Fic, Double or Quits, Wolf/Yassen, 18
Nov. 30th, 2020 10:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : Double or Quits
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Alex Rider
Rating : 18
Characters : Wolf/Yassen
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Warning: Rape/non con
Summary : Wolf isn’t very good at staying out of trouble. And neither, it seems, is Yassen Gregorovich.
A/N : A sequel to Speed Dating
“What kept you?” Gregorovich thrust Alex’s limp body into Wolf’s arms.
“Blunt ordered us to wait.”
The look of cold rage in the assassin’s eyes took Wolf by surprise.
“Get the boy out of here. I’ll cover you.”
“What about you?”
“I’m not your problem. Now go.”
Wolf nodded. “Try not to get yourself killed.”
A look of amusement lit the cold blue eyes as Gregorovich turned and started to pick off their pursuers.
Wolf slung Alex Rider over his shoulder and ran, his Glock 17 in his other hand.
Three dead guards later, he skidded to a halt in the courtyard as an explosion blew the castle gates inwards and a heavily armoured black Range Rover skidded onto the cobbles, executing an impressive handbrake turn. Fox and Snake jumped out and bundled Alex into the back of the vehicle.
“Get the kid out of here!” Wolf ordered. “I’m going back in.”
“Like fuck you are!” Snake told him. “Get in, boss.”
Wolf shook his head as a volley of gunfire from inside the castle told him that Gregorovich was heavily outnumbered.
“Gregorovich can look after himself!” Fox’s voice was urgent.
“Do as you’re fucking told. Cub’s your priority now.”
Without waiting for any further argument, Wolf swung his M4 carbine off his back and charged back into the castle, hoping he wasn’t going to regret his decision …
****
“What part of I’m not your problem was too difficult to understand?” Yassen Gregorovich enquired.
Wolf rolled over on the hard, flagged floor, coughing. His eyes were streaming, burning and itching. He desperately wanted to rub them but knew that would only make the pain worse. The gas grenade that had exploded at his feet had taken him out of the fight but not before he’d taken down another half a dozen of Bergmann’s guards.
“Ungrateful fucker,” Wolf muttered.
“Remind me what I have to be grateful for?”
Wolf blinked rapidly, trying to clear his sight. They were in a small room, no more than six square metres. A heavy iron door set in a grey stone wall represented the only way out. Light filtered in through a small, barred window set high up in one wall. There was no way he or Gregorovich would fit through it even if they could get up that high.
“Bugged?” he murmured.
An almost imperceptible shake of the head provided a small measure of reassurance.
From the Russian’s red-rimmed eyes, Wolf guessed Gregorovich had been taken out the same way. Despite that and the heavy manacles around his wrists connected by a length of thick chain to a iron ring in the wall, the man looked as relaxed as ever.
The metallic rasp of a heavy key turning in the lock drew Wolf’s attention and he came unsteadily to his feet, backing up to the wall and quickly checking for weapons.
And equally quickly drew a blank. He’d been expertly searched and left with nothing of use. Not even his boot laces.
Heinrich Bergmann, arms dealer, people trafficker and all round unpleasant excuse for a human being strode in, flanked by half a dozen guards, all with weapons trained on Wolf and his companion.
Bergmann’s full red lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach his flat, pebble-like dark eyes. “Why did you return?” The question was aimed at Wolf.
“There’s a large bounty on Gregorovich’s head. And heads are very portable.”
Bergmann made a small gesture to one of the guards. The man raised a squat black pistol and fired.
Two thin barbed prongs hit Wolf in the chest, delivering a powerful shock that sent his muscles into involuntary spasm as pain flooded his body, igniting every nerve he possessed. He dropped to the floor, gasping, trying to fight the burning cramps as he lost control of his bladder, feeling warm piss stream down his thighs. He barely felt his skin tear as the barbs were wrenched free of his flesh.
“Don’t lie to me.” Bergmann sounded amused. “As you’ve probably noticed, this is a military grade Taser set to maximum pain setting. Let’s start again. Gregorovich gave the boy to you and held my men off while you escaped. You then came back for him. Very touching. And very stupid. Gregorovich – Cossack to his usual employers – doesn’t have a grateful bone in his body, as I’m sure Alan Blunt could have told you, if you’d asked him.” The arms dealer nodded in Gregorovich’s direction and the prongs from a second Taser hit the assassin in the chest with exactly the same results. “You can compare notes,” Bergmann said and stalked from the room, the door clanging shut behind him.
Wolf watched as Gregorovich convulsed, his weight dragging on his arms, twisting his shoulders as every muscle in his body contracted, dropping him to the floor where he hung from his wrists, jerking, his face contorted in pain. For several minutes, Wolf lay on the cold floor, trying to work through his own pain, unable to do anything more than watch. Eventually, he struggled to his knees and crawled over, doing his best to support the man’s weight as Gregorovich shuddered in silent agony.
Wolf really was fucking sick of having to deal with sadistic bastards like Bergmann.
He’d only been back at work for two weeks following his brush with a Belize drugs cartel and his current situation definitely broke the ‘don’t get into any fucking trouble’ order his CO had delivered before he’d gone to London to be dispatched on yet another fucking clusterfuck of an op for MI6’s Special Ops division, riding shotgun again for their pet teenage spy.
Wolf was really starting to hate Alan Blunt and MI6. Scrub that. He already hated the fuckers. He now just hated them even more.
Gregorovich twitched in his arms as the spasms started to subside. Wolf glanced down at the man’s groin and was surprised – and vaguely irritated – to discover that the Russian appeared to have better bladder control than he’d displayed.
Gregorovich’s long eyelashes fluttered open and the ghost of a grin quirked his lips. “Takes practice,” he murmured.
Fucking Russian mind-reader. “Bet you had a piss more recently than me.” He helped Gregorovich into a sitting position. “Bergmann seems to know you. Old friends?”
“I killed his wife. He bears a grudge.”
Wolf forced himself not to recoil. “Hardly surprising.”
“He was the one who paid me to do it.”
Wolf let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. This was the sort of conversation he needed a fucking drink for. A handful of pain killers wouldn’t go amiss, either. “So why does he bear a grudge?”
“He thought she was having an affair. Turned out she wasn’t.”
“Didn’t you check?”
“When I last looked, my CV said assassin, not private detective.”
“Do assassins even have CVs?”
Despite the muscle spasms still running through Gregorovich’s body, the cold blue eyes were amused. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
Wolf sighed. “No. I don’t. So tell me everything I need to know about your former employer that MI6 conveniently forgot to tell me.”
“He’s a vindictive bastard with a penchant for rape.”
Wolf twisted around to stare at his companion. “Blunt sent Alex in here knowing that?”
“Yes.”
Wolf wanted to say ‘oh no, not again’ in a coolly nonchalant voice but the words stuck in his throat.
“Don’t let it worry you.”
“Why? I’m too black?”
There was a measure of sympathy in the look he was given. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah, right. A racist rapist. I get all the best fucking jobs. And I’d only just got back to the stage of enjoying a good crap without it hurting.”
“Bergmann is impotent. A bad dose of mumps as a child.”
“He gets his guards to do his dirty work, I guess. I was there in Belize, remember?”
For a moment, Gregorovich looked like he was about to say something, then the man just nodded, leaving Wolf with the strong impression that he’d just missed something important.
“What do we do now?”
“I’m going to get some rest. You’re going to see if you can find a way out of here.”
The assassin leaned his head against the wall, ignoring his arms stretched taut above his head, and closed his eyes. In less than a minute, his breathing had slowed and – as far as Wolf could tell – the man really was asleep.
It took nearly ten minutes for the muscular disruption from the Taser to wear off enough for Wolf to properly examine their prison. Doing his best to ignore the damp material of his black combat trousers and the acrid smell of his own piss, he first checked the manacles clamped tightly around Gregorovich’s wrists. They were too tight to get them over his hands, even if dislocating both thumbs and stripping his flesh to the bone had been an option. The involuntary convulsions had already rubbed the skin off his slim wrists and cut deeply into his flesh.
Wolf instinctively rubbed the barely healed scars on his own wrists, damaged by cable ties in Belize.
The thought of more rape left him sick to the stomach, but he thrust the images away and went back to an examination of their cell. An hour later, he came to the conclusion that they were stuffed so far as escape routes were concerned. He felt slightly insulted by the fact that Bergmann clearly didn’t think he was worth restraining, but couldn’t as yet see any way of taking advantage of that unless he wanted to risk trying to jump the next person to enter, and even he had to admit that was almost certainly a monumentally bad idea.
Eventually, he settled down opposite the door and tried to get some rest.
****
The clank of a metal bar being lifted on the outside of the door jerked Wolf out of a shallow uneasy sleep.
“Don’t try anything,” Gregorovich murmured.
The assassin was already on his feet, weight evenly distributed and even barefoot, Wolf was certain the man was capable of inflicting severe damage on anyone unwary enough to venture too close. Again, Wolf wondered if he should be insulted by the fact that all Bergman’s guards had done was remove his boot laces, tactical vest and body armour. And anything remotely useful, of course.
The arms dealer strolled into the cell flanked by six guards, two carrying Tasers, the others bristling with conventional weaponry. The man was talking no chances.
“I’m sorry to inform you that your friends crossed the border into France an hour ago. MI6 refused to sanction a rescue attempt. You’re on your own, gentlemen.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a smug git?” The words were out before Wolf could stop himself.
“Whatever happened to just name, rank and number?” Bergmann said, gesturing to one of his men.
Instead of a Taser, one of the guards flicked open a extendable metal baton and advanced on Wolf. Too late, Wolf realised he should have ditched his boots. They’d be a hindrance in a fight, but instead of targeting him, the man struck out at Gregorovich, the baton cracking sharply against his right forearm. The assassin gave no sign of pain, but Wolf would be surprised if he’d got away without a break.
Wolf stayed silent.
Bergmann smiled. “I do like a quick learner. Your little spy was a delight, by the way. Beautifully housetrained …”
The words hit Wolf with the force of a kick to the solar plexus.
Before he could react, Gregorovich said, in a tone that Wolf remembered all too well from the instructors at Hereford, “Don’t be a fool. Remember your training.”
Wolf dragged in a long, slow breath, counted to four, then exhaled equally slowly. Breathe in. Breathe out. Take the words and lock them up somewhere they couldn’t do him any harm. Wolf wasn’t proud of the way he’d had to treat Cub, but the kid never been in any real danger during Blunt’s mind games. But if this bastard had hurt Alex, he’d personally take him apart, limb by fucking limb …
“Yes, listen to Cossack. SCORPIA holds its trainees to far stricter standards than the British army. After all, if you’d failed SERE training, the worst that would have happed is a return to your unit, whereas if Cossack had failed Resistance to Interrogation, the consequences would have been a little more permanent.” Bergmann’s eyes lingered thoughtfully on the assassin for a moment then he commented. “Break at least one rib.”
As swift as a striking snake, the metal baton extended again and thwacked into Gregorovich’s chest with another painfully audible crack. Wolf fought hard to mirror the Russian’s impassive expression. He knew perfectly well that no one could have got that close to Gregorovich if the man had wanted to keep them away, but he’d had clearly decided there was nothing to be gained at this stage by resistance.
Bergmann smiled at Wolf with all the charm of a hooded cobra. “I’m going to give you the opportunity to take your revenge for Belize.”
Wolf’s attention jerked back to their tormentor. What the hell did he know about Belize?
Bergmann’s smile widened. “Strip Cossack and fuck him.”
Wolf’s eyes widened in shock. Was this what Gregorovich had kept back? “Fuck off. I’m not a rapist.”
“Would you prefer to watch while my men break every bone in his body?” The question was asked in the same tone of voice someone might use to enquire whether a guest wanted one spoonful of sugar or two.
In response to Wolf’ hesitation, one of the guards took a step forward.
“I won’t ask a second time …”
“Just do it,” Gregorovich said calmly, his blue eyes holding as much emotion as a sheet of ice. “It’s not as if I have any virtue left to lose.”
Bergmann barked a laugh. “No, the lovely Julia Rothman rid you of that inconvenience a long time ago, didn’t she, Cossack?”
It might have been no more than a trick of the light, but for millisecond, Wolf thought he caught a flash of anger in Gregorovich’s eyes then it was gone before Bergmann had chance to notice.
“I said, just do it.” That tone of voice was back, the one that Wolf found hard to ignore. He was tempted to ask if Gregorovich had ever spent time instructing at Hereford.
He drew in another long, slow breath then reached out and flipped open the button on the assassin’s dark trousers. A slight nod of approval gave him the confidence to ease down the zip and take hold of the waistband of Gregorovich’s trousers, pulling them down along with his underwear in one rapid movement, leaving him bare from the waist down, exposing a perfectly proportioned uncircumcised cock below a dark nest of curls. A trail of hair led up from his groin over a hard, flat stomach.
Wolf quickly looked away.
Remembering Belize, the calculating part of his brain told him to make sure Gregorovich wasn’t hobbled by his own clothing. Even with a broken forearm and at least one, probably two, broken ribs, the man was still as dangerous as a cornered panther and anyone who underestimated him almost certainly wouldn’t live to make the same mistake twice.
The almost imperceptive nod he got told him Gregorovich approved of his reasoning. The assassin turned his back on Bergmann, leaving Wolf trying not to stare at strong, smoothly muscled legs and an arse that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a pin-up calendar devoted to half naked gymnasts. If the man was uneasy about turning his back on Bergmann and his thugs, he gave no sign of it. Wolf admired his composure.
“I’m not a patient man,” their captor remarked, his voice deceptively mild. “Would you like some additional incentive?”
“Why should I care if you torture him?”
“He saved your life in Belize.”
“You already know he raped me. He’s hardly on my Christmas card list.”
“And I’m giving you the opportunity to even the score. For the final time, fuck him or watch as my men break his bones and then they’ll fuck him while he screams in agony. Your choice.”
Wolf’s guts twisted into a hard knot and he tried to swallow, his tongue feeling thick in his dry mouth. Despite Bergmann’s opening gambit, he couldn’t believe that K-Unit had entirely abandoned him. Their first priority would be to get Alex to safety but then …
A theatrical sigh from Bergmann told Wolf he’d run out of time. Ostentatiously turning his back on the man, Wolf tugged his zip down and fished out his flaccid cock. The utter silence in the room was in some ways even more unnerving that the whoops of amusement directed at in in the basement in Belize. No noise to lose himself in, nothing but the sound of his own harsh breathing in his ears.
Wolf narrowed his focus down to what had to be done, shutting out everything else. He knew that whatever he did would make no difference. If Bergmann wanted to break Gregorovich’s body then he’d do it, no matter whether Wolf obeyed his instructions or not. He wasn’t naive enough to think this would end with just one rape, but he was practical enough to know this might buy them some time.
He took his limp cock in his right hand and slowly fisted himself. The lack of reaction told him this wasn’t going to be easy. He quickly spat in his hand and pumped his dick, wanting to close his eyes to block out the sight of Gregorovich’s semi-naked body but somehow that would have felt like a betrayal. For whatever reason, the assassin had risked his own life to get Alex out of Bergmann’s fortress, while Alan fucking Blunt had forced K-Unit to remain in the forest, until Wolf had put two fingers up to their orders and gone in anyway, hitching a ride under a truck, to find out what the fuck was going on.
His cock slowly started to fill. He knew he’d have to be fully hard to stand any chance of doing this. The rhythmic movement of his fingers on his flesh helped to ground him and Wolf kept his breathing slow and steady, concentrating on arousing himself enough to perform for the audience. Moisture started to bead at his slit and he knew that was as much lubrication as he was going to get. Any attempt to ease this for Gregorovich with more spittle would earn a rebuke from their captor. A no doubt painful rebuke, almost certainly involving more broken bones.
Gregorovich adjusted his stance to spread his legs slightly but with chained arms and one broken forearm, plus the pain from his ribs, he was unable to brace himself. Wolf stepped up behind him and quickly spread the man’s arse cheeks to expose the puckered rosette in the shadowed flesh. He snaked one arm around Gregorovich’s waist, lined the head of his cock up and thrust, immediately meeting resistance even though he knew the man was doing his best to remain relaxed.
With a muttered, “Sorry,” Wolf gripped both hips firmly enough to bruise and pressed in as hard as he could, feeling the tight ring of muscle start to stretch to accommodate him. He snapped his hips forward, closing his eyes at the moment of penetration, all too conscious that this was too dry for comfort for either of them, too tight, too dry, too… too fucking fucked up to be anything other than an ordeal that Wolf wanted over as quickly as possible.
With a second snap of his hips, he buried himself balls deep in Gregorovich’s hot arse, remembering the man’s words in Belize and concentrating only on the friction on his cock. He could feel the drag start to ease, lubricated with something more than his own pre-come. The faint hiss of breath between the assassin’s teeth told him that Gregorovich had almost certainly torn and that the slick feeling around Wolf’s cock was blood. He shoved that thought roughly aside and continued to pump hard and fast, his arms wrapped around Gregorovich, holding the man upright and away from the wall, taking what comfort he could from the press of the man’s warm body against him.
Wolf’s sharp exhale of breath in time with every thrust was loud in the stone cell. He was panting now as if he’d just scaled Pen y Fan with a full pack, and almost missed the low, approving murmur, “You’re doing well.”
Hating himself for it, Wolf could feel traitorous pleasure starting to build up low in his belly, warmth spreading and tightening his balls. He was getting close …
He drew in a shuddering breath and forced himself even deeper into Gregorovich’s pliant body, his fingers digging into the man’s slim hips as his climax hit with a warm rush. He lost the rhythm he’d built up, tightening his arms around the other man’s waist, holding him close in a parody of affection as his cock pulsed inside the tight channel. No matter how much he tried to deny it, the tremors of orgasm chasing through his body told their own story. Wolf hadn’t come that hard since Belize and he hated himself for it.
The barely audible, “Well done,” felt like a knife in his guts, rather than words of approval.
Wolf slackened his grip and allowed his softening cock to slip out of Gregorovich’s body. The smears of bright red blood told their own story. Gregorovich had torn and as he’d guessed, it had been blood easing the way. Wolf wanted to turn aside and throw up, but he wouldn’t give Bergmann the satisfaction of seeing him vomit. He turned around, giving their captor an eyeful of the blood staining his dick.
The bastard had wanted rape, he’d got rape.
A slow smile curved Bergman’s thin lips. “I have business to attend to for a while. For Cossack’s sake, I hope you’ll be able to perform again when I return. But if you can’t, there will still be plenty of entertainment to be had.”
With the guards at his heel, Bergmann stalked out and the door clanged behind him as the locks engaged and the bars were dropped into place.
Wolf fought for what remained of his self-control as he quickly stuffed his soft cock back into his underwear and zipped his trousers up. “Are you all right?”
He wasn’t sure what he expected by way of reply, but it wasn’t a soft laugh that sounded like genuine amusement. “Just because you’ve come in my arse doesn’t mean I’m going to talk about my feelings.”
Wolf’s own laugh burst out without warning. “I’ll buy you dinner to make up for it. And I won’t insist on a curry.”
“That might be for the best,” Gregorovich acknowledged. “For some while, at least.”
Wolf could see slight, almost imperceptible tremors running through the assassin’s body. “I’m going to clean you up then get your kit back on.” He quickly stripped off the black shirt he was wearing, hauled his teeshirt over his head then ripped it into strips and used one to wipe the blood staining the man’s thighs and buttocks. Gently parting Gregorovich’s arse cheeks he could see the damage he’d done. Wolf knew – without boasting – that he was well-endowed. His teammates had taken the piss out of him on that score numerous times, claiming a big dick meant a small brain. Wolf’s usual response was to flip them off and remark that he’d never had any complaints. He was going to have to drop that line now.
He mopped the blood and come leaking from Gregorovich’s body, swallowing hard against the bile that rose in his throat, knowing that he was responsible for the damage, and feeling like shit that he’d actually climaxed.
“I can assure you it’s not earned a special place in my memories.” Gregorovich’s voice was as cool and collected as ever
“It might if that bastard forces me to do it again.”
“It might.” The simple acknowledgment caught Wolf off guard. “Let us hope Bergmann was wrong about your friends, but they had better get the boy to safety first or I will not be in a forgiving mood when I meet them again.”
As Wolf helped Gregorovich back into his clothing, he couldn’t stop himself asking, “Why did you agree to take this job knowing that Bergman had a grudge against you? What’s Cub to you?”
Silence lay heavily between them.
“If it affects his safety, I need to know!”
“Then ask Alan Blunt.”
“That bastard couldn’t tell the truth if his mother’s life depended on it.”
“His mother died three years ago. He hadn’t visited her for nine months.”
Wolf rolled his eyes. “I won’t ask how you know that. Tell me, Gregorovich.” He hesitated, then added, “Yassen, tell me.”
“We’re on first name terms now?”
“You’ve taken me for a ride on an expensive yacht, cooked me a meal and bought me flowers and chocolates. Doesn’t that get us on first name terms?”
“I will admit that this wasn’t what I had in mind for a second date.”
“What were you planning?”
“A romantic meal in Paris followed by a night in the best hotel in the city.”
Wolf had absolutely no fucking idea if the guy was yanking his chain or not. “I’ll say yes if you tell me what your connection is to Alex.”
Gregorovich – Yassen – stared at him thoughtfully. “His father taught me how to kill.”
Wolf’s breath hitched in his throat as he struggled to process that information. “Jesus, you know how to complicate things, don’t you? Does the kid know?”
“Probably, but he doesn’t know I’m still alive and I want it to stay that way.”
“Haven’t there been enough lies in his life? His uncle lied to him from birth, Blunt and Jones blackmail him without a second thought …”
“Mr Daniels has been talking out of school, I presume?”
“Only what we’ve needed to know to keep the kid alive. He didn’t tell us that you’d survived Cray’s bullet.”
“That would be because he didn’t know.”
“So what happened?”
A flicker of exasperation crossed Yassen’s face. “Do we have to do this now? This is as bad as talking about feelings. Can’t we go online shopping for cushions, instead?”
“Not until after the fifth date. Cushions are a sign of commitment. I’m too young for that sort of thing.”
Wolf carefully rolled back the sleeve of the grey teeshirt and inspected the other man’s injured arm. A livid bruise on the outside of his forearm was already starting to swell. He ran his fingers lightly along the arm, looking for tell-tale bulges that might indicate a displaced break. Not finding anything, he nodded approvingly then checked the strength of the pulse in Yassen’s wrist. It felt steady under the light pressure of his fingertips, indicating the blood supply to the hand hadn’t been compromised.
“Satisfied?”
“Keep your arm elevated.”
“The chains will help with that.”
“How’s your chest?”
“You know what broken ribs feel like as well as I do.”
“Not one for over-sharing, are you?”
“So I’ve been told.”
Wolf took hold of the length of chain connecting Yassen’s uninjured arm to the iron ring set in the wall and tugged experimentally, trying to feel whether there was any play at all to work with. When that failed, he gripped the ring and tried to work it from side to side, putting as much of his weight into it as he could.
Yassen watched him, as expressionless as ever.
Half an hour later – according to Wolf’s inner clock – he thought he could feel a fractional movement in the ring embedded in the rock, but it might have been wishful thinking.
“This could take a while,” he admitted.
“Everyone should have a hobby.”
“What’s yours?”
“Languages. Yours?”
“Watching rugby union.”
Wolf gritted his teeth and kept rocking the ring from side to side. He’d been right, there was some movement. Not much, but enough to enough to lift his spirits and keep him working away at it: pushing, pulling, twisting until the sweat sprung out on his body and he had to wrap the bloodied remnants of his teeshirt around his hands to prevent them slipping on the rusty iron ring.
“Favourite team?”
“Uh?” The question caught him by surprise. “Why do you want to know?”
Yassen rolled his eyes. “I’m making polite conversation. It’s what people do on dates.”
“What we seem to do is rape each other.”
“Third time lucky, perhaps?”
“Yeah, mebbe.” Wolf threw all his not inconsiderable weight against the iron ring, twisting as hard as he could. A harsh scrape rewarded his efforts. “Come on, baby,” he murmured, twisting and pushing again, feeling it starting to move even more.
“Pet names. Seriously?”
“Not you, sweetie. I’m talking to my friend Ringo.”
“Cheating on me already?”
“We’re just good friends.”
“You and I?”
“Me and Ringo.” Wolf stuck his foot against the wall and heaved, his fingers wrapped tightly around the iron ring. He could feel the movement now and knew he was making progress freeing the iron peg from the wall.
Time passed slowly. Wolf worked as hard as he’d ever worked in his life, Muscles straining painfully, moving from a dull ache to white hot agony as he continued to push, pull and twist. As far as he could tell, three hours had passed since Bergmann and his goons had left the cell. Pushing aside both doubt and hope, Wolf continued with the task he’d set himself, eventually losing all track of time, simply existing in the moment, conscious only of the fractional movement under his hands and his own laboured breathing.
“Now would be a good time to hurry,” Yassen said calmly, breaking into his concentration.
“For fuck’s sake …” Wolf braced himself again and threw every ounce of his strength into wrenching the iron ring from the wall. He could hear voices approaching and knew their time was fast running out.
The sudden lack of resistance took him by surprise as the iron peg came free and he stumbled backwards, fighting to regain his balance.
The assassin caught the iron ring as it flew free and quickly pushed the peg back into the wall. “Spin this out as long as you can,” he ordered. “Take no action until I do. Understand?”
“Who put you in charge?”
“I did.”
“Bossy.” Wolf dashed the sweat from his eyes and slid down the wall, knees drawn up and his head resting on his arms.
“So I’ve been told.”
The footsteps they’d heard stopped outside the door and a key turned in the lock.
Four guards fanned out into the room. Bergmann entered in their wake, the smug smile that Wolf had quickly learned to hate plastered on his blandly handsome face.
“So sorry to have kept you waiting, gentlemen.”
“Didn’t miss you,” Wolf muttered.
“I hope you’re feeling man enough for the task ahead?”
Wolf came slowly to his feet. “Fightin’ talk.”
“You know what you have to do …”
“Strip him and rape him?”
“I do so like a fast learner.”
Wolf slowly pulled down Yassen’s zip and peeled off his trousers and underwear, then freed his own cock.
The next part was harder. Try as he might, his cock remained obstinately limp.
“Oh dear.” Bergmann sounded amused. “You’re not going to disappoint me, are you?”
Wolf stared down at his uncooperative dick. “Looks that way.”
“Cossack, show him what a Malagosto trained operative can achieve.”
Wolf couldn’t keep the shock off his face as Yassen sank to his knees, leaning forward until his face was on a level with Wolf’s groin. With his manacled hands and damaged arm still stretched above his head, the position couldn’t have been comfortable, but Yassen’s face was still as impassive as ever as his ice-blue eyes fixed on Wolf’s groin.
Wolf failed to restrain a gasp as warm lips engulfed his cock and a wet tongue swirled around the exposed head. The jolt that travelled up his spine was almost as intense as the shock from the Taser but considerably more pleasurable. Almost immediately, his cock started to fill as Yassen sucked on the head, swirling his tongue around the sensitive crown and teasing the slit. It felt fucking amazing and Wolf could feel a blush rising up as he tried to distance himself from the rapidly mounting pleasure as Yassen dipped his head, sucking hard.
Wolf could feel himself getting hard again and had to fight the urge to run his hands through Yassen’s short hair. The hot, wet suction was fucking incredible and he was well on the way to being fully erect, his dick stretching Yassen’s reddened lips as the man took him deeper and deeper unto he swallowed around him and damn nearly made him shoot his load then and there. Christ, the man must be able to breathe through his sodding ears! Wolf had never been deep-throated before, not even that time in Morocco …
“Enough!” Bergmann’s command ripped through the silence. “You’ll come in his arse not down his throat. That would be a kindness Cossack hasn’t earned.”
Yassen let Wolf’s now fully erect cock slip from between his lips and rose to his feet, turning around, as he’d done before, but not before dispensing a hard stare that wouldn’t have been out of place on the face of Wolf’s old headmaster, a man who could quell an unruly assembly without needing to open his mouth. Wolf knew exactly what that look meant – do as you’re told, don’t cause trouble.
Before his cock caught up with his brain and started to wilt, Wolf stepped up behind Yassen and positioned himself at the man’s torn, bloody entrance. This was going to hurt like hell, and Yassen must have known that all too well, but despite that, there was no tension in the man’s body and no resistance as Wolf pushed in. Only the faintest hiss of indrawn breath betrayed the agony from the unprepared, unlubricated penetration. This was vile. There was no way Wolf was going to be able maintain an erection …
Yassen pressed back against him, his arse clenching around Wolf’s cock. “Move, and make it look good.” His voice was muffled against his arm, but there was no mistaking the whipcrack of authority.
Wolf clenched his teeth and started to fuck Yassen in earnest, shutting his mind off to the pain and damage he was causing, hoping the fresh blood would ease the drag and burn from his cock. The sudden memory of Yassen’s hot mouth and talented tongue sent a flush up his neck and a jolt through his cock and he tried hard to bite back a roan of pleasure, telling himself it was just a purely physical reaction to the way Yassen was clenching around him and grinding back against his groin.
He slid his arms around the slim waist again, one hand splayed across Yassen’s taut stomach, feeling the soft hair that ran up toward his navel, dreading the small involuntary spasms that greeted each thrust of Wolf’s cock, the only sign that the assassin was not as impervious to the assault as he liked to make out. Wolf’s fingers skimmed down for a brief moment to confirm what he suspected – Yassen’s cock remained limp between his legs. Wolf briefly wondered whether he could angle his penetration to achieve the same electric jolt of pleasure he’d experience in Belize, but he had absolutely no idea where to aim and he hadn’t been told to make Yassen come – which was fortunate, as Wolf doubted he had the skill for that.
As Wolf chased an elusive climax, he suddenly became aware of a tension in Yassen’s muscles that hadn’t been there before, and realised the man had wrapped his fingers around the chain that linked his manacles to the wall.
A heartbeat later, a violent explosion some distance away vibrated through the walls of their prison and the adrenaline rush from that was enough to tip Wolf over the edge and he shot his load in Yassen’s tight arse then pulled back in time to see the confusion in Bergmann’s eyes.
“Now!” Yassen ordered.
Wolf dived for the nearest guard in the same moment as Yassen ripped the iron ring from the wall, moving with the fluid grace of a dancer while swinging the heavy metal attached to the chain in a wide arc, ripping across the face of one of the other men.
Tackling the guard to the floor, Wolf used his superior strength to rip the machine pistol from the man’s hands and club him in the face with the grip, before spraying a tightly controlled burst at the men by the door. One died before he had chance to fire a shot. A second managed to return fire but his shots went wide and high and a moment later he was dead, his neck broken by Yassen who’d wrapped the chain around his victim’s neck and jerked him sideways with a knee in his back.
The last guard discharged his Taser, but he telegraphed the move and Wolf rolled, shielding himself with he body of the man he’d taken down. Thrusting the spasming body off him, Wolf came up into a crouch, the machine pistol in his hands spitting fire at the last guard. The man jerked and fell to the floor.
A second explosion above them shook some mortar loose.
Wolf barrelled to the door firing as he ran, but Bergmann and any remaining guards had disappeared.
“Not bad for a man with his dick hanging out,” Yassen commented, pulling his underwear and trousers on with his manacled hands.
He’d killed two men to Wolf’s three.
Wolf glared at him. “Does your CV list mind-reading as a hobby?”
“It’s more of a vocation. And, in my defence, you have a very expressive face.”
Yassen picked up a Glock dropped by one of the dead men and put a bullet through the temple of the man still twitching on the floor.
Three each.
Wolf quickly tucked his bloodstained cock away. “How the fuck did that bastard know what happened in Belize?”
“Someone in Blunt’s department is selling secrets.”
“MI fucking 6, the gift that keeps on fucking giving.”
“Keep that out of any de-brief.”
Wolf nodded.
The assassin stripped a pair of boots and socks from a dead man and pulled them on while Wolf threaded some laces into his own boots. Another two minutes went on grabbing as many guns and ammunition pouches as they could carry. Yassen took two Glocks, leaving the MP7 and a G36K short-barrelled assault rifle to Wolf. A search of the dead men’s pockets failed to find the key to the manacles.
“Leave it,” Yassen ordered. “I can manage.” He looped the chain with its dangling iron ring over his arm.
A third explosion, louder than the other two but further away, brought more dust down. “Looks like the lads didn’t go too far after all.”
“I set those charges,” Yassen said. “It really was unwise of Bergmann to leave his explosives store unguarded.”
Wolf shot him a curious look. “Why the delay?”
“I prefer to be outside a building when it blows up.”
With Wolf on point, they made their way down a long corridor towards a narrow staircase. He moved with no concessions to Yassen’s injuries. They needed to get out while Bergmann and his men were otherwise engaged.
As they emerged into a wide hallway with stags, boars and assorted moth-eaten wildlife glaring down on them from the walls with glassy eyes, an explosion from outside claimed their attention.
“Not guilty,” Yassen commented. “Maybe your friends do love you, after all. Should I be jealous?”
“Only if I snog them.”
Wolf sprinted across the hall towards a pair of heavy oak doors, Yassen at his heels, still moving with the grace of a natural gymnast, but there was a pinched look to his face and a grey tinge to his skin that didn’t bode well.
Wolf pressed his back to the stone wall under the beady eye of huge boar as he covered Yassen’s run. Despite the man’s natural grace, he was slowing now, his breath rasping in his throat.
An explosion outside brought a grin to Wolf’s face. The lads were enjoying themselves. As long as they’d got Cub away before the fun started, he’d have no complaints.
He nodded to the door. “Stay here or risk it out there?”
“Too exposed here. Bergmann’s still alive, so are some of his guards.”
Wolf grinned. “OK, Cinders, you shall go to the ball …”
He hauled open one of the doors and slipped outside into darkness lit only by three burning vehicles. He paused for a moment and stuck two fingers in his mouth, whistling loudly three times: One long, two short. Their standard ‘come and get me’ signal.
It was answered immediately by a reversed sequence and Wolf saw the slim figure of Eagle waving his arm from the side of what looked like an armoured truck.
“Your carriage awaits.” He gestured towards the vehicle with the barrel of the assault rifle.
“As long as it doesn’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight …” With the Glock still gripped in his manacled hands, Yassen ran towards Eagle and jumped into the back of the vehicle. Wolf followed.
With all the practised ease of a natural sniper, Eagle swung his weapon up and fired up at one of the battlemented towers on Bergmann’s gothic monstrosity. Bergmann’s gunman died instantly, then Eagle slammed the doors shut and Snake promptly gunned the engine as bullets pinged off the heavy armour.
With adrenaline pumping through his system like the best drug in the world, Wolf grinned widely as he clambered over a pile of crates to a metal hatch between the back of the van and the cab. He rapped on it sharply and it slid back.
“Where’s Cub?”
“With Fox in a Gazelle somewhere north of Paris, I hope.”
“How the fuck did you manage that?”
“Hijacked it.” Eagle caught the look on Wolf’s face and burst out laughing. “Stop crapping your pants, boss. The French Special Forces lads are on exercise just on the other side of the border and Colonel Hoff owes Major Peters a favour. There’s a ride waiting for us as well, 15 minutes away. We’re getting a lift to Brize.”
“Need a detour via a hospital,” Wolf said, glancing at Yassen in concern.
“No, we do not.” The assassin glared at him, daring Wolf to argue.
Wolf rolled his eyes. “That voice trick won’t work when you’re wincing every time Snake hits a bump in the road. Eagle, chuck me your med pack, mate.”
A pouch was handed through the hatch. Moving with practiced ease, Wolf extracted a syringe of morphine and tugged up Yassen’s sleeve, quickly injecting it into the deltoid muscle of his upper arm, as he’d been taught. He fished out a second syringe and administered a shot of naloxone to counter the depressive effects of the morphine on Yassen’s breathing. The man’s fucked ribs didn’t appear to have compromised his lungs, but he’d automatically be breathing as shallowly as possible to mitigate the pain, which would lead to possible problems.
“You allergic to naproxen?” Wolf had learned the hard way to check that when a heavy-duty anti-inflammatory was needed. They made Fox spew up within half an hour of taking them. Receiving a curt shake of the head, he popped two tablets out of a blister pack. “Open wide.”
Yassen dry-swallowed the tablets. “Thank you.”
“Not finished yet. Bend over that crate.”
“Fuck off.”
Wolf grinned. It was the first time he’d heard the man swear. “Don’t be coy. You haven’t got anything I’ve not seen before.” In deference to the assassin’s no doubt non-existent sensibilities, he slammed the hatch shut and took a packet of alcohol wipes out of the med kit. “Besides, I’ve come in your arse twice today and you’ve sucked my dick. That takes us well past the flirting stage.”
“I’m going to regret starting this game, aren’t I?”
“Yes, and you owe me a romantic meal in Paris, remember?”
Yassen moved carefully to his knees, steadying himself on the elbow of his undamaged arm. “I’m unlikely to forget that.”
For the third time that day, Wolf eased the man’s trousers over a pale arse now liberally smeared with blood. He worked quickly and efficiently in the low light in the back of the van, then stuffed a thick wad of wound packing gauze into Yassen’s arsecrack and taped it in place.
“You’ll live,” he pronounced, finally letting Yassen settle down again in a more comfortable position, if anything could be called comfortable with a torn arse.
From the other side of the hatch, Eagle called, “Arrival in minutes three, boss!”
“Thank fuck for that,” Wolf muttered.
“I can assure you I’ve survived far worse,” Yassen told him dryly.
“It’s me I’m thinking of. I’m dying for a piss.”
“Oddly enough, so am I.”
Wolf met the cool blue eyes and started laughing. “I’m going to have to hold your dick while you piss, aren’t I?”
The look of amusement he got in return told Wolf all he needed to know.
****
“What part of ‘stay out of fucking trouble’ did you miss, Wolf?” Major Charlie Peters demanded.
“The ‘stay out of fucking trouble’ part, boss?”
“I’d been saving that favour from Hoff for a rainy day.”
“Sorry, boss.”
“How’s Blunt’s criminally underage asset?”
“Blunt said fuck all, but Jones told Fox the kid’s fine. They’d drugged him to the eyeballs, but there was no sign of any damage apart from a few cuts and bruises.”
“They were sure?” Peters had clearly done some checking.
Wolf nodded. “Gregorovich got him out before Bergmann had a chance to play.”
“And speaking of which, Gregorovich is not a suitable pet and I don’t care whether he followed you home or not, you’re not fucking keeping him.”
Wolf tried hard to maintain his best guileless expression. “Sir?”
“There’s a world-class assassin holed up in your cottage.”
“Technically, he’s freelancing for MI6, boss.”
“He’s freelancing for Blunt. Don’t confuse the two. They’re not always synonymous.”
Wolf blinked. He was too fucking tired for long words.
“Fuck off out of my office, Wolf. I don’t want to see you on base for a week. And I don’t want to see Cossack on this base, ever.”
“Thanks, boss and yes, boss.”
On the walk back to his cottage, Wolf convinced himself that Yassen would have buggered off but, much to his surprise, the man was sprawled out on the sofa in front of the woodburning stove. The smell coming from the oven wasn’t quite as appetising as the stew Yassen had left for him after their last encounter, but frozen fish pie and garlic bread would run it a close second in the circumstances.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re very domesticated?”
Yassen looked up at him under long, dark eyelashes. “No.”
“First time for everything, then. Beer, wine or vodka?”
“Beer. And don’t stereotype.”
Wolf flipped him the finger.
They ate in front of the fire and ended up drinking three beers each and sharing a bottle of surprisingly decent red wine that Wolf didn’t remember buying. By 10pm, Wolf was finding it hard to bite back his yawns and even Yassen’s eyelids looked to be in danger of fluttering closed – at least they were when he thought Wolf wasn’t looking.
Eventually, Wolf levered himself out of the sofa. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
“Let me guess … the good news is that it’s a big bed. The bad news is that it’s the only bed. Don’t worry, the sofa will be fine.”
“Not with your bloody ribs. Do you snore?”
“No.” The look of indignation on Yassen’s face drew an almost fond smile from Wolf.
“Do you hog the quilt?”
“Probably not.”
“Do you insist on sleeping on any particular side of the bed?”
“Preferences can get you killed.”
“I’m too tired for a lesson in assassining. Come on, I’ll redo the dressing on your arse then we can both get some sleep.”
Yassen’s lips quirked into a slight smile. “Your chat up lines leave a lot to be desired.”
“Good job I’m not chatting you up then, isn’t it?”
He held his hand down to Yassen and, to his surprise, Yassen took it.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Alex Rider
Rating : 18
Characters : Wolf/Yassen
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Warning: Rape/non con
Summary : Wolf isn’t very good at staying out of trouble. And neither, it seems, is Yassen Gregorovich.
A/N : A sequel to Speed Dating
“What kept you?” Gregorovich thrust Alex’s limp body into Wolf’s arms.
“Blunt ordered us to wait.”
The look of cold rage in the assassin’s eyes took Wolf by surprise.
“Get the boy out of here. I’ll cover you.”
“What about you?”
“I’m not your problem. Now go.”
Wolf nodded. “Try not to get yourself killed.”
A look of amusement lit the cold blue eyes as Gregorovich turned and started to pick off their pursuers.
Wolf slung Alex Rider over his shoulder and ran, his Glock 17 in his other hand.
Three dead guards later, he skidded to a halt in the courtyard as an explosion blew the castle gates inwards and a heavily armoured black Range Rover skidded onto the cobbles, executing an impressive handbrake turn. Fox and Snake jumped out and bundled Alex into the back of the vehicle.
“Get the kid out of here!” Wolf ordered. “I’m going back in.”
“Like fuck you are!” Snake told him. “Get in, boss.”
Wolf shook his head as a volley of gunfire from inside the castle told him that Gregorovich was heavily outnumbered.
“Gregorovich can look after himself!” Fox’s voice was urgent.
“Do as you’re fucking told. Cub’s your priority now.”
Without waiting for any further argument, Wolf swung his M4 carbine off his back and charged back into the castle, hoping he wasn’t going to regret his decision …
****
“What part of I’m not your problem was too difficult to understand?” Yassen Gregorovich enquired.
Wolf rolled over on the hard, flagged floor, coughing. His eyes were streaming, burning and itching. He desperately wanted to rub them but knew that would only make the pain worse. The gas grenade that had exploded at his feet had taken him out of the fight but not before he’d taken down another half a dozen of Bergmann’s guards.
“Ungrateful fucker,” Wolf muttered.
“Remind me what I have to be grateful for?”
Wolf blinked rapidly, trying to clear his sight. They were in a small room, no more than six square metres. A heavy iron door set in a grey stone wall represented the only way out. Light filtered in through a small, barred window set high up in one wall. There was no way he or Gregorovich would fit through it even if they could get up that high.
“Bugged?” he murmured.
An almost imperceptible shake of the head provided a small measure of reassurance.
From the Russian’s red-rimmed eyes, Wolf guessed Gregorovich had been taken out the same way. Despite that and the heavy manacles around his wrists connected by a length of thick chain to a iron ring in the wall, the man looked as relaxed as ever.
The metallic rasp of a heavy key turning in the lock drew Wolf’s attention and he came unsteadily to his feet, backing up to the wall and quickly checking for weapons.
And equally quickly drew a blank. He’d been expertly searched and left with nothing of use. Not even his boot laces.
Heinrich Bergmann, arms dealer, people trafficker and all round unpleasant excuse for a human being strode in, flanked by half a dozen guards, all with weapons trained on Wolf and his companion.
Bergmann’s full red lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach his flat, pebble-like dark eyes. “Why did you return?” The question was aimed at Wolf.
“There’s a large bounty on Gregorovich’s head. And heads are very portable.”
Bergmann made a small gesture to one of the guards. The man raised a squat black pistol and fired.
Two thin barbed prongs hit Wolf in the chest, delivering a powerful shock that sent his muscles into involuntary spasm as pain flooded his body, igniting every nerve he possessed. He dropped to the floor, gasping, trying to fight the burning cramps as he lost control of his bladder, feeling warm piss stream down his thighs. He barely felt his skin tear as the barbs were wrenched free of his flesh.
“Don’t lie to me.” Bergmann sounded amused. “As you’ve probably noticed, this is a military grade Taser set to maximum pain setting. Let’s start again. Gregorovich gave the boy to you and held my men off while you escaped. You then came back for him. Very touching. And very stupid. Gregorovich – Cossack to his usual employers – doesn’t have a grateful bone in his body, as I’m sure Alan Blunt could have told you, if you’d asked him.” The arms dealer nodded in Gregorovich’s direction and the prongs from a second Taser hit the assassin in the chest with exactly the same results. “You can compare notes,” Bergmann said and stalked from the room, the door clanging shut behind him.
Wolf watched as Gregorovich convulsed, his weight dragging on his arms, twisting his shoulders as every muscle in his body contracted, dropping him to the floor where he hung from his wrists, jerking, his face contorted in pain. For several minutes, Wolf lay on the cold floor, trying to work through his own pain, unable to do anything more than watch. Eventually, he struggled to his knees and crawled over, doing his best to support the man’s weight as Gregorovich shuddered in silent agony.
Wolf really was fucking sick of having to deal with sadistic bastards like Bergmann.
He’d only been back at work for two weeks following his brush with a Belize drugs cartel and his current situation definitely broke the ‘don’t get into any fucking trouble’ order his CO had delivered before he’d gone to London to be dispatched on yet another fucking clusterfuck of an op for MI6’s Special Ops division, riding shotgun again for their pet teenage spy.
Wolf was really starting to hate Alan Blunt and MI6. Scrub that. He already hated the fuckers. He now just hated them even more.
Gregorovich twitched in his arms as the spasms started to subside. Wolf glanced down at the man’s groin and was surprised – and vaguely irritated – to discover that the Russian appeared to have better bladder control than he’d displayed.
Gregorovich’s long eyelashes fluttered open and the ghost of a grin quirked his lips. “Takes practice,” he murmured.
Fucking Russian mind-reader. “Bet you had a piss more recently than me.” He helped Gregorovich into a sitting position. “Bergmann seems to know you. Old friends?”
“I killed his wife. He bears a grudge.”
Wolf forced himself not to recoil. “Hardly surprising.”
“He was the one who paid me to do it.”
Wolf let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. This was the sort of conversation he needed a fucking drink for. A handful of pain killers wouldn’t go amiss, either. “So why does he bear a grudge?”
“He thought she was having an affair. Turned out she wasn’t.”
“Didn’t you check?”
“When I last looked, my CV said assassin, not private detective.”
“Do assassins even have CVs?”
Despite the muscle spasms still running through Gregorovich’s body, the cold blue eyes were amused. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
Wolf sighed. “No. I don’t. So tell me everything I need to know about your former employer that MI6 conveniently forgot to tell me.”
“He’s a vindictive bastard with a penchant for rape.”
Wolf twisted around to stare at his companion. “Blunt sent Alex in here knowing that?”
“Yes.”
Wolf wanted to say ‘oh no, not again’ in a coolly nonchalant voice but the words stuck in his throat.
“Don’t let it worry you.”
“Why? I’m too black?”
There was a measure of sympathy in the look he was given. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah, right. A racist rapist. I get all the best fucking jobs. And I’d only just got back to the stage of enjoying a good crap without it hurting.”
“Bergmann is impotent. A bad dose of mumps as a child.”
“He gets his guards to do his dirty work, I guess. I was there in Belize, remember?”
For a moment, Gregorovich looked like he was about to say something, then the man just nodded, leaving Wolf with the strong impression that he’d just missed something important.
“What do we do now?”
“I’m going to get some rest. You’re going to see if you can find a way out of here.”
The assassin leaned his head against the wall, ignoring his arms stretched taut above his head, and closed his eyes. In less than a minute, his breathing had slowed and – as far as Wolf could tell – the man really was asleep.
It took nearly ten minutes for the muscular disruption from the Taser to wear off enough for Wolf to properly examine their prison. Doing his best to ignore the damp material of his black combat trousers and the acrid smell of his own piss, he first checked the manacles clamped tightly around Gregorovich’s wrists. They were too tight to get them over his hands, even if dislocating both thumbs and stripping his flesh to the bone had been an option. The involuntary convulsions had already rubbed the skin off his slim wrists and cut deeply into his flesh.
Wolf instinctively rubbed the barely healed scars on his own wrists, damaged by cable ties in Belize.
The thought of more rape left him sick to the stomach, but he thrust the images away and went back to an examination of their cell. An hour later, he came to the conclusion that they were stuffed so far as escape routes were concerned. He felt slightly insulted by the fact that Bergmann clearly didn’t think he was worth restraining, but couldn’t as yet see any way of taking advantage of that unless he wanted to risk trying to jump the next person to enter, and even he had to admit that was almost certainly a monumentally bad idea.
Eventually, he settled down opposite the door and tried to get some rest.
****
The clank of a metal bar being lifted on the outside of the door jerked Wolf out of a shallow uneasy sleep.
“Don’t try anything,” Gregorovich murmured.
The assassin was already on his feet, weight evenly distributed and even barefoot, Wolf was certain the man was capable of inflicting severe damage on anyone unwary enough to venture too close. Again, Wolf wondered if he should be insulted by the fact that all Bergman’s guards had done was remove his boot laces, tactical vest and body armour. And anything remotely useful, of course.
The arms dealer strolled into the cell flanked by six guards, two carrying Tasers, the others bristling with conventional weaponry. The man was talking no chances.
“I’m sorry to inform you that your friends crossed the border into France an hour ago. MI6 refused to sanction a rescue attempt. You’re on your own, gentlemen.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a smug git?” The words were out before Wolf could stop himself.
“Whatever happened to just name, rank and number?” Bergmann said, gesturing to one of his men.
Instead of a Taser, one of the guards flicked open a extendable metal baton and advanced on Wolf. Too late, Wolf realised he should have ditched his boots. They’d be a hindrance in a fight, but instead of targeting him, the man struck out at Gregorovich, the baton cracking sharply against his right forearm. The assassin gave no sign of pain, but Wolf would be surprised if he’d got away without a break.
Wolf stayed silent.
Bergmann smiled. “I do like a quick learner. Your little spy was a delight, by the way. Beautifully housetrained …”
The words hit Wolf with the force of a kick to the solar plexus.
Before he could react, Gregorovich said, in a tone that Wolf remembered all too well from the instructors at Hereford, “Don’t be a fool. Remember your training.”
Wolf dragged in a long, slow breath, counted to four, then exhaled equally slowly. Breathe in. Breathe out. Take the words and lock them up somewhere they couldn’t do him any harm. Wolf wasn’t proud of the way he’d had to treat Cub, but the kid never been in any real danger during Blunt’s mind games. But if this bastard had hurt Alex, he’d personally take him apart, limb by fucking limb …
“Yes, listen to Cossack. SCORPIA holds its trainees to far stricter standards than the British army. After all, if you’d failed SERE training, the worst that would have happed is a return to your unit, whereas if Cossack had failed Resistance to Interrogation, the consequences would have been a little more permanent.” Bergmann’s eyes lingered thoughtfully on the assassin for a moment then he commented. “Break at least one rib.”
As swift as a striking snake, the metal baton extended again and thwacked into Gregorovich’s chest with another painfully audible crack. Wolf fought hard to mirror the Russian’s impassive expression. He knew perfectly well that no one could have got that close to Gregorovich if the man had wanted to keep them away, but he’d had clearly decided there was nothing to be gained at this stage by resistance.
Bergmann smiled at Wolf with all the charm of a hooded cobra. “I’m going to give you the opportunity to take your revenge for Belize.”
Wolf’s attention jerked back to their tormentor. What the hell did he know about Belize?
Bergmann’s smile widened. “Strip Cossack and fuck him.”
Wolf’s eyes widened in shock. Was this what Gregorovich had kept back? “Fuck off. I’m not a rapist.”
“Would you prefer to watch while my men break every bone in his body?” The question was asked in the same tone of voice someone might use to enquire whether a guest wanted one spoonful of sugar or two.
In response to Wolf’ hesitation, one of the guards took a step forward.
“I won’t ask a second time …”
“Just do it,” Gregorovich said calmly, his blue eyes holding as much emotion as a sheet of ice. “It’s not as if I have any virtue left to lose.”
Bergmann barked a laugh. “No, the lovely Julia Rothman rid you of that inconvenience a long time ago, didn’t she, Cossack?”
It might have been no more than a trick of the light, but for millisecond, Wolf thought he caught a flash of anger in Gregorovich’s eyes then it was gone before Bergmann had chance to notice.
“I said, just do it.” That tone of voice was back, the one that Wolf found hard to ignore. He was tempted to ask if Gregorovich had ever spent time instructing at Hereford.
He drew in another long, slow breath then reached out and flipped open the button on the assassin’s dark trousers. A slight nod of approval gave him the confidence to ease down the zip and take hold of the waistband of Gregorovich’s trousers, pulling them down along with his underwear in one rapid movement, leaving him bare from the waist down, exposing a perfectly proportioned uncircumcised cock below a dark nest of curls. A trail of hair led up from his groin over a hard, flat stomach.
Wolf quickly looked away.
Remembering Belize, the calculating part of his brain told him to make sure Gregorovich wasn’t hobbled by his own clothing. Even with a broken forearm and at least one, probably two, broken ribs, the man was still as dangerous as a cornered panther and anyone who underestimated him almost certainly wouldn’t live to make the same mistake twice.
The almost imperceptive nod he got told him Gregorovich approved of his reasoning. The assassin turned his back on Bergmann, leaving Wolf trying not to stare at strong, smoothly muscled legs and an arse that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a pin-up calendar devoted to half naked gymnasts. If the man was uneasy about turning his back on Bergmann and his thugs, he gave no sign of it. Wolf admired his composure.
“I’m not a patient man,” their captor remarked, his voice deceptively mild. “Would you like some additional incentive?”
“Why should I care if you torture him?”
“He saved your life in Belize.”
“You already know he raped me. He’s hardly on my Christmas card list.”
“And I’m giving you the opportunity to even the score. For the final time, fuck him or watch as my men break his bones and then they’ll fuck him while he screams in agony. Your choice.”
Wolf’s guts twisted into a hard knot and he tried to swallow, his tongue feeling thick in his dry mouth. Despite Bergmann’s opening gambit, he couldn’t believe that K-Unit had entirely abandoned him. Their first priority would be to get Alex to safety but then …
A theatrical sigh from Bergmann told Wolf he’d run out of time. Ostentatiously turning his back on the man, Wolf tugged his zip down and fished out his flaccid cock. The utter silence in the room was in some ways even more unnerving that the whoops of amusement directed at in in the basement in Belize. No noise to lose himself in, nothing but the sound of his own harsh breathing in his ears.
Wolf narrowed his focus down to what had to be done, shutting out everything else. He knew that whatever he did would make no difference. If Bergmann wanted to break Gregorovich’s body then he’d do it, no matter whether Wolf obeyed his instructions or not. He wasn’t naive enough to think this would end with just one rape, but he was practical enough to know this might buy them some time.
He took his limp cock in his right hand and slowly fisted himself. The lack of reaction told him this wasn’t going to be easy. He quickly spat in his hand and pumped his dick, wanting to close his eyes to block out the sight of Gregorovich’s semi-naked body but somehow that would have felt like a betrayal. For whatever reason, the assassin had risked his own life to get Alex out of Bergmann’s fortress, while Alan fucking Blunt had forced K-Unit to remain in the forest, until Wolf had put two fingers up to their orders and gone in anyway, hitching a ride under a truck, to find out what the fuck was going on.
His cock slowly started to fill. He knew he’d have to be fully hard to stand any chance of doing this. The rhythmic movement of his fingers on his flesh helped to ground him and Wolf kept his breathing slow and steady, concentrating on arousing himself enough to perform for the audience. Moisture started to bead at his slit and he knew that was as much lubrication as he was going to get. Any attempt to ease this for Gregorovich with more spittle would earn a rebuke from their captor. A no doubt painful rebuke, almost certainly involving more broken bones.
Gregorovich adjusted his stance to spread his legs slightly but with chained arms and one broken forearm, plus the pain from his ribs, he was unable to brace himself. Wolf stepped up behind him and quickly spread the man’s arse cheeks to expose the puckered rosette in the shadowed flesh. He snaked one arm around Gregorovich’s waist, lined the head of his cock up and thrust, immediately meeting resistance even though he knew the man was doing his best to remain relaxed.
With a muttered, “Sorry,” Wolf gripped both hips firmly enough to bruise and pressed in as hard as he could, feeling the tight ring of muscle start to stretch to accommodate him. He snapped his hips forward, closing his eyes at the moment of penetration, all too conscious that this was too dry for comfort for either of them, too tight, too dry, too… too fucking fucked up to be anything other than an ordeal that Wolf wanted over as quickly as possible.
With a second snap of his hips, he buried himself balls deep in Gregorovich’s hot arse, remembering the man’s words in Belize and concentrating only on the friction on his cock. He could feel the drag start to ease, lubricated with something more than his own pre-come. The faint hiss of breath between the assassin’s teeth told him that Gregorovich had almost certainly torn and that the slick feeling around Wolf’s cock was blood. He shoved that thought roughly aside and continued to pump hard and fast, his arms wrapped around Gregorovich, holding the man upright and away from the wall, taking what comfort he could from the press of the man’s warm body against him.
Wolf’s sharp exhale of breath in time with every thrust was loud in the stone cell. He was panting now as if he’d just scaled Pen y Fan with a full pack, and almost missed the low, approving murmur, “You’re doing well.”
Hating himself for it, Wolf could feel traitorous pleasure starting to build up low in his belly, warmth spreading and tightening his balls. He was getting close …
He drew in a shuddering breath and forced himself even deeper into Gregorovich’s pliant body, his fingers digging into the man’s slim hips as his climax hit with a warm rush. He lost the rhythm he’d built up, tightening his arms around the other man’s waist, holding him close in a parody of affection as his cock pulsed inside the tight channel. No matter how much he tried to deny it, the tremors of orgasm chasing through his body told their own story. Wolf hadn’t come that hard since Belize and he hated himself for it.
The barely audible, “Well done,” felt like a knife in his guts, rather than words of approval.
Wolf slackened his grip and allowed his softening cock to slip out of Gregorovich’s body. The smears of bright red blood told their own story. Gregorovich had torn and as he’d guessed, it had been blood easing the way. Wolf wanted to turn aside and throw up, but he wouldn’t give Bergmann the satisfaction of seeing him vomit. He turned around, giving their captor an eyeful of the blood staining his dick.
The bastard had wanted rape, he’d got rape.
A slow smile curved Bergman’s thin lips. “I have business to attend to for a while. For Cossack’s sake, I hope you’ll be able to perform again when I return. But if you can’t, there will still be plenty of entertainment to be had.”
With the guards at his heel, Bergmann stalked out and the door clanged behind him as the locks engaged and the bars were dropped into place.
Wolf fought for what remained of his self-control as he quickly stuffed his soft cock back into his underwear and zipped his trousers up. “Are you all right?”
He wasn’t sure what he expected by way of reply, but it wasn’t a soft laugh that sounded like genuine amusement. “Just because you’ve come in my arse doesn’t mean I’m going to talk about my feelings.”
Wolf’s own laugh burst out without warning. “I’ll buy you dinner to make up for it. And I won’t insist on a curry.”
“That might be for the best,” Gregorovich acknowledged. “For some while, at least.”
Wolf could see slight, almost imperceptible tremors running through the assassin’s body. “I’m going to clean you up then get your kit back on.” He quickly stripped off the black shirt he was wearing, hauled his teeshirt over his head then ripped it into strips and used one to wipe the blood staining the man’s thighs and buttocks. Gently parting Gregorovich’s arse cheeks he could see the damage he’d done. Wolf knew – without boasting – that he was well-endowed. His teammates had taken the piss out of him on that score numerous times, claiming a big dick meant a small brain. Wolf’s usual response was to flip them off and remark that he’d never had any complaints. He was going to have to drop that line now.
He mopped the blood and come leaking from Gregorovich’s body, swallowing hard against the bile that rose in his throat, knowing that he was responsible for the damage, and feeling like shit that he’d actually climaxed.
“I can assure you it’s not earned a special place in my memories.” Gregorovich’s voice was as cool and collected as ever
“It might if that bastard forces me to do it again.”
“It might.” The simple acknowledgment caught Wolf off guard. “Let us hope Bergmann was wrong about your friends, but they had better get the boy to safety first or I will not be in a forgiving mood when I meet them again.”
As Wolf helped Gregorovich back into his clothing, he couldn’t stop himself asking, “Why did you agree to take this job knowing that Bergman had a grudge against you? What’s Cub to you?”
Silence lay heavily between them.
“If it affects his safety, I need to know!”
“Then ask Alan Blunt.”
“That bastard couldn’t tell the truth if his mother’s life depended on it.”
“His mother died three years ago. He hadn’t visited her for nine months.”
Wolf rolled his eyes. “I won’t ask how you know that. Tell me, Gregorovich.” He hesitated, then added, “Yassen, tell me.”
“We’re on first name terms now?”
“You’ve taken me for a ride on an expensive yacht, cooked me a meal and bought me flowers and chocolates. Doesn’t that get us on first name terms?”
“I will admit that this wasn’t what I had in mind for a second date.”
“What were you planning?”
“A romantic meal in Paris followed by a night in the best hotel in the city.”
Wolf had absolutely no fucking idea if the guy was yanking his chain or not. “I’ll say yes if you tell me what your connection is to Alex.”
Gregorovich – Yassen – stared at him thoughtfully. “His father taught me how to kill.”
Wolf’s breath hitched in his throat as he struggled to process that information. “Jesus, you know how to complicate things, don’t you? Does the kid know?”
“Probably, but he doesn’t know I’m still alive and I want it to stay that way.”
“Haven’t there been enough lies in his life? His uncle lied to him from birth, Blunt and Jones blackmail him without a second thought …”
“Mr Daniels has been talking out of school, I presume?”
“Only what we’ve needed to know to keep the kid alive. He didn’t tell us that you’d survived Cray’s bullet.”
“That would be because he didn’t know.”
“So what happened?”
A flicker of exasperation crossed Yassen’s face. “Do we have to do this now? This is as bad as talking about feelings. Can’t we go online shopping for cushions, instead?”
“Not until after the fifth date. Cushions are a sign of commitment. I’m too young for that sort of thing.”
Wolf carefully rolled back the sleeve of the grey teeshirt and inspected the other man’s injured arm. A livid bruise on the outside of his forearm was already starting to swell. He ran his fingers lightly along the arm, looking for tell-tale bulges that might indicate a displaced break. Not finding anything, he nodded approvingly then checked the strength of the pulse in Yassen’s wrist. It felt steady under the light pressure of his fingertips, indicating the blood supply to the hand hadn’t been compromised.
“Satisfied?”
“Keep your arm elevated.”
“The chains will help with that.”
“How’s your chest?”
“You know what broken ribs feel like as well as I do.”
“Not one for over-sharing, are you?”
“So I’ve been told.”
Wolf took hold of the length of chain connecting Yassen’s uninjured arm to the iron ring set in the wall and tugged experimentally, trying to feel whether there was any play at all to work with. When that failed, he gripped the ring and tried to work it from side to side, putting as much of his weight into it as he could.
Yassen watched him, as expressionless as ever.
Half an hour later – according to Wolf’s inner clock – he thought he could feel a fractional movement in the ring embedded in the rock, but it might have been wishful thinking.
“This could take a while,” he admitted.
“Everyone should have a hobby.”
“What’s yours?”
“Languages. Yours?”
“Watching rugby union.”
Wolf gritted his teeth and kept rocking the ring from side to side. He’d been right, there was some movement. Not much, but enough to enough to lift his spirits and keep him working away at it: pushing, pulling, twisting until the sweat sprung out on his body and he had to wrap the bloodied remnants of his teeshirt around his hands to prevent them slipping on the rusty iron ring.
“Favourite team?”
“Uh?” The question caught him by surprise. “Why do you want to know?”
Yassen rolled his eyes. “I’m making polite conversation. It’s what people do on dates.”
“What we seem to do is rape each other.”
“Third time lucky, perhaps?”
“Yeah, mebbe.” Wolf threw all his not inconsiderable weight against the iron ring, twisting as hard as he could. A harsh scrape rewarded his efforts. “Come on, baby,” he murmured, twisting and pushing again, feeling it starting to move even more.
“Pet names. Seriously?”
“Not you, sweetie. I’m talking to my friend Ringo.”
“Cheating on me already?”
“We’re just good friends.”
“You and I?”
“Me and Ringo.” Wolf stuck his foot against the wall and heaved, his fingers wrapped tightly around the iron ring. He could feel the movement now and knew he was making progress freeing the iron peg from the wall.
Time passed slowly. Wolf worked as hard as he’d ever worked in his life, Muscles straining painfully, moving from a dull ache to white hot agony as he continued to push, pull and twist. As far as he could tell, three hours had passed since Bergmann and his goons had left the cell. Pushing aside both doubt and hope, Wolf continued with the task he’d set himself, eventually losing all track of time, simply existing in the moment, conscious only of the fractional movement under his hands and his own laboured breathing.
“Now would be a good time to hurry,” Yassen said calmly, breaking into his concentration.
“For fuck’s sake …” Wolf braced himself again and threw every ounce of his strength into wrenching the iron ring from the wall. He could hear voices approaching and knew their time was fast running out.
The sudden lack of resistance took him by surprise as the iron peg came free and he stumbled backwards, fighting to regain his balance.
The assassin caught the iron ring as it flew free and quickly pushed the peg back into the wall. “Spin this out as long as you can,” he ordered. “Take no action until I do. Understand?”
“Who put you in charge?”
“I did.”
“Bossy.” Wolf dashed the sweat from his eyes and slid down the wall, knees drawn up and his head resting on his arms.
“So I’ve been told.”
The footsteps they’d heard stopped outside the door and a key turned in the lock.
Four guards fanned out into the room. Bergmann entered in their wake, the smug smile that Wolf had quickly learned to hate plastered on his blandly handsome face.
“So sorry to have kept you waiting, gentlemen.”
“Didn’t miss you,” Wolf muttered.
“I hope you’re feeling man enough for the task ahead?”
Wolf came slowly to his feet. “Fightin’ talk.”
“You know what you have to do …”
“Strip him and rape him?”
“I do so like a fast learner.”
Wolf slowly pulled down Yassen’s zip and peeled off his trousers and underwear, then freed his own cock.
The next part was harder. Try as he might, his cock remained obstinately limp.
“Oh dear.” Bergmann sounded amused. “You’re not going to disappoint me, are you?”
Wolf stared down at his uncooperative dick. “Looks that way.”
“Cossack, show him what a Malagosto trained operative can achieve.”
Wolf couldn’t keep the shock off his face as Yassen sank to his knees, leaning forward until his face was on a level with Wolf’s groin. With his manacled hands and damaged arm still stretched above his head, the position couldn’t have been comfortable, but Yassen’s face was still as impassive as ever as his ice-blue eyes fixed on Wolf’s groin.
Wolf failed to restrain a gasp as warm lips engulfed his cock and a wet tongue swirled around the exposed head. The jolt that travelled up his spine was almost as intense as the shock from the Taser but considerably more pleasurable. Almost immediately, his cock started to fill as Yassen sucked on the head, swirling his tongue around the sensitive crown and teasing the slit. It felt fucking amazing and Wolf could feel a blush rising up as he tried to distance himself from the rapidly mounting pleasure as Yassen dipped his head, sucking hard.
Wolf could feel himself getting hard again and had to fight the urge to run his hands through Yassen’s short hair. The hot, wet suction was fucking incredible and he was well on the way to being fully erect, his dick stretching Yassen’s reddened lips as the man took him deeper and deeper unto he swallowed around him and damn nearly made him shoot his load then and there. Christ, the man must be able to breathe through his sodding ears! Wolf had never been deep-throated before, not even that time in Morocco …
“Enough!” Bergmann’s command ripped through the silence. “You’ll come in his arse not down his throat. That would be a kindness Cossack hasn’t earned.”
Yassen let Wolf’s now fully erect cock slip from between his lips and rose to his feet, turning around, as he’d done before, but not before dispensing a hard stare that wouldn’t have been out of place on the face of Wolf’s old headmaster, a man who could quell an unruly assembly without needing to open his mouth. Wolf knew exactly what that look meant – do as you’re told, don’t cause trouble.
Before his cock caught up with his brain and started to wilt, Wolf stepped up behind Yassen and positioned himself at the man’s torn, bloody entrance. This was going to hurt like hell, and Yassen must have known that all too well, but despite that, there was no tension in the man’s body and no resistance as Wolf pushed in. Only the faintest hiss of indrawn breath betrayed the agony from the unprepared, unlubricated penetration. This was vile. There was no way Wolf was going to be able maintain an erection …
Yassen pressed back against him, his arse clenching around Wolf’s cock. “Move, and make it look good.” His voice was muffled against his arm, but there was no mistaking the whipcrack of authority.
Wolf clenched his teeth and started to fuck Yassen in earnest, shutting his mind off to the pain and damage he was causing, hoping the fresh blood would ease the drag and burn from his cock. The sudden memory of Yassen’s hot mouth and talented tongue sent a flush up his neck and a jolt through his cock and he tried hard to bite back a roan of pleasure, telling himself it was just a purely physical reaction to the way Yassen was clenching around him and grinding back against his groin.
He slid his arms around the slim waist again, one hand splayed across Yassen’s taut stomach, feeling the soft hair that ran up toward his navel, dreading the small involuntary spasms that greeted each thrust of Wolf’s cock, the only sign that the assassin was not as impervious to the assault as he liked to make out. Wolf’s fingers skimmed down for a brief moment to confirm what he suspected – Yassen’s cock remained limp between his legs. Wolf briefly wondered whether he could angle his penetration to achieve the same electric jolt of pleasure he’d experience in Belize, but he had absolutely no idea where to aim and he hadn’t been told to make Yassen come – which was fortunate, as Wolf doubted he had the skill for that.
As Wolf chased an elusive climax, he suddenly became aware of a tension in Yassen’s muscles that hadn’t been there before, and realised the man had wrapped his fingers around the chain that linked his manacles to the wall.
A heartbeat later, a violent explosion some distance away vibrated through the walls of their prison and the adrenaline rush from that was enough to tip Wolf over the edge and he shot his load in Yassen’s tight arse then pulled back in time to see the confusion in Bergmann’s eyes.
“Now!” Yassen ordered.
Wolf dived for the nearest guard in the same moment as Yassen ripped the iron ring from the wall, moving with the fluid grace of a dancer while swinging the heavy metal attached to the chain in a wide arc, ripping across the face of one of the other men.
Tackling the guard to the floor, Wolf used his superior strength to rip the machine pistol from the man’s hands and club him in the face with the grip, before spraying a tightly controlled burst at the men by the door. One died before he had chance to fire a shot. A second managed to return fire but his shots went wide and high and a moment later he was dead, his neck broken by Yassen who’d wrapped the chain around his victim’s neck and jerked him sideways with a knee in his back.
The last guard discharged his Taser, but he telegraphed the move and Wolf rolled, shielding himself with he body of the man he’d taken down. Thrusting the spasming body off him, Wolf came up into a crouch, the machine pistol in his hands spitting fire at the last guard. The man jerked and fell to the floor.
A second explosion above them shook some mortar loose.
Wolf barrelled to the door firing as he ran, but Bergmann and any remaining guards had disappeared.
“Not bad for a man with his dick hanging out,” Yassen commented, pulling his underwear and trousers on with his manacled hands.
He’d killed two men to Wolf’s three.
Wolf glared at him. “Does your CV list mind-reading as a hobby?”
“It’s more of a vocation. And, in my defence, you have a very expressive face.”
Yassen picked up a Glock dropped by one of the dead men and put a bullet through the temple of the man still twitching on the floor.
Three each.
Wolf quickly tucked his bloodstained cock away. “How the fuck did that bastard know what happened in Belize?”
“Someone in Blunt’s department is selling secrets.”
“MI fucking 6, the gift that keeps on fucking giving.”
“Keep that out of any de-brief.”
Wolf nodded.
The assassin stripped a pair of boots and socks from a dead man and pulled them on while Wolf threaded some laces into his own boots. Another two minutes went on grabbing as many guns and ammunition pouches as they could carry. Yassen took two Glocks, leaving the MP7 and a G36K short-barrelled assault rifle to Wolf. A search of the dead men’s pockets failed to find the key to the manacles.
“Leave it,” Yassen ordered. “I can manage.” He looped the chain with its dangling iron ring over his arm.
A third explosion, louder than the other two but further away, brought more dust down. “Looks like the lads didn’t go too far after all.”
“I set those charges,” Yassen said. “It really was unwise of Bergmann to leave his explosives store unguarded.”
Wolf shot him a curious look. “Why the delay?”
“I prefer to be outside a building when it blows up.”
With Wolf on point, they made their way down a long corridor towards a narrow staircase. He moved with no concessions to Yassen’s injuries. They needed to get out while Bergmann and his men were otherwise engaged.
As they emerged into a wide hallway with stags, boars and assorted moth-eaten wildlife glaring down on them from the walls with glassy eyes, an explosion from outside claimed their attention.
“Not guilty,” Yassen commented. “Maybe your friends do love you, after all. Should I be jealous?”
“Only if I snog them.”
Wolf sprinted across the hall towards a pair of heavy oak doors, Yassen at his heels, still moving with the grace of a natural gymnast, but there was a pinched look to his face and a grey tinge to his skin that didn’t bode well.
Wolf pressed his back to the stone wall under the beady eye of huge boar as he covered Yassen’s run. Despite the man’s natural grace, he was slowing now, his breath rasping in his throat.
An explosion outside brought a grin to Wolf’s face. The lads were enjoying themselves. As long as they’d got Cub away before the fun started, he’d have no complaints.
He nodded to the door. “Stay here or risk it out there?”
“Too exposed here. Bergmann’s still alive, so are some of his guards.”
Wolf grinned. “OK, Cinders, you shall go to the ball …”
He hauled open one of the doors and slipped outside into darkness lit only by three burning vehicles. He paused for a moment and stuck two fingers in his mouth, whistling loudly three times: One long, two short. Their standard ‘come and get me’ signal.
It was answered immediately by a reversed sequence and Wolf saw the slim figure of Eagle waving his arm from the side of what looked like an armoured truck.
“Your carriage awaits.” He gestured towards the vehicle with the barrel of the assault rifle.
“As long as it doesn’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight …” With the Glock still gripped in his manacled hands, Yassen ran towards Eagle and jumped into the back of the vehicle. Wolf followed.
With all the practised ease of a natural sniper, Eagle swung his weapon up and fired up at one of the battlemented towers on Bergmann’s gothic monstrosity. Bergmann’s gunman died instantly, then Eagle slammed the doors shut and Snake promptly gunned the engine as bullets pinged off the heavy armour.
With adrenaline pumping through his system like the best drug in the world, Wolf grinned widely as he clambered over a pile of crates to a metal hatch between the back of the van and the cab. He rapped on it sharply and it slid back.
“Where’s Cub?”
“With Fox in a Gazelle somewhere north of Paris, I hope.”
“How the fuck did you manage that?”
“Hijacked it.” Eagle caught the look on Wolf’s face and burst out laughing. “Stop crapping your pants, boss. The French Special Forces lads are on exercise just on the other side of the border and Colonel Hoff owes Major Peters a favour. There’s a ride waiting for us as well, 15 minutes away. We’re getting a lift to Brize.”
“Need a detour via a hospital,” Wolf said, glancing at Yassen in concern.
“No, we do not.” The assassin glared at him, daring Wolf to argue.
Wolf rolled his eyes. “That voice trick won’t work when you’re wincing every time Snake hits a bump in the road. Eagle, chuck me your med pack, mate.”
A pouch was handed through the hatch. Moving with practiced ease, Wolf extracted a syringe of morphine and tugged up Yassen’s sleeve, quickly injecting it into the deltoid muscle of his upper arm, as he’d been taught. He fished out a second syringe and administered a shot of naloxone to counter the depressive effects of the morphine on Yassen’s breathing. The man’s fucked ribs didn’t appear to have compromised his lungs, but he’d automatically be breathing as shallowly as possible to mitigate the pain, which would lead to possible problems.
“You allergic to naproxen?” Wolf had learned the hard way to check that when a heavy-duty anti-inflammatory was needed. They made Fox spew up within half an hour of taking them. Receiving a curt shake of the head, he popped two tablets out of a blister pack. “Open wide.”
Yassen dry-swallowed the tablets. “Thank you.”
“Not finished yet. Bend over that crate.”
“Fuck off.”
Wolf grinned. It was the first time he’d heard the man swear. “Don’t be coy. You haven’t got anything I’ve not seen before.” In deference to the assassin’s no doubt non-existent sensibilities, he slammed the hatch shut and took a packet of alcohol wipes out of the med kit. “Besides, I’ve come in your arse twice today and you’ve sucked my dick. That takes us well past the flirting stage.”
“I’m going to regret starting this game, aren’t I?”
“Yes, and you owe me a romantic meal in Paris, remember?”
Yassen moved carefully to his knees, steadying himself on the elbow of his undamaged arm. “I’m unlikely to forget that.”
For the third time that day, Wolf eased the man’s trousers over a pale arse now liberally smeared with blood. He worked quickly and efficiently in the low light in the back of the van, then stuffed a thick wad of wound packing gauze into Yassen’s arsecrack and taped it in place.
“You’ll live,” he pronounced, finally letting Yassen settle down again in a more comfortable position, if anything could be called comfortable with a torn arse.
From the other side of the hatch, Eagle called, “Arrival in minutes three, boss!”
“Thank fuck for that,” Wolf muttered.
“I can assure you I’ve survived far worse,” Yassen told him dryly.
“It’s me I’m thinking of. I’m dying for a piss.”
“Oddly enough, so am I.”
Wolf met the cool blue eyes and started laughing. “I’m going to have to hold your dick while you piss, aren’t I?”
The look of amusement he got in return told Wolf all he needed to know.
****
“What part of ‘stay out of fucking trouble’ did you miss, Wolf?” Major Charlie Peters demanded.
“The ‘stay out of fucking trouble’ part, boss?”
“I’d been saving that favour from Hoff for a rainy day.”
“Sorry, boss.”
“How’s Blunt’s criminally underage asset?”
“Blunt said fuck all, but Jones told Fox the kid’s fine. They’d drugged him to the eyeballs, but there was no sign of any damage apart from a few cuts and bruises.”
“They were sure?” Peters had clearly done some checking.
Wolf nodded. “Gregorovich got him out before Bergmann had a chance to play.”
“And speaking of which, Gregorovich is not a suitable pet and I don’t care whether he followed you home or not, you’re not fucking keeping him.”
Wolf tried hard to maintain his best guileless expression. “Sir?”
“There’s a world-class assassin holed up in your cottage.”
“Technically, he’s freelancing for MI6, boss.”
“He’s freelancing for Blunt. Don’t confuse the two. They’re not always synonymous.”
Wolf blinked. He was too fucking tired for long words.
“Fuck off out of my office, Wolf. I don’t want to see you on base for a week. And I don’t want to see Cossack on this base, ever.”
“Thanks, boss and yes, boss.”
On the walk back to his cottage, Wolf convinced himself that Yassen would have buggered off but, much to his surprise, the man was sprawled out on the sofa in front of the woodburning stove. The smell coming from the oven wasn’t quite as appetising as the stew Yassen had left for him after their last encounter, but frozen fish pie and garlic bread would run it a close second in the circumstances.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re very domesticated?”
Yassen looked up at him under long, dark eyelashes. “No.”
“First time for everything, then. Beer, wine or vodka?”
“Beer. And don’t stereotype.”
Wolf flipped him the finger.
They ate in front of the fire and ended up drinking three beers each and sharing a bottle of surprisingly decent red wine that Wolf didn’t remember buying. By 10pm, Wolf was finding it hard to bite back his yawns and even Yassen’s eyelids looked to be in danger of fluttering closed – at least they were when he thought Wolf wasn’t looking.
Eventually, Wolf levered himself out of the sofa. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
“Let me guess … the good news is that it’s a big bed. The bad news is that it’s the only bed. Don’t worry, the sofa will be fine.”
“Not with your bloody ribs. Do you snore?”
“No.” The look of indignation on Yassen’s face drew an almost fond smile from Wolf.
“Do you hog the quilt?”
“Probably not.”
“Do you insist on sleeping on any particular side of the bed?”
“Preferences can get you killed.”
“I’m too tired for a lesson in assassining. Come on, I’ll redo the dressing on your arse then we can both get some sleep.”
Yassen’s lips quirked into a slight smile. “Your chat up lines leave a lot to be desired.”
“Good job I’m not chatting you up then, isn’t it?”
He held his hand down to Yassen and, to his surprise, Yassen took it.
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no subject
Date: 2020-12-01 07:54 am (UTC)I sporfled at the 'You're not keeping him' line.
Great fic!
no subject
Date: 2020-12-01 09:19 am (UTC)I thoroughly blame you for this pairing. *g*
no subject
Date: 2020-12-27 04:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-12-27 04:18 pm (UTC)