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He didn't believe Archer had gotten him out -- and not just out, but off, conviction overturned -- until he was outside the Walls. Free. Kimberly savored the moment, then slid his hands in his pockets, started towards the car Bradley had sent for him.
Driver was a kid, dark hair, thick glasses. Nobody Kimberly recognized, but that didn't mean anything. He had flipped open a cell phone when Kimberly emerged, and now he gulped and stepped forward, holding out the phone.
The kid's hand was shaking just a bit. Kimberly smiled. How nice. He still had a reputation.
"Mister Kimberly." The kid's voice didn't shake, so Bradley wasn't a complete idiot in sending him. "King Bradley would like to speak to you."
"That so?" He stared at the kid for a beat before taking the phone. "Who's the kid?"
Bradley laughed. "Hello, Crimson. The kid is Kain Fuery. Don't scare him too much. He has promise."
"He know what you do to kids with promise?"
"You have talent. A slight difference."
"I know the difference. How's Flame?"
Kimberly could picture Bradley's good eye hardening. "Mustang is still safely tucked away, but he'll surface from that protection eventually."
"Probably at the time the Feds figure they can nail you."
"Probably," Bradley agreed, back to his good-natured self. "I've told Fuery to take you wherever you ask."
"Least you can do, huh?"
"I've also told Fuery not to tell me where he takes you. I'd like you to come see me, but if you'd rather not, the least I can do is give you your privacy." Bradley hung up.
Kimberly snapped the phone shut, staring off into the distance for a moment. Privacy. Like Bradley would give him that. Man was probably tracking the car.
It wasn't like he had many options. No job, no home. Of course he'd go back to Bradley. So Bradley could afford to appear generous.
He handed the phone back to the kid. "Bradley tell you to bring me to him?"
"He said to take you wherever you want. So," he adjusted his glasses, "where to?"
"Back over the pass for now."
"Seattle?"
Kimberly shrugged, opened the back door. "Still thinking about that."
He asked for the kid's phone when they hit I-90. "Bradley's number programmed in?"
The kid glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Just hit redial."
Bradley picked up on the third ring. "Fuery or Crimson?"
"Crimson."
"I do hope you're not calling to say you've killed Fuery and have stolen the car."
Kimberly laughed. "Tempting. That lawyer you found for me could probably get me off."
"Archer?" Bradley chuckled, and Kimberly could hear him tapping a pen against his blotter. "I wish I could take credit for finding him, but he found you."
Kimberly straightened up. "That so?"
"That's so." The tapping stopped. "What do you think of him?"
Hmm. That was the question, wasn't it? Kimberly closed his eyes, recalled Archer in the interrogation room, the crisp suit, smooth face, faint smirk. Man was confident, didn't flinch, acted like he was in complete control. And he was careful with his words. "I can try to get your conviction overturned," he had said. Not, "I can get your conviction overturned." Kimberly appreciated the difference. And the honesty.
Kimberly's fingers tightened on the phone. "Don't know what to think of him. Only met him once, spoke to him maybe three, four times." Five, actually, including the in-person meeting.
"Come, now, Crimson. Have you forgotten how to size up a man?"
"Been in solitary a long time."
"Well, then, how about some practice? Do an old friend a favor and size the boy up for me. If he seems promising, or talented, send him to me. I may have a job for him."
"Funny thing. He didn't give a convicted murderer his address." Kimberly smiled, and he figured it was a good thing the kid was paying attention to the road, because it wasn't a nice smile. "Can't imagine why."
"Funny thing. I have his address." Bradley rattled off a place on Beacon Hill. Kimberly vaguely knew the area. He'd done a few jobs there before Bradley had to back out of the neighborhood.
"I'll think about it." This time, he hung up, leaned back against the seat and murmured Archer's address until he had it memorized.
"Um, is that where we're going?" the kid asked.
Kimberly cracked one eye open. "Still thinking. I'll let you know when we're over the pass."
Archer's apartment was in a vintage building, a one-room place tucked in the back corner of the third floor. Fuery, it turned out, was amazing with a set of lock picks. No wonder Bradley thought the kid had promise.
"Go take a drive," Kimberly said, tossing the cell phone back to Fuery. "Looks like our boy might be awhile. I'll call you when we're done."
The kid licked his lips. "Are you sure?"
"That eager to team up with me?"
"Uh, no." Fuery shook his head. "If half the stories are true...I'll, uh, write down the number."
"Already got it from the phone." Kimberly smiled, tried to keep it from getting too jagged. "I'm good with numbers."
"Right." Fuery backed towards the door. "There's a coffee shop a few blocks back. Two, maybe three minutes away by car. Is that close enough?"
"Sure."
"All right then."
No need to respond to that. Kimberly shrugged off his jacket, draped it over the back of the sofa. The kid took the hint and left, cat-burglar quiet. Yeah, that one did have promise, if he could just get over those nerves.
Kimberly locked the door behind Fuery, then made a slow circuit of the living room. The place was neat, unsurprising given the crisp image Archer presented. Apparently, the man was a reader, mostly nonfiction, science and history, heavy on ancient Greek, Roman, and Persian. The books were arranged by subject then alphabetically by author.
He considered snooping around the rest of the apartment, but he didn't want to be caught pawing through Archer's medicine cabinet when the man returned. So Kimberly settled down, couch cushions sinking a little too low to be comfortable, and waited.
He'd never been particularly patient, just accepting of the fact he couldn't make things happen faster. He hoped Archer wouldn't keep him waiting long, but if he did, well, such was life. At least he wouldn't be expecting Kimberly. Imaging his reaction was entertaining enough until Kimberly heard the footsteps in the hall, the key turning in the lock.
Kimberly rose. Now that Archer was here, he was impatient. Kimberly wanted to be the first thing Archer saw when he stepped inside.
The door swung open, and Kimberly was at the end of the short hallway, hands in his pockets. Archer was sorting through his mail, wasn't even paying attention to his surroundings, his brow furrowed.
"Bills?" Kimberly asked.
Archer jerked his head up. His shocked expression only lasted a moment, and then his face was marble smooth again. "Mister Kimberly. I heard you were released. Congratulations."
"Figured I'd come say thank you in person. It's more polite than a note."
"Yes, well," Archer smiled faintly, placed his mail on the small table by the door, "a note would be a welcome relief from bills."
"I'll remember that next time."
"I'm sure I'll regret asking, but how did you get my address so quickly?"
"King Bradley gave it to me."
"Ah." Desire flared briefly in Archer's eyes.
Kimberly curled his hands into fists in his pockets. So, Archer wanted Bradley's attention, and getting his conviction overturned had been the means to get it. Well, it wasn't like Kimberly had never been used. Still...
He was moving before he could think about what he was doing. Got a hand around Archer's throat, and fuck, the man hid his fear well. Didn't show at all on his face, but Kimberly could feel the spike in Archer's pulse beneath his fingers.
And then he felt the barrel of a gun at his stomach. "Concealed weapon permit," Archer managed.
Kimberly grinned. Damn, he was rusty. Back in his prime, he would have seen the bulge beneath Archer's jacket. "Going to shoot?"
"Should I?"
Kimberly eased up on Archer's throat, drew back a bit, and sure enough, Archer made the mistake of lowering his gun. Kimberly got his hand around Archer's wrist, slammed Archer hard against the wall.
"Yes." Kimberly pressed close, forced the gun from Archer's grip so it clattered to the floor. "You should have."
Archer met his gaze squarely. "Is this normally how you thank people, Mister Kimberly?"
It was so tempting to squeeze. Archer's pulse was like a rabbit's under his palm, quick and frightened. But he sounded so reasonable. A little strained, because a hand around the throat will do that, but otherwise, Archer's voice was the same smooth and easy tone he used back in the interrogation room at the Walls.
"Bradley doesn't send me to express his gratitude," Kimberly purred. He was already half hard from this, a sure sign he'd been in solitary a little too long, because he used to be able to hold out until the end of a job.
"A pity. I hoped you were here of your own volition." Archer shifted, tried to get some leverage, but Kimberly moved with him, didn't let up.
He was rusty, but Archer had no practice roughing up people. It was entirely too easy to keep him pinned, and maybe that should worry Kimberly -- he hadn't expected Archer to shove a gun in his stomach, after all -- but he was a little too far gone to worry about anything.
"Please, Mister Kimberly, if you're --"
Kimberly squeezed, cutting off whatever Archer was going to say. He wasn't interested in hearing the man beg, though Archer's tone hadn't been pleading. Still...
Archer clawed at his arm. Kimberly smiled, moved in close, so his forearm was flush against Archer's chest, so his face was all Archer could see. And yeah, his hips were pressed against Archer's, so Archer could feel him.
"Please nothing," Kimberly said, watching Archer's face turn red. Man looked frightened now, those cold eyes widening as he gasped for air. "You really think you can handle being one of Bradley's men?"
The panic in Archer's eyes snapped, and suddenly, Archer was back to his calm, collected self. Well, except for his pulse.
Kimberly hitched his hips. "Think you can handle dealing with men like me?"
Archer got a hand on Kimberly's shirt. Kimberly snorted. Not like Archer had the leverage to push him away. Not like...
Archer slid his hand up to Kimberly's collar, hooked his fingers under Kimberly's tie, and pulled. The kiss was clumsy but definitely intentional.
Well. Kimberly hadn't been expecting that. But he wasn't above accepting the invitation. He kissed back, using more teeth than anything else, enjoying the little choking noises Archer allowed and the coppery tang of blood.
Now his pulse matched Archer's. Kimberly eased up, and the shuddering breath Archer took strummed through him. Fuck. This was probably a bad idea, but hell, they were both hard for it. Kimberly could feel that now.
He kept one hand around Archer's throat, fumbled with Archer's zipper with the other. Archer was still making those little choking noises, and yeah, maybe Kimberly could ease up a little more, let Archer get a good breath or two in, but since when was Kimberly -- was Crimson -- nice?
And hell, Archer's fingers were still hooked under his tie, and his other hand was on Kimberly's hip, fingers tight and trembling.
Archer didn't last long. He came, and Kimberly was pressed close enough to feel it soak through his shirt, seep over his hand. He leaned in for a final kiss, let go of Archer's throat, made a pleased little sound when Archer gasped and arched against him.
Kimberly stepped back. Archer's face was splotchy, his lower lip split, throat bruised, and he was breathing heavy. But he got himself under control quickly, kept his eyes on Kimberly's as he knelt to retrieve his gun, wiping the blood from his lip with his left hand.
"Think you're up for meeting Bradley?" Kimberly asked.
"What do you think?"
Kimberly shrugged, then raised his hand to lick Archer's come off his fingers. Archer watched him, and this time, the desire sliding in his eyes had nothing to do with Bradley. Kimberly smiled. "Get cleaned up. I'll call for the car."
Archer watched him for a beat, then holstered his gun with a nod. "Thank you."
"You can send me a note once I get settled."
"And if I'd prefer to deliver my thanks in person?"
Kimberly leaned against the wall. "I think you'll have a harder time getting the drop on me." His eyes flickered down to Archer's shoulder holster. "But you can try." It would be fun if he did.