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Standing up and pulling my pants on, I grabbed my shirt off the floor and slung it over my shoulder. Quietly, I stood and crossed to the open window to stare out at the night. Even way up here in the penthouse suite, the sounds of the city wound their way to me. The heat of a July night in New York City pressed against my damp skin, still covered in sweat. His sweat.
That thought woke me up, made me think about where I was and what the hell I was really doing. Turning back to the bed, I let my eyes roam over his body, his skin glistening, long legs tangled up in satin sheets. All in all, he looked plenty pleasant, my very own brunette, grey eyed Satan.
Kinda like Satan, getting too close to Bucky Barnes was a mistake that could cost me everything. Maybe it was because he was a client, or maybe because he was an Upper East side egg, but Bucky was like that one thing you know you're not supposed to want, but you can't seem to stay away from. My life had been dark since the war, and he walked into my office shining brighter than any candle, and if he was the flame, well, then I guess that made me the moth.
And like that moth, what I was doing with him was bound to get me burnt. I took this job, against all my better judgment, even when I couldn't be sure if he was on the level or not. I've always been pretty good at reading people, and anytime I've felt like a potential client has been holding something back, I've sent 'em packing. Fast. But Bucky. Bucky had a way about him, a way of making me forget all my principles and my good sense.
The man was dangerous. I just didn't know if he was dangerous enough to commit murder. He'd sworn to me that it wasn't him. The witnesses had described someone tall, with dark hair, but that didn't mean anything. At least, that's what I kept telling myself when I touched him. When I put my hands on him, or kissed that wide, sinful mouth, lips wet and red. Or when we fucked, his cock pumping into me as I held on for dear life. I didn't think, because if I stopped to think, for even a second, I'd have to admit, he could be that dangerous. I'd seen it in the way his eyes sometimes turned hard and cold; there was something deadly inside him.
Was Bucky the one that had put that bullet into Arnim Zola's chest? He certainly had reason to, but then again so did half the city. As I stood there watching him sleep, I came to the realization that it didn't matter. Whether he'd plugged that rat bastard or not, there was nothing I wouldn't do to keep him out of the slammer, or worse, the chair. He hadn't asked me to, but I knew I'd die for him, even kill for him if it came to that.
I was goddamn stupid for Bucky Barnes, and that was a problem. Show me a guy who has feelings, and I'll show you a sucker. It was starting to look more and more everyday like that sucker was me.
Bucky opened his eyes then, and looked at me and right through me. He knew he had me wrapped around his little finger, I could tell. As good as I am at reading people, at taking one look at someone and knowing, Bucky was better. As crazy as I was about him, there was no guarantee he felt the same way about me. The very real possibility existed that Barnes was playing me. That he'd known what I'd needed, seen it from the start, and he'd given it to me, all to get me here, to this moment. Up to the devil's own swank hotel room, ready to lay my soul on the line for him.
With a soft smirk, Bucky extended one muscled arm, and crooked his finger at me. When I didn't move right away, he dropped his arm along with the smirk. He sat up and propped his head on his other hand.
"Skippin' out on me, Rogers?"
His voice was full of that Brooklyn drawl I'd come to love. It sent a shiver down my spine that I felt right through to my fingers and toes. I should have run then, my brain was telling me to, but my blood wouldn't listen. Dimly, in the back of my mind, I thought of the blood that must have poured from Zola's body as it lay cooling on the pavement.
"Maybe," I heard myself answer from far away. My feet shuffled forward of their own accord, towards the bed and the rumpled sheets and him. Like a magnet, I was drawn to Bucky Barnes, by a force stronger than myself that pulled me inexorably to him.
I sat next to him, let my hands reach out and cup the back of his neck. "This was a mistake, Buck," I whispered against his mouth, even as I nipped at his full bottom lip none too gently.
Bucky lay down and wrapped his arms around my back, pulling me along with him. "What was a mistake? The first time, the second time? The third?" he asked as he kissed down my neck.
"All of it," I gasped, my face pressed to his thick, dark hair, his scent making me feel more intoxicated than any hooch ever could. And that's why it was all a mistake, because being with Bucky Barnes, kissing him, holding him, making love to him, it drove me crazy in the worst way. People ain't safe with a man like him in the world. I ain't safe.
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Three days ago…
"Are you Rogers?"
The bell over the office door hadn't even finished its little jingle yet, and yet the man in the sharp, pinstriped suit was pulling out a chair to sit in.
"Depends on who's asking," I answered.
"My name's James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky. All my friends do."
"Is that what you think we are? Sorry pal, but I don't know you from a can of paint. And if you can't read, the sign on the door says 'Closed.' Now you got two minutes to convince me I shouldn't just throw you out on your kisser."
My head was aching, and I was in no mood to play games with some rich dandy, mostly because Howard and I had spent half the night taking swigs out of a bottle of what he said was whiskey, and what I’m pretty sure was plain old rubbing alcohol. Still, times like these, a man will take what he can get his hands on and worry about the headache later. Goddamn Prohees.
Bucky grinned at me, soft and teasing, "Is business that good then, that you can just go about tossing five hundred clams to the curb?"
He had me there and he knew it. Dough wasn't something I could afford to turn down, and if this cat was offering that much of it, the least I could do was hear him out.
Leaning forward, I looked at Barnes properly this time. Now I don't know that I've ever seen a sight quite like Bucky Barnes. He had the face of an angel, and legs long enough to tempt the devil. My mouth had gone dry, so I didn't answer, just nodded at him to continue.
"So I assume you've heard of the Arnim Zola murder case? Well, I'm that James Barnes. But I will swear to you right now, on my mother's grave, I didn't kill him. I need you to help me find who did. Zola’s office was ransacked. He kept records, of all the men he worked with. Whoever killed him has those books. Find the ledgers, find the killer.”
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Two days ago
“Listen, buddy, are you deaf? I already told you, Mr. Pierce ain’t here. Now scram.” The dark haired, heavily muscled guy in front of me wasn’t playing around, but neither was I. It was obvious what this guy was, a torpedo, Pierce’s hired gun.
Bucky had told me his name was Brock Rumlow, and he was the guy that did most of Pierce’s dirty work, the messy jobs that ended with someone else’s blood all over Rumlow’s hands. Looking at him, I had little doubt that if I became too much of a problem, Rumlow would have no qualms about getting me out of the way.
“I heard you the first three times you said that. I also know I’m not leaving until you tell me where I can find him. This is about his old business associate, Arnim Zola. You know, the one that was killed a few nights ago?”
That got Rummy’s attention. From the way his eyes flicked to the corner office, and widened slightly, I gathered that’s where Pierce was hiding, probably listening to every word being spoken. Gotta give the lug credit though - he might have looked like nobody was home, but he recovered quickly.
“You’re an awful nosy fella. You know what happens to nosy fellas, huh? They lose their noses. Now get this straight, my boss didn’t have any dealings with Arnim Zola. He was a crook, and he worked for even bigger crooks, the bootlegging kind. It’s no wonder the little freak’s dead. Mr. Pierce is an honest businessman. And besides, I heard there was already a suspect in the Zola murder. Some rich kid, name of Barnes? I heard Zola was Barnes’ accountant. Everybody knows he stole the kid’s money and that’s why the kid took him out.”
I gave Rumlow my sharpest grin. “Well I hear Barnes is only the fall guy. That story is nothing but a bedtime story, told by a powerful person setting up a frame job.”
“And you think that’s Pierce?” Rumlow was putting on a show, but I could see that had got to him.
“And why not? He is the kid’s godfather. Or did you forget to mention that little fact when you were feeding me that line?”
Rumlow laid his hands on me then, grabbed me around the shoulders and turned me towards the door. It’s been a long time since a guy like Rumlow could get the better of me. I wasn’t the same, sick, skinny kid I once was. But I let him manhandle me out of the building and toss me into the street.
“Beat it while you can still walk, and don’t let me catch you hangin’ around here again, ya hear? Pierce is on the up and up, and nothing you or that punk Barnes say is gonna prove any different!”
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One day ago
Drumming out a beat on his thighs, Bucky cocked one eyebrow and looked at me. "So, you're telling me I can't even hop out for a cup of joe and a danish?"
"Yeah, that's what I'm saying, Barnes." I tried not to look over at him, didn't wanna see him give me that mocking little smile. "You step out of this car, you draw attention to yourself. Worse, you draw attention to me, and that’s about the worst thing you can possibly do on a casing job."
From beside me, I heard him let out a soft chuckle, and then caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Turning to Bucky, I saw him reach into his coat pocket and pull out a silver flask. He didn’t open it right away, just twisted the cap back and forth in an absent minded way.
I went back to watching the building across the street so I wouldn’t have to look at him any longer. I ain’t the sort of man who mixes business with sentiment, but Bucky was so damn beautiful he made my eyes hurt. Like I was looking at the face of a god, and what right did I, a mere mortal, have to gaze upon something so perfect.
The silence stretched on between us until I couldn’t stand it any longer. “You really think your Godfather set you up to take the fall for Zola’s murder?”
Chancing a glance at him, I caught him smiling at me humorlessly. “This is a rotten town, Steve, with a lot of rotten people in it. A guy like Pierce, he’s the worst one of the bunch. He plays at being respectable, with his donations to all the right charities and his weekly night out with the Police Commissioner, but he’s as crooked as they come. When I told him I wanted my Pop’s money, the original investment he made with Pierce all those years ago, he smiled right to my face and told me to give him a couple of days. Like he didn’t have that mazuma just lying around in one of his desk drawers. A couple of days, he says, and a few hours later, Zola’s dead, and I’m left holding the bag.”
“That’s kind of a jaded view, don’t you think?” I asked him.
Bucky sighed, and passed a hand over his eyes. “Whatever you say, pal.” At last, he twisted the cap off his flask and took a long pull of whatever was inside. A tiny, amber, droplet slid down his lip, and rolled down his chin. My mouth went dry as I watched him wipe it away. Suddenly I was so thirsty, I felt like I needed to lean forward and press my mouth to his. Wanted to lick my way into his mouth and taste the alcohol from his tongue.
As much as I knew I should look away, I couldn’t help myself. My own mouth dropped open when he raised the bottle once more. I watched him wrap his lips around the metal, forming a perfect “O”, his throat working as he swallowed. Did he know what he was doing to me?
He turned his head sharply, busted me watching him. Guilt rolled around in my belly when I saw how haunted his grey eyes were. "I wasn't always this way, ya know." The sound that came out of him was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "He killed my parents, Steve. I know it now just as sure as I know my own name. I think deep down, I always did."
"Buck," I began. But he didn't let me finish.
"No. He's rich, don't you understand? He thinks he can get away with anything! He got rich off my parent’s money, and he killed them and he got away with it, and he’s gonna keep on doing it to more people unless I stop him."
Every single piece of me ached to reach out and hold Bucky. Just pull him into my arms and hold tight and never let go. I might have too, if Pierce hadn't chosen that moment to stride out the front door of his office building.
I spotted him as he was hurrying towards a car that had pulled up to the curb, being escorted by the same torpedo from the day before, Rumlow.
I could tell that the duds Pierce had on cost more than what I could earn in a whole year. His suit was a deep, rich blue, with a white handkerchief sticking out of the pocket, pearl gray spats and a huge, diamond studded platinum watch. He was sharp, elegant looking. But even from this distance, I could see through that shiny veneer to the dirt underneath.
"If I'm not back in twenty minutes, you get outta here," I told him as I opened the car door. "Don't wait for me, and don't come looking either."
"You expect me to wait here?"
I smiled at him, trying to show him I wasn't the least bit worried. The look on his face was something else, chin jutting out defiantly, those grey-blue eyes stormy. "Don't worry, Barnes, everything'll be Jake." Throwing him a wink, I darted across the street and into the back alley behind Pierce's building.
Luckily, Bucky had supplied me with a key to the place, pilfered from one of Pierce's underlings. He'd also given me the layout of the building, which I'd drawn to his specifications and memorized a few hours ago.
There wasn’t much light, and turning on a flashlight would only get me caught. Still, I had a job to do, so I made do as best I could. The first place I searched was the office Pierce had been hiding out in while I had my chat with Rumlow. Not that I thought he’d keep anything as incriminating as Zola’s missing ledgers in his desk drawer, but it was worth a look.
Jimmying the lock open was easy. Aside from a permanent match, some old newspapers, and a few photographs, and a letter opener, there wasn’t much to find. Digging further into the drawer, my hand caught on something. It felt like a false panel. Intrigued, I pulled out the letter opener and wedged the tip into a thin crack.
One jerk of my hand, and the panel popped right off. Inside the empty space was something wrapped in soft fabric. Pulling it out, I unwrapped the package, to reveal a small, leather bound book. I flipped it open, and turned to a page at random. It didn’t make much sense, just a list of times and places. Each page thereafter was pretty much the same, so I rifled through till I found the last page. What was scrawled there caught my attention. Wednesday, 3:30 pm, Shield Investigations.
That was when Bucky had walked into my office. They’d been watching him; they knew he was my client, and that had to mean something. Quickly, I turned back to the first page, and saw that it was dated three weeks ago. According to Bucky, that was around the time he had first gone to Pierce with his request for his father’s investment money. It wasn’t definitive proof, but it was something I could take to my contact on the force. Chester Phillips, my old C.O., had been wanting to take down Pierce and his illegal shipping operation for some time now. If he could tie the businessman to Zola’s murder, he could finally put him away.
Pocketing the book, I carefully put everything back exactly the way I had found it. Then I did a quick search of the rest of the offices, but found nothing else useful. Just as I was about to make my exit, I heard the back door scraping against the floor.
Pulling my revolver from its holster, I waited behind the door of the office I was in. I didn’t want to have to shoot somebody, but if it came down to it, I would. The best I could hope for was for the person to enter one of the other offices so I could make my getaway.
The sound of footsteps moved closer, until I could tell they were right outside the door. Then, I heard a hissing voice.
“Steve? You here? It’s me, Bucky. Where are you?”
“Dammit,” I said as I threw the door open. “I thought I told you to wait in the car.”
"You did. But you were taking so long, and I got worried.”
Again, I could tell if that was the truth or a lie. Either way, it made my knees go weak and my heart start to stutter.
“Did you find anything?”
“Yeah, just a book. Shows they’ve been following you since you approached your Godfather. Not much else.”
The look he gave me was cold, and disapproving. “That’s it? What the hell am I supposed to do with that? Jesus, Rogers, what the hell am I paying you for? Did you at least look behind the radiator?”
“I, uh…”
“Oh, hell,” Bucky muttered.
He reached out a grabbed my hand, and all thought flew right outta my head. I looked down at his slim fingers wrapped around mine, and felt my face turn hot. All I could think about was what those long digits could do to me, how it might feel if he-
“Hey, what’s the matter with you? Going idiot on me?”
“What? No, sorry, lead the way.”
I should’ve pulled my hand out of his grip, but like a lamb to the slaughter, I let Bucky lead me where he would. He dragged me down the hall and back to Pierce’s office Too soon, he was letting my hand slip as he moved to the radiator, and the panel in the wall I hadn’t even noticed.
“Help me move this.”
Dumbly, I shuffled forward and took hold of the heater. On the count of three, we shoved it out of the way. It wasn’t heavy at all; Barnes could have easily done it alone.
He pushed hard on a small section of the wall, which popped out, revealing a hidden space behind it. Bucky shoved his left arm inside, and for a fleeting second, I wanted to shout a warning to him, tell him to be careful before something inside there ripped that arm right off.
My mouth was opening when he pulled out a rucksack and tossed it on the floor. It landed with a heavy thud. I wiped my hands on my pants, and darted forward to snatch up the bag. Undoing the straps, I looked inside. It was full of journals.
“Lemme see,” Bucky said. He grabbed one out of my hand and slammed it on the desk, opening it to the first page. A grin spread across his face, and he looked up at me triumphantly. “Attaboy, Stevie! We’ve got him!”
I smiled back at him. He was right, we’d done it. “Come on,” I said, taking the book from him and stuffing it back in the sack. I watched him slide the panel back into place, and then drag the radiator back to its previous spot, lining it up carefully. I noticed how much easier he moved it this time, but forced myself not to think about those implications.
Bucky and I made our way back outside the building, locking the door back up. Outside, it was now dark, and raining heavily.
“Let’s go!” he shouted at me over the sound of the thunder. He took my hand again, and together, we ran back to the car as fast as we could, the water splashing our pant legs with each step we took.
Diving into the car, we slammed the doors behind us, blocking out the sound of the wind and the lashing rain. The sudden storm had taken us by surprise; later on tonight it would turn warm and muggy. Glancing over to Bucky, I noticed him looking at me like he wanted to eat me alive. It was a look I wasn’t used to getting. Frozen to the spot, my mind went blank as his eyes turned soft and hooded, and he raised his hand to my face.
Cold fingertips rested against my cheek, and I struggled to hold back a shiver. No one had ever made me feel quite the way he did. I wasn’t sure if I liked it or not.
Before I knew what was happening, Bucky was kissing me, slow and hesitant at first. I could taste the earlier alcohol on his lips, and I chased after it. Bucky’s hands were clenched in the lapels of my coat, tugging me closer, his chest pressed against mine. I might not have done much kissing in my lifetime, but even I knew that what was happening between us was something special.
My fingers twisted in his hair, now black as midnight and wet from the rain that still pounded against the windows. All the blood in my body went rushing south, and I felt giddy and light headed.
I don't’ know how long it lasted; could have been two minutes or two hours. All I knew was that I could have gone on kissing those red lips until I died.
“Not here, Steve,” he gasped, even as his mouth continued working down my neck, his nimble fingers easily undoing the top buttons of my shirt. “Take me home."
“Home?” I asked stupidly, hands gripping his waist tight enough to leave bruises.
“My place.”
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Now
“You were saying?” Bucky had just collapsed on the bed beside me, out of breath, chest heaving.
Fighting to control my racing heart, I answered. “I said this was a mistake.” I tried to roll over and face him, and winced at the twinge in my back. “My opinion hasn’t changed. I think you’re gonna be bad for my health.”
He laughed, and smiled at me wickedly. Somewhere deep down, as I lay there in his bed, I wondered about the ledgers we had found. How Bucky had known exactly where to look. Could he have been the one to plant them there? Or was the simplest answer the right one? Maybe he’d just known where his Godfather would hide such damning evidence. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t care.
Reaching down, I clasped his hand in mine, brought it up and kissed the open palm.
The lazy smile in his voice was audible. “Ok, Steve. If you say so. Just be here when I wake up, no more slinking out like a thief in the night.” Leaning over, Bucky pressed a kiss to my chin.
“Sure thing, Buck. ‘Til the end of the line.”
“That may come sooner than you think, Rogers.”
“I can live with that.” After a beat, I thought, or die with it.