Fit to be Tied (Marshals 2)

He was wearing a patterned three-piece suit that was a mixture of brown houndstooth and nailhead on a cream background with a six-button vest, paisley tie, and a pale blue shirt. He looked like he should have been on his way to the opera or some other high-class endeavor.

“Oh no?” I said, trying to keep my voice level.

The scalpel Hartley had in his right hand was terrifying.

“No,” he assured me, walking over and stopping beside Wojno. “I’m actually the only one here who doesn’t want to do something despicable to you.”

His hair had been cut since he was in prison, back to the way it had been on the outside: thick blond hair with short sides, the longer top combed back and slightly to the side. He had always looked like he should have been on the cover of a romance novel.

“Like?” I asked.

He came forward, close, and then slowly reached out and put his hand flat on my chest, over my heart.

“Hartley?”

He cleared his throat as his hand slid down my abdomen. “Some of them wanted to rape you.”

I squinted and tipped my head to the side in disbelief, causing him to make a face like he’d smelled something horrible and then shake his head with a tsking noise for good measure.

“I know, can you imagine? Me? Raping anyone or allowing anyone to ever be raped in my presence?” He shuddered. “Horrible.”

At least there wouldn’t be that. “What else?”

“Well, apparently the cot that you were on the first day, when they put the water down you—if we clipped battery cables to it, we could send great currents of electricity through your body.”

“But you didn’t like that idea?” I hoped.

“Your heart,” he said, like we were at dinner somewhere, his voice mild as he reached down and took gentle hold of my flaccid cock. “I don’t want to accidentally put you into cardiac arrest. That would be devastating.”

I worked hard to remain calm even as my skin felt like it was crawling with ants.

“I will not have anything harm the inside of you, only the outside.”

That was not comforting.

He smoothed his hand back up to my abdomen. “Your skin is so smooth, do you know that? And you keep your body in exquisite condition, marshal.”

I stayed quiet as he walked around behind me, trailing his hand over my skin.

“Agent Wojno said you’re good in bed. I asked him.”

My eyes flicked to Wojno, who looked pained.

“I wanted to know what kind of lover you were.”

“Why?”

“Because one can tell quite a bit about another by how he treats the strangers he beds. Don’t you think?”

“I guess,” I answered levelly, even though his hand slid down my spine to my ass and gripped it tight.

“This is so hard and firm,” he whispered, caressing me. “You never let anyone have it?”

I cleared my throat because it was filling with swallowed phlegm again, the lingering effects of waterboarding. “No.”

“Not even Marshal Doyle?”

I was silent.

“Oh, come on,” Hartley said, hand on my shoulder, still behind me. “I know you two are an item. Agent Wojno says he’s going completely out of his mind as we speak.”

I pinned Wojno with my stare. “Why?”

He gestured at Hartley. “You know why.”

“Are you blackmailing him?” I asked Hartley about Wojno, even as I felt the needle in the side of my neck. I should have known he had more goodies in his suit jacket.

“Of course,” he said as he traced a pattern on my back. “Tell him.”

Wojno took a breath. “I told him you were being transferred to Phoenix.”

“No,” Hartley husked as he shifted to stand at my side.

I was having trouble focusing, and my head fell forward so that I was looking at Hartley’s Cole Haan Brogue Medallion Double Monkstrap brown shoes. “Huh,” I grunted.

“What?” Hartley asked, sounding interested.

“Those are like the ones you wore in court that time.”

“Yes,” he replied delightedly. “They are. I wore them for you, as we share an interest in tasteful footwear.”

I tried to nod, but I couldn’t lift my head. “Yeah, we do.”

“That pair of Jo Ghost boots you had on when I took you were lovely.”

“Thanks,” I slurred out.

“How do you feel?”

“How do you want me to feel?”

“I want you numb before I have you beaten.”

“Why? And why the waterboarding?”

“You were a bit high-handed with me upon occasion, so, like a dog, you have to learn your place.”

“So… beating,” I murmured.

“Yes.”

“But you don’t want me to feel it.”

“Of course not.”

I scoffed. “That makes no sense.”

“To you.”

“To anybody.”

He stepped forward again, and I felt the pressure of his lips on my shoulder before his teeth. I saw his pristine shoe between my two bare, dirty feet. The large drop of blood that appeared a moment later contrasted beautifully with the deep brown tan color.

“Did you feel that cut?”

“No.” I answered truthfully because I suspected that without the drugs, whatever he was doing would hurt.