Chapter Text
In the middle of March, Boston was a fickle city. Some days the wind cut right through, chilled you to the bone. On others, the air was pleasant, just a gentle nip to remind you the sun actually did exist.
Kelly Abbott rubbed his hands together, mentally preparing to leave the warmth of his rental. Although the outside air was frigid, he was on a mission. It involved a boat, a marina, and the head of a local crime organization. The man’s name was Nick O’Flaherty, and Kelly had been watching his boat for hours. The old boss stepped down just over a month ago, which meant that if there was ever a time to take action, it was now.
Kelly cut the power to the engine and allowed his eyes to adjust. The marina was full, and it lent Kelly the feeling that he was being watched. He tried to ignore it as he started toward the dock, careful in the near pitch-black darkness. His footsteps were silent, and he was certain that there wasn’t a soul around that would be able to see him. He’d watched for over an hour, waiting for the other residents to shut themselves off from the world. Dressed as he was in black jeans and a black t-shirt, he trusted his ability to blend into the darkness.
At five foot ten, Kelly was the shortest guy on his Recon team. He often got shit for it, considering the next tallest guy had two inches on him. What he lacked in size, he made up for in stealth. He could go just about anywhere undetected, even sneak up on his partner back at the Bureau. Tonight was by definition a covert operation.
It was late, well past one in the morning, and Kelly’s heart was beating a familiar rhythm past his ears. Adrenaline coursed through him, sharpening his hearing as he hurried down the dock. He slipped onto the Fiddler’s Green and pulled out a garrote, unwinding the slim wire without making a sound. The goal was to be quick about it and leave no bloodshed. All Kelly had to do was suffocate the guy, and he’d done that plenty of times on other missions for Assistant Director Richard Burns. His stomach rolled, and for a moment, he stayed crouched at the back of the boat.
This mission wasn’t on the books. Burns hadn’t given them the orders, official or otherwise. Kelly and his partner were there of their own free will, with instructions to keep their status as FBI agents under wraps. No one was to know they had been there. They weren’t acting on behalf of anyone but themselves.
This was about revenge. That was how it started, anyway. Six months ago, Burns had called them into his office and informed Kelly and his partner – Special Agent Ty Grady – that a member of their Recon team had been murdered. They were thirsty for a manhunt, couldn’t dream of a single soul that could have gotten the drop on Eli.
Once they arrived on the scene in New York, it had gone down a little differently. For at least a few hours they’d fooled themselves into thinking their friend, Elias Sanchez, would have wanted vengeance. His body had been found bloodied and cold, along with overwhelming evidence pointing them in the direction of the Irish mob. It had taken them two days to take out the New York’s head of operations.
After their days as a team, Eli, Ty, and Kelly had all sworn in to the Bureau. Recon hadn’t been a cakewalk, but the FBI was no picnic either, especially as one of Burns’ attack dogs. When there was a threat, one of them was sent to neutralize it. Half the time, Kelly didn’t even know their names, but their faces were branded on the inside of his conscience. They carved out his soul one sliver at a time. For the greater good, he’d been told. For the greater good is what he clung to by his fingertips, envious of Ty’s ability to paint the whole op one color and call it loyalty.
Whether it was loyalty to Burns or the oath they each swore the day they signed up to play at war, Kelly didn’t know. At least this time, he knew why he was there.
Kelly adjusted his grip on the handles of the garrote, pausing to wipe his palms on his pants. It was too late to have second thoughts. He wasn’t sure the new guy would be smart enough to keep guys lined up on the yacht, but he wasn’t one for taking chances. After watching the boat for hours, the only person to come and go had been one man with flaming red curls.
The rocking of the boat helped to settle his nerves and Kelly exhaled. He wanted to be ready, to make it quick; Ty would probably be pissed off that he hadn’t checked in, but his phone was dead. In hindsight, Kelly probably should have charged it before leaving the hotel, but stopping now would only make their job harder. He’d already put his plan in motion by cutting the lights. Before he could summon a reason to leave, Kelly moved deeper into the boat.
He stepped up to the back of the main cabin and pulled open the door. It was unlocked, which shouldn’t make him uneasy, but he felt his pulse falter anyway. He reasoned that it was a boat, in a wealthy marina, and the odds of someone robbing a boat were probably pretty low. Kelly closed the door behind him and listened for another minute or so, holding his breath while he waited for movement. There was a staircase, and judging from the open layout up top, that would be where Kelly needed to go.
He held the wire out in front of him, almost like he could use it as a shield, and descended. This was the worst part of black ops, the moments leading up to the merciless kill. The killing never got easier.
When he reached the bottom level, one end of the boat was washed in darkness. The other end had a sliver of light reaching toward the stairs, and from within, Kelly could hear the sound of water cascading against ceramic.
Kelly swore silently, glancing back up the staircase. He couldn’t fight the feeling that he wasn’t alone, but that wasn’t unusual on missions like this one. After all, he knew for a fact that someone was on the other side of the bedroom door, rinsing off the chill of the city. That someone was most likely a mob boss, which should have made Kelly feel better, but he still felt the usual tightening of his stomach. Even mob bosses had family.
He clenched his jaw and adjusted his grip on the wire. Shoulder first, he edged into the bedroom and gave a cursory glance about the room. There weren’t any visible weapons, but there were a lot of cornered edges he could easily be thrown against. The bed was unmade, the door to the bathroom left wide open. As Kelly stood there inspecting the room, the water shut off, and before he could blink a very wet man was standing in the doorway.
Naked.
Steam rolled out behind him. He had a towel in one hand and was rubbing it slowly over his hair. When he noticed Kelly, he stopped, green eyes hardening. He stared at Kelly, and Kelly stared back.
For a moment, they simply stood there, the assassin’s mind drawing a complete blank. The red curls were dark and damp and unruly where the towel had already passed, his hard body covered sparsely in more of it. Without Kelly’s permission, his eyes drifted downward, and he forcibly wrenched them back up when Nick O’Flaherty stepped over the threshold.
“Didn’t know I’d have visitors,” he said casually. He lowered his towel and shook it out, moving into the bedroom with ease. He watched Kelly impassively as he started drying off. Then his eyes slid lower, passing over Kelly’s hands and stopping at his hips. Despite the obvious reason Kelly was there, Nick’s gaze turned hungry. “I’ll assume you aren’t here to rewire my boat.”
“I…” Kelly glanced down at his hands, keeping his body squared with Nick’s as he backed up a step. Until he was ready to strike, he preferred to keep a safe distance between them. Nick finally wrapped the towel around his waist and sat down at the foot of the bed, propping one leg on the other. “No, I’m not,” Kelly said lowly. He met Nick’s eyes again and tightened his grip on the garrote.
“Then what are you here for? Can I get you a drink?” He asked, his tone infuriatingly light, though Kelly understood why. You didn’t become a mob boss if you were easily spooked. You had to kill a lot of people – climb a lot of proverbial ladders – to get anywhere with the mob, nevermind rise to the top.
Kelly pursed his lips, knuckles turning white as he clenched his hands. “I’m sorry to have to do this, O’Flaherty.”
“Do what?” Nick asked icily, and the casual nature of the room suddenly shifted. The hair on Kelly’s arms stood on end.
“I’m here to take care of some business.”
“Well, as luck would have it, I’m a businessman.” Nick leaned back on one hand, beckoning with the other as if urging Kelly to continue.
“Wrong kind of business,” Kelly said softly. He started forward, calculating the most likely counter-attack the mobster would use and weighing his options. He moved no more than half a step before a pair of large arms seized him from behind. Kelly let out a shout as his feet left the ground and followed his first instinct, which was to throw his head back. His aim was true, but his assailant merely grunted and tightened his grip.
“Nice of you to show up, Xander,” Nick drawled, rising to his feet. He tightened the towel at his waist and watched as Kelly wriggled in an attempt to slip free.
“Xander, huh?” Kelly grunted, throwing his head back against the man’s face for a second time. Xander released him and staggered back as Kelly dropped to a crouch on the floor. By the time he turned around, Xander was charging towards him, head down. He caught Kelly around his middle, his shoulder colliding with Kelly’s sternum. The tackle sent them both sprawling on the floor, Xander’s dead weight sitting square on Kelly’s chest. Kelly barely managed to toss the garrote aside before they landed.
There was blood streaming from Xander’s nose, but they both ignored it. He moved up Kelly’s body and straddled his chest, glancing swiftly up at Nick. Kelly’s arms were still free, and even as he fought to get his breath back, he reached for Xander’s chest.
The man was huge, even by Kelly’s standards. He used his hands as a distraction, jabbing at any and all pressure points he could reach. There were a few on the torso that Kelly used to his advantage; one inside each elbow and one to the inside of each rotator cuff. He hit each in succession, ending with a jab for Xander’s throat that he pulled at the last second.
Xander reared back from the attempt, and Kelly seized the opportunity to throw his legs up and hook his ankles around Xander’s neck. He snarled as Kelly pulled him down, just barely managing to throw an arm out and prevent his head from slamming into the floor. Xander rolled off Kelly and came up in a crouch, his teeth bared as he rubbed at his shoulder.
Kelly mirrored his position, weighing his options. He could kill them both, though he was fairly certain Nick was only humoring their sparring. He could make a run for it, but he doubted he could get as far as the dock without taking fire. He could try to talk his way out of it. From the entertained tilt to Nick’s head and Xander’s body, coiled and ready to strike, Kelly was starting to feel like he was being toyed with.
Xander moved closer, and as he did Kelly noticed the sheath strapped to the inside of his wrist. It wouldn’t have been visible if Kelly hadn’t jabbed at his arm, hiking the long-sleeved shirt up an inch. Kelly eyed the knife handle warily, but didn’t have long to figure out what to do about it. Xander charged again, this time tackling Kelly through the open bedroom door. They tumbled together into the narrow hallway, with Xander landing on his stomach and Kelly next to him. He was up before Xander had landed, but he didn’t get very far.
The body guard’s fingers curled into the back of Kelly’s jeans and hauled him backward, prepared to jump on Kelly as soon as he landed. Xander was big, but Kelly was fast. He rolled right over his shoulder and landed in another crouch, and realized he was missing something. Xander held up the knife Kelly kept at his side and smirked, tossing it back over his shoulder. It skittered across the carpet and thudded into Nick’s bed frame.
“Fucker,” Kelly muttered. He had his back to the stairs as Xander rushed again, head catching him right in the center of his chest. Kelly landed hard, the corner of a step digging into his back. One of his arms was pinned underneath him, and the other wasn’t enough to keep Xander’s hand from finding his throat.
A moment of panic settled at the back of Kelly’s head, but it didn’t last long. He jammed the palm of his free hand into the crook of Xander’s elbow, breaking its locked position. Xander grabbed for Kelly’s shoulder, fisting a hand in the fabric. Kelly turned his arm and elbowed Xander in the face, knocking him off balance just enough for Kelly to draw his knees up and kick Xander’s chest.
There was a ripping sound as Xander stumbled back into the wall and lingered there, holding on for support. Kelly caught his breath, Xander narrowed his eyes; they both pushed off and met in the middle. Xander attempted to hook an ankle behind Kelly’s calf, but Kelly knew he needed to end it or Xander would end him. He grabbed Xander’s shoulder and pulled, sidestepping, then slid his hand to Xander’s wrist. He put his palm against Xander’s shoulder blade and wrenched his arm back. Xander cried out and fell to one knee.
Kelly kicked Xander over and put a knee in the center of his back. A single twist, and he could dislocate Xander’s arm. His chest heaved. He was weaponless; in hindsight, leaving his gun in the car to prevent a noisy kill wasn’t the greatest idea. Mistake number one. He’d allowed the boss’s bodyguard to get the drop on him; mistake number two. He now had one man secure while the other—
He looked up sharply and stared down the wrong end of a double barrel shotgun. From the other side, Nick watched, entirely unperturbed. Kelly’s stomach turned.
“Did you get that out of your system?” Nick asked casually, as if he didn’t have a loaded weapon pointed right at Kelly’s head. Swallowing, Kelly nodded. “Good. Please let my useless bodyguard off the floor,” Nick spat.
Kelly looked back down at Xander, whose broad shoulders were still twisted under his hands. He gave Xander’s arm a brutal twist, one that would leave his shoulder sore for days, and got to his feet as Xander’s snarled into the carpet.
“That wasn’t nice,” Nick said, smirking. “Sorry about your shirt.”
Kelly glanced down, noticing the wide rip along his shoulder. The torn sleeve had slipped down, revealing the top part of the anchor and snakes that covered his right shoulder. Without remorse, Kelly ripped the sleeve the rest of the way off, shoving the useless fabric into his back pocket.
Nick raised his eyebrows, glancing over the scroll at the bottom of the tattoo. “Now that you’ve had your fun, let’s have a drink.” He turned into his bedroom and set the shotgun on the bed, changing out his towel for a black silk robe. He wound it around himself and picked up the shotgun again, then nodded toward the stairs.
Kelly wasn’t wild about turning his back on a gun, but he knew better than to argue. He glanced over at Xander, who had gotten to his feet and was holding his shoulder with a snarl. Tossing him a smirk, Kelly started back up to the main cabin, feeling the gun trained between his shoulder blades at every step.
Nick made himself comfortable at the corner of the couch in the salon, the shotgun sitting next to him. Kelly sat at the edge of the chair across from him, his back ramrod straight and his hands laid against his thighs. He could hear Xander moving about the kitchen and muttering in what sounded like Spanish. Nick lounged, watching Kelly the entire time. He didn’t look terribly concerned or even tense. In fact, his eyes were doing a lot more roaming than Kelly had first realized. It made his skin crawl, the way Nick’s eyes traced over his bicep and across his chest. It also made something twist in his gut. Something not entirely unpleasant.
Not soon enough, Xander returned. He had two scotch glasses half full of amber liquid, two ice cubes in each, and a pack of frozen peas. With a sneer he thunked one on the arm of Kelly’s chair and handed the other to Nick, then slumped down next to his boss and pressed the peas to his shoulder.
“Take some Tylenol, you’ll feel better,” Kelly smirked.
“Fuck off,” Xander muttered, kneading his shoulder through the peas. His words came out in a thick Spanish accent. Kelly shrugged at him.
“If you’ve got a compression wrap, that’ll work, too.”
“How do you know that?” Nick asked, tilting his head with genuine curiosity. Kelly looked from Nick to Xander, and back, trying to figure out how to answer the question. He licked his lips.
“I was a medic in the Navy.”
Nick snorted and gave Xander a skeptical glance, then shook his head. “If you say so, Doc.”
Xander rolled his eyes and glared at his shoulder, shifting it experimentally. He grimaced again and scowled down at the floor.
Nick sat forward, holding his scotch aloft in front of his lips. His green eyes glittered. “So, Navy. What can we do for you?”