I follow him to his office and sit dumbstruck as he runs through my roles and directives, only manging to nod my head in agreement a few times before the meeting is over with. Welcome to MI6.
I end up in places similar to the desert countries I thought, hoped, I’d never see again. But I’m good at it—one of the best. I don’t have the tattoos my brothers are adorned with, so I’m nondescript enough to blend in to listen to the languagesI studied hard to learn, and I report back. Then I lose the one person I thought I’d be with forever, and it’s time to stop. I don’t want to be like him, to be the reason a family shatters apart. To be the statistic my pops feared so much, so many years ago.
“Thank you for your service, Drake. You’ve been an asset to us, to the government, and your country,” Pilkington says to me as he shakes my hand. It’s a little over the top, but he’s like that, married to his position. “You know you never really leave the company. We may call on you again, if you’re needed. So, keep mum.”
“Of course, Sir. It’s been a pleasure to work with you.” I release his hand and step back before turning my back and walking through the door of his glass walled office.
I pull up on the drive of my parents’ house. It’s an unannounced visit, but it’s Sunday, and I know everyone will be here. After taking a deep breath, I open the door. I can hear the cacophony of voices all loud, all laughing and happy. The sound is food for my soul. They haven’t seen me for months—nearly a year. I’ve been in the Middle East, my long black hair and tanned olive skin so dark I could be mistaken for a native; it’s only my hazel eyes that are different, and the golden whisky accents make them acceptable. Definitely not the son and brother they know. But since I’m done now, I thought they could get a glimpse of who I’ve been. They’ve teased me relentlessly about being a spy, and I’ve encouraged them to let their imaginations run wild.
The kitchen is full of, now silent, men, all staring at me as if I’m a stranger. It’s Pops that sees through the disguise and lets out a scream of recognition. “DRAKE!”
His chair is pushed back so fast it almost topples in his haste to reach me. “Hey, Pops,” I say as he wraps his arms around me in a fierce hug, then he puts his hands on my biceps as he looks me over, patting my arms and shoulders as if he’s checking I’m real. Or maybe to see if I’m all in one piece.
Dad is the next to greet me, his hug just as hard. “It’s good to see you, son. You’ve been missed.”
“I’ve missed you too.” I squeeze him just as hard.
“Are you hungry? Of course you are. You’re always hungry. Sit down. Knox shift up a chair.”
“God, it’s always me,” he grumbles but moves to the empty chair, giving me his chair, the one next to Pops.
“Good to see you, too, brother.” I smirk but give him a one-armed hug before I sit down. He blushes but stands up and hugs me properly. “It’s good to see you back safe and sound.”
Whilst they don’t officially know what I do, or did, they’ve teased me enough about being 007. I sit down and reach out to grab some bacon and French toast. “I’ve missed your breakfasts.”
“I think you need a haircut, mate.” Royal gestures to the long hair. I grab the hair tie from my wrist and tie it up. I know it’s scruffy, but I kind of like it. It tidies up onto a sexy man bun, or so I’ve been told.
“Nah, not yet. It fits in with my next job.” I’m security for some teen popstar who’s shot to fame thanks to some reality or singing show. Something I know nothing about. I’ve got all the notes to get me up to date before I start on Wednesday.
“How long are you here for?” Dad asks. He’s shown all along how much he wants me back home. Pops is the man who wears his heart on his sleeve, showing all his emotions. Dad isquieter. I know he loves us, and I know he worries about us all, wanting us to be happy, to find love if it’s what we want, and settled. He’s never liked the secrecy around my work, working out very early on the path I was taking.
“I’m back. I mean I’m not working for the people anymore. I’ve got an easy gig starting this week, protecting some new popstar guy. I’d never heard of him before I got the call from his manager.”
It’s Royal who takes the bait, maybe because he teaches teenagers. “Who is it?”
“Um.” I pull out my phone as if checking when I know exactly what he’s called. “Rafe Quartermaine.”
Royal leans back in chair, a low whistle escaping his lips. “Good luck with that. He’s quite the wild child. All the kids at school are obsessed with him. He’s always in the gossip mags, getting drunk and misbehaving with both men and women.”
“Are we going to see your ugly mug in the background of every pic?” Saint chimes in. “Although with that whole brooding stare, muscles, and obviously the man bun, you’ll probably get your own groupies. You’ll have all the Doms fighting for your submission.”
“Fuck off,” I tell him, but I’m grinning. I’ve missed this.
Bloody Royal was right. Rafe is everything and more of a hellraiser. Unfortunately, he is the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. He’s tall, willowy, but with strong defined muscles. His hair is bleached platinum silver, and his eyes glow like emeralds. A green so bright I thought he wore contacts. He looks at me, his cheekbones high and sharp, his lips plump and dark pink. Swollen, like he’s just spent an hour on someone’s cock.
The open plan living and dining room looks like a bomb has gone off. There are young men and women sleeping, or maybe passed out, on every sofa, and a couple girls that can’t be much past eighteen-years-old have passed out virtually naked with their limbs entwined on a white shag rug. Empty bottles of tequila, sambuca, and vodka are strewn around the room, and shot glasses are on every surface, leaving a sticky residue. The person I’m looking for isn’t here. Where the fuck is he?
“Rafferty!” I shout as I leave the room and head for the stairs. My frustration has me rushing up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I want him to make his house guests disappear. I’m sick and tired of dealing with his shit for five months now. It’s time to kick his arse. This is what happens when kids get paid too much money. He’s got talent; I’ll give him that, but he’s gonna end up a drug addict, a drunk, and broke when everyone in the business closes doors when his name is mentioned. I’m being paid a ridiculous amount of money to watch for troubleand to keep him safe, but it’s hard, especially when the worst trouble is being made by himself.
I don’t even bother to knock on his door. It surprises me that he never shares his bed with anyone, but I’m always prepared for that to change at any time. I’ve seen everything and have learned not to be surprised anymore.
He’s sprawled out on the biggest bed I’ve ever seen, and again, he’s alone. “Get up,” I shout and slap his arse hard enough to make my handprint immediately appear.
“Fuck off,” the still drunken-slurred voice says. “That fucking hurt.” He rubs his arse, the perfect, high, round globe I want to bite, but of course, I refrain. He snags the cover and drags it up over his body.
I snatch the sheet and pull it off the bed, almost bringing its occupant with it. “Get out of bed and clear out the piles of bodies that seem to cover every surface of the house.”
“Fuck,” he mumbles through the hand he’s scrubbing down his face. He gets out of bed stark naked, his cock flaccid, long and thick between his legs, the pubes cut neat and short around the base, his heavy balls smooth. He’s beautiful, and everything I would choose, if I could.