Nathan shot him the finger.
Avery grinned.
Instead of anger, arousal lit Nathan from head to toe.
The hour until Bloomville seemed to last forever.
Chapter Two
In a small forgotten town in Mexico, Malcolm Dixon closed his eyes and let the whisper of steel kiss his skin. Such a tender lover, so close to his soul. The blade was bigger than a knife, yet not long enough to be classified as a long sword. A gladius, perhaps, one that had been used in countless kills over the years. The hilt was made of an ivory-colored bone and knobbed in an exquisite red wood. The double-edged steel blade sang of increased carbon content, the impurities in the blooms of metal giving it a durability pure steel would not, as the material was too soft to make a good weapon. Along the blade, the word Sangre had been inscribed on each side in loving detail.
It would be hard to conceal unless a man with Malcolm’s many talents knew how to hide it. A hidden pocket in his overcoat, twenty inches deep and reinforced with a silken-Kevlar blended sheath, protected the blade from detection.
He glanced at the coat flung over a nearby chair. On the floor next to the chair, five corpses stared unseeingly at each other. A drug buy gone sour, or so the local paper would say. But Malcolm had the information he needed to satisfy his superiors. He’d already sent the files to his contact at headquarters. He’d eliminated the dealers and their buyers, and their money would fund the many black ops he wasn’t cleared to know about. Not that he cared.
He brought the blade up and read the word aloud. “Sangre. My Espada de Sangre.” Blade of Blood. So fitting, and so perfect for his needs. Weeks ago, he’d bought it at an underground auction, where most people went to sell stolen goods. He’d seen it and known he was meant to wield it. Then to find out Danielle had never died as he’d been told…
Just after he’d purchased the blade, he’d done a bit of research. The blade’s rightful owner wanted it back, no cost too great to reclaim the weapon. But he had help searching for it. A group with unique skills and more unique members. Intrigued, Malcolm dug further and found gold. Nathan Kraft was alive and well. And the bastard had led him right to Danielle, that faithless whore. All because of Sangre.
Fate surely had a hand in his life. With Sangre, he’d carved a hole where her heart should be, where the faithless woman had ripped out his own and replaced it with a stone-cold rock. Since her death, the only time he experienced a rush of emotion occurred on the cusp of another’s death. He wanted so badly to hold on to that feeling, and the sword gave him what he wanted—a short respite from the bleak existence he faced daily before the emptiness returned.
But gripping Sangre, he felt so much more. Malcolm closed his eyes and saw every death and murder committed by those holding the blade. He’d always been able to touch a weapon and gain the knowledge of how best to use it. But this blade was different. It called to him, sang to him with the sweet skill of a seductress. When he took a life using it, energy swelled and crashed inside him with such drugging ecstasy that he wept at the feel of it.
The bodies on the floor had been the notes to his latest composition, and he hummed under his breath as he kissed Sangre and carried it to his coat. After donning the jacket, he slipped the blade inside, content to have it so near. Then he made a call.
Danielle had been undeservedly blessed to feel Sangre as it slid between her ribs and sliced through her flesh. What a beautiful chorus of pain, and such emotion. He could still hear her pleading and begging and crying. But none of that made up for the secrets she’d kept. Had he known the truth from the beginning, things might have been different. His rage built as he pondered the past. He would have…
Footsteps sounded close. Malcolm gripped the hilt of Sangre and withdrew it from its sleeve inside his jacket. He stood and waited, grateful for another reprieve in his otherwise dreary life.
Two swarthy men entered with semiautomatics. He was already moving when the bullets flew. And then he danced, his partner graceful, the gladius all but glowing as he moved closer to perfection. The blade dipped and thrust and sucked up energy like a vacuum.
The men shrieked. Blood spattered the walls and floor, covering the dead already blanketing the wood like a stained rug.
Malcolm smiled, content, and carved a pattern in flesh. A design for Danielle, and for his nephew, whom he couldn’t wait to see once more.
Avery stood with Nathan and watched him charm the woman out of her seat. Within minutes of meeting Mr. Nathan Jackson, she’d offered not only to call the utility companies to turn the gas and cable on, but she’d also offered to buy them both dinner as a welcome to Bloomville.
“You’re so sweet, Ginger.” Nathan took the older woman’s hand in his and kissed the back of it.
Avery refrained from rolling his eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Hall. Thank you.”
The woman wore a ring and had a picture of herself, her husband, and two teenagers on the corner of her desk. Yet she blushed like a schoolgirl under Nathan’s attention. “It’s a pleasure, I assure you, Mr. Jackson. I mean, Nathan.”
Him she called Mister. Nathan got the first-name treatment. How was it his partner could charm total strangers but got on his last goddamn nerve half the time?
“We’ll leave you to it, then, Ginger. And thanks so much for dinner.”
She nodded. “It’ll be delivered, no worries. Best pizza in town.”
“You’re so sweet.” Nathan grinned, and those damn dimples made the woman melt. The way they made Avery melt every time he saw them.
Good thing he had a backbone made of iron. “Nathan? We need to get a move on.” He smiled politely at Ginger. “We have some cleanup to do before our investors come out to see the place in a few weeks.”
Ginger nodded. “You two restoring the Dixon house will be a draw for the town. We used to have a lot of visitors come to stay when the last couple ran it. It’s haunted, you know.”
Avery coughed to cover a laugh. Nathan shot him a dark look before turning to her. “Yes. That’s why we’re so interested in putting it back in top shape. Once we do the repair work, we’ll look into hiring local talent to run the place.” He nodded to Avery. “My partner and I are businessmen, not innkeepers. I handle the money; he does the grunt work.”
Trust Nathan to twist their cover around to make himself look important. Grunt work, my ass.
“Well, while you’re here, we’re more than glad to have you. And if you’re looking for a place to wind down when you’re not working, the Blooming Rose is a terrific bar. Lots of nice girls in town.” Apparently realizing how forward that sounded, she added, “Who’d be perfect to work in your B and B. Friendly faces to get to know better, if you were interested.”
Nathan didn’t react other than to smile. A good thing, because smaller towns tended to be more conservative. It was imperative they blend in just enough to give themselves time to look around. Avery’s visions had shown him that they’d find the blade, and hopefully Dixon, in Bloomville. But they’d get more answers out of the locals if they looked like part of the community. Those in Bloomville might not take to a gay man running their local inn. And God forbid they realize the gay man’s partner was bi.
That was a secret he was keeping under wraps until he knew he could fuck Nathan and not feel more than physical pleasure. Avery was attracted to the guy, but he’d seen Nathan go through men like tissues. He had no intention of becoming a notch on Nathan’s bedpost, and especially not if they had to work together. No matter how much he ached for the bastard. Hell, maybe he should check out the Blooming Rose.