the weekends.”

  “Do you, now?”

  “Indeed.”

  “My dime, my choice. Real bed—sturdy frames, hot tub, room

  service, and kickass gym.”

  “I'll make the most of that sturdy frame.” Nikita let him go and

  gathered up his clothes before he looked up with another of his

  surprisingly sweet smiles. “Promise.”

  WHEN Chris stepped from the boat, he saw a huge limo with darkened

  windows. Uh-oh. Stefan stood close by and opened the door for him.

  Chris glanced over his shoulder and met Nikita's gaze with more

  confidence than he felt. Nikita was willing to take the fall, but as far as

  the Dragon Lady was concerned, outsiders couldn't take the fall

  because they didn't exist.

  Chris and John had taken responsibility, and there was no doubt

  there would be a reckoning. Him first, then. Seemed John got a few

  hours more before he got debriefed. Maybe he could take most of the

  blame. John was the type that did shit by the book; he might just be

  okay. Andrei was a rookie. He'd get cut some slack.

  Looking at the European Director's stony face, he wasn't so sure

  there would be slack left for him.

  “I had such high hopes for you. Your skills are exemplary, your

  single-minded dedication to get the job done, your ability to think on

  your feet is the type of thing we prize most, but….”

  “But I broke one rule too many. I get that.” He was fucked. Her

  tone and look told him, no sense being businesslike and not speaking

  his mind.

  The corners of her red-lipped mouth turned down, her granite-

  hard expression softened for one microsecond. “You were an Army

  Ranger, Chris. A platoon leader. You should have led your team.

  You've been given so many chances. That business in Paris showed

  you have initiative to lead, but this….” She breathed a fed-up sigh. “We

  at GORGON pride ourselves on a willingness to bend protocols—”

  “When necessary,” Chris continued. “That isn't to say we'll

  tolerate hearts leading our agents to act at purposes counter to the

  mission as a whole.” Chris leaned heavily back against the leather seat.

  “Yeah, I know the spiel. I'm the one who recited it to you when we met.

  When I saved your cute little ass from that botched drug buy back in

  Arizona when you were a fresh-faced rookie FBI agent.”

  He'd stepped over the line, but fuck if he cared right now.

  She seethed, her jaw tense, her pretty, pouty lips drawn back in a

  snarl. “Don't you dare disrespect my authority or throw up the past to

  me. I worked my fucking ass off to get where I am. Yes, you

  introduced me to GORGON, but you know fucking well that I made it

  in on my own skills.”

  She stopped, closed her eyes and took time to replace her stony

  mask of professionalism. “Outside of work, I'm happy for you. I'm

  thrilled you've finally found something, someone to touch your heart.

  As a friend, I think you're making a big mistake, but it's your life. As

  your superior, I can't let this go.”

  “I know. I understand. I'm not going to fight you on this,

  Karen—Ms. Schumacher.” He rubbed his face with his hands, tried to

  ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “My credentials are

  locked in the safe at home. I'll turn them in ASAP.”

  He thought he was dreaming when she touched her hand to his.

  “One more chance.”

  “I thought I used that up.”

  She shrugged. “You did, but one of the Powers That Be has found

  the „in' GORGON now has with Russia to be rife with potential.

  Evidently, certain Russian persons have had possibilities of their own

  opened up by the unexpected and accidental demise of Mr. Timofeyev.”

  “So, Kazakov is off the hook as well? He's not going to

  mysteriously disappear, is he?”

  “I don't think so, but I don't know for certain.”

  She seemed genuinely concerned and gave his hand a squeeze. He

  placed his hand over hers and returned the friendly gesture.

  Chris's back stiffened. “Off the record, I pity the poor fucker that

  tries to take him out if one shows up.”

  She offered him a half smile and then pulled away, sat back, her

  professional mask once more in place. “You'll be given simple intel

  jobs for awhile, I'm not sure how long. Your divisional leader wants to

  get a deeper stronghold in Germany so we don't have the problems we

  had there again. This business with the trafficking is far from over.”

  “Yeah. They need to be stopped every chance we can. I don't

  mind being on a leash if it helps. Even if Stefan is the supervisory leash

  holder I'll need to report to. I'll play nice. I promise.”

  “Good. That will be all.”

  Chris nodded. “Thank you.”

  HE GOT out of the limo and gave Stefan a big smile and clap on the

  shoulder. “Catch you in Berlin, my brutha!”

  “God, I hate you,” Stefan muttered.

  Chris snapped his fingers. “Right back at ya, babe!”

  Stefan shook his head and got into the front seat of the limo.

  Chris watched as it sped away. He looked around the pier. John

  and Andrei were nowhere to be found. The black op crew was pulling

  out as well, the locals setting up shop to guard the yacht until whoever

  was taking charge of it came to take it. There was no sign of Nikita,

  either. Shit.

  He needed a drink. Maybe an entire fucking bottle or three. Lights

  beckoned in the distance at the far end of the wharf, where dockside

  bars stayed open to supply the yachting crowd docked or pulling in to

  layover.

  Well, at least he still had a job, and that meant his credit was still

  good. He could charge himself some top shelf booze to drown his

  sorrows.

  Slipping his hands into his trouser pockets, he ambled along the

  shadowy pier, the darkened smaller boats bobbing in his peripheral

  vision. The water sloshed below him, sounds of activity fading the

  further he walked, the nightlife still off in the distance, a soft song

  beckoning him to come forget his trouble, if only for a while.

  A footfall from behind made his pulse quicken. Had one of the

  mobsters gotten away? Had more been called in? Good. A kill would

  go a long way toward working off
some of the tension. He kept

  walking, shifting his body weight ever so slightly, ready to go from

  defensive to attack mode.

  His Beretta was out and ready to fire before the man belonging to

  the arm that wrapped around his throat had a chance to pull him back.

  The feel of leather covering the tip of a knife blade was the only thing

  that kept Chris from squeezing the trigger and firing up into the face of

  his assailant. He let himself be pulled further into the darkness, pushed

  face first into a small metal storage shed and down over a pile of coiled

  ropes.

  “You're mine, and I'm fucking your ass raw.”

  “A little spit would be nice, big guy, but I'm not complaining.”

  Nikita grabbed a handful of Chris's hair, jerked his head back.

  “And none of that smart mouth, bitch.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The Russian's laugh made his cock ache and strain to be released

  from the confines of his pants.

  “Let me see that ass. My ass.” Nikita backed off, and Chris heard

  him unzip and pictured that thick dick springing free. Was he hard, too,

  or was he only getting there, stretching, the foreskin pulling back to

  reveal that swollen cockhead?

  He jerked up the back of Chris's shirt and suit jacket, ran the very

  tip of his knife blade across Chris's lower back. He drew blood, but it

  was a mere scratch, a mark of ownership.

  Chris moaned when he felt the Russian's hot tongue slide over

  the wound, licking the blood away. He kissed the base of Chris's spine.

  Dipped down, ran his wet tongue up and down the crack of Chris's ass.

  Chris rose up, positioned himself.

  “Do it. Ram that dick into me, tear me apart. Please.”

  Chris smiled when he felt the unmistakable coolness of lube

  drizzling down, being pushed into his entrance. Nikita drove in hard

  and fast, balls deep, no sweet finessing. Chris grunted, sucked in his

  breath as the flare of pain faded to be replaced by the perfection that

  was Nikita's slow strokes.

  Nikita bent over him, gripped his chin, tilted his face to take a

  kiss. He licked the shell of Chris's ear. “You'll get a tattoo. The same

  place as the first cut.”

  “Yes,” Chris sighed as Nikita hit the sweet spot again and again,

  pushing them to the brink and over the edge in record time.

  When they were done, he held Chris close, pulled out slowly, and