Allen has had enough. His latest job went south, his favorite car has been totaled, people keep wanting his lover, Jack, dead, and on top of all that he still has not a single damn clue what to get Jack for Christmas—a gift he desperately wants to get right because otherwise he fears he’ll be spending New Year’s Day alone. Then he finds himself forced to take an unusual job on Christmas Eve, and Allen wonders if they’ll even live long enough to exchange gifts… The Christmas Package By Megan Derr Published by Less Than Three Press All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews. Edited by Samantha M Derr Cover designed by Megan Derr This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental. First Edition December 2011 Copyright © 2011 by Megan Derr Printed in the United States of America ISBN 978-1-936202-97-3 The TheThe The Christmas Package PackagePackage Package Megan Derr 5 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package Allen pulled his gun and aimed it at the asshole who was officially T minus fifty-nine seconds from being dead. He generally preferred to keep his daily body count to three, but he was willing to add a fourth under the circumstances. "He's not worth killing," Jack said. He didn't take his eyes off his new target, but he could still see his totaled Bentley Continental from the corner of his eye. "Yes, he is. Do you know what I had to do to get that fucking car?" "Kill somebody?" Jack replied dryly. Allen shot him a disgusted look then snapped his attention back to the asshole who had wrecked his baby. "You will hold still, or I will make certain the bullet I put in you causes a very slow and painful death. Do you understand me?" The guy nodded hastily and lifted his hands in a show of surrender that was so fucking stupid Allen almost rolled his eyes. He'd worked his ass off for that car, taken the shittiest job on the planet for it, and all he'd wanted was to enjoy the rest of his day, but no—the easy job had turned difficult, it was snowing like hell when the forecast had said clear, Christmas was tomorrow and he still didn't know what to buy Jack, and now his favorite car was totaled. His mood had officially gone from bad to worse, and somebody was going to get a bullet in the head. He kept the gun steady and jerked his chin in the direction of the ruin that had been his car. "You have ten seconds to tell me how you're going to make me feel better, or I'll do it myself by the generous application of bullets to your torso region." Jack sighed. Allen ignored him. All he'd wanted was for one thing to go right. It should have been an easy day. Wake up. Go to breakfast with Jack. Go kill Mr. Waterstone. Go back to the hotel. Wait 'til Jack fell asleep, then sneak out to try and do some Christmas shopping. The only blemish on his day should have been a phone call from his mother. But no. The snow had knocked the power out so they'd woken up late. The roads were too much of a mess for breakfast to be worth the hassle. One simple assignment to kill a pedophilic business tycoon had turned into a three-body job. His mother hadn't bothered to call all damn day. And Jack had been in a bad mood throughout. He should never have had the Bentley brought to him, but goddammit, he had wanted something to perk him up. Now his prize possession was junkyard material because some asshole couldn't properly operate his Dodge Ram. Allen really wanted to shoot somebody. "If you shoot him," Jack said with patience that he obviously did not feel, "then we'll have to hide the body, and we'll be out here even longer. Just take his fucking keys and let's get the hell out of here." 6 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package "T-t-tak'em, m-man," the guy said, eyes nearly popping out of his head at Jack's casual observation about hiding his body. He held out the keys still clutched in his right hand, dangling from an obnoxious John Deere key ring. Allen sighed long and loud, but took the keys with his free hand. Pocketing them, he put his gun away— then grabbed the guy, sank a fist into his gut, and clipped the back of his head, knocking him out. Catching the idiot over his shoulder, Allen carted him across the street to a house that looked like it had plenty of activity. He left the guy on the covered porch, right against the front door, then strode back to where Jack had already climbed into the truck. He took one last look at his poor car and went through it to clear out the extra guns stashed in it, removed the license plates, then finally joined Jack. Starting up the largely unscathed pick up, he slowly pulled back and out, wincing as a piece fell off his car. "I really wish you had let me shoot him," he groused. The words actually drew a smile—a real smile—from Jack. Allen hated dating—well, did they call it dating? What did they call it? He wasn't certain delivering dubious packages and the odd hit were dating, but they weren't really the go to the movies kind of guys— Anyway, whatever they were doing, it would be a hell of a lot easier if Jack were easier to read. Just when Allen thought he had Jack down, he was left guessing again. Allen was pretty certain he'd never met a better poker face. The world would never know how lucky they were that Jack had ratted out his family instead of taking over the family business. "If you'd shot him, we'd still be in the snow and probably dealing with cops. Remind me to chew out Avery later; that house was supposed to be clear, and that's the second time he's given us poor information. If I wanted you to take shitty jobs, I'd get you shitty jobs. If you really want to kill someone else today, shoot Avery." "You spoil me," Allen replied, and Jack laughed. Some of the tension leaked from Allen's shoulders, and he dared to hope that maybe he was just losing his mind, and things were okay, and Jack didn't actually seem as moody and withdrawn as he had lately. "So what shall we do the rest of the day?" "Sleep?" Jack replied. "We seem to get little enough of that." Maybe he wasn't losing his mind. Allen stifled a twinge of disappointment. The days of Rio and going to dinner between fire fights seemed long gone. He supposed he should just be happy he'd set a new record; before Jack, his longest relationship had been four and a half weeks. Six months, his mother would cheerfully declare, was a miracle. "We seem to get little enough of everything except gunshots and plans gone wrong. It's only five o'clock-ish—we could go do something." "And get shot at again? No thanks. It's Christmas Eve—all the crazies are out. I'm staying in." Allen tried not to wilt at those words, but it was hard. He had no interest in anything stupid and normal, but another night of 'stay in the motel' was, right then, a level of hell all its own. Okay, fine. Maybe it might have been nice to have a little bit of normal for once. Shit, he couldn't even come up with a present. Jack probably didn't even give a damn; if Allen knew him at all, he knew that. But his mother would be the first to remind him—with a slap upside the head—that that wasn't the point. 7 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package The point was to make Jack happy. Allen just wished he knew without a doubt that he was the best man for that job. Stifling a sigh, he drove the rest of the way back to their motel in silence, fervently hoping that the power was back on. It was tricky, going with all the snow, but the pick-up handled it better than his poor Bentley had. He really should have left his baby in storage, but what was done was done, as his mother liked to say. They reached the motel, and Allen led the way to their room, swiping his card and pushing the door open, sighing in relief when he flipped the light switch and the room filled with dull yellow light. He grimaced at the ugly bedspread, wondering what it was about motels that the bedspreads always had to be ugly as fuck and not match a single other thing in the room. The fact that this time it almost matched the hideous striped walls was, he suspected, pure dumb luck. Moving to the little table by the window, he shrugged out of his winter coat and hung it over one of the chairs, then stripped off his leather gloves and set them down. Finally he pulled out the gun he wore in a shoulder holster, as well as the smaller one strapped to his ankle. Checking them both over, he set one on the nightstand and put the other in the nightstand drawer. Sitting down at the table, he stretched his legs out and wished fervently that they were anywhere but another crappy motel. He wanted to be back in his bed, the one he saw only a handful of times a year and never for very long. The one he really hoped he'd be able to show Jack someday. Jack discarded his own winter clothes and strode across the room to the minifridge, bending to pull out two cans of beer. He walked back over to Allen and held out one of the beers. Allen ignored it in favor of grabbing Jack's wrist and tugging him close and down, then kissing him. Jack immediately responded, and Allen heard the thump of the unopened cans hitting the floor as Jack tried to straddle him. When the cheap motel chair prevented it, Allen stood up and pushed Jack down onto the bed, straddling him and diving right back in for another kiss. He sank a hand into Jack's soft curls as his free hand slipping beneath Jack's dark blue sweater, sliding along warm skin. Whatever else was wrong, he thought feverishly—and maybe a little desperately—this still worked between them, and that had to count for something. Allen pulled back to admire the view: Jack tousled and hard and ready for more, no sign of his bad mood remaining. "I really don't get why people keep shooting you." "Turning state's evidence is generally frowned upon," Jack said dryly. "You're just biased because you're fucking me." Allen rolled his eyes and set to work removing their clothes. He really hated winter; there was no good way to remove all the cumbersome layers, and his damned boots especially were nothing, but a pain in the ass. Goddamn frozen shoelaces. He pitched the boots across the room when he finally got them off, and then turned back to Jack, who was snickering at him. "Oh, shut up," he said, climbing back on top of Jack and fisting his cock, turning the snickers into needy demands. "So bossy." "Someone has to be, god knows you'd never get on with it if I wasn't telling you what to do," Jack retorted. "I shudder to think how you muddled along before I showed up and started giving you instructions." 8 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package Laughing, Allen kissed him again, letting go of Jack's cock to smooth his hand along Jack's skin again, leaving smears of precum. Tearing away from Jack's mouth, he nibbled at his jaw and then slowly down his neck, grunting as Jack's nails bit into his skin. He worked his way down Jack's torso, sucking and biting and licking, lapping up the smears he'd left only moments before. Jack ran his fingers over Allen's head, reminding him that his hair really was getting too long and needed to go. Maybe he'd shave it later if he got a chance. For the moment, however, his only interest was in obeying the tacit order to suck Jack's cock. He loved when Jack got bossy. He was so quiet and still and innocuous most of the time, so deceptively easy-going, that Allen relished when he let that all go and got demanding. He pulled away long enough to find condoms in his duffle, and after a bit of impatient fumbling rolled one down Jack's cock. He then bent to resume where he'd left off, wondering when or if he should ever broach doing away with the condoms altogether. Jack thrust into his mouth, finger sliding over Allen's scalp in search of a grip that would never be there, while Allen took him with ease, throat and tongue working, pushing harder and harder as Jack swore and demanded and finally came. Allen swallowed him down and slowly pulled off his cock, going easily when Jack tugged him up and took a deep kiss. He grunted in surprise when Jack abruptly flipped them, but didn't complain in the slightest at the way Jack's ass felt against his cock. Jack got rid of his condom, throwing it in the bin they'd put right by the bed, then leaned over him and fumbled beneath his pillow, coming out with the lube. Allen reached for the lube and glared when Jack held it out of reach. "I think you can just lay there and do as you're told," Jack said and slicked his own fingers, rising up on his knees to push them into his ass. Allen moaned and tried to touch Jack himself, only to be given a warning look that said Jack could and would be very mean if he didn't do as told. "You're kind of a jerk." "Mm," Jack agreed and rolled the condom down Allen's cock, then held it and slowly sank down on it. His skin was shiny with sweat, his hair sticking to his cheeks in a way that made Allen want to reach out and push the curls aside and drag Jack down for more kisses. Then Jack moved, making him moan, bracing his hands on Allen's chest as he began to ride him like he was racing to meet a deadline. Allen grasped his hips and thrust up in time with his movements, driving as hard as he could into Jack's tight heat. He finally came with a cry that no doubt pissed off their neighbors and completely did not care. They slumped together on the bed, sweaty and sticky and sated, and Allen kissed him softly, relishing the way Jack always kissed him back no matter what his mood. Jack yawned and flopped onto his back, come drying on his torso. They needed to shower, if only so they'd be ready to go should they have to go for any reason—having to bolt while still filthy from sex was, to say the least, unpleasant—but Allen couldn't bring himself to move just yet. "Sure you don't want to do anything for Christmas Eve?" he asked. "No," Jack said. "Our luck, we'll just get into a firefight. We have beer, food, peace, and quiet. Your mom even managed to send us gingersnaps." Allen nodded and let it go. "I am sorry about your car," Jack said, rolling over to lie alongside him, one hand settling on Allen's chest. "I'll live," Allen said, even if he still wanted to find the bastard and run him over with his own pick-up. "Shouldn't have had it brought here, anyway." 9 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package Jack laughed softly, but in that way that said he was already falling asleep. "It was a nice ride; we'll have to get you another sometime." Allen smiled faintly, but didn't reply, simply let Jack drift off to sleep. It was something they'd both gotten little enough of, lately, and they'd have to move on soon if they didn't want to start getting shot at again. The contract might say double the price if Jack was taken alive, but no one cared about Allen. Thank god his mother was tucked away, and this time no one was going to fucking find her, or he'd really flip his shit. Allen waited until Jack started snoring softly, then slid away and went to get cleaned up. Showered, he pulled on a worn pair of jeans and a green sweater his mother had given him for his birthday. He preferred his suits: it was the way his father had always dressed. Jeans and a sweater would draw less attention than a man in a suit, however. Pulling on his coast and a watch cap, he tucked his guns into place, then finally pulled on his leather gloves. He flexed his fingers, settling the gloves into place, grabbed up keys and wallet, and headed out. The chance of finding a Christmas present so late was slim to none, but he had to try. His family had never been much for holidays, but they'd always exchanged presents. He drove to the main downtown shopping district and parked on the street, shoving quarters into the meter before venturing off to the shops. Two hours later, nothing had really snagged his attention, and he was growing increasingly frustrated with all the other shoppers. He didn't like crowds, especially when someone in that crowd might be inclined to put a bullet in his back. Allen sighed and paused in front of a shop window that displayed a saccharine scene of Santa, Mrs. Clause, and a dozen children. He vaguely remembered malls packed with people eager to meet Santa, but that had never been something he'd taken part in; his parents had used malls to train him on paying attention, on focusing and not getting distracted, on keeping his eye on the target no matter what, and far more besides. He walked on, lingering at another window that displayed a set of suits. The pinstripe especially caught his eye, and Allen wished they could go home. He hadn't bought a new suit in forever, and his tailor was probably starting to think he'd finally managed to get himself killed. Allen smiled faintly, thinking how much hell he'd catch from Jack for having his own tailor. The scuff of boots alerted him that someone was behind him, but the prickle along the back of his neck was what told him he was fucked. Allen turned and pulled his gun all in one smooth move—and rolled his eyes when he saw who it was holding a gun in his face. "Hello, Sweet-tart." "Hello, Shakespeare," Allen retorted and lowered his weapon. "Don’t call me that." "Don't call me Sweet-tart." Laughing, the man lowered his gun, but didn't put it away. Allen eyed him warily, wondering what was up, but hopeful it wasn't too awful since he was still alive. Allen's father had started training him when 10 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package he was seven. Tybalt Azura had started his training as a private assassin for the Azura Syndicate when he was three. He barely cleared five feet, had short, spiky black hair, and the trademark azure eyes. He looked like a punk-rock pixie, and people dreaded hearing his name. "Long time no see, Sweet." "Could have gone longer," Allen replied. "What the fuck do you want, Tybalt? I haven't done anything to cross Azura, and I'm allowed on his turf. It was a legitimate hit. Why were you sent?" "Because anyone else we sent out would have come back crying," Tybalt said congenially. "Azura wants you for a job." Allen gestured sharply. "Not interested, and even if I was, you'd have to go through my handler. I know you know I have one now, Tybalt." "Mm, yes. Didn't believe it 'til I saw it, though. He's already in the limo." "You son of a—" "Ah, ah, ah," Tybalt said and lifted his gun again. "Your boy is fine, if likely to be a lot pissed off when he wakes up. Get in the car, Sweet-tart." Allen obeyed, but only because he knew he had little choice in the matter. He climbed into the ostentatious limo that pulled up the curb, rolling his eyes at the pointless melodrama. "I see your boss still has a flair for the ridiculous." Tybalt only smirked and relaxed back against the soft leather of the seat opposite Allen. Ignoring him, Allen moved to where Jack was slumped in a corner, gently checking him for injuries. "What did you do to him?" "He took a knock to the head; he'll be fine," Tybalt said. "I have to admit, I didn't believe the rumors that you'd found Marcus Brighton and taken him as your handler. He's damn near a fucking urban legend, but there he sits, pretty as you please. Where the fuck did you find him?" Allen sat back, though he left a hand wrapped loosely around Jack's arm. "He found me and decided to stick around." "You do know what the contract on him is, right?" "I find it funny, Shakespeare, that after all this time you still think I'm a fucking idiot. Yes, I know what the contract is on him. If even one of you attempts anything—" Tybalt cut him off with a laugh. "We have better things to do with our time than help the Brighton family with revenge. If anything, we owe Marcus our thanks." "The name is Jack, you fuckwit," Jack said, voice groggy, but the anger in it sharp. "Who the hell are you?" "I work for Azura," Tybalt replied. [...]... for the trio 16 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package Stevie glared sullenly in the sharp glow of the headlights, but after a moment, petulantly said, "Emperor." Jack sighed and clubbed the nearest guy on the back of the head, and Allen made short work of the other two then slowly drug them all into the pick-up He retrieved the kitten and their belongings then trudged over to the Civic Settling the. .. traces of it The elevator chimed softly, and as the doors slid open, Tybalt led them through the main living area of the penthouse and halfway down the hallway where he rapped on a door before pushing it open Inside the room were two other men: one seated behind the desk, the other perched on the edge of the desk next to the first "You found them rather quickly, Tybs," said the man sitting on the desk,... with a sigh "Do something with them; I'm calling Mickey." Grunting, Allen obeyed, stuffing the men in their car and binding them to ensure they wouldn't be following any time soon Then he flattened the tires to ensure they definitely wouldn’t be following any time soon 20 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package Flexing his cold fingers in their leather gloves, he returned to the Civic where Jack was standing... lose his footing in the snow and hit the ground with an ominous crack where his head hit the pavement The other guy tried to pull a gun, but Allen broke his nose with a well-placed fist, then shoved him into the side of the Jaguar and clubbed the back of his head with the butt of his own pistol By the time he'd dealt with that, Jack had the third guy out cold as well "Merry fucking Christmas, " Jack said... the stairs that led up to the door Climbing out, he checked his guns, stretched to work the kinks out, then walked around the car to join Jack Holding the carrier still containing the kitten, Jack led the way up the stairs Allen strode up to the door and knocked, then glanced at his watch, unable to believe it was seriously almost three in the goddamn morning He was way past too old for this shit The. .. men scramble and jump as they thought, at first, that he was shooting at them Before they could get their guns out, Jack was on them, persuading them to their knees with his own weapons "Who the fuck are these clowns?" "Low grade thugs," Allen replied "They're just here as scouts We'll get heavier gauge thugs later, I'd imagine Who the fuck are you working for, Stevie?" he asked the man who served as... with glass Neon light spelled out Azura Corp over the entrance Inside, the lobby was quiet, save for the two guards on duty They didn't look like cheap rent-a-cops Reaching the elevators, Tybalt led them inside one, then pulled a key from around his neck and fit it to the control panel He turned it and then pushed a button for the top floor The rode up to the penthouse in silence, though Allen could see... sharp bark of, "Is there a problem here?" from the cook drew him up short Allen grunted and rose, throwing cash on the table He made a face, annoyed that he wouldn't get a chance to steal the keys for the BMW from the guy in the corner immersed in his laptop He waited until they were just out of sight of the half-dozen people in the Waffle House, acting a split-second before the other guys, shoving... sighed and strode to the elevator, slumping in a back corner as they rode down He didn't say anything as they climbed back into the limo, simply stared out the window By the time they got back to their shabby motel room, Allen wanted to scream just to break the tension He waited until the door closed and he'd set the stupid kitten down, then said, "Why are you so pissed off?" "Because I was working... 17 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package the grill area, he sat down and smiled at the tired waitress who came up "Coffee, please, and a waffle with scrambled eggs and bacon Thanks." "Coffee, pancakes, all the rest the same," Jack added and gave the woman his sunniest smile "Merry Christmas. " "Same to you, hun," she said, smiling back, and poured them coffee before going to put in their orders When . Printed in the United States of America ISBN 978-1-936202-97-3 The TheThe The Christmas Package PackagePackage Package Megan Derr 5 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package. Inside the room were two other men: one seated behind the desk, the other perched on the edge of the desk next to the first. "You found them rather quickly, Tybs," said the man. clubbed the nearest guy on the back of the head, and Allen made short work of the other two then slowly drug them all into the pick-up. He retrieved the kitten and their belongings then trudged