Page 44 of How Much For a Life of Lies?

“Keep your head down, and don’t fuck up,” he said.

“Are we going to talk about?—”

“Not on an active mission,” he said, then turned his back on me and vanished into his main room.

I stayed in the hall as long as I thought it might take him to fuck me on the stairs. Not that I imagined him bending me over on the stairs and fucking me.

Or grabbing lube, kissing down his spine, me naked, him opening him up?—

“Haven’t you gone yet?” he snarled, hoisting his huge backpack over a shoulder.

I tapped my belt. “You’re just fucking me goodbye on the stairs, and I need sixty seconds to make it seem real.”

“For god’s sake, Kai.” His eyes glittered with frustration.

I held up a hand. “My bad,” I drawled and tapped my butt. “We know you wouldn’t last much past forty-five once you’re in this ass.”

Then I slipped out of the house before I got an earful about the mission, rearranging my pants to show anyone who was looking what I’d done. Only brushing my hand over my hard dick was a step too far. Of course, I got hard—who wouldn’t get hard as iron imagining Zach fucking me on the stairs?

It was nothing to do with last night.

Bulldog pulled the jeep to a halt outside the house when he saw me and waited as I sauntered over.

“You take it up the ass?” he asked with a nasty snarl.

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” I deadpanned.

He wrinkled his nose. “Fuck no.”

“Where’s Viper’s body?” I changed the subject.

Bulldog growled. He thumbed behind us, and I glanced back to see the body shape in plastic sprawled on the back seat, in full display. Not that we’d be pulled over in a town where not even the cops intervened in Kozlov’s business.

“You realize plastic is bad for the environment, right?”

He didn’t answer. At least there was still a chance I’d be able to locate the disposal site for Kozlov and his merry band of murderers and thieves. Score one for Shadow Team.

We reached the mines by early afternoon, and for all the journey, Bulldog was silent and edgy. I hadn’t been out to the site of Kozlov’s industry before. Most of what Swim Central had done in the way of intel had been from covert surveillance. So I kinda knew what to expect from pictures, but there wasn’t much of anything topside—most of what happened was underground in the old mines. I counted ten armed guards, and other silent figures scurried about with purpose.

But then we rounded a corner and I saw her.

Fuck, she was beautiful.

In the center of an open space there was the very familiar shape of a Sikorsky CH-53E Super Stallion, a heavy-lift cargo helicopter, the workhorses of the 427 fleet, reliable and rugged, capable of carrying heavy loads into the most hostile of environments. I grinned. My baby was a behemoth of a machine, dwarfing everything around it with its sleek but imposing size against the backdrop of the forest. However I got here, I felt a familiar wash of pride and a sense of reverence at seeing it.

I was a 427 flyboy to the core.

“This way,” Bulldog ordered, pulling my thoughts away from getting up in the skies again, and I didn’t argue as he adjusted the weight of Viper and strode through a gate. I followed him and stopped at a drain cover. “Open it,” he said.

“Fuck off,” I said.

“I’m carrying the fucking body,” he snapped.

“Like I care,” I muttered, but opened the cover, and then, after a pause, Bulldog tipped Viper over the edge, and I didn’t hear a thump or a splash. He crowded me, pushing me close to the dark void.

“You’re next,” he warned.

I shoved him away, not as hard as I could, because his lips curled, and he showed his teeth. People underestimated me at five-ten, but I had moves they’d never even thought of; still, there was no point showing my hand yet.

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