Page 16 of Out of Control

Having all that concentrated attention focused on him, like he was the only man in the world for Spencer Newman, had been intoxicating. Knowing he was the only man ever to fully possess Spencer’s body—and maybe even his heart—had been… humbling. It wasn’t a sensation he’d experienced much in his life. He’d always been the hot piece of ass who other men chased.

But feeling, for a change, like the one reaching… feeling as if he’d found a man who could match him in every way and surpass him in several… it had made Spencer’s returned interest all the sweeter.

He’d loved being pushed to earn Spencer’s respect, to bemore, to reach for the best parts buried inside himself and bring them out. No doubt about it, Spencer had made him a better man.

Spencer rolled off of him as debris began to rain down, sounding like hail pelting the tin roof of the restaurant. A finer layer of dust began to settle more slowly, and he and Spencer both coughed as they threw their arms across their mouths and noses. It tasted like concrete, acrid and alkaline.

Another whistle became audible as they ran for the Land Rover and leaped inside. Spencer pulsed the windshield wipers to shove away the dust obscuring the front window, but it only smeared the fine beige powder. Swearing, he jumped out and used his sleeve to wipe off the driver’s half of the windshield.

Boom.

This explosion was more distant, about a quarter mile away. Drago couldn’t tell what make and model the missile was, but he damned well could estimate distance to the impact point within a few dozen yards.

“Shit. The gate,” Spencer muttered.

“I’ll get it,” Drago offered.

Spencer nodded and passed him the key. He jogged in front of the Land Rover to shove back the gate. He was vividly aware of being free, outside of Spencer’s physical control, and entrusted with a key he could use to slip through the gate and quickly lock it shut behind himself, trapping Spencer inside while he ran.

He waited just outside the gate, and when Spencer stopped the vehicle beside him, he jumped back into the Land Rover.

Of his own free will.

Out of the frying pan of the war erupting around him and into the fire of their shared past.

THE ROADto Amman was destroyed, and the only way to get to the capital was to follow the smugglers’ routes and swing back into Syria. Who’d have guessedthatwar-torn land would be the least violent route?

As the miles stretched out behind them, Drago found himself watching Spencer’s hands on the steering wheel, confidently guiding the Land Rover around the potholes and actual craters in the highway. Ten years ago he’d thought Spencer’s long-fingered hands were beautiful. Graceful, even. Now they bore the scars and calluses of battle. Years of exposure to the elements had darkened and roughened them. They were a warrior’s hands now. Interestingly, they were the only external evidence he’d spotted of the hard man Spencer had apparently become.

So Spencer thought he was going to rendition him, huh? That spoke of improved skills. Of field experience. Of knowing men like him. Had he slept with those other spies? He of all people knew how the pressure built up in the field. How a need to blow off emotional steam could tear a man apart from the inside out.

But a kernel of jealousy toward those other lovers of Spencer’s took root in his chest. Surely he hadn’t unconsciously spent all this time believing Spencer would be faithful to him. Hell, the guy’d walked out on him. Spencer had been the one to break off the relationship. Of course he’d moved on to other men. Other relationships.

Acid indigestion churned in his belly and then in his throat.

Well, hell.

When they’d cleared the frontier, Spencer glanced over at him. “Care to share any of your latest intel on southern Syria?”

“Fair bit of activity, but then, it is the summer fighting season. Rebels bombing Syrians, Syrians bombing civilians, Americans trying not to bomb Russians, and Iranians using Russian ordnance to bomb everyone while they deny everything. I think that about sums it up.”

“Same old, same old,” Spencer muttered.

Drago shrugged.

“Jeez. Will you look at that?” Spencer breathed as they pulled into the remains of a decent-sized city that had been pretty much obliterated.

“It’s a war. Nobody wins in the end, but the innocents caught in the crossfire lose everything.”

Spencer stopped the Land Rover in front of the remains of a once-modern building. “Is that a hospital?” he asked, aghast, staring at the half-gutted shell.

“Used to be. All the hospitals are underground nowadays in an effort to protect them from getting bombed. That old hospital building is currently being used as a refugee center.”

“But it’s been bombed,” Spencer responded. “Recently.”

“Last month the government hit a school a couple of blocks from here. Killed nearly three hundred kids. They said the rebels were using them as human shields.”

“Were they?” Spencer asked, pale under his golden tan.

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