The Art of Breaking - Part 12

Ashton moved away from the boxes, kicked at the roll of bubble tape and made his way over to Kyler, then knelt down. He took Kyler’s nervous hands in his and looked into his eyes. “Don’t leave me. I know you won’t have me as a lover because I can’t be what you need, but please don’t leave me. You’re all I have, Kyler.” He gave a resonated sigh of frustration. “Ky, you’re my best friend and I’d be lost without you, little buddy.”

Kyler rolled his head back and groaned. God how he hated to hurt Ashton this way, but what choices did he have? He could go on managing the music store and producing INDI artists, or he could go to Alaska and work on a rigging crew. At least there he’d be so damn busy he wouldn’t have time to think of anything or anyone.

The nightmares were getting worse instead of better. Instead of five hours of sleep, he was lucky to get three. Something had to give. When his eyes closed, he relived the past three years, hour by hour until he wanted to jump out of his window.

“Please?”

Kyler sat up and pulled Ashton to him. Though the other man stood more than a few inches taller than his own measly 5’7 and probably outweighed him by a good thirty pounds the man fell right into his lap, making his eyes almost bulge out. Kyler placed his hand on Ashton’s smooth chin and held his head up so he could look into his eyes. “I’m not leaving you; I’m leaving the hell I live in, sweets. You can always come and visit me, and I’ll come and see you and we’ll talk on the phone every day. I just can’t do this anymore.”

            “I didn’t realize you were this unhappy. You hide misery well. Has anyone ever told you how pretty your eyes are? They look exactly like my coffee in the mornings.” Ashton laid his head on Kyler’s shoulder and sighed. “What will I do without you? Why can’t I be what you need? Jesus, Kyler, I love you but it’s not enough, is it?”

Kyler’s heart thumped painfully against his rib cage. “Now you’re getting all poetic on me. You need a man.” They tried dating one another years ago, but after a few months they were both miserable. Kyler needed a lot more than Ashton was capable of giving and vice versa. Oh, the sex was great, the love was there, it was everything else. Ashton needed a partner and Kyler with his constant demands needed a Master. He didn’t want to leave this his best friend or his apartment, but he had to. For himself he had to. “I wish it wasn’t so complicated.”

Ashton chuckled and kissed Kyler’s wet cheek. He sat up and wiped his own tears away and tried to smile. “If you have to leave me, at least give me one more night. Give me tonight to take you out on the town and then take it as it comes. Okay?”

Kyler sniffed and nodded. “I am wearing purple eye liner. You okay with that?”

“Was I ever, Miss Prissy?”

Kyler swatted his arm, stood up, dumping a laughing Ashton onto the floor and said, “One day you will be.”

The Art of Breaking - Part 10 & 11

Kyler felt his cheeks redden and looked down. “I can’t help it.” He put his hands under his legs but aside from that he couldn’t stop his legs from doing what they wanted. Being locked in for days on end to avoid the outside world had a way of messing with one’s head. Dare he tell Ashton why he felt the need to keep moving? Even if it were just his hands, he needed to. No, Ashton would never understand.

“My mother used to put me on a time-out when I fidgeted around like a crazed chicken without its head,” Ashton said. “Do you do speed?”

Kyler gasped, his hands finding their way back to the top of the table. “No! I don’t do or believe in drugs. Though my doctor is convinced I’d benefit off of taking anti-depressants. I told him to go fuck the fuck off. Then he suggested I exercise more, to work off the nervous energy.”

“And? Did you take that to heart?”

Kyler grinned and shook his head. Again, he wiped the imaginary crumbs away. “I’d get bored with it too fast. I can’t do things by myself. I need someone to help push me. Yet I don’t want anyone at the same time. I’m better off alone.”

“You’re a true sub at heart and you’ll always be a sub. What you need is a good strong master who can show you what it’s truly like to give yourself over to someone who loves you. Someone to push you, to find yourself. Someone, who will take care of you and not hurt you. You will find that, but you can’t do that by giving up.”

Kyler felt the tip of his ears heat up. Yeah, a master is exactly what he didn’t need. His last two masters just about killed him and blew trust right out the window. His relationship with Master James lasted all of seventeen months. Over a year of constant abuse, both physical and emotional. Why did he even stay with that crazy guy anyway? Was he so desperate for someone that he convinced himself it was that way for all subs like him? He shoved the glass away to make room for his dinner plate and patiently waited until the young waiter left, then he glared at Ashton. “Never again! I’ll kill myself first! Now...let’s eat.”

“I will hear nothing more about it, Kyler. You’ve been locked up in this house since we met up for dinner a week ago. We are going out, a night on the town. Just you and me.”

Kyler grumbled under his breath and leaned against the wall. He looked around his small apartment to keep from looking at Ashton. He didn’t want to yell at his oldest friend, but if he didn’t stop trying to get into his business like this, Kyler was pretty sure he’d have to strangle the other man to keep him from doing this. “You go and have a good time. I’m staying right here. Alone.”

Ashton stood in the hallway and glanced around Kyler. His face was one of pure shock. “I can’t believe it. You’re fucking leaving me?”

Kyler slowly turned his head and nodded. Boxes lined one living room wall, sheets of brown wrapping paper laid spread out on the coffee table, rolls of packing tape, and bubble wrap lying on the floor was a dead giveaway. “I told you I was.”

Ashton grunted and stormed past Kyler and went right to the packed boxes. “You are fucking running away from me? Were you even going to even call me?”

            Kyler walked behind the very upset Ashton with his hands behind his back and took a seat on the dark blue loveseat. He glanced around the room and frowned. No, his apartment wasn’t much, but it had been his home for three years. Even when he lived with his masters, he kept his home as a sanctuary. A place to go when he was allowed to leave, to gather himself and be alone. Living in downtown Toronto had its rewards and drawbacks, but for the most part, it had been a dream.

Five blocks from Lake Ontario, a couple blocks from the Dome, a short bus ride from Church Street where he was always in his element. It was in a perfect location. The apartment itself wasn’t all that, but the two bedrooms, one bath had been his home. His haven.

“Kyler! Stop ignoring me and tell me why.”

“It’s for the best. I’m leaving in a week.”

Ashton actually growled and slapped one of the boxes, causing it to rock sideways.

“If you break anything, you’re so paying for it.”

The Art of Breaking - Part 9

“You know Greg. He’ll find out. Greg is anything but unaware of me and my life. He thinks I need to move there so he can watch over me as IF I’m some little kid that needs a parent.” He paused to wipe away some imaginary crumbs on the table. How would his closest friend take the news that he really considered leaving Toronto for Alaska? He’d probably throw one hell of a fit for a little while.

A year or two at least.

But he didn’t know what else to do. He hated being alone yet he couldn’t find it in himself to allow another in his heart. He wanted to start life over again and forget the horrors that made up his own. He needed to take a step and forget it all. “I’m thinking about it. I’m freaking afraid of my own fucking shadow, Ashton. I can’t live like this anymore. Maybe Greg is right in saying I need that male parent figure that wasn’t there for me and he was all I had to look up to. He said…” putting on his best imitation of his brother voice, “Kyler, what you need is guidance and pushed in the right direction with your life. Put off relationships for awhile and come let your big bro take care of you for awhile. You need me, kiddo.” He felt his eyes heating up, and he so did not want to cry. Not anymore. He didn’t want Ashton to see him like this, to see the raw emotions dancing just under the masquerade of the happy face he tried to keep pasted for everyone else.

“Kyler, why don’t you move in with me? I’ll take care of you. I really hate seeing  you this way.”

“God, everyone wants to take care of me. Am I that helpless?” Kyler snorted and peeked at him through his purple locks. “We’d kill each other in a day. You know what I’m like.” Was being the way he was so bad? So what if he liked to put his life in the hands of a Master? It gave him less to stress about and freed his mind for the important things in life. Like, how to stay alive. “Why was I born this way? I think my mom dropped me too many times.”

“Dropped? And you’re no more high maintenance than any other queen, Kyler. There’s nothing wrong with you. You are who you are, and have been since the day I met you twelve years ago. And would you just stop bouncing around already? I swear it’s like you drink nothing but coffee all day long. Sit still.”

The Art of Breaking - Part 8

“For God’s sake, Kyler, you have to pull out of this self destructive funk you’ve fallen into. It’s been almost six months since that sorry bastard...”

“Just shut up, Ashton. God! Why do you always have to do this? I don’t wanna pull out of this so called self destructive funk. I just so happen to like it. As is.” Kyler looked at the red and black checkered table cloth, not willing to meet his friend’s gaze. He liked it, his ass! He hated it. He hated being alone, but he couldn’t bring himself to take that step again. Not once but twice he followed his instincts and ended up almost half dead.  

Ashton cleared his throat trying to get his attention, but he was doing his best to ignore him. “You have to start living again. You can’t let what they did to you control your future or your life. You have to take that step and move on. Kyler, I’m worried about you, that’s all.”

Kyler sighed and lowered his head even more to spot his purple Converse runners under the fifties style diner table they sat at. His favorite shoes matched the one purple streak in his hair to a T. He stifled a giggle thinking about the look on Ashton’s face when he first saw him earlier that night. His hair, which was blue the last time they saw one another was now a blue-black, short and spiked on top, ebony emo is what Ashton called him. Then for fun, Kyler ran to his room to apply more purple eye liner, may as well be coordinated. “Don’t worry about me. I’m going to become a monk. You know those bald guys who wear those ugly dresses and walk around the airport? Or maybe a hermit like in Lord of The Rings.”

“What?” Ashton, who was taking a drink of his pop, coughed and spit it out, spraying the table top. “That’s a hobbit and you’d have to shave all that pretty black hair off and hop around on one foot with a tambourine chanting some nonsense about something no one can decipher. I will not allow it.” Ashton grabbed a handful of napkins and wiped the tabletop. “They don’t have sex and I know how much you enjoy that.”

“Hermit, hobbit it’s all the same to me and beside,” Kyler growled. He never growled. “I’m never having sex again! Last time put me in the hospital. So, no thank you very much. Besides, my brother threatened to kill my next boyfriend. I think it’s better, and wiser if I don’t have one.”

“Your brother is in Alaska. Just don’t tell him.”

The Art of Breaking - Part 7

Reminder & Publisher's Note: 
This book contains explicit sexual situations, graphic language, and material that some readers may find objectionable: dubious consent, male/male sexual practices.

Nodding, Nikolas considered the question. “Yeah. I guess so. How long?” What were his chances he wouldn’t find someone to keep him grounded? Lady Luck couldn’t be too kind and grant him that wish.

“I’m going with a couple of weeks. No less than that.”
            “Sounds like your mind is made up, Sir, but, indulge me a moment because I need to know one thing, Braxton. If that report is accurate on what really went down, I’ll bet a set of brass balls that someone fudged with it,” Nikolas insisted.
            “No problem you making your concerns known, but it’s not your problem right now,” Braxton assured him. “I should be able to get back more from forensics tomorrow night on that. But, Nik, my boy, everything you’ve been told about his death is legit. We went through every single thing with a fine toothed comb and we have excellent sources.”
            “Thanks, boss man.”

Ending the call, Nikolas stood for a long moment and allowed the information to absorb more fully. He massaged his chin as he considered the newest and reddest pimple on the cheek of his ass...vacation. Could they even do that to him? To everything there was a loophole, and damn it, he was going to locate one to rid himself of this bane of his pathetic existence. Vacation? Not likely to happen.

Once he’d graduated with high honors at SFA, the Special Forces Academy, after he’d completed training at the age of twenty-one, he was hired on, even though at a young and exceptionally high scores in all his classes he hadn’t stopped working a day in his life. Every day on the job set off an adrenaline high which turned him into a junkie for more than just the thrill alone. At a few months shy of turning twenty-eight he was a loaded keg and sitting still was like stale air. A weary groan slipped past his lips as he checked the clock again. It was already late morning.

The Art of Breaking - Part 6

He frowned in concentration, making a note of this while Braxton paused. Nikolas started to speak but was otherwise interrupted.

“I can easily look it up if you can’t answer that and you know why? Because the answer is: never. Look, you’re one of the best this agency has and before you interrupt allow me to finish. You wouldn’t be leading the team you have now if I didn’t think highly of your expertise and your sniper skills, but it’s wearing you down more than a notch. You’re not lacking in the cash department because you never treat yourself with your scrimping and saving, so take this on serious advisement...go to Mexico, Hawaii, or China for all I care, but just get away for awhile,” Braxton suggested, going with the order.

            Braxton’s tone bothered him. “Try not to replace me while I’m gone,” Nikolas said instead.

“So that’s why you’ve never bothered to take any time off? Because you think I’m going to replace you?” The silence after the question lasted several seconds.

“Damnit, Braxton! It’s because there’s never been a damn thing I’d rather being doing than what I’ve been doing to the best of my ability!”

Nikolas didn’t miss the amusement in his friend's tone as his attention jerked back to the conversation. He raised a speculative brow as Braxton’s words echoed in his head. “Braxton, this is not the time to be doing this and you fucking know it!” he breathed, passing a hand over his face.

“It’s. An. Order.” Braxton gave no quarter.

There was something about that tone, of those clipped words that troubled Nikolas. He had been reading men for a long time, even ones like this. Tough and brave and very private, especially when it came to anything that involved their emotions. There was no way Nikolas could down play this one. Or even hope to win.

“Besides,” Braxton said, “you never know. On your trek to finding yourself and getting your shit together, you could meet the lucky One. Your team has been whining like girls that you’re turning into a drill sergeant on some escapade to make their lives miserable. Just because you are it doesn’t mean that the world should be all black and white along with you. Get a fucking tan. You’re too pale. Now, think you can handle that, soldier?”

The Art of Breaking - Part 5

After a tense quiet drive from headquarters to his house, Nikolas pulled into his driveway, shut off the car, and got out. He let out a terse breath, turning to rest the front of his body against the automobile and closed his eyes tightly as he drew in another harsh ragged breath. How did these things always seem to happen to him? Did he have some unknowing bull’s eye stamped on his forehead?

With a shake of his head Nikolas quietly unlocked and opened his front door. Not understanding why, since there was no one around to hear him, but old habits die hard and it was always part of his training to see and hear, not be seen and heard. He strolled down the hallway to the kitchen, numbly going through the motions of brewing coffee. He glanced at the clock on the wall, four AM. He usually didn’t return home till before the crack of dawn, sometimes not at all, but this night didn’t turn out the way he’d expected.

With a cup of strong freshly brewed coffee in his hand, just the way he liked it, Nikolas sat down at the table and pulled out his Blackberry. He hadn’t wanted to make this call until he was certain prying ears wouldn’t hear, but it was now or later and he preferred to get it over with as soon as possible.

Less than two three rings later he was holding for his contact, “Young here.” The voice barked into his ear.

Blowing out a breath as he plowed his fingers through his hair, Nikolas spoke. “Did or didn’t you send me on a leave of absence? I need to know if this is legit.” His voice took on an insisted tone.

“Aren’t you guys always pleasant and to the point?” Sarcasm dripped from Braxton Young’s voice.

“No shit Sherlock. Every assignment, every case and every order by you is legit and I need to know why you did it.” Cockiness crept over Nikolas, reminding himself of the FBI agent in the movie The Fugitive. 

“Well, let's see..." The sounds of a keyboard clicking sounded in the ear piece. “There’s something not sitting quite right. A few strange details. You took the drop of one of our agents personally and since you refuse to speak with one of our psyches about it, you’re taking stress leave and you could use the downtime. When was the last time you took any time off, Nikolas?”

The Art of Breaking - Part 4

Ashton, who kept his silence, scanning software, shook his head. He looked young, with his boyish features, although he stood at Nikolas’ height of 6’3, and his body was well built and incredibly muscular.

Nikolas still looked at him unconvinced. His expression hardened at the same time his voice became extremely polite, chillingly so. “By whose orders?”

Glancing down at where he looked, Adrian stooped to gather the fallen papers, fumbling with them. "Braxton’s. No one said anything about it to you?" He tried to pull one sheet from under his sneakers, only for the paper to rip. “Crap!”

Nikolas chuckled inwardly. In no hurry to return home, he leaned against the wall and folded his arms. Maybe had he powered on his cell phone and had checked for messages in the last twenty-four hours he would have known. He wasn’t impressed. On the inside he was seething. How dare Braxton just write him off to vacation time? 

“You know, this would be a good time to get laid, man. Lose some of that tension that has you walking straighter and muscles tighter than a corpse after rigor mortis has already set in.” Ashton tried to reason.

“In the interest of putting an end to that entire topic, I’ll add that I already do well on my own. Furthermore, I have no intention of adhering to the rules, now or in the future, by shackling myself to more responsibilities.” With his jaw set in a cool purpose, there was a confident strength emanating from every inch of his broad-shouldered frame, right down to the tips of his black boots.

A snort escaped from Ashton as he rolled his eyes. "I see how well you're doing on your own. Well, whether you like it or not, we got our orders and in no way I'm going back to the old fart and telling him what you just told us," eying him suspiciously, Ashton tilted his head, dark hair escaping from the lose pony tail it was pulled back in. "What exactly would you accomplish by over taxing yourself anyway? Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"None of your business, nosey Parker. And the order is from a doddering old fool who has long since lost his touch." Nikolas was already scowling as he watched Adrian approach.

The man whose dark eyes were drawn together in a scowl of grim displeasure looked about as malleable as granite. In one quick movement, Adrian was next to Nikolas, so close that he could smell his scent, as he pinched the paper from his outstretched hand.

Nikolas studied it as he perused the paper. Brushing back the one side of his leather coat, Nikolas put his hand on his hip and then regarded them both. “And if I say hell no?”

Ashton shrugged. "We’d have to say hell yes. Braxton decided you needed the time off and even the higher ups gave their OK on it. Got no choice, boss.”

"Hey, we’re not the bad guys here. And I could think of lots to do with that given time like cruise the bars, the clubs. I’m sure Black Eagle misses having you there.” Ashton flashed him a stunning smile, throwing his full charm on him.

Adrian leaned toward him and whispered, "I have a cock. Of course, Ashton has one too, but I don't think he would be into it because he’s not into your type of kink. I mean I could go home with you and we leave Ashton back here to hold the fort. Deal?"

Nikolas tipped his chin up and he spoke as if he could read his mind. “I don’t deal...I like it on my own terms, I don’t mix business with pleasure, and you are borderline business. You know it would never work out between us, Adrian.”

Nikolas’s disinterested shrug and brief smile dismissed all the other rational reasons for having Adrian go home with him.

The Art of Breaking - Part 3

Feeling utterly defeated, Nikolas turned his Mustang GT towards the interstate heading West, and back to the one place he could gain solace and peace of mind. Back to the place he’d known as his second home, the only home he’d known since he was no more than a kid and one he shared with over a hundred and fifty men just like him. An hour later, since he preferred living near the lake, he pulled up to the massive complex which sat on twenty prime acres in the middle of the forest.

The vein pulsing, pounding music added attitude to his already frustrated demeanor. It did nothing for his already pounding head and he winced as he suddenly hit the brakes of the car.  It skittered to a halt before a silver metallic gate manned by four armed guards. A man scanned his ID and passed him through, only to be stopped a mile up the way to do it again. Upon reaching the parking garage, he punched in his high security access code that opened another set of gates which enabled him access to park in his usual spot. He doubted the President himself had to go through this everyday when he reported to work.

Forcing himself not to be distracted from his consideration of the path, he kept his thoughts straight, not wanting to risk becoming lost through inattentions. As he neared the security doors, his dark black hair ruffled, blowing restlessly in a breeze he did not feel.

Cursing beneath his breath, he forced himself onward and walked for what seemed like a mile of hallways and endless corridors. His stomach clenched, but his fatigue outweighed the growling of his hunger. He pushed his longish, dark hair back realizing he’d need a cut soon. No matter what he did about it, it always seemed to find its way to his face. With a grunt, he tucked a wayward strand behind his ear.

"Stop right there, boss man. No you don't!" Something flickered across Adrian’s face, an emotion Nikolas would be able to read. He was clearly annoyed. 

“What?” His long slender legs sheathed in tight fitted jeans stepped to the entrance. Timeworn boots clicked against the marble tiles of the small surveillance room.

“Don’t even get me started, big guy, on how you look like you’ve been dragged and run over by an eighteen wheeler. I’ll get to that in a minute. First...” Adrian reached into a large leather briefcase at his side and pulled out a folder. Opening it, he took out a letter, which he waved under his nose as the coffee smeared paper floated to the ground, trampled underneath as he moved closer. "See this? You’re my boss and we all respect you, but we were notified that you’d be on temporary vacay. Vacay means no work and you’re not supposed to be here. So ‘vacate’ the premises...Sir”

The Art of Breaking - Part 1 & 2

Nikolas grunted as he awoke well before the veil of night faded to bring on the light of day. The parts of the dream he remembered was still fresh in his memory and as always he tried to puzzle out the meaning of it.

He had lusted to kill. Sometimes the demands of his job took him to the extreme, but this was getting out of hand. True, he was an agent under special Ops orders and wherever he was needed he went; even took satisfaction in the completion of an assignment. He’d always found their target and eliminated it, but his restlessness and these sleepless nights were beginning to best him. 

What he needed most, he wanted and could not have. To feel the warmth of a hot male body under the command of his hands, to taste the richness, the saltiness of cum and sweat as he brought a sub into submission. But in his reoccurring dreams he had just that, and it twisted from pain and pleasure to blood and cruelty, and always he took it with his own two bare hands, reveling in it.

“I’m a sick fuck,” he exhaled heatedly.  

He blamed the fact he had one on bad luck, on chance, on coincidence. There could be no such excuses, he told himself. His grip he felt slowly slipping. Would he ever be free of the guilt? Guilt that was going to eat him from the inside out.  

Nikolas wondered which one of the transgressions he committed was enough to bring this wrath down upon his head. He was a jackass to think he could escape and be redeemed without any repercussions. Payback's a bitch.

Always a part of him blacked out whenever he went through required steps while on his last mission. Acts, events and places erased. Many areas were left vague, blurred and didn’t come readily when he tried to recall them. As always his aim and sharp wit became precedence, but on that one night he couldn’t change, a bad decision had followed with disastrous results and he’d lost a trusted member of his team.

Deciding to get out of his darkly shrouded bed rather than go back to sleep, Nikolas got up and washed his face and hands in cold water.

Descending the stairs to the main floor of his house, he heard the distant roll of thunder, the last remnants of a passing storm. In the deep hours of the night the rain stopped and the wind stilled, leaving the darkened hallways of the house silent. Even the boards beneath his bare feet refused to creak. Heavy, thick drapes covered the windows, sealing the night out and Nikolas within, leaving the house in shadows.

Once on the main floor, Nikolas headed into the study. He crossed the carpeted floor to the bar, his toes digging into the plushness with each step he took. In the silence, Nikolas poured himself a glass of his finest Scotch and lifted it in a mocking toast to the darkness which surrounded and shrouded him.

His thoughts flew back again to a few nights before all Hell broke loose, when he last dropped in at home base headquarters. It ended with a quick word exchange between himself and Derringer, a professional profiler who was their Ops specialist and expert on the warped criminal mind.

His steps led him up two flights of stairs into the room which supplied their scanners, computers, and technical equipment. Adrian looked up from the current search on the mainstream of detailed information. Adrian had acute insight, a precise, top notch profiler and could bring to light an amazingly accurate picture of a killer. This allowed him and his team to narrow their search and focus their intelligence on certain individuals while the leads were still fresh.

“Hey, boss man. Another sleepless night?”

“If you can call it that. Not sure what the word sleep means anymore. Fuck it. Any word from Braxton on that botched assignment overseas?” Nikolas gave his point of view. “It was a sloppy job. That’s certain.”

“I think the killer was simply trying to gain his five minutes of fame and he even made the crime scene look it was a simple assassination attempt. But if you look more closely, you’ll notice that the crime scene was staged. As the report states, nothing was missing.”

“Are you certain of this? Sources say...”

Adrian nodded. “My experience on these types of criminal acts tells me that the killer is quite the opposite...smooth, suave, and manipulative. He manages to make his victims think that he’s a good person, confidante, has their welfare at heart and he gains their trust. When the time is right, he strikes”

It was unsettling to Nikolas how this in turn, described him to a T.

Had it been his fault an innocent man went down under the call of duty? There were time lapses and spaces...gaps that challenged his memories on where he’d been at that exact moment in time.

“FUCK! What have you done? What have you done to me?” Nikolas yelled out in anger and frustration. Angrily he threw the glass against the stone wall. Small sharp pieces of crystal and amber liquid dripped down the wall and stained the carpet below. He didn’t care though; instead he jutted his fingers through his hair in frustration, turning it into a wild untamable mess.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Nikolas tried to block the visions from his mind so that he could get a fix on this situation. The horrible conclusion, which had been gradually obtruding itself upon his confused and reluctant mind, was now an awful certainty.

He was lost.

Returning to his room, Nikolas changed his clothing quickly, then grabbed his car keys and left the house.

The Art of Breaking Prologue

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual situations, graphic language, and material that some readers may find objectionable: dubious consent, male/male sexual practices.

A man, who kills once for whatever reason, usually finds it much easier to kill a second time if he feels threatened.

Prologue

The news he received from an informant was very good indeed. Not only did he have a location, he now knows exactly where his quarry lives. He wasn't surprised when the ringing of his phone broke into his thoughts a few moments later.
            “Good evening,” his baritone deep and gruff. 

“You seem to be in good spirits.”
            “I have word as to where I would find my...the whereabouts of an old friend.”
            “That’s good news for sure. I was calling to see if you were coming to the club tonight,” the voice on the other end almost pleaded. 
            He could and he had in under confidential advisement that the same man he sought out would be attending this evening. At least, the visit would not be wasted. “I just might take you up on the offer.”
            “There seems to be an influx of submissives seeking Masters at the clubs these days. Ripe pickings, old friend. Nothing catastrophic that would justify it but all the better for you and Masters still seeking one.”
            “Yes, I couldn’t agree with you more.” He nodded in agreement. With all the subs and Masters in one concentrated spot, his query was sure to be at hand.
            “Then we’ll see each other later this evening.”
            He nodded as he hung up the phone. The thought of his quarry brought up painful memories from months earlier.   

 

Months earlier…

It was his sub’s move. They had been playing a game of chess for hours and his lover had yet to surrender. The Master watched his sub. Tomorrow would be his sub’s last job assignment before he had a couple weeks to themselves and before the collaring ceremony that would mark his sub as his. Keeping his mind off the dangerous assignment and on their future was his main goal for tonight.
            “I don’t know why I even need to learn this game when I could be pleasuring you in other ways, Master. I’ll be leaving tomorrow.” His sub lamented, picking up the board he threw it against the wall, shattering the marble board in pieces. “I DON’T SEE THE POINT OF THIS!!” He screamed at the Master. “Why do I have to wait for you to claim me?”
            “What is it you want me to do, my love?” He asked his sub, but he was already sure of the decision. “Preparations need to be made. We’ve been over this already. You know how much I love you and want you to be mine. Now stop acting like an insolent child.”
            “I know, but I want to be collared now. I want to leave tomorrow knowing...” The young man turned to his master, “I already belong to you, Master, but I want more.”
            The Master looked at him. Normally he would have punished his sub for the outburst, but being already as nervous as he was in leaving to some unknown destination, he wanted only to calm and soothe the younger man’s anxieties.  Instead, motioned to their chairs.

“Sit down, my love, and let me explain something to you.” He gave his sub an account of what it entailed to be collared, but he could see that it only served to solidify his submissive’s resolve.
            That was several months ago.

Even in his arms his lover had slept restlessly the night before his departure and was asking constantly when and where the ceremony would be held. He could see that his boy wanted this just as much as he had.

The following day he saw his boy off. He sent his sub, his equal, the love of his life off into unknown territories to fulfill his obligations to his government and met his death doing what he was trained to do. Little did he know that, that would have been the last time he held his boy, his heart against the warmth of his body, in his arms.

He still blames himself for his boy’s death, but he also vowed to seek revenge.
            Now that he knows where the man responsible is, it is time to turn the tables.