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  Emery lost sight of any propriety and worked Kurt's pants open as well, pulling out his cock and stroking it hard. Kurt bucked up against him and tugged him down into another kiss while Emery clumsily pulled off his own pants and took Kurt off guard by sinking down on him then and there. It hurt, but it was well worth the sudden hiss of astonishment and the dark, animal lust in the eyes of his lover. Something wild rose up in Emery's chest and he reveled in the idea that cool, dangerous Kurt was his to tame. He began to move. Kurt followed suit, and soon they had a rhythm going that was sure to make this a quick affair. It was only a few minutes of fast undulations before it rose to a peak.

  Emery watched with giddy satisfaction as Kurt came under him, his hard, leonine body falling into beautiful spasms and his face focused, eyes shut, brow furrowed, and teeth clenched. After a few moments Kurt's hands gradually went from gripping Emery's thighs in a vice to gently massaging the skin he had bruised there, breathing heavily and looking up at Emery with an intense, but flattering, reverence.

  God, with a picture like that, Emery barely needed to be touched to climax. He continued to move his hips, but Kurt stopped him. Emery looked down at him questioningly before he was being pushed off, guided to his back on the bed and once again staring up at the cracked ceiling. He was naturally confused, but then Kurt was down between his legs, engulfing his already weeping erection with his mouth.

  Emery gasped, blindly reaching out and grasping the bedframe behind him as a tongue curled around his tip. Blunt nails ran down his sides and sent electric sparks dancing in his vision as he was worked. Kurt's mouth skillfully attended to him like he'd never experience before and left him a helplessly quaking wreck until orgasm struck. His back arched off of the bed, one hand still locked around the bedframe while the other tore at the sheets and he was keening like a dying animal pinned under Kurt's powerful arms. He shuddered deeply as he came down, gasping for air and unable to stop a winded, hysterical laugh from escaping his lips. Fuck. He'd never had anything like that. Nothing so fast and desperate and unbelievably hot. Kurt was bent over him on hands and knees, also trying to catch his breath.

  "Christ, I can't believe that just happened," Emery said.

  Kurt sat back, ruffling his own hair with a befuddled expression that was quite darling. "It shouldn't have…I shouldn't have…"

  "Are you joking?" Emery panted. He pushed himself up on his elbows and gave Kurt a dreamy once over before collapsing again. "You absolutely should have."

  CHAPTER 9

  Kurt sat at the table with a long cold cup of tea, staring into the void and rubbing his freshly shaven cheek with the sleeve of his sweater until it was red. It was one of those odd days where the sun was shining but rain was falling, making everything dreary and bright at the same time. Any moment now Sheridan and the others would be returning with their latest haul of Hunter Eaton's money.

  For once, he didn't feel the slightest bit worried about it. He actually rather enjoyed the idea of making Eaton sweat through this ordeal. Before it all started he may have had reservations deep down about blackmailing some hapless father with his son's life, but just thinking about the seedy pervert putting his hands all over a defenseless young boy was quick to banish all inclinations towards sympathy. He hoped the man was well and truly suffering about now. A sicker part of him wished he could see it.

  Realizing his tea was a lost cause, Kurt took it and dumped it into the shop sink, planting his hands on the edges and watching as it circled the drain. Sheridan was right. His cut of the profit, well over thirty million pounds, was an otherworldly amount of money. Certainly enough to mean retirement. For the first time, despite what he'd told Scott, he allowed himself to wonder what that might be like. It was fleeting, however, as the door opened that instant and signaled the others' return. Kurt turned to them, stoic as ever.

  "Good morning, Kurt," Sheridan said brightly, throwing a stack of cash at him.

  Kurt caught it without looking down, observing Sterling and Scott pull in the rest of the bags. "Off without a hitch, then?"

  "You betcha," Scott replied.

  "We're in the home stretch," said Sheridan, lighting up a cigarette. "Just about halfway. Kurt, go get me the kid. I'm gonna kiss that little fucker right on the mouth."

  Kurt hesitated slightly. "He's resting."

  Sheridan shrugged. "Hasn't he had enough of that? Come on, I got some Cognac to celebrate. He's earned his place, go get him."

  Kurt nodded and headed upstairs to bring him down. When he entered the room, Emery was sitting on his bed staring at that awful book again with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.

  "Should you be doing that yet?" Kurt asked skeptically, pointing to the brush.

  Emery pulled it out of his mouth, sending a line of toothpaste down his chin. "Couldn't help it. I'm being gentle." He wiped his mouth with a sleeve, not taking his eyes off Kurt. "Besides, no one wants to kiss a man who tastes like blood and tomato soup."

  Kurt pictured tasting him right then and there, but quickly shook it off. "Come on downstairs. Sheridan wants to speak to you."

  Emery stood up, tossing the book away. "Am I in trouble?"

  "On the contrary. He wants to celebrate."

  Emery smiled, walking off into the bathroom. Kurt could hear the sink running for a moment and then he returned sans toothbrush, following Kurt downstairs towards the shop. Just before they reached the bottom, Kurt felt Emery's fingertips purposefully stroke his lower back, making him stop short while Emery continued casually on into the workspace. He glared after the younger man before following.

  "Hello gents," Emery greeted.

  Sheridan was then handing him a snifter of brandy and clinking it with his own. "Good news, Eaton. Your dad loves you enough to keep all your teeth where they belong."

  "Fantastic," Emery said. He looked down into his drink as though he was going to be sick again. Clearly the idea of drinking was still a little much. Kurt watched with amusement as he pretended to take a sip.

  "Good news all around. I've been thinking," Sheridan slung an arm around Emery's shoulders and led him over to the table. "This whole prisoner thing's a little old. From now on, consider this your home. You've got free reign. You don't have to rely on Gabler to be your nanny anymore."

  Emery blinked, shooting Kurt a look of good humor and sitting down. "That's a shame. I was just getting used to him."

  Kurt came over and sat down at the table to listen in, taking the glass that Sheridan gave him.

  "I knew you two would warm up to each other," Sheridan grinned, looking at Kurt. "The kid's not so bad, right?"

  Kurt wore a perfected mask of detachment as he took a drink. "He's a bit of a chore, actually."

  He watched as Emery fought a smile and looked away.

  "Ah, well," Sheridan shrugged and jerked a thumb towards Kurt. "Guess you have to know this guy a few years before he comes around. Hell, you should hear how the first job we pulled together went. You woulda never thought we'd end up pals."

  "How's that?" Emery asked, intrigued.

  "That's a good one," Sheridan grinned, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "Okay, so we met through this guy—shit, what does he go by? Something plain, uh, Johnson, Jefferson…"

  "Thompson," Kurt supplied.

  "Yeah, right, that's it. Thompson. This really tall, skinny Swede. He was a prissy son of a bitch who knew everybody's business and had a knack for finding things no one wanted found. He got hired out by some anonymous party to track down this corporate weasel who I guess was embezzling money from embezzlers or some shit, I don't fuckin' remember. Some kind of double-dealing accountant. Well, Thompson found the guy, since that's what he was good at. The problem was that he needed muscle to get to him, so he called me up and another guy, but his second pick never showed—I think he turned up dead—and to replace him he pulled this guy Gabler.

  "Just look at him," Sheridan held a hand out at Kurt. "He was every single bit the fuckin' automa
ton he is today and I thought great, ya know, nothin' better than working with someone with no sense of humor. I asked him if he used to be part of the Queen's Guard—he didn't think that was very funny. Come to think of it I've never seen the guy laugh. Not once. Jesus, three years and you've never laughed?"

  Kurt simply shrugged at him in reply.

  "Honestly, at this point I'm fuckin' scared to know what you find funny, man." Sheridan shook his head. "Anyway, we were already off to a bad start. Kurt's all business. He's always gotta stick to the plan and do the most practical thing. Me on the other hand, I like to take things as they come. See what avenues open up, improvise, you know. So we thought this guy, our target, just had a few run of the mill goons on his side, but when we got to the joint he was holed up in, he had four trained bodyguards. Kurt sees this and he wants to leave to regroup, 'cause the plan's changed, see, and he doesn't know how to cope."

  "It was simply matter of figuring that we wouldn't have much success with the job if we were dead," Kurt commented dryly.

  "Sure, well, I decided I wanted to scope the place out a little more before we went one way or the other. It was an abandoned little shithole of a motel out in the middle of nowhere and he had his guards patrolling outside. I said, 'you think we can pick 'em off' and Gabler says he doesn't think we can do it quick enough, but that sounds like a challenge to me so I decide I'm gonna go for it. The first one's sort of far out, so I go after him first. I got him down easy. Then we make our way up to the building and wait for the next to patrol by, but by the time we moved we can only see two of them. Lost track of the third one.

  "It's not going well. We waited there for half a goddamn hour until we got a shot. One of the guards takes a break or something, so he fucks off and then it's just the one and I decide to take the opportunity while I can before one of these shitheads comes across the guy we took out. I tried to get the jump on him, but the asshole sees me and pulls his gun. So I'm fucked. At least I think so. Then comes Gabler out of nowhere like the goddamn Batman, tackles this guy from behind in a headlock and gets the gun away from him. The noise draws the others, though. Another guy comes at me from behind and suddenly Kurt's got two on his plate and I swear to god they are beating the fucking English out of him.

  "Lucky for me, the guy who jumps me is a real novice. We struggle, he loses his hold on me and bam, I put a bullet in his jaw. I got up as fast as I could and I aim at the guy holding Kurt down, but I think fuck, I just got this guy killed. He'd been wailed on so bad I thought he wasn't gettin' up again, but when I shoot the guy holding him, he jumps up like he can't feel a thing and head butts the other guy in the face. Breaks his nose and knocks him out clean. Kurt just shakes off that beating like he didn't have three broken ribs and a fractured jaw—which he fuckin' did—smooths out his clothes, dusts himself off, walks up and casually knocks on our target's door like fucking room service. Could not fucking believe it.

  "So, you know, I sort of figured he'd hold a grudge against me for getting his ass kicked. I thought, hey, no loss. The guy's got the personality of driftwood and good riddance. But when it's all said and done, he just gives me a nod, a handshake, not an ounce of spite and I walk away with my cut thinking, 'shit. I just met the toughest motherfucker on earth. I gotta remember that guy.' And I sure as hell did."

  "Romantic as fuck," Scott said, opening a beer in favor of the Cognac. "You remember me that fondly, Sheridan?"

  "On the rare occasion I remember you, sure," Sheridan huffed.

  Scott held a hand to his heart and pretended to be devastated.

  Emery laughed, looking between them all. "Did you all meet in such a thrilling fashion then?"

  "Nah," Sheridan waved a hand. "Sterling and me go way back. Scott I heard about when he was an up and comer and grabbed him before anyone else could. The guy's a pain in the ass, but he's got his uses."

  "Like talkin' about 'ow fucking smart 'e is," Sterling muttered, entirely devoid of mirth. "Never get tired of 'earin' that."

  "Hey, some of us are smart enough to brag about. And I'll just assume that 'pain in the ass' is some kind of gross mispronunciation of 'painfully dire asset'," Scott commented as he took a drink.

  Sheridan rolled his eyes, then thought for a minute and smirked. "Hey Scott, tell the kid about that bar fight in Bridgeport."

  Scott's demeanor quickly went from facetious to serious, his jaw tightening. "Christ, Sheridan."

  "What? Come on, it's a good story."

  "It's not a good fucking story."

  "It's funny."

  "No man, it's not. Why do you always have to be such a f—"

  "Okay, I'll tell it. See Scott was in a bar watching a game when this guy—"

  Scott dropped his beer on the table and interrupted. "I got in a drunk fucking fight with this guy and punched him in the face, okay? End of story. It's not funny, it's not interesting, that's it."

  "Yeah well you did a little more than punch him," Sheridan reminded.

  Scott thrust out a finger. "All I did was punch him. That's all! People aren't supposed to fucking die when you punch them in the face!" Scott folded his arms stiffly, suddenly quieter. "Well this guy did."

  Sheridan and Sterling laughed, but Scott was still serious. "How is that not a funny story?" Sheridan prodded. "I mean was he made of glass? A-and what were his last words? 'Fuck the Knicks'? I hope they put that on his fucking headstone!" Sheridan broke into another round of wheezing laughter.

  "It's the reason I can never go fucking home again. Can we drop it?" Scott growled.

  Kurt was more than familiar with this scene, but he could see Emery nervously gauging the two. "Uh, well you've all got me beat," Emery said to divert attention. "Most dangerous thing I've ever done is lift some cigarettes when I was a teenager. Besides this, anyway."

  "Yeah, well you're in the big leagues now, eh?" Sheridan said, blowing a stream of smoke into the air above him. "I mean technically you're an accomplice. What the hell do you plan to do after all this anyhow?"

  Emery shrugged, rubbing his glass between his hands. "Don't know, really. Haven't thought about it. Right about now I'm just focused on pulling this off."

  Sheridan toasted his glass towards him and drank. "You're well on your way. Maybe you should think about getting into the business."

  "What? Thievery?"

  "Sure, why not? You've gotta disappear anyway, change your name. You don't want Eaton tracking you down I take it. And you're gonna need money to start a new life, so…if you're gonna turn over a new leaf, it might as well be one you know is green."

  "I think I'll leave the country," Emery said distantly.

  Sheridan snorted. "No good old England for you, huh? And here I thought all you tea swillers were the patriotic type."

  "Maybe, but I've got no home here. Hunter knows that. And when you know a man has nowhere to go, he's hard to look for. Anyway, if all goes according to plan, he should think he's looking for a corpse."

  Kurt was still skeptical about this idea, but he understood that from Emery's perspective there was no other way to save himself. Sheridan was apparently determined not to acknowledge the danger this posed to himself and his men in favor of the bargain's immediate cash value. Kurt still didn't want to do it, but letting Emery fall back into Hunter's custody just felt…sick. This left him with no contribution to the issue any longer. He didn't even know he still had a moral compass until all of this, but then he didn't come across many pedophiles in his line of work. Or many men like Emery.

  The conversation continued like that for some time, if Sheridan chattering virtually uninterrupted to a group of people who were only half listening constituted conversation, until the brandy and a case of beer was gone and Sterling and Scott were left arguing about the difference between pool and billiards. With the attention off of himself, Sheridan had drunkenly wandered outside. Kurt watched his two associates squabble for another minute before his eyes moved back to Emery, who still had his first glass barely touched in front
of him, an elbow leaning over the back of his chair. He glanced Kurt's way but didn't react. Then, after a moment, Emery casually stood and made his way back upstairs.

  Kurt pretended not to notice, though he wasn't sure who for. No one was paying any mind.

  "They're the same bloody thing, you twat," Sterling huffed.

  "You're the twat," Scott stated loudly. "Why—why am I arguing with you? You have the IQ of a horse's ass."

  "Aw yeah? If it upsets you so much, why don't ye just give me little love tap and see if I keel over then? You American blokes are all full of shit."

  "Yeah, yeah, so you keep saying. Try feeding that line to Sheridan for once."

  "Sheridan don't bother me. You do."

  "Come and get it Mr. Clean." Scott threw out his arms wide in a challenging gesture and Sterling waved him off gruffly.

  "Ask me again when the bleedin' job's over, mate."

  "Blow me."

  Kurt decided he wouldn't be missed and drained the rest of his second glass before leaving to trek back upstairs himself. He rounded the corner at the top and nearly ran into Emery, who was just making his way back into his room.

  "Pardon me," Emery intoned playfully.

  Kurt grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him into the room, shutting the door as he slammed him up against the adjacent wall and delivered an angry kiss. The little brat was driving him insane with his subtle flirtations and had the audacity to be doing it on purpose…and god help him but he loved it. Emery responded eagerly, even with his back awkwardly slanted around the narrow table between his tailbone and the wall. Kurt pulled back, glaring down at Emery. The shorter man's lips were red, his cheeks flushed, giving Kurt those damnable bedroom eyes as he stood there trapped. "Will you fuck me, Kurt?" he purred. "You have to know I've been dying for it all day."

  Kurt immediately recaptured his lips, reaching down and lifting Emery's legs up with one quick motion so that they were around his waist and he was seated up on the table behind him. Hands wound into his hair as he mouthed Emery's pulse, stopping momentarily to whisper into the young man's ear with husky urgency, "Quietly."