Page 37 of Ride the Whirlwind
“Don't worry.” Semionoff waved his hand dismissively. “You'll get what you deserve, once Boris confirms the authenticity of the will.”
After what it seems like an eternity to MacTeague, the younger agent came back, document in hand. He went next to his boss's chair and started to talk in his maternal language in a low, respectful tone, pointing from time to time to a line or another on the sheets of paper in his hand.
Semionoff listened to Boris with great attention without interrupting him, an unreadable expression on his face. After the young agent stopped talking, his superior started to ask him questions in a neutral, flat voice. MacTeague couldn't understand a word of what the two men were saying, so he studied Semionoff, hoping to get some clues from the man's reactions, but his facial expression continued to remain as hard to decipher as before.
“My younger colleague here will bring you the reward.” The FSB senior agent finally turned his attention to MacTeague, who let out a long sigh of relief. “Now, I need you to think of something nice...”
“Of course,” the Scottish mobster nodded, closing his eyes. He was so engrossed in the fantasy playing in his mind that he didn't feel the coldness of the metal pressed against the back of his head. Death took him completely by surprise, giving him no time to react.
“I never saw a man so happy right before being shot in the head,” Boris said, amused by MacTeague's ecstatic expression. “What now?” he gave his boss a somewhat disoriented look.
“Fucking traitor!” Semionoff spat on the dead body, cursing in Russian. “He thought he would fool us with that fake will and keep the authentic one for himself to use it against our Mother Russia.” He turned to Boris, frowning in concentration. “We have no other choice than to go after MacGowan, then come back here and search for the will.”
“We can't go there, boss, it's Golovkin's territory. That devil will rip our hearts out of our chests and will feed them to his dogs,” the younger agent whispered, his throat constricting.
“I know, but there is no other way. Maybe, if we could track down his son and bring him to the grieving father... Rumors are Branko Golovkin is still alive, somewhere, after escaping from the lab of horrors where he was kept for the last three decades.”
“It would be nothing short of a miracle”—Boris shook his head—“but I'll try my best, based on what we have. Or maybe...boss, what if we would drop the matter of the will off for now and come back to it when we have the upper hand? It's only an idea. Sorry if I overstepped the line.”
Semionoff looked at the younger agent, a thoughtful expression in his steel-grey eyes. “You are very wise, young one.” he smiled, “We'll do as you suggested, and if the superiors aren't happy, screw them! As long as we are on Bratva's territory, we are safe. Those bureaucrats won't dare to piss Golovkin off. We can even ask the big, bad boss for protection.” Semionoff winked. “Let's go. There is nothing for us in San Francisco anymore.”
***********
Graeme ran his hand up and down Keith's naked back and side, smiling at his lover's purr of contentment. Stretching with feline grace under the blanket, the younger man affectionately wrapped one arm around his partner's neck, closing the space between them and greedily inhaling his scent.
Since they reunited, the two couldn't get enough of one another, spending long hours in each other's company, walking hand in hand around The Base, making sweet, passionate love, or just lazing in bed, naked. Sometimes, they enjoyed the comfortable silence that wrapped them like a soft, warm blanket; other times, they were talking a lot about their future.
Graeme loved to see how Keith's eyes became incandescent and full of life during these talks, his voice lively and passionate. However, for some reason, at some point the young man's enthusiasm died down, his eyes became dull, and he fell silent. It pained Graeme to see Keith like that, especially since he couldn't figure out what caused the change in the young man's behavior.
“Ardan messaged me earlier. They’ll get back tomorrow,” Graeme started in the smooth, low voice he always used when talking to his lover. “In two day’s time, we'll be back home,” he continued, rubbing soothing circles on the other one's back.
“Mmmhhmm,” Keith mumbled quietly, and Graeme felt his muscles tensing. “You must be very happy,” he added after a while.
“What's wrong, my love? What makes you sad? You know I'd do anything to see your beautiful smile.” The older man lifted Keith's chin, looking in his turquoise eyes.
“I made a lot of friends here, and I'm going to miss this place, so full of life and laughter, with all the children cutely grinning at the men holding hands or teen boys hiding behind thick trees, sharing a kiss or even making out, thinking no one can see them.”
“I’ve thought a lot”—Graeme pulled Keith closer, planting a sweet kiss on his forehead—“and I think I'm going to implement The Base model in San Francisco. I'm going to summon the council as soon as we get home and give those old gangsters something to think about.”
“Do you think they would agree? Lately, you and the council haven’t been on the same page. What makes you think it would be different this time?” Keith's voice, although doubtful and a little sad, also had a tinge of hope in it.”
“Most of them, if not all, will be very enthusiastic at the idea of beating the hell out of those pieces of shit who sell innocent children into sexual slavery. Intercepting the transports, raiding the locations where the auctions are held, and rescuing kids from a fate worse than death will make them feel alive and useful.”
“You know them better than I do,” Keith said in a livelier voice, the light returning in his stunning turquoise eyes. “There is one more thing I want badly,” he purred in Graeme's ear, sending shivers of pleasure in his nether regions.
“Sweet, little, greedy thing,” the older man smiled, gently shoving his lover on his back. “You know I can't deny you this, even if I should.”
Eyes closed, Keith spread his legs invitingly, an offering on the altar of love and a god to be worshipped by Graeme's lips and hands at the same time. The other man wasted no time and started to cover every inch of his lover's body with feather-like caresses and barely-there kisses. Keith grabbed the sheet in his fists, arching his back, feverishly begging for more.
A tender smile on his face, Graeme nodded, and, after carefully preparing his lover, entered him ever so slowly, peppering sweet kisses all over his chest to ease the initial discomfort. Keith teasingly touched Graeme's rock-hard abdomen with the tips of his fingers, then arched his back again, desperate to get even closer to the other man.
The lovemaking continued in the same sweet, tender rhythm, both men getting lost into each other's eyes, the whole world reduced to them and the pleasure they give to and take from the other. Keith's cock became painfully hard, and he whimpered in need, begging for release.
Graeme happily obliged, pumping his lover's member in sync with his thrusts. The orgasm building in the pit of his stomach sent him into an abyss of pure pleasure. White lights exploded before his eyes as he shot his load deep inside Keith with the younger man spilling his seed over Graeme's fist seconds later.
Still in his personal Nirvana, Graeme pulled the covers over his sweet, young lover's naked form, gazing lovingly at his beautiful face. We belong together, for as long as you'll want me, he thought, gently kissing Keith's lips.
CHAPTER 28