Sequel to Sins of the Father
Kael Saunders, MI6 specialist operative and leather Daddy, has been living with Angel Button, his sub, for two years in a loving D/s relationship. Angel has been waiting for the time when he too can join MI6, knowing his sniper skills make him a valuable asset to the organization. Kael loves to kill, it gives him an adrenalin rush, but Angel is certain his Daddy only eliminates those who pose a threat to national security, which is what Angel wants to do. Naïve and idealistic, Angel wants to make the world a better place.
But Angel’s beliefs are sorely tested, leaving him unsure if he wants to be an MI6 agent after all. When Kael is given an assignment in Cornwall, he takes Angel with him so they can have a weekend away. Angel finds out about the mission and the target and is left wondering if his Daddy is really the hero he thinks he is, placing their relationship in jeopardy.
The thick door to the bunker swung open, revealing a man whose eyebrows shot up questioningly when he saw Kael. He had never seen the man before but assumed he was one of the chief’s lackeys. “Were you expected, Mr. Saunders?” Obviously the man knew him.
Conran spoke up. “No, but he wants a word with the chief.”
“Fuck off,” Kael said to the man. He took Conran by the arm and led him into the bunker.
As surprised as his lackey, Ronald Dansinger stood up at the sight of Kael shoving Conran into the room. With a slight motion of his head, the chief ordered the other man from the room. “What’s going on?” he asked when they were alone.
“I don’t need to see a psychiatrist, and I want to get back in the field,” Kael said, releasing Conran’s arm so abruptly that the man stumbled.
Dansinger sat down again in the large comfortable chair at the head of the long oval table. “Take a seat.”
“If I take a seat, I’ll throw it at you.”
“I apologize, chief,” Conran said, moving closer to his superior. “I had nothing to do with this. Saunders is angry, and he followed me here.”
“How did he know you were coming here, Conran?”
Without missing a beat, Conran said, “I come here every day, so it was a reasonable assumption. Saunders accosted me outside my home this morning demanding that I lift the order that he be assessed by Dr. Reynolds. I told him this was your decision, and he decided to come here to confront you -- with or without me.”
“Sit down, both of you,” Dansinger ordered.
Conran sat beside the chief, and Kael grabbed a chair by its back and brought it as close to Conran as he could get before throwing himself down in it. The point of his proximity was to make Conran realize that he must support Kael in this. He knew also that Conran’s merely being close to his Master aroused him, which Kael found amusing. It must be that pheromone thing Angel had told him about.
“Saunders, you killed a man outside the confines of your prescribed work,” the chief said.
“So,” Kael said like a spoiled child.
“You can’t just go rogue whenever you feel like it. Aside from that, you know perfectly well that you’re required to see Reynolds at regular intervals.
“I hate to be the one to break this to you, Saunders, but despite how brilliant you are and how very good you are at your job, you are not special, and all the same rules that the rest of us live under apply to you as well.”
Kael rose slowly, his gaze riveted on Dansinger, while in his excellent peripheral vision he saw Conran hunker down lower in his chair. “I am special!” he bellowed. “And if you don’t think so, then fire me. I’ll show you what going rogue means. I’ll set myself up as a mercenary. I’ll work for the highest bidder in any country I feel like working in.” Actually, he’d do no such thing. Even he had some morals. If he ceased working for MI6, he’d go to work as a translator in the private sector, but like most people Dansinger would assume he meant it.
His sneer broadening, Dansinger said, “You could always go to work for your father. I hear he’d give half his considerable fortune just to have his long-lost son at his side.”
With his forearm, Kael swept Conran aside, knocking over his chair and sending him tumbling backward onto the floor, as he reached for the chief. Dansinger let out a thin cry when Kael caught him by the throat and squeezed. Leaning in very close, he could actually smell the man’s fear in his sweat. He’d noticed it before when he got in close to the target on a hit and they saw what was coming. In Dansinger’s case he could also smell acetone on his breath. Obviously the man had not been taking his insulin, probably to keep his weight down, which was more proof of his vanity.
“Don’t ever mention that man to me again,” Kael said through his teeth.
Even as he leaned into the chief’s face, Kael saw Conran scrambling to his feet and reaching for the door, so he wasn’t surprised when four armed security guards burst in. So intent on hurting the chief that he did not let go until the last second, Kael left himself vulnerable, and the men were able to take him down between them. They were as well trained as he was, but Kael’s strength expanded when he was angry. Still, he found himself pinned to the concrete floor with his arms up his back. Being rendered helpless enraged him even further, and he kicked like a horse. For some bizarre reason, the string of oaths he issued came out in Russian.
“Put him out of the building,” the chief said, his voice no more than a raspy croak. He held one hand to his throat. “And take his entry card until further notice.”
