Page 6 of Steel Trap
“I’d prefer you on your knees,pretty man, but as you please.”
Hatchet stood at ease, betraying his military background. He seemed so relaxed in his skin that Smith felt a spike of envy. Just being around him was a problem for Smith’s concentration—he’d rather deal with Rogue Hellaby’s barely concealed contempt. Smith clenched, then relaxed his fingers. “Mr. Trap has identified the location of a cocaine factory here in Phoenix.He would like it closed down.”
“You want The Wyverns to take it out?” Hatch shrugged. “Just tell me where.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It never is.” Hatch sighed. He leaned against the spanking bench, stroking the padded surface. “Give it to me straight, Smith.”
Smith couldn’t resist raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, so thereisa sense of humor beneath the permafrost,” Hatchet said. “Spill it. Whatcrap are you slinging our way this time? And be warned, if I need to recall Rogue from the beach I wouldn’t want to be you when Orlando gets back.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Smith said, silently agreeing. Orlando was scarier than the rest of The Wyverns together. “This is a one-man job. Well, two actually. Me and you.”
“What the fuck? Didn’t you learn your lesson in Mexico?” Hatchet didn’tseem so relaxed any longer. “Your place is behind the scenes, not on the fucking firing line.”
“I haven’t told you about the job yet.” Hatchet in alpha male over-protective mode was making Smith’s dick twitch. “So shut up and listen.”On reflection, that might not have been the wisest thing to say.Before he could blink, Smith found himself hoisted over a broad shoulder then unceremoniously dumpedon the bed. He sprawled in a heap, then Hatchet was over him, pinning him down.
“You have a smart mouth,” Hatchet growled. “It’s about time someone taught you some manners.”
When Hatchet nipped Smith’s lower lip, all Smith’s resistance dissolved. He accepted the kiss as the punishment it was, rough and bruising. Hatchet left him gasping for air when he finally pulled away.
“I should spank yourass so hard you won’t sit for a week,” Hatchet said.
Smith knew there wasn’t anything he could do to stop him if Hatchet decided to follow through with his threat.
“Another time.” Hatchet levered himself off the bed.
Smith struggled to a sitting position, feeling both mentally and physically disheveled. He smoothed his hair in an attempt to regain some composure. “I’ll send arrangements viaShelton,” he said, voice shaking. “I’ll be posing as a buyer. The arrangements are already made.”
“So what am I, backup?”
“Not quite. The factory is using illegal immigrant slave labor. Mr. Trap wants it destroyed, but we need to get the workers out first. That means infiltrating the operation.”
“And how exactly is that gonna work?”
“You’re going to shoot me.” Smith would have given a milliondollars for a photograph of the expression on Hatchet’s face. Then Hatchet ruined the effect by dissolving into laughter.
Smith sighed. “Get out of here, Mr. Hatchet. Everything you need to know will be sent to Shelton first thing tomorrow.” Smith stood then made his way to the door. He wanted to get home, to the security of his apartment where Nelson Hatchet couldn’t upset his equilibrium. Healso needed to come in the worst possible way. It would happen with the scent of leather and latex lingering in his nostrils and the memory of Hatchet holding him down, plundering his mouth, an indelible image in his mind.
