“Graham?”
The mechanic and freelance assassin moved to face Rian Van Der Meer; he felt his shoulder harness creak slightly beneath the black leather jacket as he turned around.
The young man’s face was a mask of sadness – Sullivan had been careful not to wake the other as he dressed and prepared to leave; obviously he had not been quiet enough. Rian, on the other hand, had been able to leave the bed, dress and approach him unawares.
Ri is a natural mechanic; if I get out of this alive, he’s going to get the best training I can give him.
“You’re leaving?”
The catch in his voice was too much. Graham put down his rucksack and pulled Rian into his arms. Van Der Meer held onto him like a drowning man clutches a life preserver.
“I have to, Ri. But if I can, I’ll be back – I swear it.” Sullivan felt a drop of moisture splash down his neck as he stroked the muscular back through the thin cotton material. He eased himself out of the embrace and held Rian by his powerful arms. Green eyes met.
“I’ve left you enough money so you don’t have to frequent those establishments again … and if something does happen to me, call the number I put on your phone. Are you clear on that?”
The younger man swallowed hard and nodded.
"Be careful."
Graham gave him a soft kiss and picked up the backpack.
“I always am. I love you.” He opened the door to the flat and closed it quietly behind him.
* * *
ONE WEEK EARLIER
Sullivan entered the darkened pub and with a satisfied sigh, sat down at the bar. In a few moments, the bartender approached. He was big – bigger than the hitman – with a bulldog harness showcasing his slabbed pecs – and leather gauntlets wrapping around strong wrists. Graham looked down to see an overstuffed leather jock framed by a pair of softly gleaming leather chaps wrapped around powerful legs. He had short, well-trimmed stubble on his head and face and wary blue eyes appraised the establishment’s newest patron.
“Pint of Sharp’s Doom Bar, if you have it. Tuborg Danish Red otherwise.”
The barkeep looked surprised and pleased at the same time.
“Be right back.”
Sullivan leaned back against the bar and a small, crooked grin split his face. The Octavo was his favorite fetish bar when he was in London and tonight looked hold a good deal of promise. A glove-soft biker jacket was open to reveal a black body harness that disappeared into tight leather jeans and a pair of black riding boots wrapped tightly around his legs.
The barkeep returned with a pint. He opened it and placed it in front of the leatherman. Graham grasped the bottle and took a swig.
He surveyed the surroundings and the men populating it. More than a few glances were wickedly returned. Sullivan was disturbingly sexual, to both men and women alike, in a way that set one's teeth on edge.
“Good-looking crowd tonight … how’s the action in the basement?”
The other leatherman raised his eyebrows.
“You’ve been here before?”
“Whenever I feel the need ... and that’s often enough” Sullivan smirked as he picked up his bottle and headed downstairs.
* * *
The dungeon – or the playroom – was dimly lit and already somewhat crowded. Graham saw that the slings were already filled; some with queues waiting to thrust turgid members into the squirming occupants; many of the benches and racks were already occupied with a combination of skin, leather and rubber; grunts, moans and the “smack” of tanned hide against willing (or unwilling) flesh punctuated the atmosphere.
Sullivan grinned and took a deep breath; he felt his cock swell and begin its inexorable journey down the leg of his leather jeans.
“Ahhhh….” The air was redolent with the smells of sweat, cum and poppers.
As he sampled the sights before him, eyes turned to the newest visitor and often slid away; the men felt the aura of ferocity under the most rigid of control as Graham passed among them. This was a predator – and all of them – even the most aggressive – knew they were his potential prey.
The hitman passed through a doorway and paused to survey the scene before him. A powerfully built man knelt; his wrists shackled in front of him and fastened to a ring jutting up from the cushioned flooring – he was fitted with an eyeless mask that covered everything except his mouth, which had only been recently vacated by the thick tool of a short, stocky leatherman. Several others had queued up to be serviced and Graham joined them.
Sullivan’s turn came. He unsnapped the codpiece of his jeans and his engorged tool sprung out. Graham stepped up to the questing head and open mouth and slid his cock slowly into the waiting orifice. His hands moved downward to the muscular shoulders and stroked them gently as he established a slow rhythm.
A well-muscled stud wearing a pair of tight black track pants spoke up in an angry tone.
“Hey mate, speed it up a bit! The queue’s getting …” Sullivan opened his eyes and gave the other man a flat stare. The complaint died in his throat. Graham continued; his hands moved upwards to caress the hooded head.
The hitman moaned in pleasure as teeth gently scraped down his cock.
“Oh, Lord …” he felt his nuts contract. White starbursts novaed behind his eyelids as he exploded down the kneeling man’s throat. Graham tipped the unseeing face up and gave the full lips a kiss.
“Thanks, love…” The face broke into a beatific smile.
Another man in room cleared his throat. He was strongly built and wearing chaps and a black jock.
“Okay, gents! Now for a change of pace!” He squatted down and used a set of keys dangling around his neck to release the slave from the floor. He pulled the hooded man roughly to his feet and pushed him over a bench, fastening the wrists and ankles and immobilizing the captive.
“Here’s your chance, gents! We have ourselves a virgin ass here! Who wants to be the first to tear him open? First cock gets twenty quid and first fist gets fifty!”
The shackled man began to thrash in his bonds.
“NO!! Edmund, you bastard! NO!! Let me up! Goddamn you!! NO!!”
“Shut the hell up, Rian!” He pushed a ball gag into the captive’s mouth and strapped it tightly around the back of his neck. The man continued to struggle and scream wordlessly into the gag. He addressed the crowd
"He's a feisty little bugger, isn't he? Just imagine what he'll be doing when you fill him up!"
Graham’s own first experience flashed before his eyes. He remembered the dirty burlap bag thrown over his head, the strong hands holding him down … and the ripping pain of nameless cocks breaching him. He remembered the blood.
Oh God, he remembered the blood.
His face grew hard.
“The lad said ‘no’ – let him up. NOW.” He stepped up to the other man.
The barker moved to shove Sullivan aside.
“Mate, he’s mine to do with as I please … so go fuck yourse-“
The other man gasped as Graham grabbed his throat and squeezed. His feet left the floor. The hitman’s voice was black silk.
“You even THINK of violating him and I WILL rip your fucking intestines out of your ass and strangle you with them.” The room grew deathly quiet. He tore the keys from the man’s neck and threw him to the ground. He landed hard on his ass. Sullivan unlocked the young man from the bench, unbuckled the gag and tossed it on the floor.
“C’mon, love … let’s get the hell out of here.” He put an arm around the trembling man and led him from the room.
* * *
Graham escorted the hooded captive with him into the main area of the basement, holding him close.
“No worries, lad. I’ll get that mask off of you once we’re alone.” The two approached a mirrored wall. Graham placed his hand on the silvered surface and a dim red light scanned down his handprint. The corner split open to reveal a corridor which closed quickly behind them.
The hitman opened a door and flipped on the lights in the room.
“There’s a settee right behind you … put your arms around my neck and I’ll sit you down.” Sullivan gently lowered the other man onto the couch and then flipped through the keys for one to fit the locking zipper. Finding it, he released the pull from its post and opened the mask.
Good Lord … The young man – younger than he thought – blinked in the sudden brightness. He had a short brown buzzcut and a finely cropped cognac-colored stache. It merged into a small beard which had been obscured by the mask. The captive’s eyes were a pale greenish gold and looked at him with a combination of desire, awe and gratitude bordering on adoration.
Graham sank down on his haunches so he was eye-level with the former captive.
“You okay, love? I couldn’t stand by and see you raped … my, my, you’re a damn handsome bastard … what’s your name?”
The young man stretched out a tentative hand and stroked Graham’s face.
“Rian Van Der Meer, sir. You’re … you’re the man who kissed me … I recognize your voice.” His slight accent quickened the mechanic's pulse. He moved closer to Sullivan and their lips met.
“Thank you, Mister …”
“The name’s Graham Sullivan. Tell me Rian … how did you get yourself in that situation?” Bright green eyes bored into him, demanding an answer.
“Well, sir … Edmund … the guy that brought me – promised a good time with lots of action tonight. I was a bit nervous when he stripped me naked and put the hood on, but he swore nothing untoward would happen to me. And nothing did ... that is, until he set me up to get fucked… or fisted...”
Rian began to shake again. The younger man looked at the leather-clad stud in front of him and felt the barely contained violence roll off the man in waves. He told himself he’d never want a man like this, he was too rough, too carnal, more animal than human, with one foot in the swamp and no desire to come all the way out, but the truth was that he was terrified by what Graham made him
feel … a frantic hard, raw loss of self, like you couldn’t live without him inside you, around you, with you all the time and the only thing that mattered was
his estimation of your worth.
Sullivan had moved onto the couch and sat next to Van Der Meer. His face softened and the change in his mien was amazing. He pulled the young man into his arms and stoked the back of his head.
“You’re safe now, love… no one is going to hurt you while I’m around…” Graham felt the younger man nestle into his embrace and breathe in the heady scent of his leathers. He felt Van Der Meer’s cock begin to thicken and dig into the mesas of his abs. The combination of the young man in his arms and the fact that Rian was naked save for the wrist and ankle restraints had Sullivan growing rigid as well.
He’s not ready – oh, but bloody hell, I am. Damnit. “Best we get you dressed and safely home, then.”
Graham picked up a phone and pressed a few buttons.
“This is Sullivan. I’m in Room 4. Bring down the clothing checked for Rian Van Der Meer and ring for a cab.” He hung up.
“Sir?” Rian looked perturbed.
“I was, uh, staying with Edmund. I can’t go back there.”
The hitman could not believe his luck. Someone up there definitely was smiling down at him.
“Then you’re staying with me. Once you’re dressed, we’ll have some dinner and then I’m taking you home.”
* * *
The two men left the club and began the walk towards Graham's car. Tonight, parking had been an unbridled nuisance and he had been forced to leave his coupe several blocks away.
Things happen for a reason... Sullivan thought to himself as he tightened his arm around the younger man. They kissed again. The extended walk gave them a chance to become closer.
Suddenly, he felt Van Der Meer tense. He whispered.
"Graham - someone is following us."
Graham heard it now too - a slight echo to their steps on the darkened street. Without breaking stride he replied in the same low tone.
"Zip up that jacket so your white t-shirt doesn't show ... at the next corner, move to your right. Hide behind the dumpster. Don't quicken your stride. Go!"
As they rounded the next intersection, Rian moved behind the large metal enclosure. Graham turned to the left and pressed himself against the brick wall. The steel rings of his harness winked in the pale light. In a few moments, their followers came into view. Both were well-built, hard looking men that moved with a stealthy, purposeful gait. One held an automatic with a long and wicked-looking silencer. Graham targeted him first.
As the gunman passed him, the mechanic reached out and swung him into the brick. Stunned, he reacted fractionally too late as Graham twisted the wrist holding the gun, shattering it and having the weapon drop to the ground. A knife slid into Graham's hand from a sheath in his sleeve and he thrust it into the assailant's sternum. Sullivan twisted it up into the heart and the man dropped lifeless to his feet.
Less than twenty seconds had passed. He turned to the remaining thug and stared as Rian cannonballed out of his hiding place. The younger man's leg spun out and his foot connected squarely with the other's throat. The assailant gagged and staggered back as Rian's judo throw flattened him onto the pavement. Graham heard a thud as the man's head hit the curb. He tucked the gun into the small of his back and grinned as he glided over to his companion.
"Nice work, Ri ... where'd you learn to move like that?"
Rian returned the grin.
"Nijmegen MMA ladder. I'm top ranked in my weight bracket. Who are they?"
Graham bent down to fish out the insensate man's wallet.
"We'll figure that out when we get home." He pulled the unconscious assailant into a semi-sitting position and grasped his head. With a quick, hard twist, he broke his neck and let the body slump back to the concrete. Van Der Meer's mouth dropped open in shock at the turn of events even as Sullivan pulled him close and nuzzled his neck.
"My car's just down the street and there's no need to rush - they aren't going anywhere. Running just attracts attention - that's one thing we can do without at the moment."
* * *
The young man was quiet in the car. He swallowed hard.
"Graham? Are you ... are you some type of drug dealer?"
He glanced at his passenger and gave him a quick lopsided grin.
"I've moved my share of heroin and cocaine, Ri ... but I'm mainly a freelance mechanic."
At Van Der Meer's puzzled look, Sullivan continued.
"I don't repair cars, if that's what you're thinking. A mechanic like me fixes things, love. Situations. Problems. People. Had a stint in SAS to break me of my bad habits ... but that only improved my skills. And my determination. I'm basically a hitman, Ri - I like my job a lot ... and I'm quite good at it. Not as flashy as my ex, but I never have a dearth of work."
The leather-clad assassin paused.
"You remember that big murder in Italy a few months ago? They had it blasting on the news for a good week?"
Rian's brows furrowed.
"You mean the one with candidate for prime minister, the campaign platform and the vat of acid? The one they said was done by, ummm .... 'The Joker' ??"
Sullivan nodded.
"The very same. My Jason does love to plan a spectacular ... we're still quite close, he and I, but just not intimate. Ahh - we're here."
Graham pulled into the driveway of a small, two-storey home. The door levered open and the car disappeared quickly into the garage.
Graham and Rian exited the vehicle. The assassin slipped the gun removed from the dead man out of his waistband and released the safety.
He motioned to the younger man to be quiet.
“Stay behind me, Ri … I’m fairly sure the bastards I killed tonight have something to do with my current job and I want to make sure there aren’t any surprises waiting for us.”
The door leading from the garage opened on well-oiled hinges and the two moved like shadows into the house. The men crossed a short dim hallway and stood in front of a heavy door. Graham took a small flashlight from his pocket and trailed the light down the doorframe. Two-thirds of the way down, a single hair lay across the frame and onto the door itself. Sullivan pointed it out to his companion and smiled. He took out his keys and opened the door.
The hitman strode into the living room and flipped on the light switch. He re-engaged the safety and placed the gun on the table.
Rian’s mouth went dry as he watched his companion strip off his cycle jacket. The body harness only served to carnally accentuate the powerfully muscular physique and arms; it disappeared into the tight leather jeans and drew attention to the thick, solid bulge at his crotch. The hitman's hand moved to heft his considerable package.
Graham unzipped the track jacket from Rian’s torso and tossed it onto a chair. Hands gently framed the bearded face as he gave Van Der Meer a soft kiss. The pair continued to explore each other’s mouths as Sullivan’s hands moved slowly down Rian’s body until they held the slim hips. Thumbs massaged the hard obliques beneath them as Graham kissed the soft skin of Rian’s throat. He felt the young man’s pulse hammer against his lips as a quiet moan escaped Van Der Meer. Graham pulled back a bit to stare into the golden-green eyes of the younger man.
“Rian …” Sullivan’s voice was husky.
“... I’d never force you into anything, but the thought of you beneath me is driving me mad. I was never one to believe in love at first sight, but I think Cupid has done a drop kick to my sternum as far as you’re concerned...” He caressed Rian’s lips with a finger.
“Please, love? I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Rian reached up to stroke Graham’s face. Something in those serious, intense pale green eyes promised to fill a void he hadn’t known existed up until he met the assassin. Graham leaned closer into him, all sex and barely-leashed violence, and when Rian felt his hard-on dig into his crotch, it made him feel absolutely, amazingly
alive.
He nodded.
“Okay, Graham. For you, yes.”
* * *
Graham slowly stripped Rian and brought the naked man into the bedroom; he had shucked off his boots and jeans and was naked himself save for his harness.He sat Van Der Meer on the side of the bed so that his legs were dangling off the edge. The hitman gently guided the Dutchman onto his back and kneeled between his legs. Then he started to massage his inner thighs, kissing each point where his hands had been. As he worked his way up the strong legs, he reached Van Der Meer’s full balls.
As the hitman began the firm, seductive massage of Rian’s orbs, the martial artist began moaning loudly. Clearly, Van Der Meer had not been touched in this way in a long, long time. Graham leaned forward and began flicking his tongue over the velvety sac. He gently sucked one and then alternately the other into his mouth, laving them with his saliva. As Rian squirmed in erotic passion, Graham began his journey up the other’s hard stalk toward the crown of his pleasure. Without missing a beat in the rhythm, he tightly slipped his lips over the head of Rian’s ever-expanding cockhead and began a slow descent down the thick shaft. Upon burying his nose in Van Der Meer’s trimmed hair, Graham knew that this exploration was going to result in some of the best sex of Rian’s life… and possibly of his, as well.
Graham kept his rhythm steady, in the same beat as a hot, R&B grind. Rian was responding in kind. His hand swept over Sullivan’s head and he joined in the rhythm. His hips were gently thrusting forward as he buried his rod deep in the hitman’s throat.
“Graham, stop! Please, I’m going to cum! I’m not ready!” The hitman ignored his plea and gave a deep chuckle.
Sullivan picked up the tempo and soon Rian was grunting deep in his chest as his scalding fluids pummeled the leatherman’s insides.
After he had quieted himself, Graham guided him fully onto the bed, cradled his head in his shoulder and began kissing his nipples.
“Turn over, love … it’s easier this way the first time.” Rian shivered as Sullivan straddled him and stroked his back; he grabbed a bottle of lube and dribbled a generous amount of the cool fluid onto the prone man’s pucker and slowly inserted one index finger. He felt the younger man tense.
Naked, alone with Graham Sullivan, a man who was so far beyond Rian’s comprehension, Van Der Meer was terrified but God, it excited him! His hard, harness-clad body covering his own was an unspoken promise of initiation into a secret underworld where he could feel things he couldn’t begin to imagine and desperately wanted him to work on his body and soul for hours.
“Relax, sweetheart ...”
Rian took some deep breaths and Graham began to push his finger in to feel around for his prostate. He knew he had found it when Van Der Meer moaned and his hard cock jerked a little. Rian bucked every time he stroked that spot. The leatherman slid his finger in and out slowly, letting him get used to the sensation, and get used to it he did. He liked it. Sullivan decided to try two fingers. It made the young Dutchman a little uncomfortable at first, but quickly acclimated. He was so
tight.
I just have to get my cock in there somehow.
"Please go real slow, Graham. I've never had anything ... anyone ... in there before tonight."
That was all he needed to hear. Graham poured a goodly amount of lube onto his aching cock and prepared Van Der Meer for his first penetration. Once he was ready, Sullivan put the purpled crown of his tool in place and slowly, carefully, slid it in just past the mushroom head. Rian instinctively tightened up and it made it impossible to go in any further. Graham stroked his back and kissed the nape of his neck.
"Relax", He told him.
"It will get easier in a moment...”
He was patient with him. It took time, but Rian finally calmed and the pain on his face turned to one of astonishment as the leatherman's cock pushed deeper into his channel. Graham guessed he couldn't believe this was happening to him.
After his hole loosened up a bit, Graham started moving in and out of him.
Slowly. If he had not held back, he would have shot right then and there - taking his lover’s virginity was almost too much to bear.
I've got to last longer. There's never a second first time. Rian’s face shifted from pain to pleasure as Graham began to pick up the pace. The two men snapped into synchronicity. Graham was pumping in and out and Rian was grunting his approval as the hitman reached around to stroke his cock.
A few minutes later, Graham could tell Rian was ready to erupt for a second time ... and so was he. As Van Der Meer screamed and shot a load onto the sheets, Sullivan went over the edge and filled his lover’s insides with his seed - the two men were exhausted when their orgasms finally subsided. Still impaled on his prong, Graham pulled the younger man onto his side and spooned into him. He stoked the smooth chest beneath his fingers and kissed the powerful shoulders until both fell asleep.
* * *
“The perimeter has been secured for the night, sir. Everything is clear.” The ex-military man reported to Jordan Abbot. He was about 6 feet tall, with a no-nonsense crew cut, sharply trimmed beard and his muscular physique filled out the dark compression tee-shirt well. A large-caliber handgun was secured in a paddle holster at his side and a walkie-talkie crackled slightly as his men checked in with each other.
“Thank you, Mr. Pierce. I assume you will be at your usual post?” Abbot was naked save for a pair of lounge pants clinging sinfully to his powerful legs.
The man nodded curtly.
“Yes, sir. Standing watch in the front foyer. Good night.” He turned and left the study.
Hmmm ... I wonder if he's as arrogant in bed as he is with that gun on his hip. Abbot licked his lips.
Lord ... how much would it cost me to chain him up and fuck him senseless... A faint smile creased his face as that tableau drifted through his mind.
Abbot poured himself a finger of scotch and sat down in front of the fireplace. He was somewhat concerned that the other gunmen he had hired had not reported in for a few days. But, he thought to himself, they were as capable and highly trained as Pierce and would no doubt eliminate the man out to kill him.
* * *
The nightmare had started when Jordan had received a DVD in the mail. It was in a plain package, with his name neatly typed on the front. The disk itself was unlabeled. He placed it into the player and waited for it to begin.
The camera faded into nicely furnished living room and slowly panned to a well-muscled man bound to a large wooden St. Andrew’s cross in its center. From the marks on his body, he had been severely beaten and lashed by a whip. The head had fallen forward onto the chest, making him difficult, if not impossible, to identify. The camera panned in to show that the captive had not only been tied to the unyielding material by leather thongs, but large, heavy spikes had been hammered into the wrists and feet. The blood from the wounds had run down his arms and the wounds themselves still oozed bright red blood. From off screen, a bucket of water was thrown onto the prisoner, shocking him awake.
Jordan’s mouth dropped open as the man raised his head and he recognized him as Kent Jones, his former executive officer when the two had served in the First Gulf War.
“Tell him.” A harsh voice off screen commanded.
He shifted in his bonds and moaned.
“J-Jordan … our past has caught up with us … the things … the things we did in Kuwait … have come full circle with a vengeance.” His face was a mass of bruises.
“S-save yourself if you can...”
Jordan watched in horror as a man in Royal Marine camouflage fatigues and a black balaclava entered the camera frame, holding a
Fairbairn-Sykes knife and approached Jones. The captive shrieked as the masked man sliced a large “X” into abdomen and then proceeded to slowly pull the intestines from the body. The former XO’s cries turned to moans and finally quieted as he bled to death on camera. The faceless Marine turned to the camera and the same harsh voice spoke again.
“Check the Scottish newspapers two Mondays last. There’s a particularly lurid account about this in the Paisley Daily Express … You’re next, Abbot.”
* * *
A frantic search confirmed the murder; and the assailant was right - the account in that Scottish daily made Abbot’s blood run cold. It was then that he had hired the security personnel and turned his estate into an armed camp.
* * *
THUNK ... KA-THUNK
Abbot woke with a start. He must have dozed off. That heavy, metallic noise was something that had been haunting his dreams for the past fortnight.
The slide of an automatic pistol being engaged.
He looked up to see Graham standing in the doorway. The assassin held a pistol with a silencer in one hand and a pale brown plush bear cradled in the other arm. The hitman’s mien was a mask of anger and determination.
Jordan Abbot’s face drained of all color as terror and recognition chased across his features.
“Sullivan! … you …”
“Hello Major … long time no see ... and I wouldn’t be looking for your hired mercs for rescue any time soon. They’ve all been knocked out and trussed up in the conservatory. I also broke their arms to make sure they wouldn’t be interfering with our reunion.”
Abbot’s eyes widened as he noticed the bear.
“What have you done to my son …??” he moved to get up from the chair.
“Sit. DOWN.” His voice was like ice and the pistol was pointed unwaveringly at his chest. He sat.
“Your boy and wife are fine. I just gave them a bit of a draught to make certain they sleep soundly through any racket going on down here.”
Sullivan strolled into the room.
“Like looking at Banquo’s ghost, isn’t it? If it hadn’t been for Jason Blackburn, I’d be bleeding to death in the sand just like Ken Sorbie, Adam Vaughn and Elliot Clements...”
Graham continued.
“... all for you and that fucking XO of yours to smuggle those artifacts and gold out of the country …well, he’s certainly not enjoying the fruits of his labours. Your little bum chum was crying his eyes out as I was ripping the guts out of his body …”
Sullivan eased himself down into a chair opposite Abbot, the gun never wavering from its target. If possible, his green eyes grew harder.
“I’ll give you this … you’re one calm son of a bitch with Death staring you in the face.”
“What do you want?”
Graham’s voice was a deep growl.
“I want to see you suffer the tortures of the damned and then I want to see you die. Clear enough for you?”
“How much, then?”
“What?”
“How much to leave me and my family alone?”
The hitman gave a bitter laugh.
“It’s always the same for you goddamn Eton-and-Sandhurst crowd, isn’t it? You took the lives of three poor lads that depended on you and you didn’t give a fucking spit about them! Just bloody ASBOs to toss aside to add lucre to your stinking coffers.”
Abbot gave the man opposite him an appraising glance.
“Come now, Sullivan … every man has his price … what’s yours?”
“This.” Graham shot him in the stomach. The gun coughed twice more as he shot out a knee and an elbow.
Abbot screamed as he fell and writhed on the floor.
“Those are specifically designed hollow point bullets, Major. Designed to cause maximum damage, and filled with a particularly potent form of purified crotamine. Myotoxic snake venom. I’m told it’s excruciatingly painful as it ruptures your blood vessels and organs." He looked at the G-Shock watch on his wrist. "My guess is you’ll be dead in about three hours.”
"Bastard..." Jordan spat out through gritted teeth. He crawled on the floor towards the phone. A scarlet trail followed his agonizingly slow progress.
Graham stomped down on the uninjured knee and heard it dislocate. Abbot howled.
"If you hadn’t committed such grievous sins, God would not have sent a punishment like me." He took the phone off the table and ripped the wire from the wall.
The hitman sat and watched as his quarry struggled, screaming in pain, twitched and finally lay still. He squatted down to feel for a pulse and finding none, a grim smile of satisfaction crossed his chiseled face.
“Another bitter weed plucked from the garden of life.”
He straightened up and tossed the bear onto the floor as he left. It bounced a few times on the plush carpet and finally landed near the body.
* * *
The sun was just beginning to rise as the key turned in the lock and Graham shuffled tiredly into the house. He had walked for a long time after the death of his former CO to clear his mind and finally headed home. To the man he loved.
"I told Rian that you needed some time by yourself ... he was worried sick about you. I put him to bed about an hour ago. He called me when you didn't come home."
Graham spun to see Jason Blackburn - sitting on the couch, casually smoking a cigarette. His former lover's shaved head gleamed in the morning light and a knowing grin split his face. He stood up and gathered the hitman in his arms.
"I take it Jordan Abbot has shed this mortal coil?" His slight burr was intoxicating as ever.
Sullivan nodded.
"He died screaming in pain and I stayed watching him suffer until I was sure he was dead. I owed that to Kenny, Adam and Elliot... and I killed that miserable fucker Jones a fortnight ago."
Jason smiled.
"I saw the articles ... and somehow, I just knew it was your doing. Nice work."
Graham returned the grin.
"It felt super, Jayce. I wish I could have done it more than once."
Blackburn tilted his head towards the bedroom.
"You've got yourself a keeper there, Graham. We spoke for a long time into the wee hours of the night. He's got a great deal of potential ... are you thinking of taking him on as your apprentice? And do you know how much he loves you?"
The hitman nodded as he felt a blush steal up his cheeks.
"Yes and yes, Jayce ... I do."
"Well, you'd best go in and let him know you're fine. I'll make us some breakfast and then I think we should go out and celebrate."
* * *
Graham Sullivan is a badass. How could he not be, looking as he does like Jason Statham? Nevertheless, even giving him his back story, I wanted to develop his character further. After my "Stinger" story arc, I wanted to do a bit rougher treatment and a tale with Graham seemed to be the perfect formula.
You've heard me mention the term "tisis" before in the Charlie/Mateo story arc. "Tisis" is a Greek term which can be defined as the act of exacting or suffering retributive justice. In this story, both sides of tisis are explored - Graham as the exactor, and Abbot as the sufferer.
The hitman in this case assumes the role of the Erinyes - the Furies - in pursuing Abbot and his minion Jones and extracting revenge for the murder of three of his squadmates while in the British military.
Funny thing was, it was that initial picture of Rian that got me thinking about this story. Somehow, looking at him gave me almost the complete plot outline for the tale. It was just a matter of sequencing the pieces together.
I also wanted to do a "first time" story and the fact that Rian was (somewhat) innocent was the impetus for Graham to take him under his wing. That and his own first brutal experience. One thing leads to another, and true to my romantic streak, the hit man and the martial artist come together. We see echoes of Statham's film - "The Mechanic" in this tale, but I prefer a happier ending.
The teddy bear. OK ... one of my favorite series on television right now is "Castle." Let me explain...
For those of you unfamiliar with the series, Castle follows Nathan Fillion as Richard Castle, a famous mystery novelist who has killed off his main character in his book series and has writer's block.
He is brought in by the NYPD for questioning regarding a copy-cat murder based on one of his novels. He is intrigued by this new window into crime and murder, and uses his connections to charm his way into shadowing the captivating Detective Kate Beckett, played by Stana Katic.
Castle decides to use Beckett as the model for the main character of his next book series starring "Nikki Heat". Beckett, an avid reader of Castle's books, initially disapproves of having Castle shadow her on her cases, but later warms up and recognizes Castle as a useful resource in her team's investigations.
In the Season 3 cliffhanger, there was a similar situation between one of the main characters - Captain Montgomery - and a professional hit man - Hal Lockwood - working for a shadowy organization. In that instance, the hitman's appearance was merely a warning - in my case, it was a comeuppance.
Finally, bringing in Jason Blackburn - the infamous 'Joker' - was a late complement to the story and a good addition without muddying the plotline. As I was going to sleep one night, I was replaying the tale in my head and all of a sudden, it struck me that it had to be Jason's number that was placed into Rian's phone. This also gave me a chance to put on a Greyland again - they still hold a warm spot in my heart, but they are nothing like my silicone masks.
I still have my WWII story that is limping along in my head, as well as the final installment of "Stinger" - it's something I want to write, but I'm not sure if I should. Both have a lot of supernatural overtones and I don't know if my readers are going to be as intrigued as I with the premises.
Tony McLaren cuffed the two thieves and herded them down the alley and away from the … whatever. When they were about four blocks distant, he stopped.
Marchosias was one of the 72 demons mentioned in the Ars Goetia – the first section of the 17th century grimoire The Lesser Key of Solomon – and falls into the 'biddable' category. This particular fallen angel is one of the Great Marquises of Hell, commanding thirty legions of demons. He is a strong and excellent fighter and very reliable to the conjurer, giving true answers to all questions. Marchosias hoped after one thousand and two hundred years to return to heaven with the non-fallen angels, but he is deceived in that hope. 
