The characters in this story do not belong to me. I'm only borrowing them. Apologies for not always playing nicely with my toys.
I forgot to thank the amazing Miss Becky at the start of Part 2, and I'm too lazy to remove it and upload it again, so…Double thank yous to Miss Becky for beta-reading and for being such a wonderful, evil, lovely person. You're the best!
Secretsby Melody Wilde
Part 3
This is not happening. Not again.
But it was. Bain had stepped back out of arm's reach, waiting patiently for Mort to move. To follow orders.
Oh my god he is a crazy fan after all and he's going to kill me and nobody will ever know and they wouldn't care if they did because everybody hates me and oh shit I can't breathe I think I'm going to pass out…
He felt his knees hit the floor, and then there was nothing but blessed oblivion.
The side of his face and the bridge of his nose were throbbing, each steady thump in tandem with his heartbeat. He lay very still, concentrating on breathing in and out until he was sure the danger of vomiting was past, then tried to move.
"Shhh. Be still."
Bain? What… Oh fuck! His eyes snapped open. He was on the couch, flat on his back. The other man was kneeling beside him, brows furrowed in a slight frown.
"No!" Mort tried to jerk away, and realized his hands were tied together. "Don't…"
"Shhh," Bain repeated, leaning in to press a cold, damp cloth to his cheek. "It is all right, Mort Rainey."
All right? There's nothing "all right" about this situation. What the hell…
"How do you feel?"
Mort's mouth opened, but no words came out. How do I feel? You came here and lied to me and waved a gun at me and now you have me tied up on my own couch and you want to know how I feel? Are you crazy?
He was very much afraid the answer to that one was "yes".
"I know what you must be thinking." Bain shifted upward to perch on the edge of the couch beside Mort. "But you have no reason to worry. I am not here to kill you. This is not about killing."
"Who…who are you?"
Bain clicked his tongue against his teeth in a sound of exasperation. "I told you. I am Miguel Bain. I am a fan of your work, and, over the past days, I have come to like you very much as a person as well as an author. I am also a man who needs a place to stay for a time…although perhaps not for an entire year. I was deceitful about that."
Oh great. Like that's important right now. In my opinion, lying about the terms of the lease is a little lower on the crime list than pulling a gun on me and tying me up.Bain brushed his face with a fingertip, and Mort flinched away. "You hit your face when you fell. I will get some ice to put on it, so it will not swell. And there is a cut on the bridge of your nose. Your glasses did that."
He tried again to lift his arms. Bain shook his head. "I did not want to do that, but I was afraid if I did not restrain you, you would do yourself further harm."
Am I supposed to thank him? "What do you want from me?""That is a little complicated. Even more so than when I first came here"
"I seem to have plenty of time."
Bain laughed softly. "All right. Let me tell you a story and try to explain. I realize that you are the true storyteller, but I will try not to be too boring." He paused. "Where to begin? Perhaps with a clarification of a thing. When I told you that I worked with contracts, I was, once again, somewhat deceitful. The contracts that I work with are those placed on men's lives. The termination of men's lives."
Mort stared at him, mind struggling to accept what it desperately wanted to reject. "You…" His voice came out as a hoarse croak. "You mean you're a…hitman?"
"I prefer the term 'assassin', but yes, that is what I do. For many years, it was my goal to become the top in my chosen field, as you have become one of the top writers in your chosen field. But there was a man in my way. A man I had admired for a very long time."
Oh Jesus God please don't let him tell me that he killed the man he admired, that he routinely kills men he admires, that he…
"His name does not matter. You would not know it. But he is…" Bain shook his head and laughed again. "Very famous in our line of work. The best. For years I studied him—how he worked, what weapons he used, how he behaved. I began to steal contracts from him, just to prove to him that I am the better assassin. And then…" Bain gestured. "We met.
"We met, and we fought, and he tried to kill me. He believed he had succeeded. But he made a foolish mistake. He went away—left with the woman who should have been the one killed that day—and he did not check to be sure I was dead."
Bain rose and headed toward the kitchen, his voice floating back over his shoulder. "I was badly hurt, but I survived." The refrigerator door opened and closed, then a cabinet door, then another. "I healed. And I decided that I would disappear for a time. That I would leave my life behind. Go away, to a new place, with new people. Much as you planned to do."
He returned with a sandwich-size baggie full of ice. "Hold still now." With amazing gentleness, he settled the makeshift icepack on the side of Mort's face, arranging it to cover the cheekbone and eye. "How does that feel?"
"Cold."
Bain laughed as if he had made a joke. "When I heard that you were interested in renting your home, it seemed to me to be the answer to a prayer."
Oh great. Answer to a nutcase assassin's prayer. That's just what I always wanted to be when I grew up.
"You see, I have wanted to meet you for…" He waved his hands and shrugged. "It seems such a short time when I say it. Since Four Secrets."
Four Secrets. The book he had written in an astonishingly short time—only seven weeks—just after Amy and Ted had vanished, but before the unpleasantness in the town had started. The writers' block that had crippled him for the previous six months was suddenly gone. In fact, he had gone in the other direction, the words pouring out of him, through his fingers and onto the screen. Mrs. Garvey had still been coming to clean house then, and she had brought casseroles and sandwiches and pastries, worried that he wasn't taking time to eat. She'd been right. For those weeks, there had been nothing but the writing. At the end, he'd delivered a best-seller to Herb and his reputation had been restored. In literary circles anyway.
Bain was staring at him. Waiting for him to come back from his walk down Memory Lane and say something. But there really wasn't anything to say. Bain was hardly the only person who had bought, read, and adored that book, nor the only one who was desperate to meet its reclusive author.
"It was in a book store in Atlanta." Bain moved to scan the bookshelves, searching. "I was not there to buy a book, of course. The mark I had been following…" He turned his head. "A 'mark' is the person I have been paid to terminate," he explained, before returning to his search. "He was shopping in the store. It was a large store, and it was crowded—very crowded. I thought perhaps I could catch him alone in one of the aisles and…poof!" He waved a hand. "He would be gone, and then I would be gone. But he would not cooperate."
Ungrateful bastard, not cooperating with you. Shit, this man is nuts. Fucking nuts.
"He kept moving through the popular fiction, out in the middle of the store. And so I stopped and pretended to be looking for something to read. And then I saw it. Ah!" He pulled a book from the shelf, spun, and waved it in triumph. One of Mort's First Editions of Four Secrets.
Bain re-crossed the room, his face animated. "This was staring at me." He turned the book over to display the author's photo on the back of the dust jacket, as if Mort hadn't seen it a thousand times. "You were staring at me."
It was one of his better photos, taken during the early stages of his self-improvement binge. Although you really couldn't tell it from the black and white photo, his hair was all one color again, with no roots, and it had been cut and styled especially for the occasion. He'd ditched the oversize glasses in favor of the wire-rims. And the photographer, in an attempt to show his smile without showing the braces he'd been wearing at the time, had asked him to duck his head a little, so that his upper lip hid the metal and he was peering slightly upward. Herb had said he looked like a fallen angel and had laughingly insisted that the picture had sold more copies of the book than the excellent reviews the novel had received.
Mort looked from the photo to Bain. Again, the man was waiting for Mort to speak. This time, Mort decided to oblige.
"Okay, so you saw the picture of me. So? You started reading the book and let your guy get away?"
"No, no, no. I could not do that. When he went to the men's room I followed him and killed him there and left him in one of the stalls." Bain waved a hand again, as if that were of no consequence. "But then I went back out and bought a copy of the book. I took it back to my hotel room and…" He ducked his head and gave an embarrassed half-laugh.
Mort bit. "And?"
Bain lay the book on the coffee table and knelt by the couch, a little closer than Mort found comfortable. "I now have to tell you something else about myself. In my life, there have been many women…and many men…but that day, looking at your picture…"
Oh god, don't let him say he fell in love with me! Please! God, goddess, whoever or whatever's out there…
"I looked at your face, and my dick became so hard that I believed I was going to pass out, right there in the store. In fact…" He gave another snort of laughter. "After I had killed the mark, I had to go into the next stall to relieve myself before I could continue. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. Nothing like this has happened to me since, not with any person."
Mort's mouth had gone dry at the first sentence. Oh shit. Just when I think it can't possibly get worse.
"Since that day, every time I have fucked someone, I have seen your face. Imagined that it was your body beneath me. It has become an obsession with me. Even when I lay bleeding and sure that I was dying…all I could think of was how much I wanted you."
"You're crazy." Terror finally broke Mort's paralysis and he began to struggle, trying to fling himself upright, off the couch. Bain caught his shoulders and effortlessly pushed him back down.
"Would it help if I told you that I read your book—all your books—and enjoyed them? That I felt I understood you, through them. That I became your fan as well as…the other? I did not lie about that."
"Let me go! Get away from me! Leave me alone!"
Useless…pointless…fuck fuck fuck why did I stop working out with the weights…I can't get away from him…
But that didn't stop him from trying. He thrashed and fought against the restraining hands until, with a sharp sound of annoyance, Bain backhanded him. He sank back, the world spinning again, tasting blood.
"I did not want to do that." Bain's voice was hard now. "But you give me no choice. I do not want to hurt you, Mort Rainey. I am not here to hurt you or to kill you."
Then why…oh but wait…I know the answer now, don't I? I know what you're here for, Jesus fucking Christ. And when you get what you want…then what? Will you go away and leave me alone?
"I came here for one purpose, and one purpose only. To end my obsession with you by satisfying it. To meet you. To seduce you. To have you. But now…" His eyes narrowed, and suddenly Mort could believe that this man was a killer. "Now, I think there are other things I should do also."
Mort's tongue darted out to moisten his lips. He had to try twice before he could whisper, "What?"
"There are people in your town who need education in the proper way to behave to a famous author in their midst. I would be happy to provide that education for them, as a favor to you. To try to make this a place where you will be happy to stay, if you choose to return here, later. After all…" Bain moved his face even closer to Mort's. Mort could feel the man's breath on his lips. "You are going to do a favor for me. It is only right that I should do one for you in return."
He wanted to scream that he wasn't going to do anything for this man—that Bain should pack up and leave, the sooner the better, and take his money with him. But something in Bain's expression held him silent.
"And now…" Bain abruptly released him and rose. "It is late. I think it is time for bed. We can talk more about this in the morning, after breakfast, sí?"
Time for bed. Oh shit.
"I cannot risk untying you, so let me help you." One of Bain's hands slid beneath his shoulders to pull him into a sitting position. "Can you stand?"
He could, but his legs were shaking, the knees threatening to buckle. "Please…" He was disgusted at the sound of his own voice, weak, pleading, pitiful. "Please don't…"
"I told you that I am not going to hurt you." Bain slid an arm around his shoulders. "Not unless you force me to do so." He guided Mort toward the stairs.
Mort balked on the bottom one. I can't do this. I can't just walk upstairs and let him…let him… His mind refused to complete the thought.
"Please…"
Bain did not speak. He simply placed his hands beneath Mort's elbows and forced him up the steps, then into the bedroom. "We will both sleep here tonight. It will be crowded, but we will manage."
The trembling had spread to Mort's whole body. He fought back the whimper that was rising in his throat, and tried to brace himself against the forward momentum. When Bain released him, he almost fell backwards, but a steadying hand was there to support him.
"I will help you undress."
Bain leaned back to close and lock the bedroom door, then slid his arms around Mort, hands reaching for his belt. Mort flinched.
"No…please…"
To his astonishment, Bain released him, circling to stand in front of him, expression unreadable. His gaze slid down Mort's body, then back up. Then, with a click of annoyance, he spun Mort and pushed him backward, down onto the bed.
Mort squirmed helplessly as Bain moved with him, straddling him. As the man caught his bound hands, pulled them above his head, and held them there with a humiliating ease. As Bain leaned closer and began to shift downward, pressing against his body, twisting to slide a knee between his legs. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away.
"Look at me."
No. No. No.
"I said look at me." The knee pressed painfully upward and Mort's eyes flew open. "That is much better. It would be good for both of us if you would learn to listen to what I ask of you. Comprende?"
He nodded, and the pressure eased. "Good. Good. Now listen to what I have to say to you. Are you listening?"
Mort nodded again.
"Here is the last thing I did not tell you. Being with you, talking with you, learning to know you and becoming your friend… The past few days have changed my feelings for you." He gave a self-depreciating laugh. "I hoped that you were feeling it also, this…connection between us. There is now a fondness, where before there was only a lust that needed gratification. My feelings for you have become more than just the sex. But being close to you like this…touching your body with mine…it almost makes me lose control."
Oh god oh god oh god.
"I do not like this feeling. I do not like this business of not being in control. You are making me feel like a horny teenager again." He rubbed his pelvis against Mort's leg, and Mort could feel the rigid flesh inside the man's jeans. "I want to take you know. But I do not want to take you against your will. I want it to be a thing of goodness for both of us. Can you understand this?"
Not a word of it except that you aren't going to rape me right now.
"For now, I want you to lie here and not move. I am going to tie you to the bed, so that I can feel safe sleeping here. All right?"
Mort managed a small nod.
"Good." Bain released him and stood. Mort remained where he was, afraid to do more than breathe as Bain pulled his arms up to bind his wrists to the iron headboard of the bed, immobilizing him. "Is this too tight?"
Mort shook his head.
"Good, good." Bain removed Mort's shoes before placing bindings around his ankles to hold them together. "Can you be comfortable here?"
Comfortable? Like this? You really are crazy.
Bain must have taken his silence for agreement, for he stood and began to strip away his clothing. Mort closed his eyes, refusing to look, until he heard Bain chuckle.
"Ah. I think I am going to have to do something about him if I am to sleep tonight."
The assassin was naked, all taut muscles and patterns of dark curling hair. He was staring down at the erection jutting forward from his body. Mort must have made some sound, for the dark eyes moved back to him.
"I am told he is beautiful," Bain said immodestly. "He serves me well."
Mort looked away. Oh Jesus god he's huge. He's going to kill me if he tries to…
"I hope you will not mind if I look at your face as I…" He paused. "Take care of myself."
No, no, just sit here and stare at me while you jerk off, great, fine, no problem, happens every day. Oh fuck. I've got to get away from him.
Bain seated himself on the edge of the bed, one hand reaching out to touch Mort's cheek. Mort flinched.
"I'm sorry. Does it hurt?" A gentle fingertip traced across the bridge of his nose, down his cheekbone. "You are a beautiful man, Mort Rainey."
Mort stared resolutely at the ceiling as he heard the sounds begin—bet I can guess what you're doing—and heard Bain's breathing quicken.
"Look at me."
No fucking way.
"I said look at me." The edge was back in Bain's voice. Reluctantly, he rolled his head to the side and stared at Bain's face.
"Not there. Here." Mort hesitated, and Bain snapped, "Now!"
He looked. He watched as Bain brought himself to a climax, listened to the man's groans of pleasure, and was thoroughly disgusted to realize that his own body was stirring in response. If this is turning you on, it's been way too long. Shit…but then how long have I been here alone, without even a dirty book or movie to fuel some fantasies. I can't even remember the last time I…
"Are you finished?" he snapped, turning toward Bain some of the anger he felt toward himself.
Bain laughed and bent over to place a noisy kiss on his forehead. "Yes. Thank you. I will clean up now before I come to bed."
Mort lay there, rigid with loathing for himself and for Miguel Bain, as the other man wiped up the mess, made a quick trip to the bathroom, then returned to settle beside him in the bed. He ignored the soft "good night" and continued to stare up at the ceiling, his thoughts racing, long after Bain's breathing had evened and turned into soft snores.