They read like jagged cracks on an otherwise smooth rock façade.
Tom stood in front the large mirror in the master bathroom of his apartment on Manhattan's Upper East Side, naked. He touched the scars on his torso, tracing each one.
Remembering.
Not as if there was any forgetting.
He knew when and how he'd gotten each scar, each bruise that hadn't yet disappeared in the three weeks he'd been out of James Evan's grasp. So much time gone, and he still felt James's reluctant touch. It was a permanent brand, and when he slid his hand up to his nape or front and across to his chin, he still got burned by James's heat.
Damn!
He punched the mirror, swallowing a grunt at the sharp pain. Blood immediately dripped from his cut knuckles, but the mirror didn't break. It cracked, turning his image into four different entities. They all stared back at him with bloodshot eyes.
Mocking.
Feelings. He didn't do feelings. He didn't do emotion. Yet everything about his interactions with James was about feelings. About emotion. Hate. Anger. Want. Lust.
Hate and anger went deeper, but the others… He couldn't be sure. Did he just want to claim James? Did he just want to submit and watch the other man do the same? Was it all about the war between them?
Another thought pushed forward in his brain, widening his eyes.
Was it guilt, this thing inside him? Was he feeling guilty for kidnapping that wolf and trying to find a way to make up for it? That thought, more than the others, horrified him.
He didn't do guilt.
Anything but guilt.
"Sir."
Lucius rushed into the room, gun in his hand, nothing but black briefs on. He stopped abruptly when he spotted Tom,
"Sir?"
"I'm okay, Lucius."
He didn't look away from the mirror,
"Come here."
Lucius's eyes flashed as he drew closer. They had an arrangement, he and Lucius. Didn't matter where they were or who they—meaning Lucius—were with. When Tom wanted to claim Lucius, his bodyguard dropped his pants and bent over.
It wasn't a relationship, but it was convenient. Like now, when Tom needed to wipe away the lingering feel of someone else from his skin.
He took two steps back from the mirror without turning around, and motioned Lucius to his knees in front of him with his back to the cracked mirror. When Lucius moved to put the gun down on the floor, Tom grasped him by the neck, shaking his head when Lucius gazed up at him.
"Keep the gun."
He licked his lips,
"Use it. Make me come with it."
This wasn't the most messed up request Tom had made during sex so Lucius didn't even blink. He simply grasped Tom's hard shaft and sucked him down.
Tom threw his head back, tightening his grasp on Lucius's nape. Eyes closed, as the gun slid past his balls and over his taint. He gasped and shuddered, knees weakening.
He'd become something of an expert at pretending lately. Nails digging into Lucius's nape as the other man's wet mouth worked him over good, Tom pretended someone else was rubbing the tip of the gun over his hole. Someone else was sucking his brain out of his cock. Someone else was soaking him in saliva and swirling their tongue over his crown, making him groan.
Making his belly tighten.
Someone else.
He moved his hand up, threading his fingers in Lucius's long blond hair and gripped him tighter. Yanking on the strands as he slammed down his throat, snapping his head back. Lucius grunted. His slick grip on Tom loosened a bit, but Tom held him steady.
Punishing his throat as Lucius choked.
Punishing himself. Fighting harder than ever to get his mind back. Get his head straight. The gun at his hole faltered. He ordered sharply,
"Don't stop."
Lucius's throat released him reluctantly and the other man looked up at him when Tom glared,
"Sir."
He coughed,
"We need to get some lube."
"No."
Confusion darkened Lucius's eyes,
"Sir…"
He slapped him. Hard,
"Do not question me."
He slapped him once more and Lucius's head bounced against the mirror. Tom grabbed him by the throat and held him, pressing the back of his head against the jagged crack in the mirror,
"Never question me,"
He grated. He guided his shaft to Lucius's mouth and pushed his way in,
"Now, make me come."
He plunged in, and Lucius's teeth grazed his length.
The right amount of pain to make his eyes roll back in his head.
The gun teased him as Lucius followed orders, eyes closed, colour high on his cheekbones. Tom used his mouth hard, riding him rough.
Digging deep in search of the orgasm that seemed to take longer to come these days. He squatted a little, opening himself so that the gun could breach him.
Damn! His pulse tripped at that raw pain.
Lucius forced the gun in, but Tom' body wasn't having it. Still he rolled his hips, allowing the hardness of the gun to graze him, hurt him.
He plunged in and out of Lucius's throat, heaving, wanting…
James.
He slid out of Lucius's mouth slowing, keeping his swollen crown resting on Lucius's bottom lip,
"Pull the trigger."
Lucius's eyes went round and wide,
"B…But, sir."
"You pull your trigger or I pull mine."
He issued the threat easily. Meaning every single word. Death wish. He'd acquired a death wish, and the adrenaline pumped through his veins, hardening him way more than Lucius's talented mouth ever did,
"At the count of three."
Lucius watched Tom as if he no longer recognized him. Made two of them, didn't it? Would James care if Tom died? Would he miss him? He tightened his grip on Lucius's hair, holding the other man's gaze.
"One"
Lucius's nostrils flared.
"Don't worry."
He traced Lucius's top lip with his leaking shaft,
"You won't be blamed for my death."
Lucius's breath turned choppy. The fear in his eyes? As much of an aphrodisiac as the immediate danger.
"Two."
Lucius's lashes fluttered, and his naturally pale face flushed a dark red.
"Don't close your eyes,"
Tom snapped,
"Look at me. Now."
Those lashes flew open,
"Three."
Click.
The gun jerked inside him, and Tom erupted.
Convulsing.
Coming hard, cum hitting Lucius on his forehead, dripping down into his eyes and nose. Tom hissed, vision flashing to black then gray as he shook.
God. He chewed on his bottom lip, stifling the name that immediately sprang to the tip of his tongue. He tipped forward, slamming a palm up against the mirror to keep his balance. The rough edges cut into his palm, adding another layer of sensation.
Messed up didn't begin to describe who he was.
Bending over Lucius, Tom picked up the gun and then he fired.
The bullet flew past a flinching Lucius and embedded in the opposite wall.
"Don't worry,"
He told Lucius who stared at him with his mouth agape,
"True monsters always find a way to escape death and live long lives."
He winked,
"It's a gift. And a curse."
He straightened,
"The files I left on my bed, bring them to me in my office."
The large yellow envelope had shown up two days ago, mixed in with his regular mail. Its contents, though, were anything but regular. He had no clue as to the sender or their motives. Inside the folder were names and addresses, and one blue Post-It note with the words No Unnecessary Casualties written in block letters and underlined twice.
Someone wanted him to go after James Evans, maybe even take him out. They just didn't want credit for it. Unfortunately for them, Tom had his own plans for James. Still, he'd use the information handed to him if it guaranteed him James.
In his office, he didn't bother getting dressed. He poured himself a drink and stared at the files spread out on his desk. His anger needed to be put to better use. He'd promised retribution, and something about a main course.
It was time he delivered on that.
He held up his glass as a salute to the empty room,
"Here's to round two."