“Caleb.”
“Owen. Wish I’d brought better news.”
He ran a hand through his hair, so that it stood on end.
“I did some digging. You’re not going to like this.”
“Hell. Tell me.”
Caleb propped his hip against Owen’s desk. “Rumor has it Kerr put a hit on the admiral’s favorite cleanup specialist.” Meaning a hit on the Fixer.
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish. But that means somehow an identity got blown.”
They’d face that later. “Who’s got the hit?”
Caleb shook his head. “Mickelson.”
He snorted. “Ronald Mickelson?”
Tim and Joe followed the conversation like spectators at a tennis match.
“Who’s Mickelson? And who’s been targeted?” Joe asked. “I’m assuming you, Owen.”
“Yeah, me. Targeted by a nut job who thinks he’s psychic.” He laughed, but when Caleb refused to join in, he sobered. “Tell me the rest.”
“Well, the thing is, Mickelson went off the rails a while ago. He had no talent to speak of. Could barely squeeze a trigger. But then the PWP got their hands on him because he had a friend in a high place. Next thing you know, Mickelson’s a rogue pyro.”
“Hold on.” Tim frowned. “You told us about the PWP. But are you saying this Mickelson character is after Owen, and he can control fire? Is that what you mean by pyro?”
Caleb nodded.
“So we take him out quick.” Joe made a gun with his hand and wiggled his thumb. “Bang.”
“A great idea, if we could find him. But Kerr is deep, and we have no idea where he’s hiding. Owen, I’m worried that if we let this stand, Kerr is going to drag this out for weeks, months. Hell, years. He wants to worry you, and having you fret about your sister and everyone here all the time is gonna wear thin. You need to take him out. Not wait.”
To Owen’s surprise, Tim agreed. “Yes, sir. He’s right. Take the offensive.”
Owen hadn’t wanted to share this yet. “I would, but a few days ago, he sent me an e-mail. He says if I even think about coming after him until he’s ready, he’ll start randomly killing people in town. Folks I might or might not know.”
“You mean shoot up Bend’s residents?” Joe asked, incredulous.
“Yes.” Owen sighed. “He’s a psychopath. He doesn’t care who he hurts as long as he’s happy.”
“So throw down the gauntlet and kill the fucker,” Caleb insisted.
“There’s a better way to ensure Kerr goes along with your plan,” Tim offered quietly.
Everyone turned to watch him.
“Give him something of yours, something valuable. Let him think he has the upper hand. Then take him down.”
“Something valuable?”
Joe’s eyes widened. “Oh, right. Yeah, Owen. Someone you care about. That’s actually a solid plan.”
Owen shook his head. “I’d never knowingly give a friend of mine to Kerr. And certainly not Heather or…oh hell, no.” Ian. So that’s who Tim had meant. Funny, because Owen had thought better of him.
“Don’t look at me like that, sir,” Tim protested. “It was Ian’s idea, and a good one.”
“What?”
Ian, naturally, had to stick his head in at that moment. “Problem?”
Owen glared at him with such violence, Ian took a step back. “You. Come with me.”
“Oh hell. Take five, guys,” Caleb said with a groan.
Owen dragged Ian with him down the hall and up the stairs to the bedroom. He needed privacy for this. After slamming the door behind them both and locking it, he turned to Ian. “What the fuck are you thinking?”
“Since I’m not sure what you’re talking about, you’ll have to be more specific. Because whenever I’m in here with you, I’m normally thinking about fucking.”
It took a lot to make Owen lose his temper, but thoughts of his precious thief in Kerr’s clutches made him see red.
“Owen, relax, man.” Ian took another step back, and Owen pounced. He dragged Ian to him and kissed him with anger and passion, too confused to know which made more sense. Hunger overwhelmed him, as did fear.
He drew back, panting. “You will not put yourself in harm’s way with Kerr. Promise me. He’ll kill you, Ian.”
Ian moaned and slaked his mouth back over Owen’s. “But it’ll help you get rid of him.”
“Not at your expense.” Owen needed to have him, to stake his claim. Spiraling out of control, he pushed Ian face-first against the door and yanked the man’s jeans open, then dragged them down his thighs. Unable to stop, he freed himself from his pants and spit on his hand, then rubbed his dick. “I can’t wait.”
“Oh shit. You are so hot when you’re like this,” Ian moaned.
Owen did his best to get slick, but he knew the taking would be rough. And he needed Ian to feel it. To feel him. Spitting some more, he lubed himself as best he was able and put his dick between Ian’s cheeks. He pushed, harder when Ian’s body resisted.
“Does it hurt? Do you like this pain?” he rasped, turned on by the primitive possession yet hating himself for doing this. “Do you know how bad Kerr will hurt you?”
“Fuck, Owen. Don’t stop. That is so good. Oh, it burns.” Ian moaned and rocked back against him, and then Owen was fucking him without cease.
Climbing higher toward climax, fulfilling his own desire and to hell with Ian’s. But he couldn’t stop himself. He hammered harder in Ian’s tight ass and reached around to find his lover hard and hot and dripping wet.
“You little slut.”
“Oh God. Please. Yes, Owen. Yes.”
Ian hissed as he came all over Owen’s hand, and Owen couldn’t stop. He made Ian beg him for more while he climaxed on a groan.
The orgasm relieved and enraged him, because he hadn’t solved a fucking thing by acting like a possessive asshole. They stood there, Owen buried to the hilt in his lover while Ian gasped underneath him, pressed to the door.
Owen hated to confess the truth like this, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I love you, Ian. No way in hell I’m going to let Kerr take you from me.” Still buried in his ass, he felt his lover tense and groaned at the gloving sensation still around his cock. “You mean too much to me.”
Ian swore. “Hell. You had to go and say it, didn’t you?”
“It’s the truth.”
“The truth is… Fuck. You don’t know the half of it.”
Ian squirmed beneath him, but if anything, his actions aroused Owen anew.
“Stop moving,” Owen warned. “I could too easily go again.”
“What are you, inhuman?” Ian rasped. “Fine. I’ll say it just like this, with your rod buried up my ass.”
Ian wiggled again, and Owen clamped his hands on his waist to hold him still.
“I’ve been trying to deny it, but you caught me. I don’t want to leave. I like the room you gave me. I like Bev and Dolly and even Tim. I think this house is wonderful, but it’s the tight group that gives it that down-home charm. Tacky but true. And you’re such an asshole.”
“Me?” Owen blinked at the dark head facing the wall, aware Ian refused to look at him. He also remained semihard inside him, unwilling to let go.
“You made me fall in love with you, okay? And now I can’t steal from you or try to rob you, because it feels wrong. And that sucks, because that’s what I do. So you say you trust me.”
“Oh, little thief, I do.” Owen felt tears burning behind his eyes, and he kissed Ian’s neck, so fucking happy to feel his boy trembling. This wasn’t some joke or a way to manipulate him. Not this. “You mean so much to me.”
“Then prove it.”
Ian gripped him tight again, clenching his ass.