Page 3 of Fiendish Ways

“This has to be one of the most embarrassing pains in the world and you always treat me like… I don’t know how to explain it. Like it’s not.”

That was on Nebraska’s youth. Everyone else knew there was no reason for Nebraska to be embarrassed. Cree didn’t say that. “It’s not. I know you’re in severe pain. It doesn’t matter what causes it. I’m here to help.”

“Thank God.”

Cree smiled at the open relief in Nebraska’s voice. That was what made him Cree’s biggest addiction. He had never been the hero. Cree had been born into poverty and sold to an assassin program. After being tortured into becoming a hired killer, he had done the job he had been trained to do. He protected crime lords, and killed and tortured people. Cree wasn’t the protagonist. He was the villain. Not with Nebraska. For the first time, Cree had rescued someone and kept him safe. He had nurtured life. Nebraska never looked at him with fear. He gave Cree a place to be soft.

Cree heard Nebraska’s breathing deepen. The ice pack slipped. Cree snagged it and set it aside before dragging the heating pad across Nebraska’s stomach. He went back to holding him and stole his chance to stare. Nebraska was adorable. He always filled Cree’s chest and melted him. There was a smattering of light freckles across the bridge of Nebraska’s nose. He looked incredibly young and vulnerable. Nebraska was those things. Cree had over twenty years on the guy. No doubt Nebraska only saw him as a father figure. Cree told himself that was for the best. He was a bad person and Nebraska deserved someone kind. Still, Cree enjoyed these moments when he got to quietly dream. No one and nothing else brought him peace. Holding Nebraska gave him that. Cree didn’t want their time together to end.

The pain had—thankfully—passed. Between the pain meds and King slipping into the room to give him his Crohn’s medication, Nebraska felt much better. For at least an hour, Nebraska savored watching Cree sleep. On his side, facing Cree, Nebraska’s gaze stayed locked on Cree. Even in his sleep, he was hard. Cree probably scared small children. Nebraska wondered how many people Cree had killed. He didn’t doubt it had been several. Nebraska also wondered what it said about him he didn’t care. He had never felt safer.

Part of Nebraska wanted to wake Cree so those sexy blue eyes could focus on him. The rest of Nebraska dreaded the moment Cree came awake and abandoned him again. Cree seemed to spend less and less time with him all the time.

Nebraska’s gaze moved down Cree’s body. His dress shirt was open at the collar. A hint of muscular chest peeked out, making Nebraska’s mouth water. That was another thing. Cree made him very, very horny, and it was torture being this close to touching him. Nebraska shared his bed—platonically. They slept inches apart, and Nebraska never saw Cree as much as talking to anyone else. There were no women or men, as far as Nebraska could tell. Nebraska assumed Cree did those things on the nights he was out of town with Archer. In fact, he wondered if it was Archer who shared his bed. Archer seemed to genuinely love his husband. Nebraska didn’t know if that mattered. He had never been exposed to a healthy relationship. Maybe everyone cheated. It ate at Nebraska, thinking of Cree touching anyone else.

Without a plan, Nebraska quietly scooted closer. He wanted to touch Cree. It was a sickness in his blood. Thanks to his psycho father, Nebraska had never gotten much of a chance to date. He had never had sex with anyone. Nebraska daydreamed more than could be considered healthy. It was always the same body covering his in his mind. One of the most terrifying parts was, he didn’t really know if Cree was gay. Archer obviously was, and it seemed like they only associated with gay men, but he hadn’t actually seen Cree show interest in anyone. He always freely touched Nebraska, but Nebraska had a bad feeling that was a fatherly affection. There was nothing familial about the way Nebraska felt. He wanted to blow cum all over Cree’s body. Nebraska wanted to put Cree’s dick in his mouth and learn how to give head. He knew Cree would be a patient teacher. Desire ate at his brain—like scratching rats. He couldn’t stop thinking about Cree’s cock. Nebraska went to ridiculous lengths to accidentally touch it. Maybe he would do that now.

Nebraska eased even closer. His gaze stayed locked on Cree’s open collar. Saliva filled his mouth. He had to taste that spot. His dick was hard and leaking inside his shorts. He set his hand on Cree’s side, savoring his hard body as he inched closer. His lips were a hairsbreadth from Cree’s throat. He felt Cree stir. Nebraska went still. With his eyes closed, he focused on keeping his breathing even. After a moment of feigning sleep, Cree’s body relaxed. His breathing evened out again. Nebraska chanced a glance at his face. He was asleep.

With freedom restored, Nebraska touched his lips to Cree’s throat. Painful longing rose in Nebraska’s chest. He had never wanted anything in his life as badly as he craved Cree. His lips moved lower. He risked a small lick. Nebraska fought a moan as salt coated his tongue. Holy shit. He so badly wanted to set his dick free and rub it against Cree’s skin. Nebraska had never felt so desperate or twisted.

A loud banging sounded on the door.

Nebraska scrambled away.

“Archer and Angel are going out.”

Nebraska risked a quick peek at Cree. His blue gaze was locked on Nebraska’s face. His cheeks were flushed, making his eyes seem that much bluer. He didn’t say a word or look disoriented. For a moment, Nebraska toyed with a terrible thought. Had Cree been awake? How horrifying.

Chapter Three

Cree couldn’t think straight tonight. He definitely didn’t want to be sitting at dinner with Angel and Archer right now. Leaving Nebraska behind in a warm bed had been hell, especially after that sneaky kiss. It wasn’t the first time Cree had caught Nebraska getting close while they slept. The first few times, he had brushed it off as Nebraska dreaming or unaware it was Cree. Today had felt different. Nebraska had definitely feigned sleep when he thought Cree might catch him. Cree felt at a crossroads. On one hand, he absolutely wanted to touch Nebraska. On the other, Cree must seem like the only choice for Nebraska… or worse, Stockholm Syndrome.

“We need to address the staffing shortage. Since the association of demons closed up shop, we don’t have the same steady stream of members looking for work.”

“Closed up shop” was a nice way of saying one of their trained assassins murdered them.

Archer kept talking, oblivious to Cree finding humor in his words. “We can’t risk accidentally hiring a government agent.”

Archer had to add that “accidentally” since they had just purposely let an ex-FBI agent into their midst.

“It’s getting harder to find the right people. If anyone has any suggestions or knows anyone looking for work.”

“What about Nebraska?” The words were out before Cree could stop himself.

Archer’s laughing gaze moved Cree’s way. “No offense, but Nebraska doesn’t exactly look like he could handle himself.”

Cree nodded. The idea grew on him. If Nebraska didn’t have to depend on Cree, then Cree would know if Nebraska genuinely wanted him. “Exactly. No one would suspect him. He’s tiny. If it appeared he was the only person with you, your enemies wouldn’t hesitate to show themselves. There’s no way anyone would think Nebraska was protection. They’d probably think you didn’t have any guards with you because you were hiding an affair or some shit. He’s the perfect cover slash bait.”

Archer eyed him. He was smart. No doubt he saw right through Cree, but there was no way Archer could deny it was a good plan. After a moment, Archer sighed. “Fine. Put him on the payroll, but he’s your responsibility. You have to train him. I don’t need anyone else distracted by your pet.”

Cree nodded. He could handle things alone. Plus, Cree didn’t want anyone else spending time with Nebraska anyhow. The guy belonged to him. Stockholm Syndrome or not. Nebraska was his.

“How’s Nebraska feeling?” King’s quietly spoken question pulled Cree from his thoughts.

His gaze slid King’s way. His dark hair framed his face. His whiskey-colored eyes held a hint of genuine concern. Considering King had been raised the same as Cree and enjoyed killing people, his inquiry meant more than if it came from anyone else. King had no reason to care other than he did. “He’s doing better. Thanks for helping out earlier. He drives me crazy when he lets things get worse than they need to be, simply because he’s too stubborn to ask for help.”

“He loves you. He doesn’t want to be a burden.”

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