Killer Thoughts

Chapter Eleven

Owen knew the time would come when he and Ian would have to rejoin the real world again. Their week together had been ideal, and he’d been allowed to see the charming soul buried beneath the joking con man. Bev and Dolly had already given their subtle seals of approval.

Reuben had hinted at expanding the outdoor space to include a private spa, since Ian had mentioned how much he liked to soak in the indoor one. Even Joe seemed to have thawed toward Owen’s little thief. Tim thought Ian walked on water. Instead of wanting a transfer after keeping an eye on him for a few days, Tim insisted on making sure of Ian’s continued safety.

If not for the man’s less than subtle interest in Joe, Owen might have been jealous. It was as if Ian had brought life and love into his house. Reuben and Dolly were openly dating. Joe kept inching closer to Tim. And Bev cooked like a dream while testing recipes for her upcoming cookbook, eagerly awaiting the changes to the place she could see coming. Though she’d never met any of his past dates, she’d told Owen Ian was her favorite by far. Charming, handsome, and he had the good taste to fall in love with Owen.

If only. Owen knew Ian felt more for him than lust. But how much more? He wanted badly to press Ian to stay, but he still worried about scaring the man away.

And then there was Kerr to take care of.

“Boss, you need to hear this,” Tim said quietly from just behind him.

Owen turned and followed Tim to his office, where Joe stood with an angry expression. Caleb stood with him, having apparently returned a day early.

“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.

“Let me target him for you. I’ll sucker him in, con him into taking me. Then you find me and take him out. I know you can do it, Owen. Let me do this for you. If we’re going to be partners, you have to let me in.”

Owen groaned and hugged Ian tighter. He started moving again, needing to fill his lover with himself all over again. “Ian, I can’t lose you. I just can’t.”

“You won’t. Trust me, baby.” Ian paused. “Trust me the way I trust you.”

After a moment, Owen caved. “You little shit. Fine.”

Ian’s laugh turned into a groan as Owen reached for him again.

“But first you owe me another orgasm. I want it all over the door this time. And you are in for a world of hurt if this goes south. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Owen swore when his cock hardened even more. “You owe me for this.”

“I owe you everything, Owen. Because I’m yours.”

“Yes, you are.” And then no more words were spoken, and the love flowed as free as their passion.

“You do realize this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, right?” Jack asked as he stood with Owen and Caleb in a swanky penthouse in Portland. Except Jack wasn’t Jack, exactly. He looked like the spitting image of Heather, right down to the Stallbridge green eyes. Even the voice sounded the same. It was uncanny, and not a little bit freaky. And especially weird that only Owen knew Heather wasn’t Heather.

Jack/Heather continued, “I mean, I understand you wanting to kill Ian. But there are easier ways to do it than inviting Kerr into your bedroom.”

Owen glared at her—him. Hell. He did his best to keep Jack’s cover, because they all knew the penthouse had been bugged. That, and Jack didn’t tell just anyone that he could shift shapes. Talk about weird even on the psychic scale. “Just because you’re my sister doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you. In ways you can’t imagine.”

Caleb chuckled at the dark look Jack/Heather gave him. “He’s serious, honey. You have no idea what my boy can do.”

“Your boy is a real Fixer. Yeah, I know,” Jack/Heather said smoothly. With a good deal of respect too.

“Damn. Who the hell doesn’t know who you are?” Caleb bitched.

“Relax. It’s my job to know things.”

At Caleb’s surprised look, Jack/Heather smoothly amended, “Though my big brother doesn’t think I know what he’s done for our country, I do, and I’ve never told anyone.” Meaning Jack knew, but he’d never told Heather.

They stared at each other in silence before Caleb broke the tension. “If you two are gonna kiss and cry, could you do it now? I have things to do.”

“Fuck off, Caleb,” Owen said.

Jack/Heather snorted. “Oh, and by the way, I’m supposed to tell you that Gavin isn’t happy you’re in town, but his boyfriend said to say thanks. And be glad that one is on your side, ’cause he scrambles brains like Bev scrambles eggs.”

Good old Aiden Marshall.

“Nice to know.” Caleb grinned. “So is your boyfriend’s special team here to help? DC is pretty impressed. The last two jobs his guys worked went off without a hitch.”

Jack/Heather nodded. Owen knew Jack had begun doing select work he chose for the government, working closely with Admiral London, a man Owen greatly admired. “Yeah, well, as long as Lonnie is involved, Jack says he’s in. He’s the only government guy my wonderful fiancé will work for. Him or Alicia.” Admiral London’s wife, a woman not quite human.

Owen knew a lot about things he wasn’t cleared to know, and he had no plans on sharing. Though he trusted Caleb, the less Caleb knew about certain things, the better off he’d be. Owen and Jack shared the same thought, apparently, for Heather/Jack’s lips quirked in a grin.

Owen nodded. “Good old Alicia.”

Caleb frowned. “Isn’t she—”

Owen cut him off. “Could we please focus on the fact that my boyfriend is currently sitting on an island off the coast with Carl Kerr, who could be doing any manner of things to him?” “While a dozen men are infiltrating the penthouse as we speak? To include a crazy pyrokinetic, I might add?” he added telepathically.

Owen should have been more worried, but Caleb had assured him Ian was both annoying and healthy. Caleb kept in mental contact, constantly alerting Owen to any changes. This close, Owen could easily kill Kerr. If the bastard would show himself.

Earlier that morning, they’d staged their trip to Portland and had been deliberately separated so Kerr would find it easy to kidnap Ian. Meanwhile, the real Heather remained in Bend far away from Jack, secretly watched over by the PowerUp! team, while Jack, as Heather, pretended to be with Owen, where he could “keep an eye on her.” Personally, it all gave Owen a headache.

Yet it had worked. Ian had been kidnapped, and Owen, Caleb, and Jack/Heather waited in Owen’s penthouse for Kerr’s men to show. Kerr no doubt figured he could divide Owen’s attention by killing not only his lover, but his sister as well.

The smell of smoke filled the outside patio overlooking the Columbia River.

“Here we go,” Owen telepathically said to Caleb. He nodded at Jack/Heather, who nodded back.

“I smell smoke. You two stay here while I check it out,” Caleb ordered and disappeared into the shadows. “If I can take him out, let me. I need you able to focus once we lock on to Kerr.”

“Fine. But do it. I’m itching to act before this goes sour.”

“Relax. Ian is right now charming the pants off some dude named Neever. And…oh good. I think Kerr is finally showing himself. Ian said they entered the caretaker’s cottage on the island.”

Owen took a deep breath and let it out. Time to play his part. “Heather, honey, we need to get out of here. I smell smoke.”

Jack/Heather hugged his arm. “Owen, hurry. I smell it too. The penthouse is on fire!”

The lights went out. Before the explosion Owen had been waiting for, screams sounded. Cries of pain from men Caleb had gutted. Then all sound ceased. Owen had a gun by his side, ready to fire. He and Jack/Heather took cover behind a large couch directly inside the open patio doors. Then Jack/Heather left him to put a hurt on their adversaries. Though Owen couldn’t see what happened next, Caleb gave him a play-by-play, his night-vision goggles a good forethought.

“Yeah. Six of them are down. Jack’s guy Price is slamming them around like toy blocks. Ouch. Another went out.” Keegan Price, Jack’s telekinetic and his cousin’s husband, could crush a car with a thought. Apparently skeletal systems and major organs were nothing compared to a ton of steel.

“Come on, motherfuckers. Put up a fight.” Price’s deep Texan drawl sounded from Owen’s direct right.

He felt movement by his side and stood, coming face-to-face with Mickelson. Uh-oh.

“Well, well. My old buddy, Owen Stallbridge. I heard you’d retired, man.” Mickelson smiled, and his eyes glowed as pinpoints of red flame danced in his hands.

Not good. Owen thought they’d already taken care of him. And then the heat started, and his flesh felt way, way too hot.

Ian had no idea why the chatty guy next to him didn’t blow his own brains out. Annoying, yet easy to manage. Like so many others, he bought Ian’s queen-of-the-keep routine.

“Yeah, boss is going to drill you good, boyfriend.” The talkative Neever chuckled. “He likes ’em pretty. And while he’s doing you, you’ll be on a live feed, so Stallbridge can watch you raped to death. It’s ugly, sure, but the boss is a master at making the pain last.”

“Ew. Hello? Pretty man, sitting right here. No need for your boss to kill me. I can make him happy, I just know it.”

Neever snorted and dragged him from a limo into a sunny cottage on a private island off the coast.

Ian contained a huff. He would have been terrified if he hadn’t agreed to do this. And if he hadn’t had that idiot Dalton in his brain at all times.

“I heard that,” Dalton answered in his mind. “Now quit being afraid, princess. Your buddy Keegan is wiping up the place with a huge-ass body count. And Heather is kicking serious ass, but in a pretty way. Man, no wonder Keiser put a ring on her. Nice roundhouse.”

“What?”

“Just focus on what’s happening around you. Soon as you see Kerr, you ping me. Shout, yell, get my attention pronto. Owen will do the rest.”

Ian mentally nodded. As much as he didn’t want Owen to have to kill Kerr, he knew Owen needed the closure and Kerr had to go. So Ian would do what he had to do to help. “You sure Owen’s okay? Dalton? Dalton?”

Great. The prick decided to go silent. Whatever.

Ian let Neever walk him into the cottage and took an immediate inventory. He cataloged the array of weapons stashed around what appeared to be a hunting cottage. Ian didn’t care to think about what they’d hunted out here. Knowing Kerr, probably people.

He followed Neever into a comfortable den. A huge sectional sofa in deep red was currently occupied by three young, naked men wearing collars affixed to chains on the floor. They lazed in wait, seeming not at all bothered by his presence.

“Stay.” Neever shook his finger at Ian before leaving him alone with the trio.

“Stay, my ass. Dick.” Ian muttered. He turned to the guys on the couch. “Ah, hi.”

“You’re pretty,” one of them slurred. “But he’s mine. My daddy has a big dick.”

Wow. That was so…ew. These guys looked young enough to be minors. And then referring to daddy with sex—gross. No wonder Owen hated it when Ian called him that. Not going there again.

“Right. So where is your daddy?”

He glanced around, seeing nothing but more of the same. Expensive furnishings. Sex toys and weapons out of reach of the chained young men. A fireplace currently burning, giving the room a nice, even temperature, considering the coolness of the island despite the summer season.

“Daddy is right here,” a new voice sounded from behind him.

Ian spun around and took his first good, hard look at Carl Kerr. Cute, if one went for the sadistic, skinny type. A glint of cruelty lingered in his light blue eyes. His blond hair looked meticulously cut, and he wore tailored slacks and a silk polo quite well.

Ian took the initiative. “My pleasure. You know, for all that Owen has said about you—and trust me, none of it has been complimentary—you’re a handsome psychopath.” Ian made sure to be flowery, fluttery, and as nonthreatening as possible while he flirted.

Kerr studied him with interest. “You’re a beautiful boy, aren’t you? No wonder Owen’s been keeping you close.”

“Dalton, he’s here. Hey, Caleb.” Nothing. Helping Owen, no doubt.

Ian called on his courage. He could handle this guy. A con man knew when to bait and switch. Time to work for his pay for a change. He grinned and held out a hand. “A pleasure, dear sir.”

“Oh, and such manners.” Kerr squeezed Ian’s fingers with force, his gaze locked to Ian’s.

Ian flinched. “Hey. Don’t damage the goods, strong man. I’m worth a lot unmarred.”

Kerr laughed. Not a sound to inspire confidence. “Oh, honey. When I’m through with you, you’ll be priceless beyond compare. Fielder, Koffman, take him into the back and strip him down.” His lips twisted, and he snorted. “Carefully. Best not to damage the merchandise until my good friend Owen’s here to see it destroyed up close.”

Owen stared through a haze of sweat at a man who was supposed to be dead. Why the hell had Keegan Price not killed the biggest threat first?

“I was promised a huge payout for burning you up. But not killing you, not yet,” Mickelson sang, his voice shrill and not fitting with the plain, average features of the psychotic he’d turned out to be. The man was notorious for washing out of early training, then having his father pay good money to give Junior whatever he wanted. Apparently, Ronald Mickelson had wanted to be a killer.

“Don’t forget the glory,” Owen said drily. “Anyone who can fix the Fixer will become legend.” He tried to stall while he listened to more destruction around him. Keegan, Caleb, and Jack must have been busy, or they’d have taken Mickelson out. Shit. That meant he’d have to save enough reserve to end Kerr once he fixed Mickelson. Because if he didn’t stop the man from pouring more heat into him, Owen would be ash and Ian dead for sure.

If he used too much of himself, he might die, but he couldn’t let anything happen to Ian. Not at Carl Kerr’s hands.

He grabbed Mickelson by the neck, shocking the man. Burns flashed over his hands. Mickelson’s fucking skin was like a furnace.

“Hey, Ronald.”

“Yes?”

Mickelson grinned at him, and Owen felt as if he’d become a human torch. Holy hell, but his hand hurt. “Fuck you.” Owen directed a blast into Mickelson’s mind, effectively shattering the precious hold he’d had on his version of sanity.

Explosions boomed around him, and Owen screamed as his hand literally caught fire, but he didn’t let go. He had to kill Mickelson before the bastard destroyed the others. He clamped down hard on the man’s mind, crushing his brain stem from within and smothering the organ so that his brain stopped functioning.

Mickelson didn’t make a sound. He just folded onto himself on the ground.

Owen remained standing, barely, and clutched his hand to his chest, the pain excruciating. But his mind was clear. A bit tired, but ready to help Ian.

“Caleb,” he yelled in his mind. “Where the hell is Ian? Do we have Kerr yet?”

He heard nothing back and had a sinking feeling. The power came back on, and lights flooded the penthouse. In the distance, sirens could be heard growing closer. Bullet holes riddled the walls.

“Owen, over here,” Keegan said as he coughed. Covered in soot and battling another fire, he stood with Jack, who no longer looked like Heather. Caleb lay under a fallen support beam, unconscious.

Owen’s tenuous link to Ian, severed at the worst possible time.

He met Jack’s gaze.

Jack scowled. “I know. I’ve got Aiden on standby. He’ll be here in an hour.”

“That’s if Ian has an hour.” Owen felt a cold sweat work its way over him.

“Jesus, Owen. I can see bone.”

Jack’s wide-eyed stare at his hand didn’t help, nor did the notion he was going into shock. “Ian. Have to find Ian.” Owen held on, praying for Ian to be strong. I’ll find you, little thief. Just hold on. “Caleb, wake the fuck up.” But Caleb didn’t move, and the blow to his head had left a large, purple-and-blue welt. A goose egg that looked really, really bad.