Days passed as Art prepared for his mission. He was bubbling over with excitement, and that meant one thing only—my dick was being worked overtime, as a reward system.
I owed Art a lot. He made me feel things for the first time in a while. He’d softened my hard edges, my deviant desires to hit it and quit it. I’d been a drunken playboy, fucking almost anything with a pulse, and then not remembering it until I was slapped the next time I saw them—claiming I’d promised to text them back.
Part of me wondered if Art clung to me that first time, seeing me as his savior, and then realizing I wasn’t actually all that great, so he’d helped me find my greatness—he’d shaped me as much as I’d shaped him—from major brat to occasional brat—and I was his tamer—or someone who’d been able to tame parts of him.
It was almost time. At the armory, a woman behind a gated section was presenting us with handguns, silencers, and vests.
“You’ve got to trust me,” Artemis said as we geared up int he armory. “Finley has run checks on them, they don’t have a lot of ammo or guns, plus, since today is collection day, they don’t have many guys on the inside.”
Pushing the comms earpiece in, Finley’s chipper voice was on the other side, feeding Artemis his words almost. “Ok, ok,” I said. “I can hear you both.”
“Good, we’re waiting for the car to be ready,” Artemis said as we were presented with a new selection of guns. He held them, weighing them in his hands before asking for different ones. “I can never get used to guns.”
“Don’t say that too loud,” I whispered to him.
“Yeah, keep that info to yourself,” Finley added. “There are people who will hold it against you.”
“A Glock 19,” I said to the woman behind the counter. “Let’s keep it simple.”
“On it, Mr. Kurt,” she said.
Artemis patted a hand to my arm. I knew we’d be there all day if we didn’t make a decision soon, and I knew he’d handled a regular Glock 19 before. Maybe not so much with a suppressor though.
The woman brought back a tray with two guns, ammo, and matte black suppressors on them. “These fit,” she said. “If you need anything else, let me know. And I’ll make a note.”
“Do we need more ammo?” I asked.
“You’re a good shot,” Finley said. “I don’t think additional ammo is a good idea. You should try and be conservative with the shots you make.”
“Reading from a script, Finley?” I chuckled. I knew he was. I’d heard it before from otherfairies, they’d tell me to be conservative with the ammo and every shot should count for something. “It’s fine, I’m more looking out for Art.”
Artemis’s eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “I’m a great shot too,” he said. “You took me to the training range.”
“I know, I’m messing around with you,” I said as he rolled his eyes. He hated it when I did it to him—especially since being sassy was his go to. “But if you don’t get a couple bullseyes, right between the eyes, I’ll be disappointed.”
He fixed the suppressor over the end of his gun. “I’ll get the bullseye,” he said. “And when I do, you owe me.”
“Go on,” I whispered, conscious that Finley was listening—perhaps if I made him uncomfortable, I could get a rise out of them both. “You know I’m not going to hold back if you don’t, so tell me what I’d owe you.”
Licking his lips as I witnessed them become dry so quick. “I’m not sure,” he let out. “How about, if I get it, you’ve got to propose to me.”
“Easy, you know I’m planning on doing it anyway,” I said. “Think of something else.”
He opened to his mouth to speak and I shook my head, knowing it was going to be something silly. “I still stand by what I said,” he whispered. “You, on your knees, or a knee, and showing some submissiveness.”
I nodded. I could do that for him, it wasn’t knew, but if it’s actually what he wanted. I’d do it. With or without a ring—the one I had inside the false bottom of my sock drawer—the same one I assumed he found, but maybe not. “And Finley, are you still there?”
He coughed through the comms. “I am—yes, Sir. I was just—your vehicle is ready. Please make your way to the docks.”
“Perfect,” Artemis said, slotting his gun in the underarm holster. We were wearing hooded jackets with a dry cleaning logo printed on the back of them. It was different to the one we’d used for the money transport. Sanctum never used the same service name twice. But we always had ourfairieswith websites and numbers being redirected to them for confirmation. “We’ll be there in a minute.”
“You still need to put your vest on,” I told him.
“Ugh. Right.” He laid the gun on the counter again and grabbed his vest. “Over the—”
“Under the t-shirt,” I said. “I’m not trying to control you, but you know it should go under it.”
He nodded. I think he was just excited to finally be in comfortable clothes again—suits were an acquired taste. I loved a suit, there was a respect given to people dressed nicely that I’d become accustomed to. It was better than the heavy vest andhard hat, all weighing down on you in the middle of some Middle Eastern war zone.
