Angel and the Assassin (2 page)

He wants me to fuck him. He’s gagging for it.

“You will fly to Vienna this evening. Go to the Pension Neuer Markt—it‟s near St. Stephen‟s Cathedral, room twelve—and get rid of the occupant, Rikard Weirstein. There will be no cleanup this time. The body needs to be found, so be careful.”

“I‟m always careful. That‟s why I‟m so good. What‟s he done?” Kael did not care, but he was amused by the conversation and the effect he was having on Conran.

“Are you becoming sentimental about your targets, Saunders, wanting to know if they deserve what they get?”

“You just told me details about the other one. That was a first.” Kael smiled, but not at Conran; he looked out of the window. The day he started caring about the people he killed was the day he would hand in his weapons, return to Cambridge for his master‟s degree, and go to work for the UN as a translator, which is what he had planned to do ten years ago, before a more lucrative and exciting offer came along with the Secret Intelligence Service, MI6.

He turned to look at Conran. “I‟ll target your mother if you want me to. The only person in the world who I would not target is my own mother. Everyone else is fair game. Everyone.”

Conran walked back to his desk and sat down. “You‟ll probably like Weirstein.

He‟s quite handsome from what I‟ve heard.” Kael watched him but did not respond.

“Is it true you‟re a homosexual, Saunders?”

“I thought you knew everything about me.” Conran probably wanted to shock him with the question, to throw him off guard, but nothing threw Kael off guard.

“You knew what I was like at school.”

“I know you have sex with men, but I wondered if perhaps you were an opportunist where sex is concerned. That you took whatever was on offer, male or female. Do you like women?”

“I love women,” Kael said. “I just don‟t want to have sex with them. What about yourself?”

“I‟m married. I love my wife.”

Kael crossed the carpet and stood very close to Conran. Leaning one hand on the desk, he looked down into Conran‟s pale, ordinary, yet quite pleasant face, and heard him swallow hard. Conran licked his lips, looking both nervous and aroused by Kael‟s proximity. Kael spoke softly. “I know that; it‟s irrelevant. Are you on offer?” Conran had had the hots for him for years, but this was the closest he had ever come to admitting it.

“Yes,” he said very quietly, his cheeks growing pink.

“I see.” Kael grinned as Conran fell into his trap. “If I find anyone who might be interested in a married submissive, I‟ll let you know. You‟re not my type.”

Conran‟s cheeks turned from pink to bright red at the stinging dismissal. “You had better go. You will miss your plane.”

Kael strode to the door and grabbed the handle, then turned to Conran. “Did you send for me today just to whore yourself out, or because you are genuinely concerned that I still love my job?” The smile had not left his face since seeing Conran shrink under his words.

“As I told you, I call in all our operatives from time to time. It was your turn; that‟s all.”

Kael laughed, unable to stop himself. “I won‟t feel special then.”

“You were a bastard at school!” Conran turned away. “Everyone was terrified of you.”

“I was such a bastard you knew I‟d be perfect for this job. It was you who recommended me for this, wasn‟t it? I was going to be a translator.”

“Yes, it was me. I knew you were a cold-blooded killer the day I met you. You‟d have been wasted at the UN, and you would never have earned the kind of money you‟ve earned over the last ten years. You should be grateful to me; now get out!”

With a mock salute, Kael left, leaving the door open behind him. He was still laughing as he walked down the corridor toward the lift.

Vienna, Austria

At a safe distance, Kael watched the Pension Neuer Markt as the sky darkened and the streets grew quiet around him. He stood in the heart of Vienna, Freud‟s city, waiting for the perfect moment to go inside the hotel and kill Weirstein. A smile crept over his face as he walked around the building to the alleyway at the rear.

Sex and death. What would Freud think?

The back door of the Pension stood propped open with a chair. A man, a waiter by the looks of his uniform, stood outside finishing a cigarette, blowing the bluish smoke away from the door. Kael crossed the wide alley quickly in a few long strides, pulling on a pair of extremely thin, transparent latex gloves. They fit like skin over his large hands.

“Filthy habit,” he said in perfect German.

The man turned to see who had spoken, and as he did, Kael grabbed him from behind, pressed his arm against the man‟s throat, and applied his fingers to the bulging jugular vein. The man passed out in seconds, still breathing heavily.

Kael eased him to the ground and dragged him inside the dim passage. He was a big, heavy man, but Kael had no trouble dragging him to the mop cupboard near the kitchen. Inside the cramped space, Kael stripped off his clothes, stuffing them as he did into the small bag he had brought. Then he quickly undressed the unconscious man. The waiter‟s uniform was not a good fit, but he had targeted him because he was the biggest out of the stream of employees who had stood outside smoking over the last couple of hours.

When he was dressed, he put the retractable scalpel and a condom in his pocket for later. He opened the door a crack and looked cautiously out into the empty passage.

Drawing himself up and settling into the uniform—the aura of a waiter—he put his bag outside behind the bins to retrieve later and walked back inside, heading for the main stairs. On the way up, he passed a couple of guests and nodded respectfully, moving to the side to allow them room, but he did not look anyone in the eyes and continued quickly along the carpeted passage.

From his observations he knew Weirstein was alone, and he knocked confidently on the door.

“What?” the man asked, pulling the door open, an impatient look on his face. “I didn‟t order anything.”

One side of Kael‟s mouth tilted up and his lips parted, revealing beautiful, straight, white teeth. “Are you sure, sir?”

Conran was right; Weirstein was very handsome, though he was no longer a young man, well over fifty. Kael looked into his eyes and saw the pupils dilate, indicating his arousal.

Weirstein had answered the door straight from the shower, wearing only a toweling dressing gown tied loosely at the waist. With a small towel he dried his short, light gray hair.

“Come in.” He opened the door wider. “I suppose you want money?” It was obvious from his straightforward acceptance that he had paid for sex before and was more than willing to pay now.

Kael‟s smile broadened, giving Weinstein the impression that he was saying yes, when in fact it was his natural response when everything fell into place. The man was going to die either way, but Kael was always happier when the target cooperated.

Weirstein walked toward the bed. “I haven‟t seen you before, and I have been here two days. I would have noticed a man like you.” He did not ask why, and Kael never offered a cover story unless he had to. A trickle of water ran down the side of the man‟s face, but not from his shower; it was sweat, indicating how excited he was becoming. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.” Kael always told the truth when he could or when it didn‟t matter. He took the condom from his pocket and held it up. Then he removed his clothes, dropping them on the floor, but kept the gloves on, knowing the man was too aroused and distracted to notice anyway.

The older man watched him, still wearing the dressing gown. “You‟re very handsome,” he said, looking Kael up and down. Kael took the compliment in stride, knowing he was handsome and that his muscles were well developed and rock hard from his regular attendance at the Paris Gym.

Naked, he took one step toward Weirstein and pulled the man‟s belt loose, then pushed the robe off his shoulders, revealing an attractive, trim-waisted body and a jutting, hard cock.

Kael wrapped his arms around the man, pressing Weirstein‟s body tight against his own. Weirstein gasped and melted into him, slipping his arms around Kael‟s waist and dropping his head against Kael‟s shoulder.

Kael immediately recognized the signs of a sub and patted his backside. He could spot a sub a mile away. Some Doms did not catch on until the sub dropped to his knees to lick his boots. But a slight lowering of the eyes or a defensive movement of the shoulder that many Doms would miss screamed out loud to Kael.

On so many occasions his life had depended on reading body language. He could translate it as easily as he could translate German, French, or Russian.

“What if I flog your arse until it‟s nice and red, and then fuck it hard enough to make you scream? But don‟t scream, because that will piss me off. You are to remain silent. Do you understand?” His perfect German slipped fractionally when he said
arse
instead of
arsh.

Just for a moment Weirstein looked at him, his brow creasing at the inconsistency. But he was already so excited that there was no going back. “Yes, please, Sir, and if you would be so good, Master, would you torture my cock and balls, please, Sir?”

“If I have time.” Kael had anticipated a fuck; the fact that the man wanted a flogging as well was a bonus. Looking around the luxurious room, he chose a velvet-cushioned, wood-framed, Regency-style chair. Grabbing the back, he swung it into the middle of the room. As he did so, Weirstein took several steps across the room and turned the light low. “Hey!” Kael kept his voice steady but harsh. “I didn‟t tell you to move.”

“I apologize, Master,” the man whispered. Kael turned the light back up slightly but kept it comfortably low. He could see in pitch-dark if he needed to, but Weirstein must know that he was in control at all times.

“Kneel on the chair. Arms on the back. Stick your arse up, and if you make a sound, I will make you very sorry.”

Weirstein nodded and obeyed instantly. Overwhelmed with excitement, he knelt on the edge of the chair and leaned his arms on the back, clasping his hands together. With his head bowed, he thrust his buttocks out and up.

“
Rubenkraut
.”

“Huh?” Kael looked at the man‟s buttocks, enjoying the sight and the knowledge that he would soon be whipping them.

“My safe word, Sir,” Weirstein told him.

Kael chuckled. “Of course. For a minute I thought you were hungry.” Normally he would never proceed with a flogging without first securing a safe word from his sub. But there was no word in the world that would keep Weirstein safe that night.

“I take a lot of punishment before I use it, Master.”

“Good boy.”

Kael licked his forefinger and reached between the man‟s legs to press his fingertip against the dark pink perineum. Slowly, tantalizingly, he ran his finger up the crack and stopped at the puckered anus. The man gasped, his breathing becoming heavier. Kael retraced his path back down to the ball sac, watching as the buttocks clenched and quivered. Without warning he grabbed the scrotum, squeezing it until Weirstein whimpered. Releasing his tight grip, he let the balls lie loose in his hand, weighing them, rolling them in his palm.

“Nice balls, boy. Maybe I‟ll let you suck on mine in a while.” He said it only to inflame; there would be no time for that.

“Thank you, Master, thank you.” Weirstein‟s words caught in his throat; he swallowed and repeated, “Thank you, Master. Thank you, Sir.” His gratitude was touching.

When Weirstein least expected it, Kael gripped the loose skin again and pulled hard, dragging the ball sac downward. The sub let out a scream. Kael leaned forward, pressing his chest into Weirstein‟s back. “Don‟t let me hear you make any more noise, boy. You‟ll have half the staff up here.”

“I beg your pardon, Sir.”

Kael stood up, releasing Weirstein‟s balls. Again he pressed his finger against the perineum, tracing a path upward as Weirstein‟s breathing increased by degrees.

At the very top of the cleft, he stopped.

“Shall I whip your backside now?” It was not a question, but he liked to talk as he worked and he always enjoyed it when a boy responded with gratitude.

“Yes, please, Sir. If you would be so good, Master.” Weirstein watched Kael over his shoulder.

He went to the wardrobe and opened it. A selection of the man‟s belts was laid out on a hanger. He took a wide black leather belt and then turned to look at Weirstein while he slapped it against his palm, feeling its weight and enjoying the smell of the good quality leather. It was an expensive belt from a high-end shop. It would hurt. He walked slowly back toward Weirstein, knowing his languid stroll would serve to arouse the man further in this vulnerable position. He watched Weirstein‟s chest heave, his buttocks tightening and releasing rhythmically.

“Bow your head and close your eyes, boy.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Kael stood directly behind Weirstein, where the man could not see him. The stance often terrified a sub and increased their excitement.

“Please, Sir, I beg you to begin.” There was desperation in Weirstein‟s voice.

Taking his pleasure at a kill was always a risk, but the hotel was quiet and Weirstein was settling down for the night, so he was not expected anywhere nor expecting visitors. Still, there was no time to properly warm him up. “It‟s going to be hard and fast, so not a sound,” Kael warned him.

“Thank you, Master.”