Be Brave (6 page)

“No. Could you get your daddy to fuck me?”

Kael said loudly, “I might be able to arrange that.”

Both boys turned at once, shock replacing their laughter. Angel"s cheeks

flooded with color. He had to know he"d made a mistake. Jack paled visibly.

Angel slipped his hands from his pockets and joined them at his tailbone,

automatically adopting the expected posture. He stood up straight, shoulders

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squared, feet slightly apart, and dropped his chin while keeping his eyes on Kael"s

face. The other boy also stood up straight, hands at his sides, but not like a slave. It

was the respectful posture that a boy who had attended an expensive school would

use to a schoolmaster, just as Kael had when he was a boy.

“Daddy…” Angel began and then faltered.

“The slave is in charge? The master does as he"s told?” Kael circled them.

“What"s your name, boy?” He already knew—Angel had told him all about Jack—

but he was going to show them exactly who was in charge.

Terrified yet excited, the boy looked up into Kael"s face. His color had returned,

and two pink spots bloomed on his cheeks. “Jack McCarron.” The laughter and

bravado were gone.

“Say „Sir,"” Angel said quickly.

“Sir,” Jack repeated.

“Jack, you said you wanted me to throw you over the leather horse and fuck

you silly. I"d be happy to oblige. Are you ready now?” Kael looked sideways at Angel

and saw the look of shock on his face.
He’s jealous. That’ll teach him.

“That was before I knew how big you were.” Jack looked Kael up and down, his

eyes resting momentarily on Kael"s crotch. “Anyway, I was just kidding, Sir.” Jack"s

voice sounded thin and high. He was growing frightened.

“Were you indeed? What if I"m not kidding?”

Jack swallowed hard. “I apologize, Mr. Saunders.” He glanced at the door.

“May I leave, Sir?”

“I think you"d better. You"re way out of your league here. Go and play with the

little kids. This lifestyle is for mature boys. I eat boys like you for breakfast.”

Without another word, Jack hurried from the room.

When Kael heard the front door slam, he looked at Angel.

“Daddy,” Angel began. “I"m sorry.”

“Don"t speak. Drop your pants,” Kael said. The only response to this kind of

disrespect was swift discipline. He walked quickly to the wall where the whips and

paddles hung on hooks, lined up, ready for use. He chose a red leather paddle, thick

and beautifully constructed. When he looked again, Angel was watching him, his

trousers and red bikini underpants down around his knees. His hands gripped his

cock as though he was shy, but when Kael met his eyes, he put his hands behind his

back again.

“Since you and your little friend were so keen on the horse, you can get over it

now.”

From the long sigh that escaped Angel"s lips and the sudden sagging of his

shoulders, the boy knew what was coming. He walked slowly to the leather horse

and bent over it. Kael came round behind him. “Stretch your arms out to the sides

and put them flat on the horse.”

Angel obeyed and waited, his buttocks squeezed tight together.

Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

23

“Who is in charge, boy, the master or the slave?”

“The master is in charge, Sir,” Angel said.

“That"s right. In this dungeon, the master is in charge; the slave minds his

manners. And this is what happens when slaves are disrespectful.”

Kael raised the paddle and landed a powerful swat across Angel"s buttocks,

raising a welt instantly. Tensed against the pain and with no warm-up, it would

hurt like hell. Angel cried out. Ignoring him, Kael followed it with two more

perfectly placed heavy blows before returning the paddle to its hook. Angel

remained exactly where he was. He knew better than to move without permission.

But Kael doubted he could have moved anyway just then. The blows had been very

hard. They were a punishment, not for pleasure.

“Pull your pants up,” Kael said. He left Angel to recover and went to the

bedroom. From the wardrobe, he took a pair of jeans and a plain black T-shirt and

changed before going barefoot to the kitchen. A couple of minutes later, Angel

followed him into the kitchen, his cheeks flaming, his head hanging. “Sir, I"m sorry.

I was showing off.”

“I know.” Kael opened the fridge. “You took a picture of me and showed it

around?”

“On my cell phone, Sir,” Angel admitted.

“Delete it.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You left your Irlens on the couch where they could get broken. Do you know

how expensive they were?”

Angel put his hand over his mouth. “I"m sorry, Sir.”

“Don"t do it again. Now make some dinner. I"m hungry.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Angel always reverted to
Sir
when he wanted to be extra respectful or because

he had done something wrong. Kael accepted that the boy was well aware of his

misconduct and left it at that.

When at last they sat down at the kitchen table, Angel presented a fairly

decent plate of fish and vegetables. He always set the table nicely with place mats

and napkins even though Kael rarely allowed them to use the dining room. They ate

in silence, Angel still wary, throwing him furtive glances here and there. When Kael

was finished, Angel removed the plates. “How was it, Daddy? I got the recipe for the

fish from Delia Smith on the TV.”

“
C’était bon. As-tu reçu des devoirs
?”

“What? Oh, it"s French week. I forgot.” Angel was taking a GCSE—a General

Certificate of Secondary Education—in French, and Kael insisted on teaching him

other languages too, marking on the calendar which language he would be

reinforcing that week and insisting they speak it exclusively for at least an hour

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Fyn Alexander

each day. Angel thought for a minute, then replied in French. “No, Sir. I had a free

period. I did my homework then.”

“
Bon garcon
. Get the dishes done.”

By the time Angel joined him in the spacious living room, Kael was sitting on

the black leather couch with his laptop on his knees. An e-mail from the language

department confirmed what Conran had told him. His morning language classes

would now be taught by others. His afternoon classes, which often went into the

early evenings, were only Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays.

When he had been strictly an operative, weeks often went by before he got a

new assignment. But always he had his eye on the next, always training hard at the

gym, going for long runs beside the river or through Hyde Park, and practicing for

hours at the firing range. For recreation he would go to the opera or to Europe for a

few days. Every couple of months, he"d visit his mum in Liverpool and take her on

fun excursions, doing things she never dreamed of when Kael was growing up. They

hadn"t two ha"pennies to rub together then, even though she worked every hour God

sent at the launderette and the old peoples" home.

The rest of the time he was in S and M bars finding subs to play with, having

sex at every opportunity.

What was he going to do with his time now? Angel was in college five days a

week, and he had to keep his boy in school so he could get his GCSEs and then his A

levels and go to university. Angel would have a future and a normal life. Just the

kind of normal, boring life Kael was attempting to live now with zero success.

“Daddy, do you want your whisky?”

“Yes.” He watched Angel go to the polished glass and oak sideboard and pour

whisky into a cut crystal tumbler. The boy"s elegant, leggy walk always kept Kael"s

gaze fixed on his backside. Angel gave him the glass with a little, respectful nod of

his head. Usually he threw himself down beside Kael in the evenings after dinner

and melded into his side for cuddle time. Tonight he stood waiting, still reticent

about taking any liberties.

Kael drank a mouthful of whisky before closing his laptop and putting it on the

side table. He stretched out his arm. “Come to Daddy, Angel.”

“Daddy, I"m so sorry I was disrespectful.”

With a speed that would have been amusing under other circumstances, Angel

sat down beside Kael, tucked his feet under his buttocks, and leaned his head on

Kael"s shoulder. His boy didn"t screw up often, and when he did, he took his

punishment bravely, but when the moment of his forgiveness was complete, he

always broke down with gratitude. He cried quietly for a few minutes while Kael

hugged him to his side.

“All right, boy, that"s enough. Be brave now.”

“Daddy, I"m truly sorry.” Angel wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve and sat

upright, still pressed into Kael"s side, holding tight to the arm wrapped about him

to ensure Kael did not move it. “Jack is my best friend in college and he"s gay too,

Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

25

but I don"t think he"s into leather. He doesn"t understand the protocols of the

dungeon.”

“No, but you do. I don"t think he"s as mature as you, so don"t start acting like

an idiot just because he does.”

“No, Sir. I think he"s had a pretty easy life. People like that grow up slower.”

Kael kissed Angel"s forehead. “Yes, they do.” He might as well tell him now.

“I"m not going to be teaching my morning language classes anymore.”

“Daddy, why not?” Angel looked surprised. “You love those classes. Are the

students still acting like morons?”

Kael grabbed his glass and took a long swallow of his whisky, enjoying the

burning sensation as it warmed his throat and stomach. He had complained a

number of times about the lack of respect and attention among his students.

“They"re all idiots. I had to smack one of them today.”

Angel looked warily at him. “You
had
to smack someone. Daddy, I hope at

least it was a dude.”

“Yes. An overweight, slow-witted crybaby who ran off to human resources to

complain that Mr. Saunders was a big nasty man.”

“So you got fed up and quit?” Angel asked.

“No.” Kael paused. It killed him to admit the truth, but he"d never lie,

especially not to Angel. “Conran called me to his office and told me I was no longer

allowed to teach languages, only my afternoon self-defense classes.” Kael had not

elaborated to Angel about the true nature of what he taught trainee operatives.

Angel was well aware that Kael had worked for ten years as a highly trained

assassin, the best in his field. But Kael never told him anything he didn"t absolutely

have to know.

“Just because this one dude complained?”

Kael took another slug of whisky and handed the glass to Angel. “Get me

another one.”

Angel took the glass and hurried over to the sideboard. The boy always took on

any job with gravity and care, even if it was just filling Kael"s whisky glass or

turning on the shower to get the water to the perfect temperature before Kael

stepped in.

“No, there were lots of complaints,” Kael admitted. “You see, people have no

work ethic these days. When I was at College Grange, they taught us to pay

attention to the masters, listen, be respectful, that kind of thing. So when I went to

Cambridge and when I went to train at MI6, I took that kind of disciplined

approach with me. That"s why I was always top of my class. Do you pay attention in

class, boy?”

“Yes, Sir.” Angel stood in front of Kael, handing him his glass. “I"m doing really

well. All my teachers say so.”

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Fyn Alexander

“Right, good.” Kael knew the answer already. He checked in with Angel"s

teachers every week, though the boy didn"t know it. They all said he worked

diligently in class, was respectful to them, and was very popular with the other

boys.

“Even so I couldn"t do as great as I do if you didn"t tutor me as well, Daddy.”

The words warmed Kael through. He so badly wanted to do right by his boy,

and so far he seemed to be on track. Angel was doing well in school; he cooked and

cleaned at home; he worked out hard at the Paris Gym with Kael, and his muscles

were developing and gaining strength despite how very slender he was. He had

even talked Kael into taking him to the target range to learn how to shoot, and the

natural aptitude for accuracy he had displayed in Bosnia had continued there. In

the last few months, Angel had become a crack shot with an assault rifle and a

handgun.

“What did they complain about, Daddy, your students?” Angel sat beside Kael,

again looking intently at him with his luminous gray eyes. His silky hair flopped

forward, and he flicked his chin up to throw it back. Angel"s hair had not been cut in