We had no secrets and until the day that he died, he was the closest thing I had to a real family. A brother, not related by blood, whom I wouldn’t have traded for anything.
I absentmindedly wonder if Hex ever found out about my background, and strangely, I don’t feel panic or anxiety at the thought that he might have. He’s too much like his dad, too open-minded to care where you come from, what language you speak, how you look or whom you like to fuck.
Smiling as subtly as I can, I inject the anti-sedative into Mong’s arm after shooing Hex away from him. The substance is very strong and should work within a couple of minutes, so I pull one of the chairs close and sit down to wait.
Hex joins me, but he doesn’t bring his own chair. That would be too logical a thing for him to do. No, he plops his naughty backside on my lap, drapes one arm around my neck and nuzzles his nose against my chest. If I had a say in this whole thing, I’d go for intimidating and scary here, but the picture that Hex and I currently paint is anything but that. Unprofessional and silly describes us a lot more accurately, and yet I do nothing to amend that.
I don’t really know why. It’s just… It feels so damn good having him in my arms like this. So right. I never mix work and private life, that is my number one rule which I have followed since I got into the business of guarding important men, but here I am ignoring that just because I don’t know what to do with all the contentment flowing through my veins.
It’s wrong. Even if I have decided to maybe, potentially, possibly let myself get another small taste of Hex, I must not get carried away. Aran Suwannarat is a real professional like that.
Most of the time.
Inhaling Hex’s sweet scent because I simply can’t help it, I rake the fingers of one hand through his silky hair. He melts and purrs like a cat, sending a thrill of excitement across my already buzzing body.
“Ugh, Hex… What happened?” Mong’s croaky question interrupts my moment of bliss, knocking me back to the real world like a punch to the gut.
“Mong! Are you okay? Oh my god, you drank sooo much and then you passed out!” Hex explains in a rush, surging up from my lap and almost headbutting me in the chin. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” the man who looks like a young version of me groans. “I have a real nasty headache.” He makes to rub his forehead, but the restraints prevent him from moving his hands.
Mong’s eyes snap to the sturdy but elastic zipties around his wrists, narrowing in confusion. “What is this…” He sits up, but that’s as far as he can get since I haven’t adjusted the chain/restraint to allow him to move further than the couch yet. “Hex, what is going on? Why am I… tied up?”
He’s quick on the uptake. Too quick, in fact, for my liking.
“Oh, um… It’s for your own safety! You are a bit wild when you’ve had too much to drink,” Hex tries, flailing his arms around. “You wouldn’t shut up about skinny dipping and when Aran tried to talk you down, you started throwing punches at him and he accidentally knocked you out?”
Mong’s eyes bounce from my hacker menace to me, eyebrows slanting lower and lower as grogginess seems to leave Mong’s brain. “Wait. Didn’t you just say I passed out because Idrank too much? And now it’s because Ihad a fightwith your”—he glares at me suspiciously—“friend?”
The way he says it rubs me the wrong way. It shouldn’t, because he is right, but he also technically isn’t, if we count the multiple kisses and the little jerking off session Hex and I had. While I might be trying not to think about either of those things, it’s kind of impossible, especially when my doppelganger’s eyes light up with open interest whenever they lock on Hex.
“Uh.” Hex looks at me for help. “It’s the second?”
Mong presses his lips in a line, his nostrils flaring. “Are you askingme?” He shakes his hands once more, but the zipties don’t give, keeping him immobilized. “Hex,” he turns back to my troublemaker, “this is really weird. Please, tell me what’s going on.”
I know what’s coming before Hex even opens his mouth. I even contemplate shushing him, but if we are to progress with our mission, the little problem we have here needs taking care of. There are multiple ways I can come up with of doing that, and honestly, I’d rather avoid some of the more extreme and permanent ones.
It’s not that I’ve gone soft or lost my edge—it’s purely from a logistical standpoint. Making a mess, cleaning it up and getting rid of the evidence without anyone on this cruise noticing might prove a little more difficult than I’d like. With all the CCTV and people lurking about, it would be all too easy for someone to notice me dumping a body into the ocean. And that’s if they fail to realize that something is amiss with Mong. I might be good at impersonating him, but I am not flawless—I can keep up the charade for only so long before I slip up.
“Okay… but promise not to freak out? I swear we aren’t the bad guys!”
I both want to roll my eyes in exasperation and hug the hell out of Hex. He can be so goddamn innocent in the way he looks at the world. Everything is simple in his eyes, and he always thinks the best of people.
Mong pulls harder with his arms now, making the chain clank. He’s getting antsy, I can tell, and the more time we waste trying to explain things to him, the less likely he will be of taking it all in calmly.
“You are scaring me. Please, let me go,” Mong pleads as if to prove my point.
Hex raises his arms in a placating manner. “We won’t do anything to you, I promise! Just, uh, hear Aran out, okay?”
For a moment, I’m caught completely off-guard. For Hex to pass the ball to me so abruptly… I study those lovely brown eyes, finding in them a silent request that never makes it to Hex’s lips. My partner in crime must have realized how delicate the situation is and that no matter what he says, Mong is unlikely to cooperate. I’m pleasantly surprised. Hex can be observant, but when that manifests is usually a coin toss.
Ghosting my hand over his silky hair, I approach the couch. Mong’s gaze fills with fear and he tries to scurry as further away from me as possible. It tells me that he must remember something, else he wouldn’t be reflexively trying to put distance between the two of us.
“I’ll be direct,” I say, picking up the chain that’s attached to his left ankle’s restraint. I dangle it in my hand and let him watch and stew in that for a few moments. “Hex and I are undercover. We work for the CIA, and we’ve been following up on a lead for a very major case.” I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to use it, but as I take out the fake badge, I am glad I had the foresight to bring it on this cruise.
Mong inspects the little object, and his tense shoulders relax a notch. I’ll have to thank Kieran for this—it was his idea. He gave me his CIA access card and, with Kwanchai’s help, we disassembled it and turned it into a badge. Now, while CIA agents don’t normally carry badges, a lot of people don’t know that. Especially those who aren’t Americans.
“When you came over the other night,” I continue, “you were about to find out who we were and I couldn’t risk that, so I acted impulsively and incapacitated you. I apologize for that and for the inconvenience caused, but you must understand why this was necessary.” I tip my head at the chain, then dangle it a bit more.
