Three the Hard Way (16 page)

He maneuvered Ian onto his back, then spread the man’s legs wide, working up to three fingers while Tag kissed Ian, then moved behind Justice.

For a second, Justice froze. It’d been a long time since he’d bottomed for anyone. The only one he’d ever done so for was . . .

“You okay with this?” Tag murmured.

“Only if you know it’s your turn next,” Justice said.

“One of you needs to fuck me now,” Ian broke in.

“He’s demanding. I like it.” Justice leaned in and began to push inside of Ian, hard and fast, making him arch off the bed, hook a leg around Justice’s hip, and use his heel to drive Justice faster.

God, Ian was beautiful too—a different kind of beautiful than Tag, who was licking and biting the shit out of his neck, no doubt leaving blossoms of red marks in a trail down to his shoulder. And he was watching. “Yeah, fuck him harder, Justice. Isn’t he tight? Doesn’t he feel amazing?”

“So fucking good,” Justice agreed, watching Ian’s eyes go glassy. “Don’t come, Ian.”

Tag was opening him, using his tongue first, urging Justice to glide in and out of Ian, making them both insane. And then he used lubed fingers, playing with him, fucking him with his fingers. “You ready, Justice?”

“Come on, Tag. I won’t break. Fuck me, now.” His voice was rough—raw, almost—and Ian groaned his approval of Justice’s demands.

Finally, Tag entered him, slow at first, and then he leaned forward, putting all his weight behind it until he was balls-deep inside of Justice. Justice stilled, feeling Ian hugging his cock, with Tag throbbing inside of him. Connected.

Whole.

And then Tag began to move.

“Tag . . . Ian . . . Shit.” Justice’s entire body trembled as he was manipulated, driven by Tag to fuck Ian relentlessly. Ian’s ankles hooked up around Tag’s thighs, locking them together even further, and Justice, even more so than Ian, could do nothing but hang on for the ride.

“Go ahead,” Tag told them. ”Want to watch you both come.” He pounded into Justice, who took Ian in the same way, until Ian came in thick, white ropes along his chest and belly. Justice’s balls tightened, and Tag thrust, hitting his prostate expertly.

Everything faded into the orgasm—he was aware he was yelling both men’s names, cursing, muttering incoherently, so much so that it pulled Tag into the orgasm, if the erratic jerks of his hips were any indicator.

All he could hang on to was the blissful wash of contentment that covered him in warm, rough heat.

For the next day and a half, Justice rested while Tag and Ian patrolled the grounds, set more traps, and kept an eye on comms. They were all hoping for the reception to return and alternately dreading it, since it would mean that Itor was on their way.

If they knew where Tag was.

No functional chip in Ian, sure, but that didn’t mean Itor didn’t have other ways, other sources. And this cabin had been Tag’s for a long time. It was only a matter of time before Itor ferreted out this intel and came for all of them.

But not if ACRO could get there first.

Late that morning, when Justice was having more coffee, he heard shouting outside—Tag—and then heard the sound of a helo racing overhead. He froze and listened.

Not one of ACROs.

“Not Itor’s either,” Ian confirmed, also having frozen in place. “Guess the blizzard’s really over.”

There was a wistful quality to his words. Justice reached a hand across the table to cover his. “We’ll all be okay.”

“I want to believe you. You know I believe in you but . . .” Ian shook his head. “I’m going to go help Tag. We’re right outside.”

“Okay.” Justice watched him tug on his heavy parka and step into the frozen outdoors. He limped to the window in the bedroom and saw his two men studying the sky and scanning the forest that stretched endlessly across the snowy landscape. They spent another five minutes talking before heading back inside. “Things okay?” he asked as they shed their gear.

“Something’s up,” Tag said. “I smell fire.”

“Like fireplace fire?”

Tag rubbed his hands together to warm them. “Like burn down your motherfucking village fire.”

Just then, Justice’s phone began to ring. “Comms really are back,” he said. “It’s Devlin.”

“Answer it,” Ian told him. “I’m going to hang out over on the couch. Listen to music and stare at the monitors. You two talk to him. Let me know what happens.”

The phone gave its fifth and sixth ring, and Devlin would never stop calling. It was time for Justice to face the inevitable. Or, in this case, Devlin. “Hey, Devlin,” he said casually.

“Don’t you ‘Hey, Devlin’ me. What the fuck, Justice?”

“There was an avalanche and a blizzard. No comms.”

“Obviously, that’s not an issue now.”

“Right.” He looked helplessly at Tag, who just shrugged. Mainly because he was hearing a one-sided conversation. Justice motioned for him to give him a few minutes alone and once he did, Justice lowered his voice. “It’s been a long week.”

“It’s about to get even longer—Itor is on their way to you,” Devlin said. “And so am I.”

Panic alternated with relief. “How long?”

“We’re four hours out, and I think Itor’s team is right behind us. I’m on the plane. So let’s take this opportunity for you to brief me before I goddamned land.”

“Affirmative,” Justice answered automatically.

“Is Taggart willing to come to ACRO with you?” Devlin asked straight away.

“He is, yes.”

“What aren’t you sharing?”

A whole lot. “It’s complicated.”

On the other end of the phone, Devlin sighed. “Always is. But I prefer knowledge over surprises, especially before you bring a possibly unwilling man through the ACRO gates.”

“He was unwilling, but now he understands that ACRO’s the best place for him. That it’s different from Itor.”

“But.”

Justice mentally crossed his fingers. “Taggart was most recently in Itor’s hands.”

“Be specific.”

“Taggart was . . . tricked into working with Itor. Forced, really. And he was . . . there when we . . . when I . . .”

Fuck. His voice almost broke, but he stopped talking just in time.

“Justice, you still with me?”

Barely. “Yeah, I’m here, Devlin. I won’t let you down.”

“I know that, son. But I need to know about Taggart. Was he indoctrinated? Did he kill ACRO agents?”

Justice ground his teeth for a long moment before speaking. When he did, he tried to choose his words carefully. Unemotionally. And failed miserably. “And suppose I answer yes to any of that? Does it matter now that he’s free of them? Does it matter that he’s like my other half—that he is my other half? That I love him?”

“What are you saying, Justice?”

Justice fisted his free hand, the other holding the phone so tightly it shook. “I won’t come back to ACRO if he can’t. And you know me well enough to realize I’m a man of my words. I’d never do anything to go against ACRO ever, so even if I couldn’t work there, I’d still support ACRO causes.”

“Slow down,” Devlin commanded. “I never said anything about you not being able to bring Taggart back here with you. I do, however, need to know what we’re up against—if he needs counseling or solitary time . . . or if Itor still has a hold on him.”

And they were to the next part of this equation, much faster than Justice had anticipated. He glanced toward the other room where Ian sat on the couch, listening to music though his headphones. Tag caught his eye, and he motioned for him to come over.

With one last check on Ian, Justice put the phone on speaker. “Devlin, Taggart’s here with us now, okay? Because I’d like you to hear this from both of us.”

“I’m listening.”

And beginning to lose patience, no doubt. But Justice forged ahead. “We know that Itor’s definitely after him. They actually hired a mercenary to come find him.”

“Tell me you captured him as well,” Devlin demanded.

Justice glanced at Tag, then Ian.
He definitely captured us . . .
“It’s not like that, Devlin. Taggart and this merc have a history.”

Devlin practically growled on the other end of the phone.

Taggart began to talk. “Devlin, it’s Taggart here. I realize what this sounds like. This man—this mercenary—was the one who originally brought me into Itor. But he tried to talk them out of it—he knew I wasn’t right for them, but they ignored his wishes.”

“When did he tell you that?”

“When he came here, to my cabin, to warn me about Itor. He was rehired by them to find me, and he took the job to keep them off my tail.”

“Or lead you—and my agent—right back to them.”

And yes, when you looked at it like that, the way he himself had that first day, it sounded perfectly rational. But nothing about this newfound threesome with Tag and Ian was rational. It was all heart, which was, unfortunately, the hardest thing to explain. So he skipped explanation and jumped straight to outcome. “We want to bring him in with us. He wants to come to ACRO.”

“For what reason? Immunity?”

“He wants to be with us,” Taggart said in no uncertain terms. “And we want to be with him.”

“Really? Is that true, Justice?” Devlin asked, fire in his tone.

Taggart gave Justice an
I’m sorry
look, but hell, it was going to come out sooner than later. “It’s true. I never thought it would be. Honestly. But I believe him. We’ve been here for days, waiting out the blizzard, and he’s only helped. He could have drugged us and taken us prisoner, could have killed us in our sleep. Hell, when I was hurt, he could have ended me and Tag would never have known I didn’t die of a brain bleed. Whatever he’s doing—”

“Is probably trying to get inside ACRO, any way he can. Even if it means using gullible boys to do so.”

“He’s not a boy—neither am I, you asshole,” Taggart spat at the phone.

Justice thought his head would probably explode just about now.

“I want this merc’s name,” Devlin told them. “And don’t even think of covering for him by withholding that. Your best shot—your only shot—in all of this is to tell me who he is and let me decide some things. Last time I checked, this was still my agency.”

“Yes, Devlin,” Justice agreed. It was the fairest way, and so he told Devlin. And that’s when the fireworks really began.

From the moment Ian overheard Devlin O’Malley yell, “I want this merc’s name,” through the phone at Justice, he figured he was a dead man. He managed to keep his composure—and to continue pretending to listen to music—well aware he had two sets of eyes on him. As an Excedo, all his senses were more than average, but hell, Justice hadn’t bothered to be at all secretive about his phone call.

Which made Ian want to go to the guy and kiss him. Because . . . fuck, Justice really did trust him. As did Taggart, judging by the way they were telling off the head of ACRO for him.

No one had ever trusted him—not like this, or on any level. Least of all his own family. So whatever he’d done to deserve this, he felt as if it might never be enough.

Now, as he moved his foot to the imaginary beat of his iPod, Justice haltingly revealed his name, and then he held his breath as he waited for the inevitable response.

“Ian Bridges is a merc Seducer, Justice.” Devlin’s voice rang out, and although he started out controlled, his tone got angry as he went on. “His father was one of the worst. The records on that man—you wouldn’t believe the things he’s done to young specials. Ian learned from the best. And while his father boasted bringing in well over a hundred specials—and that doesn’t include the time he spent working on Itor and ACRO agents—Ian’s already brought in well over that in a much shorter span.”

Ian wished he couldn’t fucking hear. He didn’t need Devlin to tell him what he already knew, that he wasn’t good for anyone or anything. From a mercenary family who would sell their own mother for a buck.

He wanted to punch something. To run. Because the humiliation ran hot over him. How long could Tag and Justice actually believe in him when they had an authority like Devlin telling them differently?

You knew it would go like this.

And even so, he’d held on to a small sliver of hope, the thing that had been practically beaten out of him. Devlin’s words still burned, no matter how expected.