Marie Harte - [PowerUp! 08] (18 page)

“Stay, my ass. Dick.” Ian muttered. He turned to the guys on the couch. “Ah, hi.”

“You’re pretty,” one of them slurred. “But he’s mine. My daddy has a big dick.”

Wow. That was so…
ew
. These guys looked young enough to be minors. And then referring to
daddy
with sex—gross. No wonder Owen hated it when Ian called him that.
Not going there again.

“Right. So where is your daddy?”

He glanced around, seeing nothing but more of the same. Expensive furnishings. Sex toys and weapons out of reach of the chained young men. A fireplace currently burning, giving the room a nice, even temperature, considering the coolness of the island despite the summer season.

“Daddy is right here,” a new voice sounded from behind him.

Ian spun around and took his first good, hard look at Carl Kerr. Cute, if one went for the sadistic, skinny type. A glint of cruelty lingered in his light blue eyes. His blond hair looked meticulously cut, and he wore tailored slacks and a silk polo quite well.

Ian took the initiative. “My pleasure. You know, for all that Owen has said about you—and trust me, none of it has been complimentary—you’re a handsome psychopath.” Ian made sure to be flowery, fluttery, and as nonthreatening as possible while he flirted.

Kerr studied him with interest. “You’re a beautiful boy, aren’t you? No wonder Owen’s been keeping you close.”

“Dalton, he’s here. Hey, Caleb.”
Nothing. Helping Owen, no doubt.

Ian called on his courage. He could handle this guy. A con man knew when to bait and switch. Time to work for his pay for a change. He grinned and held out a hand. “A pleasure, dear sir.”

“Oh, and such manners.” Kerr squeezed Ian’s fingers with force, his gaze locked to Ian’s.

Ian flinched. “Hey. Don’t damage the goods, strong man. I’m worth a lot unmarred.”

Kerr laughed. Not a sound to inspire confidence. “Oh, honey. When I’m through with you, you’ll be priceless beyond compare. Fielder, Koffman, take him into the back and strip him down.” His lips twisted, and he snorted. “Carefully. Best not to damage the merchandise until my good friend Owen’s here to see it destroyed up close.”

* * * *

Owen stared through a haze of sweat at a man who was supposed to be dead. Why the hell had Keegan Price not killed the biggest threat first?

“I was promised a huge payout for burning you up. But not killing you, not yet,” Mickelson sang, his voice shrill and not fitting with the plain, average features of the psychotic he’d turned out to be. The man was notorious for washing out of early training, then having his father pay good money to give Junior whatever he wanted. Apparently, Ronald Mickelson had wanted to be a killer.

“Don’t forget the glory,” Owen said drily. “Anyone who can fix the Fixer will become legend.” He tried to stall while he listened to more destruction around him. Keegan, Caleb, and Jack must have been busy, or they’d have taken Mickelson out.
Shit
. That meant he’d have to save enough reserve to end Kerr once he fixed Mickelson. Because if he didn’t stop the man from pouring more heat into him, Owen would be ash and Ian dead for sure.

If he used too much of himself, he might die, but he couldn’t let anything happen to Ian. Not at Carl Kerr’s hands.

He grabbed Mickelson by the neck, shocking the man. Burns flashed over his hands. Mickelson’s fucking skin was like a furnace.

“Hey, Ronald.”

“Yes?”

Mickelson grinned at him, and Owen felt as if he’d become a human torch. Holy hell, but his hand
hurt
. “Fuck you.” Owen directed a blast into Mickelson’s mind, effectively shattering the precious hold he’d had on his version of sanity.

Explosions boomed around him, and Owen screamed as his hand literally caught fire, but he didn’t let go. He had to kill Mickelson before the bastard destroyed the others. He clamped down hard on the man’s mind, crushing his brain stem from within and smothering the organ so that his brain stopped functioning.

Mickelson didn’t make a sound. He just folded onto himself on the ground.

Owen remained standing, barely, and clutched his hand to his chest, the pain excruciating. But his mind was clear. A bit tired, but ready to help Ian.

“Caleb,”
he yelled in his mind.
“Where the hell is Ian? Do we have Kerr yet?”

He heard nothing back and had a sinking feeling. The power came back on, and lights flooded the penthouse. In the distance, sirens could be heard growing closer. Bullet holes riddled the walls.

“Owen, over here,” Keegan said as he coughed. Covered in soot and battling another fire, he stood with Jack, who no longer looked like Heather. Caleb lay under a fallen support beam, unconscious.

Owen’s tenuous link to Ian, severed at the worst possible time.

He met Jack’s gaze.

Jack scowled. “I know. I’ve got Aiden on standby. He’ll be here in an hour.”

“That’s if Ian has an hour.” Owen felt a cold sweat work its way over him.

“Jesus, Owen. I can see bone.”

Jack’s wide-eyed stare at his hand didn’t help, nor did the notion he was going into shock. “Ian. Have to find
Ian
.” Owen held on, praying for Ian to be strong.
I’ll find you, little thief. Just hold on
. “Caleb, wake the fuck up.” But Caleb didn’t move, and the blow to his head had left a large, purple-and-blue welt. A goose egg that looked really, really bad.

Chapter Twelve

Ian glared at the thugs holding him by the loop on the ugly-ass collar around his neck. When they entered the living room again, he shook his head and pretended his nudity didn’t bother him. “Please, Carl. This collar is hideous.”

Fielder and Koffman sneered at him and left him with Kerr at Kerr’s command. The playthings he’d had with him in the living room were gone, leaving just Kerr, Ian, and a big mounted camera before the roaring fire. Man, cliché of clichés, a bearskin rug lay before the monstrously large fireplace.

“You are just breathtaking,” Kerr said with wonder.

Appeased that at least the psycho had good taste, Ian nodded. “Thank you. Considering your own fair features, I appreciate the compliment.”

Kerr grinned and stared at Ian’s cock as if the thing would disappear. To Ian’s relief, he didn’t get the least bit hard.

“You’re well-endowed too. How lovely for Owen.”

Ian shrugged. “You do realize I’ve been looking for a sugar daddy for years, don’t you?”

“Oh?” Kerr wouldn’t fall for this. He couldn’t. But Ian had nowhere else to go with his playacting. Now to convince Kerr he’d switch teams without a care.
“Caleb, you dick. Kerr is right here!”
he sent as hard as he could.

Nothing.

“Tell me, darling,” Kerr tittered. “Is this where you convince me that I could make you happy and that Owen means nothing to you? That together, you and I can rule the world?”

“Okay, even for me that’s overly dramatic.” Ian shrugged and let the pretense drop. He immediately read Kerr and knew lying would get him nowhere. At least, not blatant lying. “Hey, it was worth a shot.”

Kerr seemed more interested. “So you admit you and Owen are a couple?”

“Sure. He’s madly in love with me.” Ian nodded. “I mean, look at this face, honey. And my body.” He did a pirouette and stuck out his ass. Kerr latched onto him like a magnet. “Did I mention I’m an A-plus cocksucker? Yes, I’m a gay man and proud of it.”

Kerr laughed. “Funny too.”

“Yes. Tell my boss that.”

“Owen?”

“No. He’s not my boss. Are you crazy?”
All signs point to yes. “Dalton, pay attention. I’m naked, Kerr has a huge erection, and the camera is rolling. Um, time to step in, maybe?”
“You never sleep with your employer, because when the relationship goes bad, as it usually does, then you’re out of a job too.”

“Intelligent as well. Ian Ryder, what can’t you do?”

Kerr took off his shirt and tossed it to the floor. He had enough muscle to make the possibility of taking him down difficult. Shove matches were not Ian’s style. He outthought, not outmuscled, his opponents.

“I’m guessing I can’t bribe my way out of this.” He motioned from him to Kerr.

“No, sorry.”

“Well, what if I told you about your father’s and brother’s deaths? What’s that worth?”

Kerr stopped moving. “What about them?”

Ian crossed his arms over his chest, too aware of his dick hanging free in the wind. Man, he’d never take being dressed for granted again. “Did you know Owen had them killed?”

“Of course.”

Ian narrowed his eyes. “But did you know how?”
“Caleb, if you’re going to make a move, now’s the time.”
Something had gone seriously wrong.
Shit, shit, shit.

Kerr advanced and touched Ian’s chest. His small hands felt cold, clammy. Ian couldn’t suppress a shiver. He’d worried about rape when younger and on the streets, but he’d never let himself get this close to danger. And this was worse, because Kerr wanted to hurt not just Ian, but Owen as well.

“How?” Kerr wrapped one hand around Ian’s cock, the other around his throat, over the already tight collar.

Ian wanted to throw up. Instead, he kept his cool. “Owen did it himself,” he whispered.

Kerr stared at his mouth.

“With a thought,” Ian continued, then sneered. “You fucking shithead. Why do you think I let your men capture me? For a big bad villain, you’re not that smart.”

Kerr squeezed his neck and cock with equal pressure. And fuck, it
hurt.

“How’s this for smart, you little queen?”

Ian didn’t want it to go like this, but he couldn’t break Kerr’s hold. A chain attached to his collar would have made a nice weapon. Too bad he didn’t have one. The pain in his groin made it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

“Hold on, Ian. Just a minute.”
Dalton.
Finally.

Ian felt a pressure on his mind, then a loosening as a bright light flashed in Kerr’s eyes. Kerr blinked.

“Wh-what?”

His grip lessened, and Ian threw himself back and watched Kerr stagger.

“No. No. Get out of my head. Stop it.” He gripped his hair and yanked. Chunks of hair and skin ripped out. Blood trickled from his nose, his ears, and even more disgusting, his eyes. “Owen!
Fuck you
. Leave me
alone
,” he screeched at the top of his lungs. He looked around him with wild desperation, and then he focused on the fire. “No!”

Kerr ran into it all the same, ramming himself headfirst into the flames.

The sight and smell of burned flesh made Ian sick, and he retched as Kerr screamed and flailed, burning to death as he watched. Expecting Kerr’s thugs to storm in to see what was happening, Ian stumbled to his feet and raced away from the fireplace.

“How many more?”
Dalton asked, his voice distant.

“Three that I saw.”
Yet no one arrived to help Kerr. No one responded to the screaming.
“No one’s come in.”

“No one will. Sit tight, and we’ll be there in half an hour. Listen for the jet.”

They made it in twenty minutes. But they looked like hell. Ian had managed to lose the collar, thank God. He’d dressed in his own clothes again and wiped his prints from anything he might have touched in the off chance of an investigation. He’d also stepped over the bodies of Koffman, Fielder, Neever, and another guy and figured Owen must have gotten to them too.

When the cavalry arrived through the door, he turned to thank them, seeking his lover, needing his support. Keegan, Jack, and Dalton were there, dirty and bruised. No sign of Owen.

“Where’s Owen?” He started to panic. No way would Owen not be here to meet him unless he’d been hurt. “What the hell happened to you guys?” He stared at Dalton’s bruised forehead, thinking the guy looked about to pass out.

“We’re all good,” Dalton croaked. “Owen’s in the plane. He can’t move right now.”

“What happened?” Ian asked and ran past them, not waiting on an answer.

“Nothing Heather can’t fix,” Jack yelled.

Ian raced back behind the house to the small runway and hurried into the jet to see Owen lying in the back, his hand like hamburger, bloody and burned. He was also covered in soot, his clothes ragged. Ian threw himself to his knees and stroked his lover’s hair.

“Owen, baby. It’s over. We won.”

Owen didn’t stir, and Ian freaked. He started crying, breaking down. He’d finally found a man he could love, someone who knew and saw the real him. Only to lose him to a madman?

“Damn it, Ian.” Jack physically pulled him away and thrust him at someone else.

Ian couldn’t think straight. The trauma of the past twelve hours made his brain hurt. The kidnapping, the fear, the worry Owen might die…

“…be ready, honey. He looks terrible. Caleb’s hurt too, and I want you to check Ian. He’s irrational, even for him,” he heard Jack saying.

“Shut up, Jack.”

Dalton, defending him? A heavy arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him into a bench seat right next to Caleb. The plane took off before he could belt himself in, but Dalton held him tight.

“Don’t worry, buddy. Owen’s a fighter. He’ll be just fine.” Keegan grinned, but he looked pale.

They all looked terrible. Ian cried harder.

“Shit,” Dalton swore. “Don’t tell Owen I did this, okay?”

“Not a word,” Keegan answered.

“Ian?” Dalton’s voice was soft, caring.

That gentleness had Ian turning his way. So he wasn’t prepared for the fist to his jaw that knocked him out cold.

* * * *

“I don’t care. I want him fired. Killed. Whatever you do with that psychic assassin stuff, take him out.” Ian huffed and refused to look at Dalton without glaring.

Owen sighed. It had been two weeks since they’d been back. He’d already warned Ian to lower his voice about the word
assassin
several times, but Ian wasn’t having it. The party was in full swing, a Labor Day to end all holidays. Having the entire PowerUp! team at his house in Bend, along with his
family
, as Ian insisted he call his team—Bev, Dolly, the Knoxes, and Tim—felt better than good. It felt great.