Chapter 8 Ethan
ETHAN
“Oh, fffffuuuuuuck!” I growl, my fist practically strangling my cock.
My other hand is holding my phone up to my nose, like I could smell Barbara’s delicious pussy through the camera feed.
Her head’s thrown back, her legs are shaking, she’s moaning and gasping.
Gasping my name. Mine. Not “Sebastian’s”.
“Mine!” I shout as my pleasure detonates in my dick, my back bowing off the mattress.
“You’re fucking mine,” I add with a groan.
Cum shoots in the air and splatters over my fist, but I still don’t stop stroking, not until Barbara comes down from her orgasm, not until every glide of my hand makes squelching sounds that I pretend are the sounds of me fucking her, fucking what’s mine.
We’re both breathing hard, me in my bed, her in the shower in her apartment.
She doesn’t know that I’m with her. I want so bad to tell her I heard her moan my name as she was coming.
But I can’t. She’d despise me. Barbara will never know how much I violated her privacy, how I got off on it repeatedly.
I’m with her when she steps out and takes a towel with trembling fingers. I’m with her when she pulls on panties, fuzzy pajamas, and shuffles into her bed and under the covers. And I’m with her when her breathing turns slow and even, lulling me to sleep.
The next day, I’m woken up by fabric hitting my face.
“Put some clothes on, you fucking pervert,” Killian growls.
I blink at my friend, ignoring my naked state and the dried cum on my trimmed short-and-curlies.
“I’m revoking your access,” I groan. “Why the fuck are you even here? Shouldn’t you be fucking your bride-to-be?”
“The alert you set up for Zhao’s private jets went off. He’s here.”
“Ah, shit,” I hiss, scrambling for my phone.
I tap the screen when it doesn’t light up automatically, then press the button on the side.
Nothing. “Battery died,” I mumble. Probably best not to tell him it died because I was perving on Barbara half of the night.
I place it on the wireless charging pad.
“Christ,” Killian grumbles when I get up and walk to my bathroom without bothering to put on the boxers he threw at me. Why would I do that when I’d take them off after five seconds?
I relieve myself and jump in the shower, not bothering to wait for it to warm up. My dick is just waking up for its first performance anyway—the cold water will help subdue it, because I’m not jerking off when Cross is waiting a few feet away.
When I towel off and put on a fresh pair of sweats, Killian is already waiting at my desk, and there’s a coffee next to my main keyboard.
“Thanks, man,” I mumble gratefully, breathing in the expensive roast I’m addicted to. There’s a time and place for an energy drink, but nothing beats that first whiff of hot caffeine.
I wake up my machinery and check the alerts I missed. Adrian Wen Zhao is indeed right here, in New York.
“Heh,” I snicker, reading a message in my encrypted inbox.
“What?” Cross growls impatiently.
“My man at Teterboro managed to put a tracker on Zhao’s convoy as they were leaving,” I answer, grinning up at my friend.
Killian raises an eyebrow. “You have a man at Teterboro?”
I scoff. “I have a man everywhere worthwhile. There’s a reason why we always get the cushiest jobs.”
“Point me at my target,” he replies. “I’ll leave the sleuthing and scheming to you.”
“So barbaric,” I mutter, bringing up the map with a couple of taps. “There. They’re at a warehouse by the waterfront.”
“Figures,” he grumbles. “Easy in, easy out. Plenty of water to dump the bodies. Just like last time.”
I swivel around until I’m facing him fully. “Unlike last time, you’re not going in alone.”
“You’re going with me, E? I’m touched.”
“I’ll leave the touching to Emily,” I say with an eye roll. “But no, not just me. I shot a message to Damien and Caleb. They’re on their way.”
“Fuck,” Killian growls. “Why are you bringing them into this? I got shot last time, if they get hurt—”
“And if you get hurt worse than that?” I interrupt. “Not only will Emily skin us with your Ka-Bar, but we’d never recover.”
Killian crosses his arms. “Shit, man, you’d think you’re the one writing wedding vows, not me.” He takes a deep breath before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Let’s get this motherfucker so I can go home to my wife.”
“Not your wife yet.”
“She fucking is and she knows it.”
The warehouse smells like salt, oil, and despair. I think whatever Black Ash is transporting here has a heartbeat.
We split up, each taking a corner of the building, ready to capture them in the middle. There won’t be any surprises this time, no ambush, no lone man running from an army. My earpiece crackles in my ear as I crouch behind a shipping container.
Killian speaks up first: “Four guards inside, two more at the rear door. You got eyes on Zhao?”
“Negative,” I reply. “He must be squirreled away in an office.”
“Or he knows we’re on to him,” Damien murmurs, always the cautious one.
“Then let’s give him a reason to come out,” Caleb says, his voice promising blood.
“What are you doing, Kemosabe?” I ask with a grin. Ward never fails to entertain.
He chuckles, the sound only just carrying over the earpiece. “Just setting a little fire.”
“Careful not to burn us down in the process,” D mumbles.
“I’ve got the high ground,” Killian says, ignoring our banter. I know he’s covering us with his sniper scope, making sure there are no surprises.
I should be focused on the mission, keeping my eyes peeled for Zhao as he pops his head out from wherever he’s hiding. Instead, my thoughts keep drifting back to Barbara. To how she said Ethan. To how she moaned my name without knowing I’m listening, watching, coming with her.
I grit my teeth and shake it off. Focus. Zhao’s not some street-level thug; he’s a trafficker high up in Black Ash. Men like him don’t deserve mercy—and I won’t give it.
A wisp of smoke catches my attention, and my heart rate kicks up a notch. I check my thermal imaging camera for the third time, confirming again that these containers are empty.
“Fire in the hole,” Caleb whispers darkly.
“There he is,” Killian growls. Adrian messed with the wrong woman when he had Emily taken, and he’s about to get a third eye. I check my mag and chamber a round, ready to take down the remaining Black Ash scum once their leader drops.
Shouts and chaos erupt even before I hear the muted crack of Killian’s rifle going off. Something spooked them.
“Fuck! He moved. I only clipped him. They scattered.”
Well, shit. And now the warehouse is filling with smoke, lowering visibility. Our plan backfired.
I move fast, silent, cutting through the smoke like a ghost. Two of Zhao’s men run into me, and I drop one with a shot to the throat, then roll behind a crate as bullets chew the air.
“Two down,” Killian says. “Watch your right, Kane!”
I pivot, firing three rounds. The second guard goes down with a grunt. Smoke stings my eyes, but I see movement—Zhao, slick suit and styled hair, darting toward the dock.
“Zhao’s moving,” I warn even as I start to follow.
“On him,” Caleb chimes in.
Zhao sprints toward a waiting speedboat, the kind that can vanish into open water before you blink.
Fuck. I push myself harder, sprinting faster. Damien tackles one of Zhao’s men, Caleb sprays his wake with a hail of bullets, and for a moment, I think we’ve got him.
Then the night detonates. The shockwave throws me forward, and I hit the ground hard, ears ringing. The warehouse behind us goes up in flames, evenly, like charges were placed in strategic spots.
“Killian!” I shout as icy dread suffuses my body despite the heat emanating from the flames.
“I’m out,” my friend reassures us, restarting my heart.
When I blink the stars out of my eyes and turn back to the docks, Zhao’s gone.
I slam a fist into the ground. “Fuck! He was fucking ready!”
“Either he was paranoid or someone fed him intel,” Caleb says from next to me, reaching out a hand to help me up.
I watch the trail of a boat disappearing into the distance. Barbara’s face flashes in my head again, her soft voice, her laugh.
How many women has Zhao taken like he took Emily? Sold like cattle? Hurt? Killed?
I taste blood where I bit my tongue.
“Next time, we end it,” I promise Killian, but also Barbara. “Zhao’s a dead man walking.