Page 9 of The Bounty (Redemption Inc.)

Eight

Wags leaned against the sink in the tiny hotel bathroom, phone to his ear, trying to speak quietly while still talking loud enough to be heard over the planes from the airport next door.

He and Blaine had escaped the church in Vienna, using the cover provided by the Russians to make a mad dash to the U-Bahn. They’d caught a train to the nearest rail station, then hopped on the direct express to Bratislava.

“Your ride is en route,” Mel said. “The plane was already in New York. It’ll arrive there tomorrow morning at eight and depart again at eight thirty.”

Wags pulled the phone from his ear and glanced at the time.

Nine hours from now. Nine long hours to keep Blaine safe. Nine even longer hours to keep his hands to himself. That look of fear in Blaine’s eyes at the church, the faith he’d put in Wags… He couldn’t abuse that trust, couldn’t take advantage.

“Did you get an ID on the bidders?” he asked Mel, distracting himself with the mundane. “The ones I didn’t know.”

Blaine had passed out against his shoulder not long after the train had left the station.

Once the conductor had come through to check their tickets and passports, the Redemption fakes coming in handy, Wags had debriefed with Jax over their encrypted chat, getting down all the details he could while his memory was still fresh.

“We did,” Mel said. “Between your and Blaine’s accounts, all the players were identified.”

“The Russians?”

“Ours.”

He shot off the sink. “ Yours? ” And promptly ran into the opposite wall—definitely not enough room in the tiny space to vent his surprise.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“So Friday night…”

“They were acting independently then. They weren’t today.”

“Good God, woman, what kind of juice do you have?”

“The good stuff, Mr. Wagner.” And if she was tilting a glass of the very best champagne to her lips just then, Wags wouldn’t have been surprised. “I understand we have the diary.”

“We do.”

“And what does it say about Stewart Anthony?”

“I don’t know.” He pictured her lowering that glass and mentally cheered. “I thought it right to give Blaine some time with it first.”

“Fair enough.” The smile in her voice made him regret his momentary spite, and the tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying in his shoulders began to dissipate.

He’d spent so long watching his back, working for people he didn’t trust, that the concept of folks using their power to eliminate threats to him, to do good, would take some getting used to.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

“A long month, Mr. Wagner. You’ve done well. Get some rest, then be at the airport with Blaine and that diary tomorrow morning. We’ll get you home.”

Ending the call, he leaned against the door and closed his eyes, fixating on that one word.

Home.

What did she mean by it? Dropping him back in Vienna or London, then on to the States for Blaine?

Or was he riding along to the States with Blaine and then back to Europe?

Could it be that she was offering him more?

A different, better home. Could he have that?

Had he done well enough to make this a permanent gig?

Did he want that? Salary and benefits, coworkers he could trust, a place to call his own when he wasn’t traveling?

Yes to all that, plus Blaine in his be— He shook off the thought before it fully formed, pushing off the door and pacing the two short steps the room allowed.

He braced his hands on the sink and stared at the man in the mirror.

All forty-plus years of battle—his family, his marriage, his years of military service, his years with the Austrian Federal Police, his decades at the bottom of a bottle before he’d sobered up—all of it etched into the wrinkles on his face, painted in the strands of silvering blond hair, folded into his weary soul.

He wasn’t a catch. He was a heavy anchor, as dangerous to Blaine as any of the people chasing them, even if Blaine didn’t see that.

Hell, Wags could only see it himself like this, standing alone in the dim reality, outside the blinding light of the attraction between them, away from the adrenaline that had made things brighter.

He turned on the cold tap, cupped his hands under the faucet, and splashed chilly water on his face. He would go out there and be professional. Secure the bounty and the diary, catch some half-aware shut-eye in the corner chair, then get them to the airport on time in the morning.

Get them home.

He had enough to redeem himself for already without adding to the list another moment of weakness, of selfishness.

He dried his hands and opened the door.

Blaine sat cross-legged in the middle of the king-size bed, chin wobbling, tears streaming down his pale cheeks. He lifted his face, dark eyes full of anger-drenched despair. “He did it. My father really did it.” He choked on a sob. “And I did nothing to stop it.”

Wags’s best intentions took a hurtling jump out the window. He climbed onto the bed beside Blaine and curled an arm around his shoulders. “You were just a kid.”

“I was twenty.”

“And just as much a pawn to him as your mother was. As all of us were.”

Blaine gestured helplessly with the diary, lifting it weakly, then letting it fall to his knee. “She was trying to protect me. She was going to get us out. He couldn’t…” He swallowed hard and forced out scratchy words. “He couldn’t have that and be president.”

Couldn’t be president at all after the long list of heinous crimes he’d committed had finally come to light. And now there would be another crime added to that list, foretold in the victim’s own words, held in the care of another of Stewart’s victims. “How did Charles get hold of the diary?”

Blaine picked up the journal again and flipped to the last page, holding it open for Wags to read the short, devastating note.

Charles, I know. Stewart knows I know and will kill me for it. Protect my son when I’m gone. —C

Wags’s stomach lurched, his heart with it, tumbled by sorrow for the life lost and the one left behind. “Oh, baby.” He gathered Blaine the rest of the way into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

Blaine’s sobs broke free, the book slipping from his grasp as his body shook, as he burrowed deeper into the embrace, his tears soaking Wags’s shirt.

Wags couldn’t help wondering if this was the first time Blaine had truly let himself grieve.

For his mother, for himself, for the life and family he should have had.

He carded his fingers through Blaine’s top strands, whispering forgiveness and calming words, rocking him gently while he let the tears and demons go.

Countless minutes it went on, but eventually the racking sobs gave way to sniffles, then to Blaine’s nose and lips teasing a trail from the divot at the hollow of Wags’s throat to the underside of his chin.

“Blaine…”

“I owe?—”

Wags drew back and cupped his face, thumbs over his lips. “You don’t owe me anything. You only owe yourself a chance.”

“I’m taking that chance,” Blaine whispered against the pads of his thumbs. “With you.” And then he flicked his tongue out, causing Wags to gasp and tremble with barely contained desire, giving Blaine an opening to wrap his lips around the tips of his thumbs and suck.

Wags groaned. Mentally begged his cock not to harden so fast. To give him a chance to do the right thing. “I’m not worth it. You don’t kn?—”

“I know enough.” Blaine rose onto his knees and threw one leg across Wags’s lap, straddling him and taking his face in his hands, the same way Wags had done to him.

“You’re a good man, Theodore Wagner, and tonight I need to forget all this before it becomes my life for the next however many months it takes to make sure my father rots in jail. ”

Determination shone through the leftover tears in his eyes, and Wags’s admiration for the man in his lap swelled. He covered Blaine’s hands with his own. “You know, you’re incredible.”

Blaine grinned. “Let me show you how incredible.”

“I don’t want to take advantage.”

That grin tipped into a smirk. “If that’s what you think is going on here, you’re not half as smart as I thought you were.” He leaned forward, lips brushing over Wags’s. “Trust me.”

He had to, didn’t he? Blaine was an adult who’d been through more than most people his age. And this past weekend, he had proven himself skilled and competent. He knew his own mind, and that mind, remarkably, had trusted him, was set on him, at least for tonight.

“I do.” Wags surrendered on a moan, and Blaine struck, more gently than Wags had anticipated, his tongue gliding between his lips, his fingers into his hair, his body closer, a slow slide into the pleasure they’d both been chasing since their Friday night encounter.

They kissed for what felt like days, taking turns exploring, Blaine seemingly after every corner of his mouth, learning how much Wags loved the brush of tongues, and Wags learning that Blaine squirmed in his lap when he sucked and nipped on his bottom lip.

Eager to feel more of his hard body, Wags coasted his hands down Blaine’s sides and over his arse, hauling him closer.

“Fuck,” Blaine cursed. “I want to rub my dick all over you, but I can feel yours beneath me, and all I want to do is ride it.” He whined into the crook of Wags’s neck as he struggled to do both. “We are wearing entirely too much clothing.”

Wags laughed, the struggle real for him too. “I haven’t had sex in over a year. I may come before we even get out of said clothing.”

Blaine jerked back, holding his gaze, assessing the truth of his statement.

He must have liked what he saw because he threw back his head and laughed.

Wags’s cheeks heated, but the truth was the truth.

And he was less bothered by the laughter when it sounded equal parts charmed and amused.

It eased the last of the tension and sadness from before.

Brought them back to the alley, to the car, to the church office.

Each time they’d been interrupted, but no more.

Resolve shone in Blaine’s dark eyes, all of it directed at Wags.

“I’m going to make a mess of you,” Blaine declared.

Reluctantly letting go of Blaine but more than eager for what those words promised, Wags flicked open several more shirt buttons, then reclined onto his elbows, offering himself to the man still spread across his lap. “Do your worst.”

Blaine’s eyes blazed. “Jesus, fuck, you’re hot.

” He planted one hand on Wags’s chest, fingers tangling in his chest hair, and reached down to his own fly with the other, unzipping his jeans and pulling out his thick cock.

Wags thrust up, unable to stop the inevitable, and Blaine countered, dragging along the ridge of Wags’s cock as he stroked himself.

“That’s it, baby. Give me something to ride. ”

Wags kept rolling his hips, watching raptly as Blaine stroked himself, cock rock-hard and glistening with precome. Wags licked his lips. “I want that inside me.”

“Mouth or ass?”

“Arse,” Wags didn’t hesitate to answer, desire zipping down his spine, his hole clenching harder than it had in the car earlier.

Blaine’s fist moved faster. “What if I come all over these fancy clothes first?”

“Yes,” he groaned. He wanted that too, wanted that messy, complete and utter abandon. The clothes weren’t his anyway.

“You gonna show up at the airport in come-crusted clothes?”

Shifting onto one elbow, Wags stretched his other arm down and covered Blaine’s fist, stroking him together. “Yes.” He thrust up, hard. “Come for me.”

Blaine groaned and quaked atop him, warm come spurting between their fingers and over Wags’s borrowed pants and shirt.

Inside his boxers too.

Blaine stared down at him with lust-drunk eyes. “Did you make a mess?”

In answer, Wags lifted his come-sticky hand to his mouth, sucking one finger at a time, then licking between the digits.

“Hotter still,” Blaine hummed, then offered his own hand, which Wags cleaned greedily, watching Blaine’s cock harden again with each lick.

His own too, remarkably.

“Let’s make more of one,” Blaine said with a grin before rising to his knees and shifting backward, taking Wags’s pants and sticky boxers with him as he scooted off the end of the bed. “Ditch the shirt,” he said. “And get a pillow under those hips.”

His come-and-spit-slick fingers slipped a couple of times on the rest of the buttons, but by the time Blaine finished undressing himself and retrieving condoms and lube from his bag, Wags was naked, his hips elevated, all his junk on display.

To Blaine’s delight, judging by the feral grin that lit his face.

He climbed onto the bed between Wags’s legs and, hands on the insides of his thighs, spread them wider, his mouth hovering above his groin, his warm breath utter torture.

“Fuck, you’re a mess already.” He licked the leftover come from the crease of his thigh, and Wags moaned.

Collapsed the rest of the way onto his back and arched his neck, digging his head into the pillows as he begged for more.

Blaine licked up the other crease. “You taste fucking amazing too.”

“Fuck, Blaine, please.”

Still maddeningly avoiding his cock, Blaine trailed his tongue down the seam of his balls, along his taint, then around his rim, teasing his hole.

“I’ve gotta get this good and ready first, and then I’m gonna take you rough.

” He shoved a finger inside him, the intrusion sudden and painful and perfect. “Like you want it.”

“Yes.” Wags bore down on the finger and repeated his plea. “More, please.”

“Okay, Teddy, I’ve got you.”

Wags trusted that he did, same as Blaine had trusted him earlier, and just as Wags had taken care of him then, gotten him out of that church alive and to safety, Blaine did the same for him now.

By finally taking his cock into his mouth, all the way to the back of his throat, and swallowing around the tip.

Making Wags shout. Licking and sucking his length with zero restraint.

Giving his balls attention too, rolling them in his mouth, then palming them.

Teasing and stretching his hole, three slick fingers pounding inside him while he sucked his cock, setting a relentless pace until Wags came down his throat with another shout.

The next moment, Blaine flipped him, and having held in reserve a mouthful of come, coated Wags’s already messy hole with it, then drove inside him, digging his fingers into his hips and riding him hard, the headboard making a steady, rapid thump against the wall.

Blaine pulled out at the last second, ripping off the condom and covering his arse and lower back with come like he’d done his front.

He sank down onto him after, knees tucked against his sides, arms tucked under his pits, lips nuzzling behind his ear. “Was that everything you wanted?”

Wags sighed, into the mattress, into the mess, into the warmth and sense of home covering him. “Everything and more.”