Blue Moon II ~ This is Reality (9 page)

Hawk growled low in his throat, and to his surprise Pierce kissed him with a ferocity he didn’t know the smaller man possessed. Hawk was truly enjoying himself and he didn’t want it to end, but someone was coming. Hence his irritated growl. He stopped his movements, but Pierce didn’t. He placed a strong grip on Pierce’s waist and pulled back from their kissing. “We have to stop.”

“No. It’s okay. Really. I’m fine,” Pierce said hurriedly, while still nibbling on Hawk’s bristly chin.

Hawk chuckled softly. “I mean we have to stop because someone is coming.”

Pierce stopped his kissing and opened his eyes. “What? Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“So, why do you –”

A hard knock interrupted Pierce’s sentence and had both of them turning to look at the door. Pierce looked back at Hawk, shaking his head at him in shock. “That’s going to take some getting used to.” He smiled.

Hawk rolled off of Pierce and let him get up to fix his clothes. Hawk went to the door and opened it to a startled DEA agent. “Can I help you?” Hawk said not bothering to restrain his irritation at being disturbed.

The big man tried to look around Hawk’s larger frame. “Umm. Is Backhander in here?”

“Why?” Hawk snapped.

The man looked taken aback at Hawk’s attitude. “Well because I told him that we were ordering pizza for dinner and I saved him some of the meat lovers.”

“How considerate of you. I’ll let him know.” Hawk slammed the door closed when it looked like the agent was gearing up to say something else.
Interrupted me for goddamn meat lover’s pizza. Fuckin’ bastard.

Hawk turned around and saw Pierce looking at him with amusement. “Was that necessary?”

“I’ll apologize later. I promise,” Hawk lied. He stalked back over to Pierce and watched him put his watch on and pocket his cell phone.

“Where are you going?”

“To eat. You know how fast the meat lovers goes around you huge motherfuckers. If Agent McKenzie saved me some, I’m going to go eat it while I can.” Pierce let Hawk crowd into him.

“I’m not more satisfying than pizza?” Hawk smirked.

Pierce acted like he was really thinking it over and Hawk advanced on him and pushed him against the wall, clamping his mouth onto Pierce’s still blushed neck. He pressed into him and this time Pierce didn’t flinch.

“Mmmm. Keep doing that while I think about it,” Pierce groaned. He was tucking his shirt in while letting Hawk assault his sensitive skin.

Hawk pulled back and tilted Pierce’s head to the side, surveying the dark passion mark that was now displayed for everyone to see. “Nice.”

Pierce shoved Hawk back and gave him a ‘you better not have’ look and turned to the mirror. “Yes, you fuckin’ did.” Pierce tried to pull the collar of his t-shirt up to no avail.

“Problem?” Hawk chuckled.

Pierce came face to face with him – well, more like face to chest – and glared up at him. “Did I say you could mark me?”

Hawk knew Pierce loved what he’d done. The fake mad attitude wasn’t fooling him at all. “Your body said I could. You didn’t pull away while I sucked your neck. What’d you think would happen?” Hawk tilted Pierce’s chin up higher. “You want my mark here, and here, and here.” Hawk kissed several places on Pierce’s neck and face emphasizing each word.

Pierce looked up at him and barely restrained the grin that was forming on his perfect mouth. Pierce still didn’t have the look of love in his eyes when he looked at him but the dislike was definitely gone. He rose on his toes and went to kiss Hawk when an angry flash of blackness came across Hawk’s sight. He let go of Pierce, stumbling back to the bed and sat down hard. He closed his eyes and saw a quick glimpse of a man in all black, black hood, black coat, black everything. Hawk took a deep breath and tried to breathe through his perception. Strong. Powerful. Fast. Deadly. This being was coming for them. Something more lethal than anything they’d ever faced.

“Hawk! Hawk!” Pierce was calling to him when Hawk opened his eyes. Pierce gasped at him.

“I’m okay,” Hawk strained to say around his gut-clenching fear.

“Your eyes. They… they were almost completely black.” Pierce’s hand trembled on Hawk’s shoulder.

“Don’t be afraid of me, baby.” Hawk was still trying to decipher what he’d seen, while trying to calm Pierce as well. Although this was bad, he didn’t want to undo all the good that had just happened to him a few minutes ago. He’d need Pierce to get through what was coming. He’d need the man’s love.

Pierce went down on one knee in front of him. “I’m not afraid of you, Dane. I’m afraid of what you saw. What was it?”

Hawk took a few more breaths and looked at Pierce. “Call a meeting, now.”

Pierce didn’t try to pressure him for more. He took out his cell phone and pushed one button on his speed dial, putting it on speaker. When the phone beeped his voice was official, “Get everyone into the conference room.”

“Essential personnel only?” the voice said back.

Pierce looked at Hawk and it seemed like he knew what he was thinking. “No. Everyone.”

Part Two

The Darkness

Chapter Eight

Back in this godforsaken city
. He thought he’d never be here in the nation’s capital again, but the details of this assignment had overpowered his hatred of this place. His client had gone through great measures to contact him, which was not easy since he wasn’t a very accessible man. He had one contact person – not a handler per se – but the only man in the open that could contact him. After the details of the assignment made it to his secured location in New Mexico he studied the information for several months. The Russian Mob was willing to pay him nothing short of a small fortune to capture a government official that went by the code name Backhander. He wasn’t in the kidnapping business; he was in the eliminations business. The world’s best assassin for hire. Trained by the descendants of Imuma Aga Khan.

He’d been close to declining the job until he’d come to Washington D.C. to do his own recon. Which, just as he was taught, really was always best. Never trust your client to be completely honest and forthcoming. Because if his was, then the huge supply of intel the Russians sent him on Pierce Jerald Nickols, aka Backhander, would’ve informed him of the team that he worked with. The goddamn Beastmasters. He’d seen all of them when they seized one of the Russian’s contacts – Pavlo Sherminsky. He’d also seen his own personal target. Isadore DeLucca. His fingertips went to the raised jagged skin over his collarbone.
I owe you something Shot, and I plan to repay you in full.

He sat with his back to the corner in a small café on First Street, his eye trained on the sidewalk traffic. The afternoon crowd was bustling about outside, but not much was going on inside. His client must’ve thought this was public enough. Made him feel safe. He was mistaken. His package should be delivered by one man in approximately twenty minutes but he’d been there for three hours. After watching the building’s entrance for two hours from the rooftop a block over, he’d felt comfortable that there wasn’t a double cross waiting for him. He couldn’t be too sure. He had enemies that stretched from the Solomon Islands to Borselv, Norway back down to Punta Arenas and everywhere in between.

The young waiter came over to him and asked him if he wanted another coffee. There was one couple on the customer side of the counter, the only other patrons, in a small booth in their own world. He looked up into the waiter’s brown eyes and nodded his head once.

“Black. Right?” he smiled and gave him a seductive wink.

No smile. He nodded once more. His waiter must’ve got the hint because he pouted and walked back behind the counter. He watched him and the door. The waiter was pouring the refill into his same cup from the same carafe when he saw him dig into his jeans pocket. He watched carefully as the guy pulled out his cell phone and stared quizzically at the screen. The waiter looked up and around the café and he diverted his eyes for a split second. The server looked at the screen again, distractedly picked up his refill, dropped on the table in front of him without a glance, and went to the front door, peeking down the sidewalk. This made him shake his head at the amateurish tactic.

The waiter must’ve noticed something because he let the door close behind him and walked down the sidewalk until he was no longer visible. He checked his watch. Ten minutes until one.
Hmm
. In the few hours he’d watched the shop, he knew there was only one other person working. A manager. That much was obvious because he hadn’t come up front to do any work.

The young man came in eyeing him carefully. His hand went into his messenger bag, wrapping it around the grip of his Colt. The waiter’s flirtatious smile was still playing across his lips as he approached him reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small black object that looked similar to a stun gun. He didn’t think he’d be shedding blood in D.C. so soon.

A basic Motorola flip phone.

His finger eased off the trigger.

“Is your name Omega?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Me. I want him. Omega right?” he said, teasingly waving the phone in front of him and then tucking it into the front pocket of his black apron.

He’d used Omega’s handle twice. This was not how he told the Russians the meeting was going to go. Not using some ignorant waiter to identify him. The wrong people had used his handle in Kanpur. In Niger. In Peru. Had approached him like they had balls the size of cantaloupes and looked him in the eye. That’s why he was Omega. He was the end. The last words they uttered before their souls left their body to be judged.

The door to the women’s bathroom was directly behind them. He’d already cleared his prints off the chair, table, and his mug. He gave a quick glance of the couple still necking in the corner and reached up and slammed his fist into the waiter’s throat cutting off his ability to cry out. A shock to his senses. Omega was up and out of his seat without making sound. He pulled the waiter by his collar into the women’s restroom. He moved them into the largest of the three stalls. Closed the door and turned on the waiter, still grasping his neck. Tears flowing down his cute face. They had no effect on Omega.

He caught him with a right hook to his solar plexus that had him doubling over and spitting at his feet. He swept the man’s legs from under him and sent him crashing to the floor. He smacked the tile like he’d been thrown face first from the top of a building. He moaned a keen cry, took the pain, shook his head and scampered like a crab, not sure which way to go. In his disorientation, Omega locked the door, pulled out his piece, and aimed it at the man’s forehead.

He pressed his elbow to the side of his head and stared into the man’s face, hissing his words slowly, “You wanted Omega. You got him.”

The waiter shook his head frantically.

“Cough.” He grabbed him by the back of the neck and snarled at him. “I said cough. Hard.”

The waiter let out a few week coughs. His breathing was still choppy. But he should be able to utter a few words. Omega yanked him up fast, making his teeth click. He bitch slapped him across his flushed cheek, sending his head into the stall door. He looked like he was working up a scream but Omega slammed his forearm against his throat. The waiter twitched, choked on his spit, tried to call out.

The bathroom door opened and the waiter’s eyes flew open. This could be his last chance and he knew it. So did Omega. He closed his palm over the man’s bloodied mouth and pressed the tip of the silencer into his temple hard enough that he’d see the imprint for the rest of the day. He carefully shook his head back and forth. Silently telling the waiter, ‘don’t try to do it.’ He froze the waiter in place. Omega’s renowned ice glare. Colder than the Grey Glaciers of the Patagonian.

The woman was on her cellular phone while reapplying her lipstick at the mirror. He watched her through the crack of the door. Women could be just as sneaky as men and twice as deadly. Omega underestimated no one. The woman left the room without a backwards glance.

He turned his attention back to the idiot waiter. He reached into his smock pocket and pulled the throwaway cell out. “Who gave you this?”

“I don’t know.”

Omega reared back and backhanded him across the left side of his face and caught him before he went down. He shoved him back up against the wall. “I rarely repeat myself. Last time. Who gave you this phone?” His tone was as calm as if he was talking to a friend, which made him all the more frightening.

“I got a text,” the man cried, sputtering. “Told me to come outside. He was tall. Had on a suit. Looked expensive. A hat… fedora, pulled down low.” More crying. “I swear. I didn’t know him. He just said to give this to your customer. O…o…”

He was scared to say his name again. Perfect. That’s how it should be. Omega flipped the phone open and a screen displayed two words.

Funds transferred.

Omega was always paid up front. But his terms were to meet with his client directly. He took the job but also put the fear of God in them. Let them know not to double-cross him, or it’d be the last thing they did. The client had already fucked up. Put an innocent man’s life in danger. Omega was almost tempted to bail out of the job, and he would, if it weren't for his vendetta against Shot. It made him buzz inside to think of the opportunity to come face to face with the long-haired man.