Chapter Text
Thelonious Prose was looking for a rat.
Alex knew that he himself probably counted as a rat. He was currently being paid by Prose as a driver and dogsbody, but he technically worked for MI6 and was searching for sufficient evidence to support Tulip Jones’ suspicions. It was taking time, and was proving irritating even without this extra problem.
Alex wasn’t appreciating Thelonious Prose’ search for a rat, because it meant he needed significantly better excuses for being found in the office or on the computer or listening at doors or other non-driver-like behaviour. But the detail that irritated Alex the most was that this particular rat wasn’t even Alex. It was someone who had very inconveniently sent pictures of Thelonious Prose snorting cocaine to the police. Like that would have any effect on Prose’s ability to plot an outrage. Alex was above such pointless tactics.
“Have you ever been betrayed by someone you trust, Tristan?” Thelonious asked.
He thought Alex’s name was Tristan. Someone had decided having a posh, classical name would make Thelonious more likely to trust him. They’d been right, in fairness. Thelonious Prose enjoyed saying ‘Tristan’ almost as much as he enjoyed watching Alex working out, or coming out of the shower.
Alex thought about Tristan’s imagined back story. “Sort of,” he said.
In fact, or in fiction made up by MI6, Tristan had a lot of betrayal in the past, which was why he’d ended up working as a driver despite a privileged upbringing, but he was also the sort who wouldn’t complain about it.
“Ah, you’d know if you were,” said Thelonious. “It cuts you to the quick. You know?”
Alex hummed.
“Cuts you to the quick,” Thelonious repeated. “I do like that phrase. The quick. It comes from the old English ‘cwic’ which means living. When one is cut to the quick, one is cut so deeply it reaches the very essence of your life.”
Alex nodded and tried to look impressed, because that was very Thelonious. People who failed to look impressed at his archaic knowledge always seemed to be out of a job very quickly.
“But don’t you worry, Tristan,” said Prose. “This man will sniff the traitor out.”
Alex hummed again. He was pretty sure ‘this man’ was some old friend of Prose’s uncle, who charged exorbitant fees to have his assistant Google everyone. Not very threatening on the surface, but there might be a few holes with ‘Tristan’s’ online presence. Mostly because he didn’t exist three weeks ago. Alex really hoped someone at MI6 had done something very clever, or else he was in trouble.
Alex kept his eyes on the road, and did his best unconcerned but curious lad routine. He was surely beyond suspicion, having never been in Prose’s presence while he was taking cocaine and thereby not having the means to betray him, but a jumpy Prose could be a big problem. Though, it helped that Prose fancied the pants off him.
“He’s a vicious bastard, you know,” said Prose. “Ex-secret service or something.”
Alex thought ‘Oh shit’ very emphatically. Out loud he said “Really?” very mildly.
“Oh yes. He’s a professional.”
“You sure you can trust him, then?” Alex asked. “He won’t run back to his former colleagues or something?”
“Oh no, dear boy,” said Prose. “These security types only have loyalty to their current employer. They are avaricious mercenaries. They’d sell their own grandmother if they thought they were getting a good price.”
Alex hummed again.
“Here we are, my boy, pull over,” said Prose.
Alex pulled up to the curb. They were nowhere special, just a quiet suburban street; outside of town but not somewhere well to do enough that the locals all had video doorbells. It was a pretty decent place for a meet, Alex thought. No one would be scouting this area.
Prose looked around himself. Alex could hear him shuffling around the back seat, looking out of every window he could get to. Alex checked the mirrors, too. He couldn’t see anyone.
“Should I… knock somewhere?” Alex asked uncertainly.
“No, I don’t think so… ah, there he is.”
Alex spotted the figure approaching far too late. He only had time to catch a graceful prowl and feel a sense of extreme panic before the figure was at the driver’s door and wrenching him bodily from the car.
“What on Earth are you doing?” Prose cried, but Alex wasn’t stupid enough to speak. He wasn’t armed but his assailant had already pressed a handgun against his ribs. He raised his hands because he could hope for mercy.
“Do not worry, Mr Prose,” said Yassen Gregorovich, one hand scrunching Alex’s shirt, while his eyes burned into Alex’s face. “I am just going to interrogate your driver.”
Ok, Alex thought. That was certainly better than it could have been. Yassen Gregorovich knew very well who Alex worked for, so no interrogation was necessary.
“Oh, be gentle with dear Tristan,” said Prose. “He’s a good boy.”
Yassen didn’t reply, just dragged Alex towards a door to a house and shoved him through.
Alex stumbled and turned, irritated by the harsh handling despite his fear. “Watch it!” he snapped.
Gregorovich did not hesitate. He shoved Alex up against the wall and began a full body search. “Are we being recorded?”
Alex rolled his eyes. “Hello to you, lovely boyfriend. Hello Alex, my darling, it’s so lovely to see you. I know I told you I had a job in Monaco, but I decided to come back early because I just couldn’t bear to be away from you.”
“Monitored? If you have a tail then MI6 is getting better.”
“No, I’d tell you if I were, now will you stop doing that?!”
Yassen’s hands were thorough. “I would trust you but apparently your name is Tristan and you work as a driver.”
“And you’re an international assassin who repeatedly takes jobs doing stupid things like robbing banks and searching for law abiding citizens inside a den of crooks. Have you finished feeling me up?”
Yassen did not look amused.
Alex pouted slightly. “I did miss you, you know.”
“Will you stop messing around?”
“No.”
Yassen sighed.
“OK,” said Alex, “I’ll behave… if…”
Yassen glared at him.
“You kiss me,” said Alex.
“I do not believe you,” said Yassen.
“Probably sensible,” said Alex. “Kiss me anyway? I’ve really missed you.”
It was a very positive sign that Yassen relented and kissed him. Alex pulled in close, but Yassen kept it chaste. Ever the professional.
When Yassen pulled away, Alex took his hand. “How long have you been in town? You could have stayed over.”
“In your unsafe house?”
Alex rolled his eyes. “No one is after me,” he groaned.
“Except Thelonious Prose,” said Yassen.
“Uh, no actually,” said Alex. “His little search is nothing to do with me.”
“No, you are completely faithful to your new employer.”
“I didn’t send photos of him sniffing cocaine to the police. That’s just weak. Did they expect him to get three months for possession? What was the point?”
Yassen grunted. “Maybe I should torture you, just to be sure.”
Alex rolled his eyes.
Yassen took a further step back and looked him over. “Your name is Tristan?”
Alex nodded again. “Fell out of officer training at twenty-two because of irregularities in my father’s business.”
“What sort of irregularities?”
“Semi-criminal, missing money mostly. Father went to prison, mother topped herself, and I hid abroad until the money ran out. Came home without prospects or family. Met Prose at a bar where he saw me get fired for something that wasn’t my fault.”
“You played on his sympathy.”
“And his libido. He thinks I have daddy issues.”
Yassin smirked. “Thinks.”
Alex rolled his eyes. “And you? Yassen Gregorovich, world-renowned assassin?”
Gregorovich nodded. “I do not need to lie to men like Thelonious Prose.”
“So, we spent the last few minutes…”
“With me with searching and threatening you until I knew you were not the one responsible.”
“You really don’t like lying.”
“I do not need to lie to men like Thelonious Prose.”
Alex didn’t point out the times he knew Yassen had lied. To Damien Cray, to his goons on that boat in France. He knew he’d been exceptionally lucky to survive those encounters, and ridiculously lucky that it was Yassen that Prose had hired.
“I’m looking for…”
“Do not tell me,” Gregorovich snapped. “If I catch you snooping, I will dangle you from the roof until you tell me, but Prose will be watching.”
“No, you won’t,” said Alex. “You’ll roll your eyes and fuck me against a wall.”
“Try me.”
“OK, fine. You won’t catch me.”
Yassen sighed, but straightened his clothes. Alex decided to remain dishevelled, as it helped play the part of terrified innocent.
Yassen paused. “Have you slept with him?”
“Ew,” said Alex. “No, it’s much better if he thinks I might one day. I’d lose all power if I actually did.” He gave Yassen a small smile, so Yassen knew he was being provocative.
“Is that the only reason?” Yassen asked.
Alex shrugged.
“Nothing to do with me making you orgasm so hard, you cannot even think about other men?” Yassen asked.
Alex bit his lip so not to smile. “Not if you keep vanishing for weeks on end. I think I might have to consider it, you know. One cannot live going weeks without sex.”
“Yes, you can,” said Yassen. “If the sex good enough.”
Alex shook his head, but then Yassen was crowding up against him, pressing him against the wall once more. This time, his body held him, a leg between Alex’s thighs, chest against chest, hot breath on Alex’s face.
“You think there is anything that could live up to this, Alex?” he purred.
Alex hated to admit that Yassen was right. He had a battle to win, after all; he wasn’t going to be happy until Yassen spent more than a couple of days every few weeks with him. So, he pretended he wasn’t aching to tear all his clothes off and have sex right now, and put on his unimpressed face.
Yassen smirked. “You think that Thelonious Prose can light that spark in you?”
It would be a cold day in hell when Alex caved first, he decided.
“You think some rich old man can make you hard with barely a breath on your neck?”
Definitely, Alex wasn’t about to admit that he was hard, even if Yassen could feel it. “Do you think a twenty-four-year-old should have to wait weeks for their lover to bother showing up?” he asked.
Yassen hummed. “You are a grown man.”
“Yes, a grown man with normal grown man needs.”
Yassen started to scowl. It wasn’t as hot as Yassen teasing. Or Yassen threatening. Alex leaned forward and kissed him, passionately. He felt Yassen’s fingers in his hair and nearly purred.
“Of course, I want you,” he said, when he pulled away. “More than anyone else. But I miss you when you’re not around.”
Not very mollified, Yassen only continued to scowl.
“Your employer will want his driver back,” he grumbled.
“Your employer will want his torturer back,” said Alex. “You’re not really going to torture them, are you?”
“I have my ways,” said Yassen. “Torture rarely gets to the truth.”
“Maybe you’re not as good as they think you are.”
“I will discover the rat,” said Yassen.
He turned, like that was the last thing to say on the matter. Alex should bite his lip. He should not argue with an assassin doing a job. He should not argue with the man he really wanted to shag later.
“Um…”
Yassen stopped.
“So,” said Alex. “Whoever it is…”
“No.”
“You don’t know what I’m going to say!” Alex protested.
“You are going to ask me not to hurt the traitor.”
“Well…”
“I am being paid to do a job.”
“But…”
“One exception is already too many,” said Yassen. “Do not challenge me on this.”
“Who’s challenging you?” Alex asked.
“Alex!” Yassen was using his warning voice. It didn’t work on Alex. Not since he figured out that he could make Yassen flush by running a finger over his own chest.
“You have other job offers, you know,” said Alex.
Yassen growled. Actually growled. Alex relished it. He was getting to him.
“Jobs that come with … added extras.”
“And low pay.”
“And the love of your life.”
A huff. “And the chance to be incarcerated.”
“Unlikely,” said Alex. “But the chance to be on the side of the angels.”
“You have not been paying attention,” said Yassen.
“More so than chasing someone just because they tried to send a bad guy to prison,” said Alex. “I know you’re secretly developing a conscience.”
Yassen turned back to him, pressed back against him, pushed him back against the wall. Alex groaned. There was nothing like Yassen to make him feel electric, totally overwhelmed, outclassed and like he was everything he was meant to be. He grabbed at Yassen’s short hair, pulled him, like they could get any closer.
And Yassen suddenly stopped.
“You are good Alex,” he said. “But not that good.”
Alex groaned again, as Yassen stepped away. And the arsehole left him, worked up and leaning against the wall.
“I bloody am that good,” he whispered.
…
Prose was wringing his hands. Actually wringing his hands. It made Alex feel proud to have produced such worry with just a couple of wide-eyed looks and bitten lips.
“Oh, Tristan, Tristan,” he cried, when Alex emerged a few steps behind Yassen. “I was so worried. What did that nasty brute do to you?”
Alex looked down. Tristan was the silent type, an uncomplaining, emotionally stunted private school arsehole. Emotionally stunted probably wasn’t as hard to play as it should be, but silent was nearly killing him.
“Nothing,” he grumbled, and got back into the driver’s seat.
“I’m keeping an eye on him,” said Yassen. “But I do not think he is behind this leak.”
They all got into the car. Yassen sat beside Prose in the back, and looked very smug.
“I told you that he’s a good boy,” said Prose. “I saved him from a very bad situation, you know.”
Yassen huffed.
“I know, you probably think I’ve only hired him for his looks,” said Prose. “But he’s very loyal. Very dedicated.”
Yassen didn’t reply, which Alex hoped meant he couldn’t think of any funny comment to make, but suspected it was because Yassen was too cool to make funny comments.
Or maybe Yassen had had another flash of jealousy. Alex himself often needed to hide a shiver of disgust when Prose spoke about him like that, but the idea of making Yassen jealous appealed much more than it should.
He tried to catch Yassen’s eyes in the mirror. Yassen was too much of a professional.
…
Cutting his terrifying way through the organisation like a mythical monster, Yassen cornered each of Prose’s associates and interrogated them. Hardened men retreated from dark rooms with red-rimmed eyes and pale faces, with quivering hands and furtive expressions. And every now and again, Yassen looked at Alex with dark eyes that made him shiver.
Distracted from his own mission, Alex found excuses to be near Yassen. He tried to spot a pattern to who was being summoned, who Yassen went to find, who Yassen spent more time with, but it remained unclear. He decided that Yassen hadn’t found anyone to suspect, yet, because no one had been strung up for all to see, or fallen while walking unfortunately close to the edge of the roof.
It was a few days later, when he went down to the kitchen for a snack that he started to put two and two together. The chef, a fair-haired guy in his thirties called Pete, was staring at the gas ring.
“Hi, Pete,” said Alex, as he always did. “Any chance of a sandwich?”
Pete jumped at the sound of his name. “What?”
On instinct, Alex shut the kitchen door, “Are you alright?” he asked.
“Tristan,” said Pete. He turned the gas off. “Sorry. What do you want?”
“A sandwich,” Alex repeated. “Or, you know, a snack or…?”
“Right, course,” said Pete. He made a good sandwich, went to town on it. In fact, all the food he made was pretty good. Usually, he had that warmth that comes from taking a job where you spend all day looking after people. But at that moment, he was on edge.
“So, you know that guy?” Pete asked. He picked up a bread knife and a loaf of fluffy brown bread.
“What guy?” Alex sat at the kitchen table.
“That… that guy that Thelonious brought in to… to talk to everyone.”
“Yeah,” said Alex, crossing his hands on the table in front of him. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.
“Has he… talked to you?”
“Yeah,” said Alex.
“What did he… ask about?”
Shit, thought Alex. Not Pete. He liked Pete. Pete wasn’t a villain. Pete was a chef. Pete made the best apple crumble and custard Alex had ever eaten. Maybe Pete was just asking out of curiosity?
“I dunno,” said Alex. “I think it’s to do with that visit from the police.”
Pete’s bread cutting stopped.
Shit, thought Alex. It was written all over Pete’s face and body. No way was Yassen not going to get to this guy.
“So,” said Alex. “How do you fancy … taking a… sabbatical?”
“A what?”
“You know, a … trip or…”
Pete spun to face him. The knife was still in his hand, and he was wide eyed. “Oh my god, is he going to kill me?”
“Um…” said Alex.
“Oh god,” said Pete. “He knows, doesn’t he? Oh my god, he knows!”
“No wait!” said Alex. “No one knows! I can… talk to…” Shit. What if Yassen couldn’t be swayed into betraying his employers by Alex’s dubious wiles? “How good are you at acting, Pete?”
“Oh god,” said Pete. He doubled over, like he could curl up and become invisible.
“Yeah, that was what I was worried about,” said Alex.
“Tristan, you gotta help me,” said Pete. He stepped forward, still holding the knife, and Alex shrank back. “I just… I didn’t mean to betray him, I just got so… so angry.”
“Why?” asked Alex.
“Well… I … well, you know.”
“I know what?”
“You’re… sleeping with him.”
Alex gaped. “Uh, am not!” he said, as emphatically as he could.
Pete’s eyes widened. “You’re not?”
“No, I don’t… why would… of course I’m not sleeping with him! Why would I sleep with him?”
Some of the wind had gone out of Pete’s sails. He put down the bread knife. That was progress. “Because he saved you.”
“He gave me a job,” said Alex. “He didn’t take a bullet for me. Or whatever.”
Pete shook his head. “That’s why he likes you, I guess. You’re picky.”
“Well…” Alex didn’t think explaining his no sex = power theory would help at that moment.
Pete rubbed his face. “You’re really not sleeping with him? You never have?”
Instead of answering, Alex shivered.
“Oh, shit,” said Pete.
Alex realised he’d been incredibly slow. “Oh my god, you fancy Prose?!”
Pete stared at him. “Are you twelve?”
Alex had to blink a few times. “But, I mean, you want him? Prose?”
Pete turned back to his sandwich. “He always wanted me. Until you showed up.”
“Right,” said Alex. “So, you sent the police pictures of him doing coke to… punish him?”
“No!” Pete cried.
Alex waited for another explanation. Pete didn’t even need to be asked before he confessed.
“No, I did it so he would know that you don’t care for him like I do!”
Holding in a groan, Alex tried to think clearly. Yassen couldn’t be allowed to see this guy. Nor could Prose. Nor could Alex reveal anything to him, in case it got passed on to Prose. Somehow a traitor and still loyal.
“Look, you need to leave,” Alex said quietly. “Very quickly, very efficiently, and completely without anyone noticing.”
Pete shook his head. “I can’t leave him, Tristan.”
“Prose doesn’t deserve your loyalty,” said Alex.
“You don’t know him!” Pete snarled.
“No, but I do know that he has brought in a man who kills people just to look for the person who set him up. I also know that it was you who set him up. Therefore, I know that he will kill you.”
“You don’t know that!” Pete snarled. “He loved me before you showed up! He just needs to remember that. He…”
Alex grabbed his shoulders. Pete needed to see what Prose was. “He is after a pretty, young boy to moon over until he gets bored and finds another one. He will not even hesitate to kill you!”
“I can…”
The door opened.
They both froze. They turned to the door with wide eyes.
Yassen Gregorovitch snorted, and shook his head. “It is a miracle you have survived as long as you have.”
“Yassen,” said Alex, ignoring the dig, spoken in Russian, and replied in English. He backed away and tried to look relaxed as he leaned against one of the counters. “What are you doing here?”
“I want a sandwich,” said Yassen. And, after a moment too long, added “Tristan.”
“Good,” said Alex. “I can make you one. Pete was just about to go home. He’s feeling a bit sick.”
“But I have heard that Peter’s sandwiches are particularly good,” said Yassen. “I would appreciate it if he would stay.”
“Yassen,” Alex said, warningly.
“Tristan,” said Yassen. “Do you have nothing else to do?”
“No, actually,” said Alex.
“I could find you something,” Yassen said, quietly.
“Nope,” said Alex. “You’re not my boss.”
“I could dangle you, upside down, from the ceiling,” said Yassen.
“Nope,” said Alex. “I don’t think you could.”
“Tristan!” Pete gasped.
Oh, yeah, Alex remembered. He was supposed to be Tristan, a quiet and shy guy who probably wouldn’t openly challenge an assassin.
“Yassen’s just kidding, Pete,” he said.
“Yassen is not kidding, Pete,” said Yassen. “Yassen will peel off toenails one at a time until he has what he needs.”
Alex glowered. He needed to think. How much had Yassen overheard? Did he know everything?
“Peter Skipton,” said Yassen. “Thirty-eight, chef, born in Surrey, went to private school, then dropped out of University eighteen years ago, fell out with your parents and got a job in a fast-food restaurant before meeting Thelonious Prose one night in a pub in Soho.”
Pete shrugged. He’d copied Alex and adopted a carefree pose leaning against the counters. He folded his arms at Yassen’s words. “Was any of that a question?”
“At which point, Thelonious Prose paid for you to train to become a chef,” said Yassen. “How did you get his attention so quickly?”
“I didn’t do anything,” said Pete. “We just liked each other.”
“And after you seduced him, you took his money and then came to live with him.”
Pete flushed a little. “Lots of people live here.”
“Until you find yourself replaced by a younger model,” said Yassen.
Pete did an act of looking around. “I don’t see any other chefs, do you?”
Pete was doing better than Alex had expected. He was quite impressed. Maybe he’d talk himself out of this.
Yassen smiled. “But Tristan would open his legs for anyone.”
It took a moment for Alex to realise Yassen meant him. “Hey!” he shouted, too late.
Pete had hesitated. That hesitation showed that he cared. That hesitation told Yassen that he was on the right track, and there was the tiniest glint of victory in his eye.
“I’ve not slept with Thelonious Prose,” said Alex.
“He’s a good liar, too,” said Yassen. “You know, the first thing he did when we met yesterday was try to seduce me.”
Alex nearly argued, but wasn’t sure what to argue. “That’s out of context,” he said.
“He likes to be dominated,” said Yassen. “By an older man. By a powerful, violent older man, somewhere between father and hostage taker.”
“This got very personal, very quickly,” said Alex.
“Prose wouldn’t be able to keep him satisfied for long,” said Yassen. “He is not strong enough.”
“Thelonious Prose is stronger than anyone,” Pete protested.
“Hmm, Thelonious Prose is inadequate,” said Yassen. “A weak, cowardly man.”
“Shut up,” said Pete.
“A foolish, trusting man,” said Yassen. “An addict.”
“Shut up!” Pete snarled.
“Taken in by a whore,” said Yassen.
“He wouldn’t sleep with Tristan!” snapped Pete.
“No? He slept with you.”
“He loves me!”
“Then why did you betray him?”
Pete crumbled. Like Alex knew he would. His temper immediately snapped, and he cried like a baby, head in hands, shoulders heaving.
“Oh, Pete,” said Alex.
“I’m sorry!” Pete cried. “I’m sorry! I … I was just so angry!”
Yassen made no reply.
“Yassen,” said Alex. “You can’t tell on him.”
“Tell on him?” Yassen sniffed. “Do you think I am a child?”
“No, I think you’re an emotionally stunted man who doesn’t want to be evil.”
“You are ridiculous,” said Yassen.
“No, you are!” Alex snapped. “You don’t want to hurt this man! You don’t want to work for people like Thelonious Prose. You don’t even need to, not anymore. It’s just a … a habit.”
Yassen turned his derogatory gaze on Alex. If Pete were clever, he’d use the opportunity to flee. “Do you think you can redeem me, little boy?”
Alex gave Yassen the glare he deserved. “No, I think you want to redeem yourself!”
Yassen shook his head. “Your morals will get you killed.”
Alex put his head on one side. He needed to call Yassen’s bluff. Somehow.
“Are you going to kill him?”
“No,” said Yassen. “Prose wants to do it.”
“So, you’re going to take him to Prose? Now?”
Pete made a run for it. It was the only sensible thing left for him to do, but it was too late, and Yassen was faster. He knocked the chef down, and restrained him in seconds. Pete had no military training, but even Alex would have struggled to escape from such efficient methods. In moments, Pete was flat on the floor, arms pulled up behind him, and Yassen kneeling casually behind him, binding his hands with zip ties.
“Pete,” said Alex. “My name is Alex Rider. I work for MI6.”
Pete looked up. “What?”
“I’m here undercover to find evidence against Thelonious Prose.”
“What are you doing?” Yassen sneered.
“If you take Pete to Prose, Pete will tell Prose who I am and then he’ll kill me too,” said Alex.
“Why would you do that?” Pete demanded. “He trusted you!”
“It’s my job, Pete,” said Alex. “Keep up.”
Yassen huffed a laugh. “Little Alex thinks that I will protect him.”
“Why?” Pete cried.
“Because we fuck sometimes.”
“He let himself get shot to protect me,” said Alex. “We more than just fuck sometimes. In fact, I’m quite clearly the love of his life, though he’s very stubborn about not admitting it.”
From his place, prone on the floor, Pete looked completely bemused. “He called you a whore.”
“Yeah, he is a bit of an arsehole, too” Alex agreed.
“You have miscalculated, Alex,” said Yassen.
“I don’t think so,” said Alex. “No way are you handing me over to Prose, and don’t pretend you would.”
“Let us say that you are right,” said Yassen. “Let us say I would sacrifice this job for you. If I really would do anything to save you, I cannot let this one live to tell his tale.”
That was a point, thought Alex. “He knows if he mentions who I am, we tell Prose what he did.”
“Still a risk,” said Yassen. “Slitting his throat removes that risk completely.”
“Or we could all just leave,” said Alex.
“Why do you care if I kill him, Alex?” said Yassen. “He is no one important.”
“Why do you care enough to kill him?” Alex cried. “He’s no one important. Why do you want him to die?”
“I don’t,” said Yassen.
“Then what do you want?” Alex demanded.
It took long moments for Yassen to reply.
“What I want, Alex Rider, has never been relevant.”
Alex’s heart lurched. “Of course, it’s relevant.”
“You do not understand the way of the world, Alex,” said Yassen. “You make yourself useful or frightening to these men or they consume you.”
Alex crouched down so he could touch Yassen’s face. “Yassen, you’re the most powerful person here. What you want is all that matters.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Yassen flinched, like Alex had slapped him.
“You’re not them!” Alex protested. “You are not them! You are you. My father knew you were good. He told Blunt and Jones. He told MI6 you were never supposed to be under Scorpia’s spell. I think he’d have come back for you. After me and my Mum, you were who he cared for most.”
“He betrayed me.”
“No, he didn’t. He wanted to save you.”
“You think you’re an angel, Alex?” Yassen looked at him. “Like a priest, saving me from the fires of hell?”
“No,” said Alex. “I just don’t want you to be miserable.”
Yassen laughed. “Alex Rider, one of the angels.”
“You’re not miserable when you’re in my bed,” said Alex.
“Are you going to withdraw sex if I kill people, Alex?” Yassen sneered.
“No,” said Alex. “We both know I want you to fuck me just as much as you do.”
Yassen sniffed. “You should not talk about your father. If he were alive, he would kill me for fucking you.”
“He would see that you love me first,” said Alex.
He remembered Pete was still on the floor, scared to the point of shaking, not knowing if he were going to live or die. He just didn’t quite dare to remind Yassen of that yet.
“We can just go, Yassen. I’ll tell MI6 my cover was blown. They owe me some credit; I’ve never failed before. We can go to your safehouse, or whatever. We can have lots of sex. Wouldn’t you rather be doing that?”
Warm silence lasted a few moments. Yassen watched Alex, expression unreadable. Yassen had spent so much of his life behind a mask, Alex thought, he couldn’t show emotion when he wanted to.
Long moments later, Yassen seemed to shake himself. “As I told you, you cannot manipulate me.”
He checked Pete’s bonds were secure, then wrapped a cloth around the chef’s face. A makeshift gag. “I will not let him reveal you, but I will fulfil my contract,” said Yassen. “I will find you later.”
“Yassen!” Alex sighed.
Yassen pulled a struggling and protesting Pete to his feet. “Are you intending to fight me, little Alex?”
Alex considered it. He was a respected agent in his own right, in peak physical condition, but he did not believe he could beat Yassen in a fight. At least, not one that Yassen was prepared for. He shook his head.
“I will come for you,” said Yassen. And he dragged Pete off to face Prose.