17. Kieran
17
Kieran
Matt is ecstatic when we arrive at the Old Pier diner. We lost the other bikers when we got off the I-87, and while it was fun racing, they didn’t stand a chance.
A spark of crazy lives in Matt’s soul-stealing green eyes when he takes off the helmet once he’s gotten off the bike. I think it’s the same kind of crazy that lives inside me. I’m convinced it’s part of the reason we clicked so well and so quickly.
“This was insane,” he says, his voice hoarse and wondrous, like he can’t believe what just happened. “Holy fuck. You are mad, Ki. For real.”
His cheeks are rosy and he’s grinning like he’s lost it. His breathing is a little choppy, too. But otherwise, he’s beaming even more than before. He’s radiant. Worked up. Elated. He’s also very delectable in the way he’s a little wide-eyed and agitated when our gazes clash as I hop off the bike.
I only look away for long enough to lose my helmet and prop the bike on its stand. My entire body is tingling, toes and fingertips included. I haven’t done one of these stunts in a while, and having Matt riding with me made it ten times more awesome.
“I thought we were gonna die at least five times. And those guys we raced?” He hands me his helmet and I attach it on the other side of the handlebars. When I turn back to him, his eyes blaze with pride. “You wiped the floor with them. It was so fucking hot.”
I drink in his armor-clad frame. It’s elegant like the features gracing his face. His twig-like body could also do with a bit more muscle, but that can come gradually.
“You know what else was fucking hot?”
His eyebrows bunch together in question. “What?”
I march over to him and cage him against the brick wall of the old building. He exhales sharply, his cheeks catching color. Rock music blasts from the second-story window just above us, and I can hear people shouting and cheering. It smells like beer and grill and sweat and incoming rain. But even so, I can still catch Matt’s distinctively sweet scent. It invades every part of me, merciless as it draws me closer and closer, until all I can focus on is only him.
“You, on the backseat.”
“Oh. Yeah. I’m quite an amazing passenger if I can say—”
I shut him up with my mouth. Something just comes over me, demanding I taste him as my heart threatens to make a hole in my chest and escape through it. I’m still vibrating from the adrenaline, and so is he as he meets my demanding kiss with one of his own. His tongue is greedy when it finds mine, hot and nimble and tasting of him. He groans, the sound going straight to my cock and frying what I have left of my ability to think.
Needing more, I press my erection into his leg. He whimpers, rubbing against it while our tongues continue to chase each other. I tune out everything but the obscene noises we make. His deep moans, the little growls I let out, the wet sounds we share. It’s too much, in the best way. Aggressive and shameless. There is no grace to it, no softness to counter it like I am used to. We feed off each other, devouring and claiming and needing more.
Matt’s hand finds my bulge and gropes it possessively. I keen like an animal.
“Fuck. You are so hard,” he says, twisting his body until he’s on tiptoes and his hardness is lined up with mine.
I roll my hips experimentally, chasing after more friction.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants, mouthing along the side of my neck. It’s the only part he can reach unless I bend down to kiss him. “What the hell is happening right now?”
I shove one of my hands between us, squeezing him through his suit. I can’t get a good hold of him, but something is better than nothing. “I’m pretty sure we are dry humping each other in the parking lot of a diner, muffin.”
He makes a frustrated noise and rolls his lovely eyes at me. “No, I know this! I’m trying to figure out how we got here.”
“That’s easy. It’s your fault for seducing me.”
He grinds harder, huffing in indignation. “Uh, no? All I did was ogle you a little and you popped a stiffie. How is that my fault?”
“I warned you there would be consequences of this you-and-me thing, didn’t I?”
He reaches for my shoulders, barely managing to grab onto them. “Fuck. I really want to make you come in your pants right now.”
Sparks explode under my skin, shooting heat straight to my balls. Well, shit. All I wanted was to tease him a little. To let off the edge and adrenaline. But this is quickly getting out of hand. I think I’d love to take him up on his offer.
“That’s not a good idea,” I grit out, trying and failing to convince my body to stop rubbing against his. “Not in this. Plus, we have to ride back down to NY after we finish investigating.”
Using the leverage he has on my shoulders, he pushes me back. His impish expression almost convinces me to say yes, but riding with jizz in your pants is just nasty. “What if I swallow?”
My jaw hits the floor. “What?”
He licks his plump lips. “If you come in my mouth, there will be no mess.”
Fire replaces the blood in my veins. God have mercy, he’ll be the end of me. Cradling his lovely face, I peck him on the mouth. “Are you sure?”
The little fox grins. “Hell yes, Ki. Whip out your monster cock and let me blow your mind away.”
That mouth.
I’m way too gone to refuse even if my brain insists that getting a blowjob in the corner of a parking lot is a really bad idea. Not to mention that it’s not particularly romantic for my first sexual encounter with another guy. But right now, such a thing as bad ideas just doesn’t exist. Anything and everything involving my dick is a good idea.
Matt drops to his knees while I unzip the suit. But before he can get me out of my leggings and briefs, a bunch of guys walk out of the diner and head right for where we are huddling behind a couple cars.
“Are you kidding me?” Matt grumbles, planting a kiss on my crotch before straightening up. “Are we seriously getting cockblocked like this?”
I laugh. It’s pretty much the only thing I can do in this situation. My raging boner kisses goodbye any back-alley fun as I zip my suit and the two of us amble away from the crime scene of public indecency we were about to create. We get a few wolf whistles from the group as they get into a van. Once the vehicle has left, we take out the hats I packed and put them on before we head toward the self-storage warehouse.
There is a single guard at the entrance, who doesn’t even ID us. Other than him, the rest of the security comprises only CCTV. Our disguises aren’t ideal, but they will do. We just have to make sure our faces remain obscured.
Navigating the maze-like interior, we eventually make it to Lena’s storage unit, located on the fourth floor. We enter the passcode and it actually works. Considering we got the number of the unit from the sticker on the key, I’m pleasantly surprised.
“This is the moment of truth,” Matt mutters, pushing up the metal roll-up door.
My pulse thrums in my ears. Electricity races along my fingers. Whatever is hiding inside this unit will change everything. I just know it. I glance at Matt. His attention is narrowed down to the dark room. Nothing else exists for him in this moment. I find his hand and interlace our fingers, giving him a squeeze.
Let’s do this.
I feel along the wall on my side for the switch and flip it. The strip of fluorescent light that bisects the ceiling comes to life with a hiss after a two-second delay, illuminating everything. The red frame of the motorcycle mounted on a stand in the middle of the space gleams under the harsh white light. Behind it, a fake orchid plant sits on a metal desk with neatly-stacked folders. On the left and right of it are shelves housing unlabeled cardboard boxes of varying sizes.
“Wow.” Matt points at the bike. “Why the hell did Lena bring a sports bike here? And not, you know, keep it with her? There were plenty of parking spaces near her building.”
That’s a great question. She must have had a reason to do it. I take out the key we found in the glass dragon and examine it. I think it will fit. “I am pretty sure the key is for the bike.”
Matt snatches it from me and jogs over to the red beauty. “Shit, you are right.” I join him and we try to get the bike started. But it won’t run. “Uh, what’s wrong with it?”
“Dead battery, if I had to guess.” Which means the bike must’ve sat here for a while. “I’ll try a few things. Check those shelves and the desk?”
He circles me and picks up the top folder. “Sure, but the riddle said Red and Bike, not desk and bookshelves. So whatever we are here to find is tied to the bike.”
I feel around the wires in case we are in luck and they’ve just misaligned. Soon, it becomes clear that we aren’t getting this bike out of the unit. I take a step back and study it. Even if I managed to kick-start it, then what? Where do we go? There isn’t a note or any further clue about what to do with it.
So, maybe we don’t need to get it to run. Maybe we are looking at things the wrong way. If this is part of the riddle, we should treat it as such.
“There is nothing here, Ki. Just pictures of bikes and bike parts and stuff. I think she was repairing or replacing something and took a bunch of photos.”
I look over the frame again, noticing now what I missed the first time around. It’s custom-made and has replaced the original. It’s very well done, which explains why it wasn’t immediately obvious.
“Show me.” I wave Matt over as I move to the rear part of the machine.
He hands me a stack of photos. Just like he said, they show various parts of the bike before they were assembled together. Among them, the seat is the most interesting.
“You seeing this?” I indicate the picture with the square indentation along the rear left on the seat’s underside. It’s big enough so a lighter or a lip balm can fit in.
“Why is there a hole there? It’s not on the other side.”
I squat down next to the toolbox tucked by the shelves and grab a screwdriver. “Let’s find out.”
It takes me a couple of minutes to remove the custom-made seat. Matt lowers the door in the meantime, giving us some privacy. There is a lining along the seat’s underside’s edge, so I carefully pull that out before we can examine what the deal with the hole is.
“There’s something inside,” Matt pipes up, nudging me until I’m out of his way so he can poke with his fingers. “Oooh, there’s definitely something. I can feel it.”
Squirming, he fishes for the hidden object. I give him space by examining what’s on the shelves. Like in Lena’s apartment, it’s primarily books and figurines, though there are a couple of photos, too. I’m pretty sure the redheaded woman with the asymmetric smile that’s in all of them is her. The rest of the people vary, but if I had to guess, they are all biker friends. None of them look like they could be Matt’s parents or his aunt, which makes sense if she was trying to keep her connection to the family a secret.
Matt’s grin when he finds whatever is hidden under the bike’s seat is huge and heart-warming. It melts me to my core. I put the photos down and suppress the urge to wrap him in my arms as he jogs over to me and outstretches his hand. In his palm is a small plastic holder with an SD card.
“Tell me your laptop has charge,” he says, hope shining in his eyes.
I stroke his smooth cheek. “It does.”
The laptop is out of the backpack and set up on the desk five minutes later. The SD card takes a while to load up. It contains two folders named ‘correspondence’ and ‘formulas’. Matt opens the formulas one, but the laptop can’t read half of the files inside it. I also don’t recognize the file extension. Luckily though, the remaining half of the folder’s contents seem to be PDF exports of the unreadable files.
“What the hell is this?” Matt frowns at the screen as he loads up a bunch of the PDFs. Each one constitutes a diagram of a chemical reaction and a table with partial data under it.
I point out the obvious. “It’s a chemical formula.”
“Really? You don’t say,” he barks back in frustration. “Any insightful ideas about what it is of, Captain Obvious?”
I skim through the data in one of the tables. If I am reading it correctly, it explains how to synthesize hydrochloride. I search for anything familiar in the multitude of different elements and formulas that could tell me what kind, but don’t recognize any of them.
“It’s not cocaine or heroin. That’s all I can tell you.”
“But you think it’s a drug?”
“It could be.” I shrug. “Or it could be something else. I wasn’t exactly a top student in chemistry.”
“Okay, but…” he worries his lips, then walks back over to the bike and shoves his fingers inside the hidden compartment of the seat. When he retracts them back, he’s scowling even more. “I thought we were looking for some kind of a device. You know, like a plasma pistol or a laser gun or something. Not a bunch of chemistry quizzes.”
I thought the same, too. But unless there is some other riddle in the correspondence folder, the CIA either has bad intel, or Deputy Director Bucks lied to us. And something tells me that the latter option is the likeliest. I know that the Agency isn’t exactly forthcoming when it comes to its most secret ventures, but is a charade like this necessary? Especially when Matt is supposed to be helping. What if he knows what the CIA is looking for, but doesn’t realize it because he thinks it’s something else? Would the Agency risk that? When they have no idea we’re playing treasure hunters under their noses?
Watching Matt back out of the formulas folder after opening and closing a couple more of the files, I backtrack to the very start of this and retrace everything that has happened since that stormy night. It’s only been a few days, but it feels like a lot longer. The first thing that took place was me intercepting Christine’s call, which led to rescuing Matt. We met with the Deputy Director and he tried to kick me off the case. But Matt didn’t let him, forcing him to agree to keep me on in exchange for Matt handing over the box with the asset and agreeing to help catch the people who went after his aunt and her husband.
Except that I haven’t heard anything about the attackers, and it’s been days. Surely, it would be as high a priority as locating the asset itself, considering the possibility of said asset already being in possession of these people. And I’m positive that the higher-ups at the CIA have some idea who was behind the attack… They always do. But they withheld that information. I was too excited and underslept to think much of it, and then we went to Lena’s apartment and I kissed Matt. But after last night and the rest I managed to catch, I’m thinking a lot clearer today.
This thing about Matt, a civilian witness, helping lure out the attackers? It stinks of a set up. In fact, this whole arrangement does. Under normal circumstances, the Agency would never listen to the demands of a nobody, let alone agree to them. They lied to both of us about more than just the supposed device, then. The question is, to what end?
“There’s a bunch of audio recordings here,” Matt says, his pleasant voice guiding my attention back to the present.
“Play them. In order.”
The first five are Christine Bauer’s observations on gang activity across New York. She focuses on the Razor Crew. I’ve heard of them. They deal with everything imaginable and are slippery like snails, giving the FBI and DEA a real headache. Was that why she was put on the case? Was she part of IRIS without me ever coming across her?
It’s possible.
According to Christine’s findings, the Crew have their headquarters here in New York, but despite all the attempts of various agencies and police precincts, arrests of key figures are yet to happen. They run a tight house. Too tight if you ask me. I’ve always found that fishy and Matt’s aunt seems to share that sentiment.
“They aren’t working alone. Someone is backing them ,” she says in the sixth recording. “Someone with a lot of money and power. And this new drug they are selling?” She sniffles as if she’s cold. Going off the file date, the audio recording is from this past December.
I look at Matt’s tight expression out of the corner of my eye. December was only a couple months ago .
“It’s exactly what we thought it is. I don’t know how they got it. No one knew about it but us. The good news is it won’t work the way they want it to. It’s missing one of the compounds. They’ll never figure it out, no matter how many iterations they try. Not without the formulas.” She takes a shaky breath. “They don’t know we have the data. It has to stay that way until we know whom we can trust. This is… bigger than everything. It’s…” I hear rustling in the background, like boots crunching snow. “The data mustn’t end up in the wrong hands.”
The audio ends there. Only one more recording remains, our last chance to find out what this is. I move closer to Matt and rest my arm around his waist, pulling him closer. He comes willingly as his bright but sad green eyes look up at me.
“Play it. The best is always left for last,” I encourage him.
He nods and opens the file that was uploaded three weeks after the previous one. That places it just over a month before the attack.
“ My fears have been confirmed. A big player is involved. I don’t know who it is yet, but the Razor kingpins will be meeting with them in two weeks. I don’t know where yet. But there’s a guy I’ve been following. He goes by the name of Adrian Maston. He’s new and helps run things here in Bayside. I think I can break him. He met with an older man that I suspect is part of the leadership. I think they might be related.”
The recording ends there. Matt and I stare at each other. He clenches his hand into a fist and bangs on the desk. “All we got is a stupid name! Why is everything so fucking cryptic?”
There is usually a good reason for that. Caution, paranoia, someone watching your every step. Christine and Gordon, and by extension my own parents, were involved in something big. We knew that already. But I don’t think we realized just how big it truly is. Gangs are not usually the CIA’s concern. Clearly, they were Christine’s though. And the same goes for the people backing the Razor Crew. In fact, they should be whom we focus on.
I pace over to the motorbike and run my fingers along the curve of its seat and engine. There are still so many missing pieces. Every clue so far has told us so little and only brought on more questions. I still don’t know anything about how my parents play into this. By the sounds of things, Christine went rogue, and yet the CIA didn’t even mention that.
Just what is going on behind the scenes?
“There’s one more,” Matt breathes out, tension and anticipation rolling off him. His eyes are blazing when I meet them. “There was a hidden folder. The recording is from a week ago.”
Heart thundering in my chest, I dart to the desk. He presses play. There is nothing at first, just a muffled background noise, but after a couple of seconds, I begin to make out words. Someone is having a conversation and Christine is eavesdropping. But she’s too far away.
“I’ll try to get closer,” she says. “ We need proof, or they’ll just deny it! Fuck. Who do we even go to with this?”
This time there is a reply. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. Just… be careful. I’ll keep watch,” a male voice says. I don’t recognize it.
“Shit,” Matt curses under his breath. I snap my focus to him and find his worried gaze is already locked on me. “This was Gordon.”
A bad feeling lodges itself in my stomach as the conversation becomes clearer. It’s like lead is dancing its ass off in the middle of an acid reflux rave party.
“…worry about it ,” a deep voice says. I think it belongs to a woman, but it’s hard to tell.
“My associates will make sure no one bothers us,” a high-pitched, raspy male voice reassures her. “You just sell your drugs as agreed and report to me.”
My heart skips a beat. Shit, I think I recognize it from somewhere!
“…the new product… Southern Queens. About a dozen Razor Crew runners ,” a third voice says sternly. It’s another male one and whoever he is, he sounds pissed off.
“ I’ll have that dealt with by tomorrow, Carter. My—at the precinct knows about our arrangement, but it must… been one of the rookies that brought them… He’ll release your people and switch out the confiscated stock ,” the first male chirps, chuckling like he’s suffering from lung cancer.
Ice freezes my blood as the woman begins talking about unexpected side-effects and low conversion ratios. Shit, shit, shit. I think I know whom that voice belongs to! There’s only one man with such an unfortunate combination of a high-pitched timbre and a laugh like a dying otter.
But this can’t be…
“When can I expect this to be resolved?” the angry man asks. There is something familiar about his voice too, but it’s too vague, too slippery. Too unimportant right now as the magnitude of how deep the shit we have walked into is begins to sink in.
“ My agents are working on it, Secretary .” My eyes go wide. Carter? And now Secretary ? As in Secretary of Defense Carter? Oh boy, this just keeps getting better and better . “We’re this close to obtaining the formula. Your chemists will get it as soon as we’ve confirmed it’s the real deal.”
Oh, yes. This is definitely who I think it is. And it sucks for both me and Matt. It’s really really bad. Like majorly. We went from a CIA agent and a witness going rogue to neandertals standing up to a Leviathan with only our flimsy wooden sticks for weapons.
“Uh, Ki.” Matt turns his head slowly at me, his lovely eyes confused and at the same time aghast. “Correct me if I am wrong, but the two men are that asshole Deputy Director Bucks and the Secretary of Defense, aren’t they?”
“ Who’s there?” Bucks cuts in alarmed as my brain fails to come up with a rational explanation for the conspiracy we’ve just stumbled upon. “ Nes, Kelly, go check it out!”
IRIS’s Director Kelly is in on it, too? Fuck me.
“ Shit ,” Christine grunts, panting. I can hear rustling in the background, so she must be running.
Matt’s hand finds my forearm. His hold is crushing and desperate as we listen to her anxious retreat.
“ GO! They are coming !” she shouts as a car door slams shut.
“ Did they see you?” Gordon asks, clearly agitated. Tires screech in the background, echoing off what my brain decides are the walls of an empty underground parking lot.
“ No, I don’t think so. But we have to lie low. Until we figure out what to do. Fuck. What are we gonna do?”
“ One thing at a time, Chrissy. We got this. We always do.”
It ends there. They got out. I know for a fact they did. They didn’t die on that day.
I smile weakly at Matt, who’s still clutching onto me for dear life. I do love it, but at the same time shocked and speechless is not a look I like on him. I prefer his huge grins and sultry smiles.
Pulling him into my arms so I can hug him and give him a semblance of safety, I kiss his temple. “I’m afraid you’re right, puddin. It seems that the CIA and the Department of Defense were up to no good and your aunt Chrissy caught them red-handed.”