Clean Slate Page 6

  “We’re friends,” John assured him.

  “We’re looking out for you,” Chris said as he opened the rear door and undid the seatbelt. “Come inside. It’s all right.”

  Andrei followed, a resigned air about him. Whatever he’d seen, it had scared him bad. Russian. Mean. Maybe his former associates?

  “Good boy,” Chris murmured, trying to keep his frustration down. He wasn’t made to be a nurse. He guided Andrei to the house, but Andrei didn’t want anybody walking at his back.

  Fine. Chris rolled his eyes. “Dammit, Andrei, if we were your enemies and out to kill you, don’t you think we’d have done it by now?”

  Andrei stared at him as if he was trying to recognize him. “I’m tired.”

  “Fine.” Chris let John take Andrei to bed while he sat down in the living room after he’d poured himself half a tumbler of vodka. The shit didn’t taste like anything, but at least it would take that edge off. He rested his heels on the table, sipped, and didn’t turn his head until John came back.

  “He’s taken some painkillers and sedatives.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s coming back, though. I think it’s coming back.” John poured himself a drink, too. “What now?”

  “Stick with the plan. His face is almost alright by now. We could take him to Monte Carlo. He wouldn’t be the only guy there wearing shades after a facelift.”

  John nodded and took a sip. “He says somebody threatened to kill him.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Russian gangsters… mobsters… he says he’d recognize the guy who threatened him. Apparently in a forest. They made him kneel down and told him to play ball or get killed.”

  “Sounds like he didn’t play ball.” Chris indicated the house.

  “He knows things they won’t want known.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Do you have to be such an insufferable prick, Chris, or do you enjoy it?”

  “Guess.”

  Chris put down his drink and stepped out to the verandah. He had to stop letting Soong push his buttons. And he had to seriously consider asking for a new partner once this job was done. A gentle scuffing on the hardwood floor inside was like a jab in the kidneys. “I’m trying to think.”

  “I just wanted to say, I think one of us should sleep in Andrei’s room in case he wakes up and gets spooked again.”

  Chris turned and gestured. “Be my guest.”

  John looked as though he would argue, but he didn’t. God, he was such a wuss sometimes… and other times, in the field, he was like fucking James Bond. What was it with that guy?

  “And if he’s pressing against you with an enormous boner, don’t touch him. You’d be taking advantage of him, remember,” Chris offered as a parting shot.

  He heard John pause behind him, then walk away, toward the stairs. To, no doubt, cuddle with the Russian.

  The whole thing about the threesome had started to turn into something between John and the Russian; some weird paternal thing, or something about nurses. But one of them had to think long-term. This wouldn’t go on forever, and today had only proved that. The Russian would remember; then that was the end of the mission. Possibly the Russian’s life too. Getting attached to him was the worst possible thing to do.

  In the dark, Andrei fidgeted with the small sleeping pill he’d not taken. The pain medication dulled his mind enough already; he didn’t want to be unconscious as well, especially after the mental images he’d gotten today. Not much of it made sense yet. He didn’t know why anybody would threaten him, what they’d gain from it. He didn’t even know exactly who those people were. But he was sure that they would not be pleased that he hadn’t done whatever he’d promised to do for them. He had no doubt the bald man would kill him or have him killed.

  And the only thing between them and him were the two men downstairs, whom he also didn’t remember. Everything felt new, fresh, untested—every touch, kiss, and more. Could he so completely forget two lovers?

  He forced himself to think it through rationally. The way they reacted, the fact they were armed and constantly reassuring, they could have been bodyguards. But they simply weren’t familiar. There were moments when Chris seemed entirely unmoved by any of this, aloof in ways a lover simply wouldn’t be. They also kept him mostly isolated—maybe for his own safety, but he didn’t believe anymore that they were his lovers. They were too tentative and too calculated at the same time.

  He could make out the terse voices of Chris and Johnny below, but the specific words eluded him. No doubt they were talking about him. He seemed to be a constant source of contention between them. Maybe they disagreed on how to protect him? Or what to do with him? Footsteps sounded on the wide wooden stairs, and he stiffened until they passed. Andrei shifted in the bed to peer out the doorway into the dimly lit corridor.

  It wasn’t long before Johnny slipped into the room. Andrei swallowed hard, though the other man’s stance was anything but menacing. He didn’t seem to be armed and wore only sweat pants.

  “You’re awake?”

  “Yes,” Andrei said softly, tucking the sedative into his pillowcase. “The pain pills help, and I don’t want to be unconscious and helpless if those men come back.”

  “They won’t.” Johnny came forward and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out but stopped himself and let his hand fall to his lap. “We’ve told you before we won’t let anything happen to you.” Strangely, he believed Johnny. The man was more genuine than Chris.

  “It’s frightening, the not knowing why.” A thought struck him and sent a stab of ice along his spine. “The car accident. It wasn’t an accident?”

  “Possibly not.”

  Andrei plucked at the crisp sheet. “You and Chris weren’t with me?”

  “Not just then. We were on our way here when you were injured.”

  Was that admitting that they hadn’t been lovers? Did Johnny slip up, or was he tired of lying? If only his head had been right, if only he could think clearly. Andrei didn’t have the mental resources or the concentration to keep doubting and thinking and trying to outwit anybody. In his state, he couldn’t have outwitted a budgie. He decided he couldn’t do anything else but play straight. Maybe at least they’d tell him the truth before they killed or left him. “Why did you lie in the hospital about the three of us?”

  “Because we want to help you.”

  Andrei wanted to believe Johnny. It was difficult not to, with his soothing voice and reassuring manner. “I think I might like you both to remain with me, for a little while at least.” Maybe that was even his choice. Andrei hoped so.

  Johnny nodded. Andrei said nothing, choosing instead to simply study the man’s handsome, concerned face in the faint light. After a time Johnny breathed a soft sigh and stood. “I was going to sleep on the chaise, but you seem fine. I’ll go to the other room?”

  “No.” He could just make out Johnny’s puzzled expression. “I don’t want to be alone. I like having you with me.”

  Johnny sat back down on the bed. “I think I… like that.” He reached out and touched Andrei’s face, and Andrei turned his face and kissed the wrist.

  “Come here.”

  Johnny didn’t move yet, but he smiled, slowly, tenderly. “You seem to be a man who knows what he wants.” He shifted and lay down beside him under the blanket. His fingers brushed Andrei’s hips, and he seemed surprised Andrei wore nothing. He didn’t resist when Andrei pulled the sweatpants down and pressed up against him; he just pulled him closer and kissed him, seemingly with all the time in the world.

  When Chris came back upstairs, he heard them. In the dark, it was hard to make out anything much, but he pieced the picture together. Expected. John and Andrei were having sex, on their sides, spooning, holding, kissing, moving slowly and languidly. For a moment, he thought the Russian was getting fucked, but it was John. He paused, peering into the dark, had to half-imagine Andrei’s fingers entwining with John’s, had to imagine, from the
sound of it, Andrei kissing and biting John’s neck, while he slowly rocked him with his hips.

  How strangely tender the Russian was now, whereas all he’d gotten was a hard, savage ass fucking that really only got rid of the pressure. Nothing emotional about it. Compared to this, Chris had just been a hole. Fuck. He didn’t want to think about it but felt a sudden, hot wave of emotion and knew that was jealousy. Envy, maybe. John was his teammate. But he was jealous the other way too. He wanted to be touched like that. Like it meant something. He was turning into a wuss too.

  When John came into the bedroom to get dressed the following morning, Chris was awake but still curled onto his side in the wide bed.

  “You all right?”

  “I’m fine. Just don’t feel like playing the maid today. You can have kitchen duty.”

  John frowned at him, but Chris turned his attention back to the wall, then decided to get up and work out. He grabbed a small towel from the bathroom.

  “He knows,” John said.

  “Knows what?”

  “He knows we were lying to him.”

  The slight emphasis on the last words wasn’t lost. “Less bullshit to play off, then. Works for me.” He slung the towel over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the gym.”

  He was well into his weightlifting routine when the Russian emerged. He looked better almost every day, and that little smile around his lips just spoke of the sex last night.

  Chris pushed up the weights with more anger now. Fuck. Talk about a plan going too well. He pumped the bar up and down a few more times, then pushed it backward on the rack, remaining there on his back with his feet on the ground on either side of the bench for half a minute before he wiped the sweat off his face.

  “Who do you work for?” Andrei asked, sitting down on the Swiss ball.

  “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  Andrei frowned. “Do you think that’s fair?”

  “Fairness has nothing to do with it.” Chris sat up, legs still wide. “The way I see it, Andrei, we’re what stands between you and death right now. Somebody attempted to kill you and damn near succeeded, and if we’re gone, you’re dead. You can’t defend yourself. You can’t even cut a deal with them, because they won’t believe the amnesia story, and they just want to see you dead, anyway.” Chris wiped his face again. “You’re not a hostage, you’re not a prisoner, but right now, you’re safest with us.”

  “But why?”

  “Because we’re the good guys?”

  Andrei shook his head. “I mean why do they want me dead?”

  Chris stood, swung one leg over the bench. “That, dude, is the question we’re all dying to know.” He stepped away after Andrei frowned as though the trust wasn’t enough for him.

  Chris took a long drink from his water bottle, then moved over to the punching bag suspended from a stout ceiling beam. “You’re not going to want to get too close,” Chris cautioned as the Russian stood behind the bag.

  Andrei pressed against the bag, steadying it with both his body and good arm.

  If that was the way he wanted it, then fine.

  Chris held nothing back, landing each punch with maximum force, taking no small delight in each grunt and backward motion the Russian made. He worked the anger out of his body, and, when he got too tired, he finished with a terrible kick that made the Russian release the bag.

  Chris grinned at him. “John’s lethal. His Wing Chun is even more impressive. But it’s not like I have to sell him to you. You guys are seriously into each other, right?”

  “Ah.” Andrei paused, and he very slightly tilted his head. “You’re jealous.”

  “Careful,” Chris warned and pulled off the gloves.

  “You’re teammates. You’re both gay—”

  “Wrong. I do women too.”

  “—but you’re jealous.”

  “Believe it or not, but John and me never had anything going. Now I think all this was a fucking mistake.”

  Andrei smiled wryly. “In the truest sense of the word.”

  Chris gave him a hard look and stepped in close. “John Soong’s strong point in this business is the way he connects to people, but that cuts both ways.” He paused, stepped close enough to brush against Andrei. “If you take advantage of that, you’re going to wish those other Russians had killed you.”

  He turned and strode toward the door but stopped dead when Andrei’s voice slammed him from behind.

  “Does he know you love him that much?”

  Chris spun and pointed. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Andrei shrugged and stepped onto the treadmill. “I suppose he doesn’t know, since you haven’t even accepted it.”

  “Bastard.” Chris lunged. But strong hands grabbed the back of his shirt, stopping him. John tossed him down to the cushioned floor. They wrestled, each struggling for control until John got in a low blow that doubled Chris over.

  “What are you doing?” John asked.

  Chris pulled himself to his feet. “I’m wondering that more and more.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Chris.” John shook his head in that gently chiding way that Chris thought was so typically Chinese. Not that he had any idea what other Chinese people were like. “What’s the matter?”

  Chris glanced at the Russian, who merely watched, unsmiling, seeing everything. Probably even things he didn’t see. Fuck. How had the man found his weakness so easily? No wonder people wanted to see him dead. “Comrade Smartass here just likes stepping on my dick.”

  “Cock-blocking is more like it.” Andrei climbed off the treadmill. “I want to go out tonight. What about the casino?”

  “Sure. Maybe that will take some pressure off. We’ve been holed up here alone for quite some time now,” John agreed, predictably. He’d agree to anything the Russian said—and wasn’t that a bad sign.

  John, ever the King of Bullshit, managed to use that golden tongue of his for more than rimming their mark and scored them a decent little wad to blow at the tables. GORGON had already spent a mint on this operation for no return thus far, and letting them piss away a few thousand G’s at a Riviera crap shoot was damn hard to believe.

  But hell, if he was dreaming, Chris was going to dream big. He veered off from the John-and-Andrei love connection and found a spot between a leggy redhead and a busty blonde socialite. Both unattached, he learned as they began feeling him up, telling him they were just here for “a girls’ night out.” Whatever. Right now, all they were was diversion.

  This type of woman, sadly, had very little to talk about apart from the latest Cosmo cover story or currently fashionable iteration of yoga, but the Paris Hiltons of the world did have their uses. They still beat the crap out of the stick-thin Russian prostitutes with their Romanian boob jobs who prowled the streets of Monte Carlo. It was probably the location.

  He ended up in their hotel room two hours later, saw the ladies kiss each other, and the mood for sex just vanished. Normally he would have jumped at it; his regrets usually came in the morning and had to do with alcohol consumption, but right now, he was stone cold sober. He bailed, claiming he was going for a shower.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He walked to the waterfront and stood, watching the yachts bob around in the marina as all the little delusions just crumpled. No, he didn’t want to apply for a new partner; no, he didn’t actually hate the Russian; and yes, God damn it all to hell, it fucking hurt to see the closeness between the two men.

  He’d been John’s partner for two fucking years, and all of a sudden a stranger waltzed in with his “awww”-inducing helplessness and Soong was all over the guy. So much for that great love he’d had going with clingy what’s-his-name.

  Shit. This job was a bigger pain in the ass than he could ever have imagined. Grumbling to himself, he walked some more, glancing now and again at the brightly lit yachts. A couple guys came scrambling off one a few spaces down, prickling Chris’s instincts.

  He shifted his stance, to spring into action
if need be, but the two rushed by without a second glance, their furtive Russian words drifting back. He couldn’t make out much, but the only word that mattered was “Voronin.”

  Chris pulled out his phone and called John. The little shit better answer the call and not be in some men’s room, giving Andrei a blow job.

  Chapter 7

  John answered the phone. “What’s up, Chris?”

  “Where the hell are you?”

  John refrained from retorting it was Chris who had left the casino. “Just waiting for the guy with the money.”