The Christmas Package

5 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

Allen pulled his gun and aimed it at the asshole who was officially T minus fifty-nine seconds

from being dead.  He generally preferred to keep his daily body count to three, but he was willing to add
a fourth under the circumstances.

"He's not worth killing," Jack said.

He didn't take his eyes off his new target, but he could still see his totaled Bentley Continental from the
corner of his eye. "Yes, he is. Do you know what I had to do to get that fucking car?"

"Kill somebody?" Jack replied dryly.

Allen  shot  him  a  disgusted  look  then  snapped  his  attention  back  to  the  asshole  who  had  wrecked  his
baby.  "You  will  hold  still,  or  I  will  make  certain  the  bullet  I  put  in  you  causes  a  very  slow  and  painful
death. Do you understand me?"

The  guy  nodded  hastily  and  lifted  his  hands  in  a  show  of  surrender  that  was  so  fucking  stupid  Allen
almost rolled his eyes.  He'd worked his ass off for that car, taken the shittiest job on the planet for it,
and  all  he'd  wanted  was to  enjoy  the  rest  of  his  day,  but  no—the easy  job  had  turned  difficult,  it  was
snowing  like  hell  when  the  forecast  had  said  clear,  Christmas  was  tomorrow  and  he  still  didn't  know
what to buy Jack, and now his favorite car was totaled.

His mood had officially gone from bad to worse, and somebody was going to get a bullet in the head. He
kept the gun steady and jerked his chin in the direction of the ruin that had been his car. "You have ten
seconds  to  tell  me  how  you're  going  to  make  me  feel  better,  or  I'll  do  it  myself  by  the  generous
application of bullets to your torso region."

Jack sighed. Allen ignored him. All he'd wanted was for one thing to go right. It should have been an easy
day. Wake up. Go to breakfast with Jack. Go kill Mr. Waterstone. Go back to the hotel. Wait 'til Jack fell
asleep, then sneak out to try and do some Christmas shopping. The only blemish on his day should have
been a phone call from his mother.

But no. The snow had knocked the power out so they'd woken up late. The roads were too much of a
mess  for  breakfast  to  be worth  the  hassle.  One  simple  assignment  to  kill  a  pedophilic  business  tycoon
had turned into a three-body job. His mother hadn't bothered to call all damn day. And Jack had been in
a bad mood throughout.

He  should  never  have  had  the  Bentley  brought  to  him,  but  goddammit,  he  had  wanted  something  to
perk  him  up.  Now  his  prize  possession  was  junkyard  material  because  some  asshole  couldn't  properly
operate his Dodge Ram.  Allen really wanted to shoot somebody.

"If you shoot him," Jack said with patience that he obviously did not feel, "then we'll have to hide the
body, and we'll be out here even longer. Just take his fucking keys and let's get the hell out of here."

6 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

"T-t-tak'em,  m-man,"  the  guy  said,  eyes  nearly  popping  out  of  his  head  at  Jack's  casual  observation
about hiding his body. He held out the keys still clutched in his right hand, dangling from an obnoxious
John Deere key ring.

Allen sighed long and loud, but took the keys with his free hand. Pocketing them, he put his gun away—
then  grabbed  the  guy,  sank  a  fist  into  his  gut,  and  clipped  the  back  of  his  head,  knocking  him  out.
Catching the idiot over his shoulder, Allen carted him across the street to a house that looked like it had
plenty of activity. He left the guy on the covered porch, right against the front door, then strode back to
where Jack had already climbed into the truck.

He  took  one  last  look  at  his  poor  car  and  went  through  it  to  clear  out  the  extra  guns  stashed  in  it,
removed the license plates, then finally joined Jack. Starting up the largely unscathed pick up, he slowly
pulled  back  and  out,  wincing  as  a  piece  fell  off  his  car.    "I  really  wish  you  had  let  me  shoot  him,"  he
groused.

The  words  actually  drew  a  smile—a  real  smile—from  Jack.    Allen  hated  dating—well,  did  they  call  it
dating?  What  did  they  call  it?  He  wasn't  certain  delivering  dubious  packages  and  the  odd  hit  were
dating, but they weren't really the go to the movies kind of guys—

Anyway,  whatever  they  were  doing,  it  would  be  a  hell  of  a  lot  easier  if  Jack  were  easier  to  read.  Just
when Allen thought he had Jack down, he was left guessing again.  Allen was pretty certain he'd never
met a better poker face. The world would never know how lucky they were that Jack had ratted out his
family  instead  of  taking  over  the  family  business.  "If  you'd  shot  him,  we'd  still  be  in  the  snow  and
probably dealing with cops.  Remind me to chew out Avery later; that house was supposed to be clear,
and that's the second time he's given us poor information. If I wanted you to take shitty jobs, I'd get you
shitty jobs. If you really want to kill someone else today, shoot Avery."

"You spoil me," Allen replied, and Jack laughed. Some of the tension leaked from Allen's shoulders, and
he dared to hope that maybe he was just losing his mind, and things were okay, and Jack didn't actually
seem as moody and withdrawn as he had lately. "So what shall we do the rest of the day?"

"Sleep?" Jack replied. "We seem to get little enough of that."

Maybe he wasn't losing his mind. Allen stifled a twinge of disappointment. The days of Rio and going to
dinner  between  fire  fights  seemed  long  gone.  He  supposed  he  should  just  be  happy  he'd  set  a  new
record;  before  Jack,  his  longest  relationship  had  been  four  and  a  half  weeks.  Six  months,  his  mother
would  cheerfully  declare,  was  a  miracle.  "We  seem to  get  little  enough  of  everything  except  gunshots
and plans gone wrong. It's only five o'clock-ish—we could go do something."

"And get shot at again? No thanks. It's Christmas Eve—all the crazies are out. I'm staying in."

Allen tried not to wilt at those words, but it was hard.  He had no interest in anything stupid and normal,
but another night of 'stay in the motel' was, right then, a level of hell all its own. Okay, fine. Maybe it
might have been nice to have a little bit of normal for once.

Shit, he couldn't even come up with a present. Jack probably didn't even give a damn; if Allen knew him
at all, he knew that. But his mother would be the first to remind him—with a slap upside the head—that
that wasn't the point.

7 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

The point was to make Jack happy. Allen just wished he knew without a doubt that he was the best man
for that job. Stifling a sigh, he drove the rest of the way back to their motel in silence, fervently hoping
that  the  power  was  back  on.    It  was  tricky,  going  with  all  the  snow,  but  the  pick-up  handled  it  better
than his poor Bentley had. He really should have left his baby in storage, but what was done was done,
as his mother liked to say.

They  reached  the  motel,  and  Allen  led  the  way  to  their  room,  swiping  his  card  and  pushing  the  door
open,  sighing  in  relief  when  he  flipped  the  light  switch  and  the  room  filled  with  dull  yellow  light.    He
grimaced at the ugly bedspread, wondering what it was about motels that the bedspreads always had to
be ugly as fuck and not match a single other thing in the room. The fact that this time it almost matched
the hideous striped walls was, he suspected, pure dumb luck.

Moving to the little table by the window, he shrugged out of his winter coat and hung it over one of the
chairs, then stripped off his leather gloves and set them down. Finally he pulled out the gun he wore in a
shoulder holster, as well as the smaller one strapped to his ankle. Checking them both over, he set one
on the nightstand and put the other in the nightstand drawer.

Sitting down at the table, he stretched his legs out and wished fervently that they were anywhere but
another crappy motel.  He wanted to be back in his bed, the one he saw only a handful of times a year
and never for very long.  The one he really hoped he'd be able to show Jack someday.

Jack discarded his own winter clothes and strode across the room to the minifridge, bending to pull out
two cans of beer. He walked back over to Allen and held out one of the beers. Allen ignored it in favor of
grabbing  Jack's  wrist  and  tugging  him  close  and  down,  then kissing  him.    Jack  immediately  responded,
and Allen heard the thump of the unopened cans hitting the floor as Jack tried to straddle him. When
the cheap motel chair prevented it, Allen stood up and pushed Jack down onto the bed, straddling him
and diving right back in for another kiss.

He sank a hand into Jack's soft curls as his free hand slipping beneath Jack's dark blue sweater, sliding
along warm skin. Whatever else was wrong, he thought feverishly—and maybe a little desperately—this
still worked between them, and that had to count for something. Allen pulled back to admire the view:
Jack  tousled  and  hard  and  ready  for more,  no  sign  of  his  bad  mood  remaining.  "I  really  don't  get  why
people keep shooting you."

"Turning state's evidence is generally frowned upon," Jack said dryly. "You're just biased because you're
fucking me."

Allen rolled his eyes and set to work removing their clothes. He really hated winter; there was no good
way to remove all the cumbersome layers, and his damned boots especially were nothing, but a pain in
the ass. Goddamn frozen shoelaces. He pitched the boots across the room when he finally got them off,
and then turned back to Jack, who was snickering at him. "Oh, shut up," he said, climbing back on top of
Jack and fisting his cock, turning the snickers into needy demands.  "So bossy."

"Someone  has  to  be,  god  knows  you'd  never  get  on  with  it  if  I  wasn't  telling  you  what  to  do,"  Jack
retorted.  "I  shudder  to  think  how  you  muddled  along  before  I  showed  up  and  started  giving  you
instructions."

8 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

Laughing,  Allen  kissed  him  again,  letting  go  of  Jack's  cock  to  smooth  his  hand  along  Jack's  skin  again,
leaving smears of precum. Tearing away from Jack's mouth, he nibbled at his jaw and then slowly down
his  neck,  grunting  as  Jack's  nails  bit  into  his  skin.    He  worked  his  way  down  Jack's  torso,  sucking  and
biting and licking, lapping up the smears he'd left only moments before.

Jack ran his fingers over Allen's head, reminding him that his hair really was getting too long and needed
to go. Maybe he'd shave it later if he got a chance.  For the moment, however, his only interest was in
obeying the tacit order to suck Jack's cock. He loved when Jack got bossy. He was so quiet and still and
innocuous most of  the  time,  so  deceptively easy-going,  that  Allen  relished  when  he  let that  all  go  and
got demanding.

He pulled away long enough to find condoms in his duffle, and after a bit of impatient fumbling rolled
one down Jack's cock. He then bent to resume where he'd left off, wondering when or if he should ever
broach doing away with the condoms altogether. Jack thrust into his mouth, finger sliding over Allen's
scalp in search of a grip that would never be there, while Allen took him with ease, throat and tongue
working, pushing harder and harder as Jack swore and demanded and finally came. Allen swallowed him
down and slowly pulled off his cock, going easily when Jack tugged him up and took a deep kiss.

He grunted in surprise when Jack abruptly flipped them, but didn't complain in the slightest at the way
Jack's ass felt against his cock.  Jack got rid of his condom, throwing it in the bin they'd put right by the
bed, then leaned over him and fumbled beneath his pillow, coming out with the lube.  Allen reached for
the lube and glared when Jack held it out of reach. "I think you can just lay there and do as you're told,"
Jack said and slicked his own fingers, rising up on his knees to push them into his ass.

Allen moaned and tried to touch Jack himself, only to be given a warning look that said Jack could and
would be very mean if he didn't do as told. "You're kind of a jerk."

"Mm," Jack agreed and rolled the condom down Allen's cock, then held it and slowly sank down on it.
His skin was shiny with sweat, his hair sticking to his cheeks in a way that made Allen want to reach out
and push the curls aside and drag Jack down for more kisses.

Then Jack moved, making him moan, bracing his hands on Allen's chest as he began to ride him like he
was racing to meet a deadline. Allen grasped his hips and thrust up in time with his movements, driving
as  hard  as  he  could  into  Jack's  tight  heat.  He  finally  came  with  a  cry  that  no  doubt  pissed  off  their
neighbors and completely did not care. They slumped together on the bed, sweaty and sticky and sated,
and Allen kissed him softly, relishing the way Jack always kissed him back no matter what his mood.

Jack  yawned  and  flopped  onto  his  back,  come  drying  on  his  torso.  They  needed  to  shower,  if  only  so
they'd  be  ready  to  go  should  they  have  to  go  for  any  reason—having  to  bolt while  still  filthy  from sex
was,  to  say  the  least,  unpleasant—but  Allen  couldn't  bring  himself  to  move  just  yet.  "Sure  you  don't
want to do anything for Christmas Eve?" he asked.

"No,"  Jack  said.  "Our  luck,  we'll  just  get  into  a  firefight.    We  have  beer,  food,  peace,  and  quiet.  Your
mom even managed  to  send  us  gingersnaps."  Allen  nodded  and  let  it  go.  "I  am  sorry  about  your  car,"
Jack said, rolling over to lie alongside him, one hand settling on Allen's chest.

"I'll live," Allen said, even if he still wanted to find the bastard and run him over with his own pick-up.
"Shouldn't have had it brought here, anyway."

9 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

Jack laughed softly, but in that way that said he was already falling asleep. "It was a nice ride; we'll have
to get you another sometime." Allen smiled faintly, but didn't reply, simply let Jack drift off to sleep. It
was something they'd both gotten little enough of, lately, and they'd have to move on soon if they didn't
want to start getting shot at again. The contract might say double the price if Jack was taken alive, but
no one cared about Allen.

Thank  god  his  mother  was  tucked  away,  and  this  time  no  one  was  going  to  fucking  find  her,  or  he'd
really flip his shit. Allen waited until Jack started snoring softly, then slid away and went to get cleaned
up. Showered, he pulled on a worn pair of jeans and a green sweater his mother had given him for his
birthday.  He  preferred  his  suits:  it  was  the  way  his  father  had  always  dressed.  Jeans  and  a  sweater
would draw less attention than a man in a suit, however.

Pulling  on  his  coast  and  a  watch  cap,  he  tucked  his  guns  into  place,  then  finally  pulled  on  his  leather
gloves. He flexed his fingers, settling the gloves into place, grabbed up keys and wallet, and headed out.

The  chance  of  finding  a  Christmas  present  so  late  was  slim  to  none,  but  he  had  to  try.  His  family  had
never been much for holidays, but they'd always exchanged presents.  He drove to the main downtown
shopping district and parked on the street, shoving quarters into the meter before venturing off to the
shops.

Two  hours  later,  nothing  had  really  snagged  his  attention,  and  he  was  growing  increasingly  frustrated
with  all  the  other  shoppers.  He  didn't  like  crowds,  especially  when  someone  in  that  crowd  might  be
inclined to put a bullet in his back. Allen sighed and paused in front of a shop window that displayed a
saccharine  scene  of  Santa,  Mrs.  Clause,  and  a  dozen  children.  He  vaguely  remembered  malls  packed
with people eager to meet Santa, but that had never been something he'd taken part in; his parents had
used malls to train him on paying attention, on focusing and not getting distracted, on keeping his eye
on the target no matter what, and far more besides.

He walked on, lingering at another window that displayed a set of suits. The pinstripe especially caught
his eye, and Allen wished they could go home. He hadn't bought a new suit in forever, and his tailor was
probably  starting  to  think he'd  finally  managed to  get  himself  killed.  Allen  smiled  faintly, thinking  how
much hell he'd catch from Jack for having his own tailor.

The scuff of boots alerted him that someone was behind him, but the prickle along the back of his neck
was what told him he was fucked. Allen turned and pulled his gun all in one smooth move—and rolled
his eyes when he saw who it was holding a gun in his face.

"Hello, Sweet-tart."

"Hello, Shakespeare," Allen retorted and lowered his weapon.

"Don’t call me that."

"Don't call me Sweet-tart."

Laughing, the man lowered his gun, but didn't put it away. Allen eyed him warily, wondering what was
up, but hopeful it wasn't too awful since he was still alive.  Allen's father had started training him when

10 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

he was seven. Tybalt Azura had started his training as a private assassin for the Azura Syndicate when he
was  three.    He  barely  cleared  five  feet,  had  short,  spiky  black  hair,  and  the  trademark  azure  eyes.  He
looked like a punk-rock pixie, and people dreaded hearing his name.  "Long time no see, Sweet."

"Could have gone longer," Allen replied. "What the fuck do you want, Tybalt? I haven't done anything to
cross Azura, and I'm allowed on his turf. It was a legitimate hit. Why were you sent?"

"Because anyone else we sent out would have come back crying," Tybalt said congenially.  "Azura wants
you for a job."

Allen gestured sharply. "Not interested, and even if I was, you'd have to go through my handler. I know
you know I have one now, Tybalt."

"Mm, yes. Didn't believe it 'til I saw it, though. He's already in the limo."

"You son of a—"

"Ah, ah, ah," Tybalt said and lifted his gun again. "Your boy is fine, if likely to be a lot pissed off when he
wakes up. Get in the car, Sweet-tart."

Allen  obeyed,  but  only  because  he  knew  he  had  little  choice  in  the  matter.    He  climbed  into  the
ostentatious limo that pulled up the curb, rolling his eyes at the pointless melodrama. "I see your boss
still has a flair for the ridiculous."

Tybalt only  smirked  and  relaxed  back  against  the  soft  leather of  the  seat opposite  Allen.  Ignoring  him,
Allen moved to where Jack was slumped in a corner, gently checking him for injuries. "What did you do
to him?"

"He took a knock to the head; he'll be fine," Tybalt said. "I have to admit, I didn't believe the rumors that
you'd  found  Marcus  Brighton  and  taken  him  as  your  handler.  He's  damn  near  a  fucking  urban  legend,
but there he sits, pretty as you please. Where the fuck did you find him?"

Allen sat back, though he left a hand wrapped loosely around Jack's arm. "He found me and decided to
stick around."

"You do know what the contract on him is, right?"

"I find it funny, Shakespeare, that after all this time you still think I'm a fucking idiot. Yes, I know what
the contract is on him. If even one of you attempts anything—"

Tybalt cut him off with a laugh. "We have better things to do with our time than help the Brighton family
with revenge. If anything, we owe Marcus our thanks."

"The  name  is  Jack,  you  fuckwit,"  Jack  said,  voice  groggy,  but  the  anger  in  it  sharp.  "Who  the  hell  are
you?"

"I work for Azura," Tybalt replied.

11 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

Jack eyed him speculatively then grunted. "You're the one they call Mercutio or whatever."

"Everyone's a comedian," Tybalt said with a sigh. "We're here. Try to behave; I don't like to shoot people
on Christmas Eve."

Squeezing  Jack's  arm  lightly  when  he  heard  him  draw  breath  to  make  a  retort  to  that,  Allen  followed
Tybalt out of the limo, Jack close behind. Tybalt led them into a skyscraper fronted entirely with glass.
Neon  light  spelled  out  Azura  Corp  over  the  entrance.  Inside,  the  lobby  was  quiet,  save  for  the  two
guards on duty. They didn't look like cheap rent-a-cops.

Reaching the elevators, Tybalt led them inside one, then pulled a key from around his neck and fit it to
the  control  panel.  He  turned  it  and  then  pushed  a  button  for  the  top  floor.  The  rode  up  to  the
penthouse in silence, though Allen could see Jack was dying to say something.

He  almost  smiled  at  the  way  Jack  looked  pissed  off  and  not  much  else.  It  really  and  truly  struck  him,
then, just what Jack could have—should have—been. If he hadn't helped get his entire family arrested,
along  with  more  than  half  the  people  who  had  worked  for  them,  he  would  have  been  Azura's  equal.
Brighton  had  never  been  quite  as  large  or  powerful  as  Azura,  but  they'd  been  close.  Jack  had  walked
away from that life, but he still carried traces of it.

The elevator chimed softly, and as the doors slid open, Tybalt led them through the main living area of
the penthouse and halfway down the hallway where he rapped on a door before pushing it open. Inside
the room were two other men:  one seated behind the desk, the other perched on the edge of the desk
next to the first.

"You found them rather quickly, Tybs," said the man sitting on the desk, sliding off and turning around.
He was pretty as fuck, like some sort of dark-haired, dark-eyed, sultry wet dream with a husky voice to
match. Allen had never met the man, but he knew him anyway.  Only Mickey, Azura's right hand, would
sit that close and that casually, and everyone who met Mickey said he was beauty enough to tempt the
straightest, the most faithful, and even the dead. Pretty as he was, he couldn't compare to Jack. Allen
glanced  at  Jack,  smiling  faintly  at  the  way  he  continued  to  look  only  extremely  pissed  and  thoroughly
unimpressed.

Tybalt  closed  the  door  then  moved  to  stand  by  the  floor-to-ceiling  windows,  leaning  casually  against
them, gun still held in one hand. "Wasn’t hard. Allen isn't a drama queen, like some of them. I'd watch
Marcus—I mean Jack—though; he's a little bitchy."

Jack ignored him, attention focused on the man behind the desk. He was dressed in a black suit with a
blue tie that brought out the famous azure color of his eyes, all the more stark for the white-blonde of
his hair. "What the fuck do you want, Azura?"

Azura leaned back in his seat, looking amused. "I have a job for you."

"Not interested," Jack said flatly. "We're off the clock 'til after New Year's. Get one of your own errand
bitches."

"My men would be recognized, and your man comes highly recommended."

12 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

Jack  shrugged.  "The  answer  is  still  no.  We  don't  need  your  money,  and  we  haven't  done  anything
wrong."

"Oh, no, three murders is perfectly acceptable," Azura replied dryly. "You seem to forget that there is a
rather ridiculous sum of money on your head. There is nothing you can do about it should I care to turn
you in."

Jack laughed. "Spare me the threats. The only way you're taking me anywhere else tonight is dead, and
that would upset your plans. We're not interested in your job."

"Not even with what I can pay?"

"There isn't enough money in the world to make me agree to tangle with you."

Azura  smirked,  and  Allen  felt  a  chill  because  no one ever  smiled  like  that  unless  they  knew  they  were
going in for the kill. "Money, no. I would not insult you by offering money. What I can offer is a counter
to that contract on your head."

"Bullshit," Jack said. But Allen could tell from the slight tensing of his shoulders that he knew Azura was
right:    if  Azura  put  out word  that  Jack  wasn't  to  be  touched or  else,  then  people  would  back  off.    The
only man willing to go toe-to-toe with Azura was a crime lord called the Emperor because nobody knew
who the fuck he was, not even Azura. "We work independently. We're not falling in with you or anyone
else."

If the contract was cancelled, they could go home. Allen's stomach knotted at the idea of being owned
by Azura—which was what taking the job would amount to—but they would be able to relax slightly and
not worry about the day they finally got hit, and  he could finally take Jack home. "What's the job?" Allen
asked before Jack could argue further.

"It doesn't matter," Jack said flatly. "I’m not agreeing to anything that binds us to the Azura's generosity.
It's unreliable."

"That's  laughable  coming  from  the  most  famous  turncoat  still  breathing,"  Azura  said.  "It's  a  straight
delivery. No muss, no fuss. Take the package to an address I'll give you, see it makes it directly into the
hands  of  the  recipient.  After  that,  you're  free  and  clear;  I'll  see  to  it  no  one  dares  go  anywhere  near
you."

Jack started to speak, but Allen cut him off. "Fine. I'll do it. But if you betray us, Azura, Romeo and Juliet
here won't be enough to save you."

Silent until then, Mickey snorted and said, "Juliet. Like I've never heard that before. Come on, then, I'll
take you to the package and tell you what to do."

Allen followed him out, Jack on his heels, and he just knew he was in for a world of hurt the moment
they  were  alone.  Mickey  led  them  back  into  the  main  living  area,  over  to  a  wide  leather  couch,  and
picked up a small animal carrier that had been tucked out of sight under a side table. Inside, Allen saw,
was a small gray kitten. "That's a joke, right?"

13 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

Mickey laughed. "Not even a little bit. It's a message, and you're going to deliver it to this address." He
handed Jack a business card, then held out the carrier for Allen to take. "Any questions, you've got my
number  there  as  well.  Pleasure  doing  business,  gentlemen."  Mickey  walked  off,  leaving  them  alone  in
the living room.

Jack  sighed  and  strode  to  the  elevator,  slumping  in  a  back  corner  as  they  rode  down.    He  didn't  say
anything as they climbed back into the limo, simply stared out the window. By the time they got back to
their  shabby  motel  room,  Allen  wanted  to  scream  just  to  break  the  tension.  He  waited  until  the  door
closed and he'd set the stupid kitten down, then said, "Why are you so pissed off?"

"Because  I  was  working  hard  to  ensure  we  didn't  wind  up  in  Azura's  pocket!"  Jack  snapped.  "Are  you
crazy? Why the hell did you agree to it?"

"There wasn't exactly a way out of it," Allen replied.

Jack  looked  as  though  he  wanted  to  hit  something.  "We'll  never  know  now,  will  we?  What  in  the  hell
were you thinking? I'm your goddamn handler, so let me handle it!"

"I  was  thinking  that  it  might  be  nice  not  to  have  a  price  on  your  head!"  Allen  snarled  back.  "I  was
thinking it would be nice to go home and be able to take you with me without worrying about people
coming  after  us  there!  I  was  thinking  it  would  be  nice  to  see  you  relax,  even  if  that  means  I  have  to
surrender my independence and live in Azura's pocket."

Allen  didn't  wait  for  a  reply,  just  went  around  the  room  gathering  up  what  little of  his  belongings  had
scattered, then hauled his duffle bag and the damn kitten out to the truck, Jack close on his heels. He
was  completely  unsurprised  that  Azura's  men  had  returned  the  truck  to  the  motel.  His  first  order  of
business would definitely be new wheels.

He  settled  everything  in  the  back  seat,  eying  the  kitten  critically,  but  it  was either  the  calmest  fucking
feline  to ever exist, or  it  had  been  sedated.  Either  way,  it  looked  content  enough,  and  there  was  food
and shit in there.  Allen sighed, wondering how the hell he'd gotten into this mess. He was independent.
He didn't deliver things that breathed. He only worked for money. Of course, he'd always made a point
of working alone, as well. Simple rules, easy to follow.

Until his mother's delivery boy had calmly taken a bullet grazing and kept rolling with the punches ever
since.

Man, his father hadn't lied. Getting attached fucked up everything, and he couldn't even really be upset
about  it.  Suddenly  he  understood  his  father  a  whole  better,  and  why  he'd  never  killed  his  trouble-
attracting  wife.  Allen  would  keep  Jack  around  until  Jack  no  longer  wanted  him,  and  he  would  do
whatever necessary to keep Jack wanting him.

Jack  was  the  ballsiest  son  of  a  bitch  Allen  had  ever  met  and  didn't  even  seem  aware  of  it.  Allen
wondered how different life would have been if Jack were still Marcus, but was glad they'd never know.
Marcus would  probably  have  had  nothing  to  do with  him;  Jack  was  all  his,  at  least  for  the  time  being.
"Are you staying or going?" he asked gruffly.

14 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

"What the fuck am I supposed to do if I stay? Watch whatever the hell they show on late night TV? Or
one  of  those  godforsaken  Christmas  movies.  No,  thank  you.  Anyway,  someone  has  to  keep  you  alive
since you seem hellbent on getting yourself dead."

"Strictly speaking, you're the one with a price on his head," Allen said, smiling faintly.

"Not now that you've sold yourself to Azura," Jack said sourly and climbed into the truck.

Allen's  smile  faded,  and  anxiety  began  to  gnaw  at  his  gut  again.  Shoving  it  aside  for  the  moment,  he
climbed  into  the  truck  and  started  it  up,  driving  away  from  the  motel  in  silence.  He  thought  about
messing with the radio, but something told him to leave well enough alone until Jack broke the silence.

"What  the  fuck  were  you  doing  out,  anyway?"  Jack  asked.  "I  woke  up  expecting  a  round  two  and
thinking  maybe  we'd  go  out  after  all  since  it  seemed  to  mean  that  much  to  you,  and  I  find  the  room
empty. You didn't even leave a fucking note."

"Sorry," Allen said, startled that Jack would have gone out after all, and his mood vastly improved with
just  those  few  words.  "I  thought  I'd  be  back  before  you  woke,  sacked  out  as  you  were,  and  I  thought
you'd be safe enough for a couple of hours."

Jack sighed. "You still aren't answering my question."

Allen tightened his hands on the steering wheel and focused on getting past a particularly slick stretch of
road before he finally muttered, "I was trying to find you a Christmas present."

There was silence for a long stretch before Jack finally said, "You're an idiot."

Sighing himself, Allen said, "Where the hell are we going anyway?"

Jack looked down at his phone where he'd been pulling up directions and information the entire time.
"About  five  hours  north  to  an  address  that  is,  quite  literally,  in  the  middle  of  fuck  nowhere.  House
belongs to Xavier Lord, Vice President of Lord Enterprises. I don't even want to know what kind of stupid
ass message Azura is sending by giving this guy a goddamn kitten."

Allen grunted in agreement as he headed for the highway.

"You don't have to get me a present, you know," Jack said quietly. "I really don't give a damn. Holidays
were just a source of additional tension for me."

"You  have  seemed  tense  lately,"  Allen  replied,  gripping  the  wheel  tightly.  He  didn't  like  talking,
especially when there was so much at stake. Give him a carefully worded deal to rob or kill a man any
day.

Jack didn't reply, simply turned to mess around in the backseat, and only a protesting squeak told Allen
what he was doing—and sure enough, a moment later, Jack turned back around holding the kitten.  "It's
kind of ugly. I thought all kittens were supposed to be cute."

Allen glanced at it briefly, reluctant to take his eyes off the shitty road. "It looks like dryer lint."

15 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

The kitten mewed in protest, and Jack laughed. "I think you are the least ominous message ever sent out
by a crime lord, dryer lint. My father was old-fashioned; he went for fingers and ears and shit. Getting
him to try something new was like pulling teeth, except, well, he was okay with pulling teeth." He shook
his head and settled the kitten in his lap, where it fussed for a few minutes, then curled up and went to
sleep.  "He  never  would modernize,  no matter  how many  times  I  showed  him the  efficacy  of  an  image
sent directly to someone's phone or email."

"Doesn't surprise me," Allen replied. "Brighton was known for his old-school methods. Out of style, but
still effective. No one ever got close to bringing him down. It blew everyone away when you toppled his
entire empire like a house of cards."

Jack  shrugged.  "It  wasn't  quite  that  easy,  but  I  did  have a  few  advantages.  I'm not the only  one  who's
been tense lately."

Allen winced inwardly; he should have known Jack would go right back to that the moment it slipped his
mind. "I'm only tense because you're tense." He didn't have to look to know Jack was rolling his eyes.
"Well, it's true. You've been—" Fucking miserable and bitchy as hell, he thought, but only finished, "Out
of sorts since we left Nashville a couple months back. I figured you were sick of it all. Can't imagine it's
much fun going back to getting shot at after having an ordinary life."

"I didn't know how to handle ordinary," Jack replied. "I was getting bored and fed up. Not to say I like
getting shot at …" He drifted off. "You're the one in danger by keeping me as your handler.  If anyone is
sick of anything, it's you—"

"I'm not!" Allen burst out, accidentally jerking the wheel. He swore and corrected, then moved into the
slow lane and forced himself to relax a bit. "Anyway, if we do this stupid job, you're free and clear."

"Only by putting you at Azura's beck and call," Jack said sourly. "I could have gotten us out of it if you
had  given  me  half  a  fucking  chance.  I  don't  see  how  we  accomplish  anything  trading  my  freedom  for
yours."

"At least this way there's no bullets coming at us or a car waiting to explode."

Jack's tone of voice said he was rolling his eyes again. "No one has tried to blow us up, yet. I'm worth
more  alive  than  dead.  My  father  wants  to  put  the  bullet  between  my  eyes  himself,  though  how  he
intends to do that from maximum security I couldn't tell you."

Allen  did  not  bother  to  mention  the  day  he  had,  in  fact,  deactivated  a  rigged  car.  He  supposed  some
were willing to settle for the 'dead' part of the contract. "I doubt Azura will have much use for me, not
when  he  has  Tybalt,  and  a  score  of  other  men  nearly  as  talented,  at  his  beck  and  call.  Whatever  his
game, I'll play it for now and no doubt you can get us out of it later."

"Mm," Jack said and put the kitten back in its carrier. "What we need is leverage, but I have no idea why
Azura would be targeting Lord Enterprises. Everyone knows that company is on the straight and narrow;
it's almost obscene how squeaky clean it is.  Did you know we're being followed?" he added abruptly.

16 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

"Kind  of  hard  to  miss  that  ugly  ass  Civic,"  Allen  replied.  "Rental  plates,  probably  stole  the  car  from
tourists. Wonder how they were put on to us so fast."

Jack  made  a  face,  slumping  in  his  seat  as  though  bored  and  putting  his  hand  even  closer  to  the  gun
tucked away just out of sight. Allen wondered idly when he'd put it there, but didn't bother to ask. "They
could  be  after  us  for  the  Waterstone  job.  Figuring  out  we  were  in  this  pick-up  wouldn't  be  hard.  I'm
surprised you haven't ditched it already."

"Hasn't been a chance. We could trade with them."

"Do it," Jack said. Allen took the next exit off the highway and bypassed all the brightly lit diners and gas
stations  until  he  found  a  deserted  parking  lot  in  front  of  a  shutdown  K-mart.  There  was  nothing  else
around for a few blocks except more deserted buildings, and it only took a couple of well-thrown rocks
to get rid of the two already-flickering streetlights.

The Honda Civic didn't show immediately, probably because they could smell the trap, but if they were
that easily spotted then they were also either amateurs or lazy, so Allen only had to wait. Ten minutes
later,  the  car  pulled  into  the  lot,  and  three  men  slowly  climbed  out.  In  the  truck,  Jack  turned  the
headlights  back  on,  blinding  all  three  of  them.  Allen  drew  his  gun  and  said,  "You're  a  little  tall  to  be
Santa's little helpers, so tell me what you want before I give the local law enforcement your bodies as a
Christmas present."

"Fuck off, Sweet. We just want the goddamn cat and then we're gone. Don't make us shoot you, cause
those weren't our orders, but we weren't exactly told not to shoot you, either."

Allen sighed. "Who the fuck is so cheap he'd hire the three of you?"

"Why do you know everybody?" Jack demanded. "I thought I was the former big name criminal with all
the ins, but you flirt with half the people we come across and threaten to maim the other half."

"I don't flirt with anyone, but you," Allen replied. "Don't even think about, Stevie. You keep your hands
where I can see them, all three of you. Azura is paying me handsomely to deliver the cat, and if whoever
the fuck you're working for wants it, he'll have to try harder than you."

"Oh, fuck you," one of the men muttered.

Allen  smirked.  "I'm  not  into  girls."  The  man  flipped  him  off,  and  Allen  asked,  "Who  the  fuck  are  you
working for?"

"Someone I don't want to piss off," another man said. "Look, just give us the damn cat."

In reply, Allen shot out the tires in the pick-up, making the men scramble and jump as they thought, at
first, that he was shooting at them.  Before they could get their guns out, Jack was on them, persuading
them to their knees with his own weapons. "Who the fuck are these clowns?"

"Low  grade  thugs,"  Allen  replied.  "They're  just  here  as  scouts.  We'll  get  heavier  gauge  thugs  later,  I'd
imagine.  Who  the  fuck  are  you  working  for,  Stevie?"  he  asked  the  man  who  served  as  a  sort-of
ringleader for the trio.

17 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

Stevie  glared  sullenly  in  the  sharp  glow  of  the  headlights,  but  after  a  moment,  petulantly  said,
"Emperor."

Jack  sighed  and  clubbed  the  nearest  guy  on  the  back  of  the  head,  and  Allen  made  short  work  of  the
other two then slowly drug them all into the pick-up.  He retrieved the kitten and their belongings then
trudged  over  to  the  Civic.  Settling  the  kitten  in  the  back,  he  climbed  into  the  passenger  seat  as  Allen
started the car. "First Azura, now the Emperor," Allen said. "I might have known this would involve the
Emperor."

"We  are  right  smack  in  the  middle  of  a  pissing  contest,"  Jack  said  sourly.  "Getting  in  between  the
Emperor and the Azura is tantamount to suicide. Why a fucking kitten?"

"I  doubt  we'll  ever  know,"  Allen  said  and  headed  back  toward  the  highway.  "We've  got  four  hours  of
driving  left,  not  including  stopping  to  deal  with  whoever  comes  after  us  next.  Luckily  the  highway  is
pretty deserted, so spotting tails isn't going to be a problem."

"I'm  more  concerned  with  how  they're  finding  us."  Jack  scowled  at  the  dash,  then  turned  around  and
once  more  took  the  kitten  out  of  its  carrier.  He  examined  it  carefully,  removing  its  little  collar  and
examining that as well. Satisfied both were clean, he set the kitten on the floor at his feet and examined
the carrier itself. "Aha," he said and displayed the tracking device placed on the bottom of the food dish.

Allen rolled his eyes. "What are we really doing?"

"Drawing out backstabbers, I think," Jack said thoughtfully. "It's the kind of scheme I've used before. Tell
the  suspected  rat  something,  let  him  think  several  other  people  know,  see  what  happens.  If  it  goes
south, you definitely have a rat. I still don't get the cat."

"I don't want to get the cat."

Jack  laughed,  and  Allen  smiled  back,  unable  not  to.    Reaching  down,  Jack  scooped  the  kitten  up  and
tucked it back into the carrier, sliding the tracking device into the pocket of his jeans. "Let's stop for a
bite to eat, see if we can't attract some trouble, hmm? Better if we draw the trouble in and control the
situation than get taken by surprise."

"You  got  it,"  Allen  said  and  pulled  off  at  the  next  stop  that  promised  a  diner  that  would  be  open.
Everything else might be shut down on Christmas Eve, but he could always count on Waffle House. They
pulled into the parking lot, and he made note of all the cars there, particularly of a fairly new BMW that
was glaringly out of place and would probably be a much sweeter ride than the stupid pick-up.

"Sometimes I think you would leave me for some car in a moment," Jack commented lightly, but there
was an edge to his voice that Allen suspected wouldn't have been there if they weren't both so tired and
strung out.

Allen snorted and habitually checked for his weapons as they walked towards the diner. "If anyone else
had  told  me  not  to  hurt  that  son  of  a  bitch  for  destroying  my  Bentley,  I  would  have  ignored  him.  If  I
wanted my cars more than you, I'd already be at home." He pushed the door open and breathed a sigh
of relief as warmth and the smell of cheap, but filling food washed over him. Grabbing a booth right by

18 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

the grill area, he sat down and smiled at the tired waitress who came up. "Coffee, please, and a waffle
with scrambled eggs and bacon. Thanks."

"Coffee,  pancakes,  all  the  rest  the  same,"  Jack  added  and  gave  the  woman  his  sunniest  smile.  "Merry
Christmas."

"Same to you, hun," she said, smiling back, and poured them coffee before going to put in their orders.

When she'd gone, Jack said, "So how long you figure until someone else tries to hit us?"

"Oh,  I'd  say  an  hour  at  most  from  the  time  we  left  Stevie  and  the  others  to  their  stupidity.    So  thirty
minutes, tops.  Do you think that kitten is okay?"

"It's  got  fur,  it's  fine,"  Jack  replied.  "The  car  will  stay  pretty  warm  for  a  bit,  anyway,  and  there  was  a
blanket in there. What is this about a house? It's the second time—" He broke off when Allen's phone
began to ring.

Allen  heaved  a  sigh,  recognizing  the  ringtone,  and  pulled  his  phone  out  of  his  jacket  pocket.  Not
bothering to look at the display, he hit receive and put the phone to his ear. "Hi, mom."

"Hello, sweetie. Merry Christmas."

"Have you finally gone senile?" Allen asked. "Since when you do ever call to say Merry Christmas? Is this
some code you forgot to tell me about?"

She sniffed in offense. "What has your panties all bunched up? Jack mad at you and not putting out?"

"Mom!"

"Never got him a present, hmm? Well, that's all right, I'm sure he'll forgive you. He's a good boy." She
left off the 'unlike you,' but it hung there anyway, and Allen rolled his eyes again. "Well, I hope you boys
are enjoying your night and not running around causing trouble. Your father and I—"

Allen  tuned  her  out  as  she  rambled  on  with  her  usual  stories  for  that  time  of  year,  setting  the  phone
down and stealing a few bites of waffle. He scooped the phone back up after a couple of minutes and
said, "Yes, I remember Aruba, mother. It's hard to forget the time one had to bolt down a hallway naked
because one's mother—no, I am not ever forgiving you for that. The girls laughed mom."

"You're too much like your father," she said, trying to be stern, but she couldn't keep the fondness from
her voice. "Well, I just wanted to call and make certain you boys were okay. You should come visit once
the heat is off; I'll make you gingersnaps and tea."

"You got it, mom. Try not to get arrested before then," Allen said. "Enjoy the holidays with Veronica."

"Love you, sweetie. And give my love to Jack, too. Bye now."

"Love you too, mom. Bye." He hung up the phone and pointed his fork at Jack. "Stop cozying up to my
mom. Nobody likes a kiss-ass son-in-law."

19 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

Jack smirked. "In-law, is it? I don't remember a ceremony."

"Thank  god  there  hasn't  been  one  because  god  only  knows  what  my  mother  would  do  with  it,"  Allen
retorted.  "She'd  invite  all kinds  of  people  in our  world,  many  of  whom  prefer  to  stay  several  states or
even countries apart, and it would be all kinds of awkward."

"I  don't  remember  a  single  wedding  that  wasn't  awkward,  and  I  can  recall  at  least  two  that  involved
bodies," Jack said, tilting his head thoughtfully. "I really don't like weddings. I hope we're not going to
have a formal ceremony."

Allen snorted. "At the rate we're going, we'd be shot or arrested before we made it to the wedding. Shut
up and eat your damned pancakes."

Laughing, Jack obeyed—for about two minutes. "So what was your crack at the hotel about taking me
home?  You  mentioned  something  just  a  few  minutes  ago,  too.  I  didn't  know  you  had  a  home.
Permanent location is kind of dangerous."

"Yeah, but hotels and cars get old, even with cars as nice as mine." Allen finished his waffle and started
on  his  eggs,  finishing  a  bite  before  he  replied,  "Anyway,  it's  in  the  middle  of  fuck-nowhere  New  York.
Even my mother doesn't have the address, though I'm sure she's figured it out and just isn't telling me.
It's not much, and my cars are actually stored several hours away in a real city—that's where I had the
Bentley delivered from—but it's home, and I have all I need near to hand."

Jack snorted over his coffee cup. "So where do you get your fancy threads?"

Allen rolled his eyes. "I knew you'd go straight to that."

"Fess up."

"I have a tailor; he used to work in New York City—"

"You're ridiculous."

"But well-dressed," Allen replied stiffly.

Jack  just  snickered  and  flagged  down  their  waitress  for  more  coffee.  His  eyes  snapped  to  the  bank  of
windows  to  his  left.  "What  sort  of  guys  roll  up  in  a  jag  this  time  of  night?  Do  any  of  you  do  subtle
anymore?"

"The Emperor doesn't hire subtle," Allen said. "You should know that. Guys like him and Azura, they're
untouchable and being flashy is just their way of reminding everyone of that." He sneered at the three
men stepped inside, dressed in cheap, rumpled suits that didn't really hide their shoulder holsters well
at all. "I guess they don't need taste either. Where did they buy those?"

Rolling his eyes, Jack sipped his coffee and relaxed back in his seat, the very definition of indolent.  Allen
didn't reach for the gun on the seat beside him, but he shifted slightly so it would all the easier to do
later  if  necessary,  though  he  was  in  no  hurry  to  draw  that  kind  of  attention.    The  men  reached  their

20 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

booth, and the foremost, with a goatee that made him look he'd rather be a crack-addled rockstar, said,
"Good evening, gentlemen."

Jack smiled in that too-pleasant way of his that made Allen grateful Jack liked him. Anyone who thought
the pleasantness was genuine deserved what was coming to him. "Merry Christmas. To what do we owe
the dubious pleasure of your company?"

"Cut the bullshit, Brighton."

"The name is Jack, and if you don't use it, you'll be saying it in soprano," Jack said, voice still pleasant.
"Would you care to sit? You're making the wait staff nervous, looming like that, and none of us wants
attention."

Goatee jerked his head at the other two, then grabbed a chair and sat at the edge of the booth, lightly
touching  his  jacket  as  though  warning  them  he  had  a  weapon.  Allen  almost  rolled  his  eyes,  but  when
Jack handled a conversation, he usually stayed out of it. He wasn't going to get himself in hot water by
interfering twice in one night.

He wondered how the hell his father had ever put up with his mother's doing all the talking, and how
often  he'd  been  in  hot  water  when  he  hadn't.  It  would  have  made  him  smile  if  he  hadn't  needed  to
concentrate on the conversation at hand.  "I'm surprised you didn't just smash and grab the car," Jack
said congenially. "We can see the Civic from here, but you could have grabbed and gone before we even
got outside to stop you. Very sloppy, gentlemen."

"Fuck off, Jack, we know you have it in here."

Jack  smirked  and  fished  out  the  tracking  device  in  his  pocket,  casually  dropping  it  on  the  table.  "You
mean you know we have this in here? How stupid does the Emperor think we are? Then again, he did
hire you, so his opinion of grunts in general must be pretty low. Allen, we're leaving."

He stood up, and when one of the guys tried to grab him, shoved him away and strode off. When the
guy tried to go after him, the sudden sharp bark of, "Is there a problem here?" from the cook drew him
up short.

Allen  grunted  and  rose,  throwing  cash  on  the  table.  He  made  a  face,  annoyed  that  he  wouldn't  get  a
chance  to  steal  the  keys  for  the  BMW  from  the  guy  in  the  corner  immersed  in  his  laptop.    He  waited
until  they  were  just  out  of  sight  of  the  half-dozen  people  in  the  Waffle  House,  acting  a  split-second
before the other guys, shoving one and causing him to lose his footing in the snow and hit the ground
with  an  ominous crack where  his  head  hit  the  pavement.   The  other  guy tried  to  pull  a  gun,  but  Allen
broke his nose with a well-placed fist, then shoved him into the side of the Jaguar and clubbed the back
of his head with the butt of his own pistol.

By the time he'd dealt with that, Jack had the third guy out cold as well. "Merry fucking Christmas," Jack
said with a sigh.  "Do something with them; I'm calling Mickey."

Grunting,  Allen  obeyed,  stuffing  the  men  in  their  car  and  binding  them  to  ensure  they  wouldn't  be
following any time soon. Then he flattened the tires to ensure they definitely wouldn’t be following any
time soon.

21 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

Flexing his cold fingers in their leather gloves, he returned to the Civic where Jack was standing by it, lost
in  conversation.    A  minute  later,  he  snapped  his  phone  shut  and  shoved  it  back  in  his  pocket.  "I  was
right;  we're  rooting  out  a  traitor.  That's  why  they  wanted  outsiders,  pulled  last  minute,  for  the  job.  I
didn't ask why a cat; I assume it's Azura's idea of a joke."

"Probably. So do they have their traitor?"

"Yeah," Jack said, blowing out an irritated breath. "Mickey said we shouldn't have any more trouble, to
make  the  delivery  and  then  do  whatever  the  fuck  we  want.  Text  him  when  it's  done,  and  forty-eight
hours later the contract on me is gone."

Allen smiled. "Then let's go drop off the damn cat."

"And hope that in forty-eight hours Azura isn't calling us to do something else for him," Jack said with a
sigh.

"Don't answer the phone," Allen replied. "That'll slow him down a bit." He reached out and tugged Jack
close. "Hi."

"Shut  up,"  Jack  said  and  kissed  him  briefly  before  pulling  away  and  moving  around  the  car  to  the
passenger side. "Are we keeping this car, or did you want to steal the BMW?"

Allen shrugged. "This'll do for now. I'll grab a better ride a little later. We've got three and a half hours,
barring  further  stops."  Starting  the  car,  he  pulled  out  of  the  Waffle  House  lot  and  headed  for  the
highway.

By the time they reached their destination, he was ready for caffeine or a nap that lasted until the new
year.  Allen yawned  blearily  and  stared through  blurred  eyes  at the obscenely over-the-top mansion  in
front of him. The guard—who the fuck was mean enough to have a guard stationed at this poncy place
on Christmas day?—had waved them through after they had flourished the kitten and said it was a gift.
After that, Allen decided they must have had nothing better to do with such a stupid guard.

He  drove  up  the  long  driveway  until  it  horseshoed  in  front  of  the  house  itself,  parking  in  front  of  the
stairs that led up to the door. Climbing out, he checked his guns, stretched to work the kinks out, then
walked around the car to join Jack.  Holding the carrier still containing the kitten, Jack led the way up the
stairs.  Allen  strode  up  to  the  door  and  knocked,  then  glanced  at  his  watch,  unable  to  believe  it  was
seriously almost three in the goddamn morning. He was way past too old for this shit.

The door opened to an honest to fucking god butler, and it took all the self-control he had left not to roll
his eyes. "We have a package for Xavier Lord."

Silence met his words as the butler gave them both a thorough up and down inspection, then gave Allen
a look that said they had come up wanting. "Master Lord is indisposed. If you leave the package—"

Allen pulled out his gun and leveled it in the butler's face, his patience exhausted. There was no way he
would  actually  shoot  some  doddering  old  fool  just  for  doing  his  job,  but  he  wasn't  above  threatening
after being awake for entirely too long, frozen half-to-death, and really fucking tired of mewling kittens

22 | Megan Derr – The Christmas Package

and ego-tripping mobsters. "You are not Xavier Lord, gramps. I was told to give it to him directly. If he's
indisposed, we'll wait. Get him or show us to where we can wait."

"There's  no  need  for  dramatics,"  a  dry  voice  said,  and  then  a  magazine-pretty  man  of  thirty  or  so
appeared in the doorway, resting one hand lightly on the butler's shoulder. "Go back to your tea, Tony.
I'll take care of our guests."

"Yes, Master Lord," Tony replied and after giving them one last affronted look, departed.

Allen lowered the gun, but didn't put it away. "Do I have the dubious honor of meeting Xavier Lord?"

"Yeah," Xavier replied. "Who the hell are you?"

Jack stepped forward. "Special delivery for you. Prove you're Xavier Lord."

Looking amused, Xavier reached into the back pocket of his designer jeans and pulled out a fancy leather
wallet. He fetched out his driver's license and flipped it to Allen, who caught it neatly and looked it over.
"It's him." He handed the ID back, and Jack stepped closer to thrust the carrier at him.

"Enjoy," Jack said, then turned and walked off.

Allen tugged at his watch cap. "It's been a pleasure, Master Lord. Do take care of that cat."

"I will," Xavier replied. "Thanks for bringing him to me. Merry Christmas."

"The same to you," Allen replied and tucked his gun away, then strode off back to the car and climbed
into the passenger seat as Jack started up the car.  He cranked up the heat and slid the seat back as far
as he could, making a futile effort to get comfortable in the small car. "I really can't wait to get home,
but it's hours and hours away yet." He sighed.

Jack made a soft noise of agreement, but didn't reply until they'd hit a clearer main road. "There was a
decent  looking  hotel  a  few  miles  north.    We  could  crash  for  a  day  or  two,  wait  until  the  contract  is
definitely cancelled, then … go home?"

He sounded so hesitant, Allen opened his eyes. Jack always paid careful attention to the road, but not
that much. It was rare he actually saw Jack look nervous. He smiled. "Home sounds good, but if I show
you where I live, I'll have to kill you if you break up with me."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jack said, "but I wouldn't worry too much. Even if you didn't get me a Christmas
present."

"Yeah,  yeah,"  Allen  said  cheerfully  and  stole  a  kiss  at  a  red  light,  then  settled  back  to  doze  until  they
reached the hotel.

Fin