Lunatic, p.2
Lunatic, page 2
In addition to that, Jackson was the on-paper employer of the Mulvaneys’ off-book hacker, Calliope Castellanos. As if that wasn’t confusing enough, Jayne Shepherd, the son of Molly Shepherd, had once worked security for Jackson, which was how they all became hopelessly knotted together.
“And what does that have to do with The Watch?” Kendrick asked.
“You’re going to need highly specialized operatives for this last phase. Those with not just military training but the knowledge to guide a legion of young psychopaths.”
Jackson had brought the Vice President of his company along for the meeting, another intimidating specimen known as Lincoln Hudson. He was taller than his boss, with a high and tight haircut, a five o’clock shadow, and a face that said fuck around and find out.
“Why would I need you for that, exactly?” Kendrick asked.
Linc’s mouth was a grim line. “Because you also need people who can help calibrate the moral compass of those same psychopathic young adults and, no offense, but no deep cover operative is going to have the judgment or restraint needed to accomplish the task.”
Yeah, no doubt both Jackson and Linc were sexy. Definitely sexy enough to tempt even Archer. But both men were married, their respective spouses lounging by the pool somewhere. In fact, every non-Mulvaney at the table had a wedding ring except one man: Mac Shepherd.
The proverbial thorn in Archer’s side. As morally righteous as a saint, but, goddamn, if he didn’t fuck like a sinner. Archer snarled internally as his mind began to wander. This was the sixth time since meeting that they’d been in a room together. And the first time one or both of them had managed to keep their clothes on. But never again. Ever. Ever, he emphasized to himself, hoping his dick got the message.
“For the Watch to be successful, you need someone who can guide these young men into making the right choices. But you also need men who can ensure their technique is sound, their alibis are tight, and that their relationships with their handlers are…appropriate,” Mac said, his gaze flicking to Archer, then back to Kendrick.
Archer snorted. It was no secret that Mac found Archer to be less than appropriate as a ‘handler.’ He was certain Mac had gotten more than his fill of psychopaths sharing DNA with one—his twin brother, Shep. But that hadn’t stopped Mac from letting Archer blow him in a hotel conference room or Mac bending him over the desk at the new Watch facilities. Fuck. He definitely shouldn’t be thinking about that.
Archer tried to adjust himself as discreetly as possible beneath the table. Mac wasn’t even Archer’s type. He liked younger, deviant types. Pretty boy dancers and porn stars. Mackenzie Shepherd was one step above a choir boy and pushing mid-forty. He was also tall and sleekly-muscled with shocking red hair, a mass of freckles, and eyes so molten gold Archer had sworn they were contacts. But no, Mac was just a goddamn unicorn with pretty eyes, a huge dick, and a fucking conscience that would make Jiminy Cricket look like Ted Bundy.
“What is it you’re proposing, exactly?” Kendrick asked.
“Molly and I want total control of the program. The curriculum, the cases, the staffing. You get all the research, all the glory, and you get to bring us the targets. But we vet them first.”
“Absolutely not,” Kendrick barked. “You’re fucking mad.” At the raised brows he received, the man scowled even harder. “Ugh, you know what I mean. This is a government-run project.”
“No,” Thomas snapped. “This is a government-funded project. Up until this leg of the project, we determined the children, who raised them, and how they were raised. We chose their schooling, assessed their strengths, chose the best candidates to get to phase three, and determined how best to handle the…failures. This is our project. These are our children. Don’t push me on this. I do not need your money to fund this project.”
“But you do need our research,” Molly added.
“We could just simply continue the study without either of you. I think we’re more than capable of taking it from here,” Kendrick said, tone snide.
Thomas scoffed. “I’ve raised six psychopaths to be the most effective, deep cover agents to ever exist. They move between their public life and their private duties effortlessly. They’ve managed to find partners, and one of my sons even has children. I did that. Molly did that. And, not to put too fine a point on it, Mr. Kendrick, but I also cleaned up your mess when you asked me to. How is your son, by the way?”
“Matthew? He’s—” Kendrick cut himself off, face turning eggplant purple with fury as he realized exactly to whom Thomas referred.
The others appeared confused. All but Molly. Archer had sussed out years ago that Kendrick was Aiden’s biological father. How he’d come to end up in Thomas’s care at the age of sixteen was still an unsolved mystery. One Archer didn’t care enough about to look into. Though, after seeing Kendrick’s face, perhaps he was more interested than he’d been just two minutes prior.
Kendrick’s phone rang. He glanced down at it, and the color drained from his face. He picked it up and answered it. “Yes?”
They all sat and watched as he listened. “Yes, sir,” he said just before hanging up.
When he spoke again, his voice was far more composed. “How is it you plan on running this program?” He pointed to Thomas. “You’re a billionaire, always in the spotlight.” He pointed to Molly. “And you split your time between teaching and the lecture circuit. How do you plan on giving this the attention it needs?”
“Simple,” Thomas said. “We pick the two people we trust most to make those decisions in our stead. My son, Archer, will run the program with Molly’s son, Mac.”
Kendrick looked at each of them in turn. “Your son, the drunken gambler, is your pick? Really?”
Archer grinned. “The rumors of my drinking have been greatly exaggerated, as you well know,” he said with a wave of his hand.
That was an understatement. Well, more a fabrication, a carefully crafted persona to hide Archer’s true mission—liaison between the government players and his busy father. High stakes poker games in shady back rooms hid a lot of sins. As for why he kept this persona in place, even with his brothers? That was harder to say. At this point, he’d been lying to them for so long it seemed rude to tell them the truth now.
“Fair enough. I suppose it makes sense with him being a psychopath and all, but what exactly are your qualifications, Mr. Shepherd? Weren’t you a…nature photographer?”
Archer shifted in his seat, uncertain why the man’s condescending tone towards Mac irritated him so much.
Mac didn’t so much as bat an eyelash before flashing a grin that did things to Archer’s insides, saying, “I’m still a photographer. However, before I became an award-winning wildlife photographer, I was a highly decorated soldier who did two tours in Afghanistan and one in Iraq. I’m also a skilled survivalist, a tenth degree black belt in Judo, and I speak three languages. One of which is psychopath.”
“Is that all?” Kendrick asked drolly.
Archer was tempted to pipe up and mention he fucked like a porn star, but with a resume like Mac’s, it seemed unnecessary and in poor taste given the company.
“He’s also an exceptional cook,” Shep said, clearly not agreeing.
If anybody else had said it, Archer would have thought he was being sarcastic, but Shep wasn’t built that way. Like August, he was sometimes more android than human. Mac most definitely got all the sarcasm.
Kendrick rubbed his hands over his face. “You know what? Fine. You want these two in charge,” he said, pointing to Archer and Mac. “Fine. But I approve all staff brought in by them.” He thumbed a finger at Jackson and Linc. “I’m also bringing in my own team. There are seven men. All former agents, all highly trained handlers. That’s non-negotiable. We roundtable monthly for progress reports, and this program needs to be fully operational in less than six months.”
Thomas and Molly exchanged glances. She shrugged. Finally, Thomas looked at the man and said, “Done.”
“Excellent,” Kendrick muttered, already standing.
“How quickly can you get us your agents’ files to review for the onboarding process?” Jackson asked. Kendrick glowered at him, but Jackson was unflappable. “They’ll have to be vetted just like our men. Besides, there’s going to be a learning curve for all of us. It behooves us to know their strengths and weaknesses before that begins.”
“I’ll have my secretary get you their files as soon as…” Kendrick started, then trailed off.
“As soon as what?” Linc asked.
Kendrick sighed, his words tight with irritation. “As soon as I get them to agree to this insanity.”
As soon as Kendrick left, the group stirred. There was a small amount of small talk and plans to all meet up for dinner, then they all made their way to the conference room exit. Somehow, Archer and Mac were the last ones to leave the room. He was almost to the door when large hands slid into the back pockets of his jeans, dragging him back against a warm chest.
“What are you doing?” Archer asked, his treacherous dick already hardening behind his zipper.
“Giving you my room key,” Mac murmured, slipping the plastic card into his back pocket. “I miss hearing you moan.”
What a fucking asshole. “As I recall, it was you moaning, not me. Hard to tell with all the heavy breathing. You should really try adding some cardio. Your stamina needs a little work.”
Mac pressed his lips to Archer’s ear. “Hard to maintain any composure around you when you go to your knees for me so fucking easily. When you bend over for me so fucking readily.”
Archer’s heart was slamming against his ribs, and he wasn’t sure whether he was turned on or infuriated. Probably both. “Go fuck yourself,” Archer murmured calmly.
Mac snickered. “Why would I fuck myself when I’ll be balls deep in you in an hour or so?”
Archer rolled his eyes, pulling the room key from his pocket and attempting to give it back to Mac, who ignored it. “Sorry, Tarzan. It’s you and your hand tonight.”
Mac slipped past him in the doorway, rubbing against him in the most obvious way possible. “See you in an hour.”
“You’re fucking mental,” Archer told him, following him down the hallway, room key held before him. “And I need a fucking drink.”
“I thought the rumors of your drinking were ‘greatly exaggerated,’” Mac teased, pushing the button for the elevator. Archer took the opportunity to stick the room key back in Mac’s pocket, unable to ignore the thick outline of his cock in those faded jeans.
“You make being sober a chore,” Archer muttered.
Mac stepped onto the elevator, turning to face Archer, who stayed where he was. When Mac realized Archer wasn’t joining him, he sighed, pressing the hold button. “You know, for a psychopath, you sure do take the fun out of casual sex.”
Archer smirked. “For somebody whose brother is a psychopath, you’d think you’d know better than to taunt one.”
Mac grinned, letting go of the hold button. “My brother isn’t a psychopath, he’s a high-functioning sociopath. And I like to live dangerously.” The doors were almost closed when he tossed his room key back at Archer, who caught it reflexively. “See you in an hour.”
Mac checked the clock by the bed again. It had been ninety minutes since his heated exchange with Archer and, still, he hadn’t shown up. He would. Mac knew he would. And he’d be pissed about it. Which only heightened Mac’s anticipation. He liked how…resistant Archer pretended to be. Almost as much as he liked how easily he went down for him anyway.
There was something about how different Archer was with him. Archer spent most of his time convincing the world that he was a raging alcoholic with a penchant for gambling and other risky activities. When he spoke with others, it was always with this lazy, amused intonation, like he knew some secret the rest of the world didn’t. But that wasn’t who Archer was at all. Not with Mac.
He picked up his phone, pulling up a picture of Archer. One he’d taken the last time they were together. It was a side profile of him staring out the window in nothing but a pair of jeans, clinging low on his hips. He’d given Mac an irritated look but had subtly changed position, like he knew his angles. As a Mulvaney, Mac imagined it came with the territory.
Still, he’d kept the photo and looked at it often. He couldn’t help himself. Mac saw the beauty in things—had an eye for it. And Archer was beautiful. Almost impossibly so. He had thick chestnut curls that brushed his collar, bold brows, and brown eyes surrounded by lashes so long and dark they gave the appearance he was wearing eyeliner. Or maybe he was wearing eyeliner. With Archer, it was hard to say.
Mac traced the lines of the photo. Archer’s skin was the warmest shade of bronze, and given what a nocturnal animal he was, Mac could only imagine it was a gift of heritage and not a love of the sun. He wasn’t overtly muscular, more lithe, like a swimmer. It made it easy for Mac to throw him around a little.
Or it would if he’d just get there already.
He tried to ignore the niggling doubt creeping its way under his ribcage, but it seeped in anyway. Maybe this time Archer wouldn’t show. Maybe he was tired of this game? Maybe Mac pushed him too hard, teased him too much? But he couldn’t help it. Archer wouldn’t allow himself a pleasure if it wasn’t hard won. That was just who he was as a person.
That was why he couldn’t believe Archer’s brothers truly thought he was an alcoholic. Archer was all about restraint. From the way he made his living to the way he killed his victims. He liked the thrill, the anticipation. Archer liked to be edged by life.
There was a single knock on the hotel room door. Mac grinned, whipping it open, a biting comment on his tongue at Archer’s tardiness. Instead, he stopped short at the doughy-faced man wearing an inscrutable expression.
Mac scanned the man quickly. He didn’t recognize him. Probably wouldn’t remember him if he had. The man was…utterly forgettable. That was Mac’s first impression anyway. Forgettable.
The man wore a khaki jacket and a hat of the same color, like a uniform, with weird tendrils of inky black hair poking out from the sides. There was something weird about the hair; it set Mac’s teeth on edge, made him stand up a little straighter. The man continued to stare down at a package he held.
“Can I help you?” Mac said, a sliver of unease settling under his skin.
It could be the man was at the wrong room, but there was something about the tension in his body, like a snake ready to strike. The man raised his head, his gaze cold and lifeless. Mac took a step back just as the man raised his right hand. Mac had barely enough time to register the gun with its suppressor pointed center mass before he was catching the man’s wrist, pivoting it away from him and slamming the door, catching the man’s forearm between it and the frame.
There was a sickening pop and a crunch, then the man screamed as his elbow gave. Mac tried to drag him into the room, but the man charged into him with his shoulder, forcing him to stumble back just enough to give him time to turn on his heel and bolt down the hallway.
Mac didn’t even chase him. He knew it wouldn’t matter. He sighed, shutting the door and leaning against it, his gaze straying to the television with its spiderwebbed glass and very obvious bullet hole.
Well, shit.
What the fuck was he going to do about that? At least he was in Vegas. It would hardly be the weirdest thing to happen there. Probably not even the weirdest in this hotel. Vegas was like the Wild West. Every man for himself.
He snagged his phone and dialed his brother, who answered on the first ring, voice gruff. “What’s wrong?”
Shep and Mac weren’t as close as some twins, but he knew his brother probably sensed something was amiss. “We’ve got a problem.”
There was a stretch of silence, then his brother said, “You’re out of towels kind of problem, or we need to hide a body kind of problem?”
Mac sighed. “There’s a bullet hole in my television and a pro hitman running around with a broken elbow kind of problem.”
“Who is it, Sam?” Mac heard Shep’s husband, Elijah, ask. Then, he listened to the sound of rustling sheets, like his brother had been in bed. It was barely three in the afternoon. “No, don’t go. We were just getting to the good parts,” Elijah whined.
“I’ll be right back,” Shep assured him. Mac listened to the balcony door slide open and shut again before his brother said, “You think they found you?”
Mac scrubbed a hand over his face. “I suppose this could be about Project Watchtower but, unless the rest of you also got a hitman as a concierge, it seems unlikely.”
“Our concierge was a barely legal brat named Bradley who openly ogled my husband then held out his hand for a large tip without the slightest bit of shame.”
Mac’s lips twitched in a smile. His brother was always so literal. “What I’m sure is one of the many pitfalls of being married to an A-list celebrity,” Mac said before forcing himself back to the subject at hand. “But yeah, I might be on their radar again. This dude was bad at his job, but he was definitely a pro.”
“What do you want to do about it?” Shep asked.
“For now? Nothing. Until I identify the men in those photos, we’ve got nothing. If I don’t know them, I can’t handle the problem. If there’s a hit on me, the only way to fix that is to take out the people holding the cash.”
“What are you going to do in the meantime?”
Mac shrugged. “I’ll be safe enough once I’m at the school.”
There were perks to having a new job at a top secret private military installation, even one that looked like an elite boarding school. Even without students, the campus was guarded on all sides by a ten foot tall security fence and a rather impressive military police force.
“I think we need to get Mom and Thomas involved,” Shep said. “They have better resources.”
Mac shook his head as if Shep could see him. “There’s nothing to tell right now.” There was another knock on the door. “Gotta go.”
