Chapter 9
Quintz felt terrible about what he’d done to Kinzer.
Though Siege—Quintz’s operation—needed to verify Kinzer’s loyalty through their usual test, Kinzer’s track record, particularly within the past few months, had left Quintz certain Kinzer could pass any test they threw at him. As he’d watched Kinzer endure and resist temptation even in the face of such hopelessness, Quintz only found himself admiring Kinzer even more than he already did.
Quintz was the master of torture. He didn’t derive any pleasure from tormenting an immortal who had demonstrated nothing but loyalty to their cause, but it helped knowing that, if Kinzer held strong, he would be welcomed into their operation. They needed someone like Kinzer, especially in a time when trust became increasingly difficult, even with those who had been working with the Leader for millennia. And Kinzer had proven himself, even under the greatest of pressure: When his lover had turned on him. When the Council had turned on him. When he felt totally abandoned.
Quintz hoped he could convince Kinzer of his own sincerity, that what he offered wasn’t some ruse, but a real chance for Kinzer to help them end the impending apocalypse, one ushered in now, not by the Almighty, but by Janka. The sensitive nature of their assignment was such that only a very trusted elite could participate, which was great for secrets but poor in terms of being vastly underprepared to take on Janka and his growing army of Morarkes and the Christ. They needed Kinzer’s help, especially if they were going to attempt to retrieve Treycore so they could disarm the Christ.
Quintz had given Kinzer some time alone so he could reflect on everything he’d told him. When he returned to his office, where he’d left Kinzer, the still-nude clipped jumped at his entry. Sitting at Quintz’s desk, he dropped the book in his hand, which he must’ve grabbed off Quintz’s bookshelf, and turned to the door, balling his hands into fists, ready for a fight.
He’d clearly been on edge while he’d been on his own, struggling to survive. He needed to relax and recover from the assault—physically and mentally. Even more than that, he needed to recover from all this time he’d spent on his own, struggling to find his way.
“You should be sleeping,” Quintz said.
Kinzer took a breath, forcing himself to relax as he picked the book back up. “You should have given me a little something extra to help me with that.”
“I can.”
“I was kidding,” Kinzer said, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine. I haven’t been able to sleep much since all this started.”
“That’s understandable, considering everything you’ve been through.”
Quintz grabbed a chair and carried it over to Kinzer, setting it beside him, the way Brock would do sometimes when he could tell Quintz was lonely. As he sat, Kinzer turned to him, his face no longer bruised from the beating he’d taken, though he still had some splotches of red that indicated where his body was still healing.
“Are you feeling better?” Quintz asked.
“Well, let’s see…you guys beat the crap out of me, made me think you castrated me, I already haven’t slept in a goddamn month, and I’m dealing with a group of guys I’m not even sure I can trust. Honestly, I think I’ve lost any sense of whatbettermight be when it comes to how I’m feeling. So why don’t we skip the pleasantries. I’d rather get right to what’s really going on here. Where we go from here.”
“We’ll discuss that more tomorrow, Kinzer. Heal first. Recover.”
“There are some things you never heal from, Quintz.”
“You say that now, but eons do the trick, don’t they?”
“Not as well as they should.”
His words were laced with bitterness and resentment, and Quintz knew the truth of them, as did most immortals. It would have seemed that such a great span of time would have encouraged healing of the mind, of transgressions, of wounds, and though there was some relief in all that, there was also the awareness of those emotional wounds that didn’t heal so easily, the ones that remained open for far longer than they should have.
“Would you like anything to eat or drink?” Quintz asked. “I know in your weakened state, without your wings, you require more than the rest of us do.”
Kinzer shook his head. “What’s the point? Hunger is just another pain…like the rest. In some ways, the pain is the only thing left to remind me I’m still alive.”
“Okay, while that sounded really intriguing, I think that means you need something to eat.”
Kinzer turned to him, seeming to really see him as something more than a potential enemy. There was suspicion in his expression, of course, which was understandable.
Oh, Kinzer…if only you knew how much you can trust me.
But there was something else in the look he gave Quintz—desire.
Quintz’s eyes drifted down to Kinzer’s cock. He wanted to hop down on his knees and take it into his mouth to give Kinzer the relief he needed. To allow Kinzer to dominate him. To make Quintz pay for the horrible things he and Brock had done to him.
“You fixed your glasses,” Kinzer said, indicating Quintz’s lenses.
“I have some spares in our supply closet. I don’t do this kind of work expecting not to get punched every once in a while.”
“I’m sure you’ve been hit a lot harder than that, considering I’m not exactly on my A-game right now.”
