The Christmas Package

Allen has had enough. His latest job went south, his favorite car has been totaled, people keep wanting
his lover, Jack, dead, and on top of all that he still has not a single damn clue what to get Jack for
Christmas—a gift he desperately wants to get right because otherwise he fears he’ll be spending New
Year’s Day alone.

Then he finds himself forced to take an unusual job on Christmas Eve, and Allen wonders if they’ll even
live long enough to exchange gifts…

The Christmas Package
By Megan Derr

Published by Less Than Three Press

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or
reproduced in any manner without written permission of the
publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

Edited by Samantha M Derr
Cover designed by Megan Derr

This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and
situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people,
places, or events is coincidental.

First Edition December 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Megan Derr
Printed in the United States of America

ISBN 978-1-936202-97-3

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Megan Derr
– The Christmas Package




Allen pulled his gun and aimed it at the asshole who was officially T minus fifty-nine seconds
from being dead. He generally preferred to keep his daily body count to three, but he was willing to add
a fourth under the circumstances.

"He's not worth killing," Jack said.

He didn't take his eyes off his new target, but he could still see his totaled Bentley Continental from the
corner of his eye. "Yes, he is. Do you know what I had to do to get that fucking car?"

"Kill somebody?" Jack replied dryly.

Allen shot him a disgusted look then snapped his attention back to the asshole who had wrecked his
baby. "You will hold still, or I will make certain the bullet I put in you causes a very slow and painful
death. Do you understand me?"

The guy nodded hastily and lifted his hands in a show of surrender that was so fucking stupid Allen
almost rolled his eyes. He'd worked his ass off for that car, taken the shittiest job on the planet for it,
and all he'd wanted was to enjoy the rest of his day, but no—the easy job had turned difficult, it was
snowing like hell when the forecast had said clear, Christmas was tomorrow and he still didn't know
what to buy Jack, and now his favorite car was totaled.

His mood had officially gone from bad to worse, and somebody was going to get a bullet in the head. He
kept the gun steady and jerked his chin in the direction of the ruin that had been his car. "You have ten
seconds to tell me how you're going to make me feel better, or I'll do it myself by the generous
application of bullets to your torso region."

Jack sighed. Allen ignored him. All he'd wanted was for one thing to go right. It should have been an easy
day. Wake up. Go to breakfast with Jack. Go kill Mr. Waterstone. Go back to the hotel. Wait 'til Jack fell
asleep, then sneak out to try and do some Christmas shopping. The only blemish on his day should have
been a phone call from his mother.

But no. The snow had knocked the power out so they'd woken up late. The roads were too much of a
mess for breakfast to be worth the hassle. One simple assignment to kill a pedophilic business tycoon
had turned into a three-body job. His mother hadn't bothered to call all damn day. And Jack had been in
a bad mood throughout.

He should never have had the Bentley brought to him, but goddammit, he had wanted something to
perk him up. Now his prize possession was junkyard material because some asshole couldn't properly
operate his Dodge Ram. Allen really wanted to shoot somebody.

"If you shoot him," Jack said with patience that he obviously did not feel, "then we'll have to hide the
body, and we'll be out here even longer. Just take his fucking keys and let's get the hell out of here."

6 |
Megan Derr
– The Christmas Package
"T-t-tak'em, m-man," the guy said, eyes nearly popping out of his head at Jack's casual observation
about hiding his body. He held out the keys still clutched in his right hand, dangling from an obnoxious
John Deere key ring.

Allen sighed long and loud, but took the keys with his free hand. Pocketing them, he put his gun away—
then grabbed the guy, sank a fist into his gut, and clipped the back of his head, knocking him out.
Catching the idiot over his shoulder, Allen carted him across the street to a house that looked like it had
plenty of activity. He left the guy on the covered porch, right against the front door, then strode back to
where Jack had already climbed into the truck.

He took one last look at his poor car and went through it to clear out the extra guns stashed in it,
removed the license plates, then finally joined Jack. Starting up the largely unscathed pick up, he slowly
pulled back and out, wincing as a piece fell off his car. "I really wish you had let me shoot him," he
groused.

The words actually drew a smile—a real smile—from Jack. Allen hated dating—well, did they call it
dating? What did they call it? He wasn't certain delivering dubious packages and the odd hit were
dating, but they weren't really the go to the movies kind of guys—

Anyway, whatever they were doing, it would be a hell of a lot easier if Jack were easier to read. Just
when Allen thought he had Jack down, he was left guessing again. Allen was pretty certain he'd never
met a better poker face. The world would never know how lucky they were that Jack had ratted out his
family instead of taking over the family business. "If you'd shot him, we'd still be in the snow and

probably dealing with cops. Remind me to chew out Avery later; that house was supposed to be clear,
and that's the second time he's given us poor information. If I wanted you to take shitty jobs, I'd get you
shitty jobs. If you really want to kill someone else today, shoot Avery."

"You spoil me," Allen replied, and Jack laughed. Some of the tension leaked from Allen's shoulders, and
he dared to hope that maybe he was just losing his mind, and things were okay, and Jack didn't actually
seem as moody and withdrawn as he had lately. "So what shall we do the rest of the day?"

"Sleep?" Jack replied. "We seem to get little enough of that."

Maybe he wasn't losing his mind. Allen stifled a twinge of disappointment. The days of Rio and going to
dinner between fire fights seemed long gone. He supposed he should just be happy he'd set a new
record; before Jack, his longest relationship had been four and a half weeks. Six months, his mother
would cheerfully declare, was a miracle. "We seem to get little enough of everything except gunshots
and plans gone wrong. It's only five o'clock-ish—we could go do something."

"And get shot at again? No thanks. It's Christmas Eve—all the crazies are out. I'm staying in."

Allen tried not to wilt at those words, but it was hard. He had no interest in anything stupid and normal,
but another night of 'stay in the motel' was, right then, a level of hell all its own. Okay, fine. Maybe it
might have been nice to have a little bit of normal for once.

Shit, he couldn't even come up with a present. Jack probably didn't even give a damn; if Allen knew him
at all, he knew that. But his mother would be the first to remind him—with a slap upside the head—that
that wasn't the point.
7 |
Megan Derr
– The Christmas Package

The point was to make Jack happy. Allen just wished he knew without a doubt that he was the best man

for that job. Stifling a sigh, he drove the rest of the way back to their motel in silence, fervently hoping
that the power was back on. It was tricky, going with all the snow, but the pick-up handled it better
than his poor Bentley had. He really should have left his baby in storage, but what was done was done,
as his mother liked to say.

They reached the motel, and Allen led the way to their room, swiping his card and pushing the door
open, sighing in relief when he flipped the light switch and the room filled with dull yellow light. He
grimaced at the ugly bedspread, wondering what it was about motels that the bedspreads always had to
be ugly as fuck and not match a single other thing in the room. The fact that this time it almost matched
the hideous striped walls was, he suspected, pure dumb luck.

Moving to the little table by the window, he shrugged out of his winter coat and hung it over one of the
chairs, then stripped off his leather gloves and set them down. Finally he pulled out the gun he wore in a
shoulder holster, as well as the smaller one strapped to his ankle. Checking them both over, he set one
on the nightstand and put the other in the nightstand drawer.

Sitting down at the table, he stretched his legs out and wished fervently that they were anywhere but
another crappy motel. He wanted to be back in his bed, the one he saw only a handful of times a year
and never for very long. The one he really hoped he'd be able to show Jack someday.

Jack discarded his own winter clothes and strode across the room to the minifridge, bending to pull out
two cans of beer. He walked back over to Allen and held out one of the beers. Allen ignored it in favor of
grabbing Jack's wrist and tugging him close and down, then kissing him. Jack immediately responded,
and Allen heard the thump of the unopened cans hitting the floor as Jack tried to straddle him. When
the cheap motel chair prevented it, Allen stood up and pushed Jack down onto the bed, straddling him
and diving right back in for another kiss.

He sank a hand into Jack's soft curls as his free hand slipping beneath Jack's dark blue sweater, sliding
along warm skin. Whatever else was wrong, he thought feverishly—and maybe a little desperately—this
still worked between them, and that had to count for something. Allen pulled back to admire the view:

Jack tousled and hard and ready for more, no sign of his bad mood remaining. "I really don't get why
people keep shooting you."

"Turning state's evidence is generally frowned upon," Jack said dryly. "You're just biased because you're
fucking me."

Allen rolled his eyes and set to work removing their clothes. He really hated winter; there was no good
way to remove all the cumbersome layers, and his damned boots especially were nothing, but a pain in
the ass. Goddamn frozen shoelaces. He pitched the boots across the room when he finally got them off,
and then turned back to Jack, who was snickering at him. "Oh, shut up," he said, climbing back on top of
Jack and fisting his cock, turning the snickers into needy demands. "So bossy."

"Someone has to be, god knows you'd never get on with it if I wasn't telling you what to do," Jack
retorted. "I shudder to think how you muddled along before I showed up and started giving you
instructions."

8 |
Megan Derr
– The Christmas Package
Laughing, Allen kissed him again, letting go of Jack's cock to smooth his hand along Jack's skin again,
leaving smears of precum. Tearing away from Jack's mouth, he nibbled at his jaw and then slowly down
his neck, grunting as Jack's nails bit into his skin. He worked his way down Jack's torso, sucking and
biting and licking, lapping up the smears he'd left only moments before.

Jack ran his fingers over Allen's head, reminding him that his hair really was getting too long and needed
to go. Maybe he'd shave it later if he got a chance. For the moment, however, his only interest was in
obeying the tacit order to suck Jack's cock. He loved when Jack got bossy. He was so quiet and still and
innocuous most of the time, so deceptively easy-going, that Allen relished when he let that all go and
got demanding.

He pulled away long enough to find condoms in his duffle, and after a bit of impatient fumbling rolled
one down Jack's cock. He then bent to resume where he'd left off, wondering when or if he should ever
broach doing away with the condoms altogether. Jack thrust into his mouth, finger sliding over Allen's
scalp in search of a grip that would never be there, while Allen took him with ease, throat and tongue
working, pushing harder and harder as Jack swore and demanded and finally came. Allen swallowed him
down and slowly pulled off his cock, going easily when Jack tugged him up and took a deep kiss.

He grunted in surprise when Jack abruptly flipped them, but didn't complain in the slightest at the way
Jack's ass felt against his cock. Jack got rid of his condom, throwing it in the bin they'd put right by the
bed, then leaned over him and fumbled beneath his pillow, coming out with the lube. Allen reached for
the lube and glared when Jack held it out of reach. "I think you can just lay there and do as you're told,"
Jack said and slicked his own fingers, rising up on his knees to push them into his ass.

Allen moaned and tried to touch Jack himself, only to be given a warning look that said Jack could and
would be very mean if he didn't do as told. "You're kind of a jerk."

"Mm," Jack agreed and rolled the condom down Allen's cock, then held it and slowly sank down on it.
His skin was shiny with sweat, his hair sticking to his cheeks in a way that made Allen want to reach out
and push the curls aside and drag Jack down for more kisses.

Then Jack moved, making him moan, bracing his hands on Allen's chest as he began to ride him like he
was racing to meet a deadline. Allen grasped his hips and thrust up in time with his movements, driving
as hard as he could into Jack's tight heat. He finally came with a cry that no doubt pissed off their
neighbors and completely did not care. They slumped together on the bed, sweaty and sticky and sated,
and Allen kissed him softly, relishing the way Jack always kissed him back no matter what his mood.

Jack yawned and flopped onto his back, come drying on his torso. They needed to shower, if only so
they'd be ready to go should they have to go for any reason—having to bolt while still filthy from sex
was, to say the least, unpleasant—but Allen couldn't bring himself to move just yet. "Sure you don't
want to do anything for Christmas Eve?" he asked.

"No," Jack said. "Our luck, we'll just get into a firefight. We have beer, food, peace, and quiet. Your
mom even managed to send us gingersnaps." Allen nodded and let it go. "I am sorry about your car,"
Jack said, rolling over to lie alongside him, one hand settling on Allen's chest.

"I'll live," Allen said, even if he still wanted to find the bastard and run him over with his own pick-up.
"Shouldn't have had it brought here, anyway."
9 |
Megan Derr
– The Christmas Package

Jack laughed softly, but in that way that said he was already falling asleep. "It was a nice ride; we'll have
to get you another sometime." Allen smiled faintly, but didn't reply, simply let Jack drift off to sleep. It
was something they'd both gotten little enough of, lately, and they'd have to move on soon if they didn't
want to start getting shot at again. The contract might say double the price if Jack was taken alive, but
no one cared about Allen.

Thank god his mother was tucked away, and this time no one was going to fucking find her, or he'd
really flip his shit. Allen waited until Jack started snoring softly, then slid away and went to get cleaned
up. Showered, he pulled on a worn pair of jeans and a green sweater his mother had given him for his
birthday. He preferred his suits: it was the way his father had always dressed. Jeans and a sweater
would draw less attention than a man in a suit, however.

Pulling on his coast and a watch cap, he tucked his guns into place, then finally pulled on his leather
gloves. He flexed his fingers, settling the gloves into place, grabbed up keys and wallet, and headed out.

The chance of finding a Christmas present so late was slim to none, but he had to try. His family had
never been much for holidays, but they'd always exchanged presents. He drove to the main downtown
shopping district and parked on the street, shoving quarters into the meter before venturing off to the
shops.

Two hours later, nothing had really snagged his attention, and he was growing increasingly frustrated
with all the other shoppers. He didn't like crowds, especially when someone in that crowd might be
inclined to put a bullet in his back. Allen sighed and paused in front of a shop window that displayed a
saccharine scene of Santa, Mrs. Clause, and a dozen children. He vaguely remembered malls packed
with people eager to meet Santa, but that had never been something he'd taken part in; his parents had
used malls to train him on paying attention, on focusing and not getting distracted, on keeping his eye
on the target no matter what, and far more besides.

He walked on, lingering at another window that displayed a set of suits. The pinstripe especially caught
his eye, and Allen wished they could go home. He hadn't bought a new suit in forever, and his tailor was
probably starting to think he'd finally managed to get himself killed. Allen smiled faintly, thinking how
much hell he'd catch from Jack for having his own tailor.

The scuff of boots alerted him that someone was behind him, but the prickle along the back of his neck
was what told him he was fucked. Allen turned and pulled his gun all in one smooth move—and rolled
his eyes when he saw who it was holding a gun in his face.

"Hello, Sweet-tart."

"Hello, Shakespeare," Allen retorted and lowered his weapon.

"Don’t call me that."

"Don't call me Sweet-tart."

Laughing, the man lowered his gun, but didn't put it away. Allen eyed him warily, wondering what was
up, but hopeful it wasn't too awful since he was still alive. Allen's father had started training him when
10 |
Megan Derr

– The Christmas Package
he was seven. Tybalt Azura had started his training as a private assassin for the Azura Syndicate when he
was three. He barely cleared five feet, had short, spiky black hair, and the trademark azure eyes. He
looked like a punk-rock pixie, and people dreaded hearing his name. "Long time no see, Sweet."

"Could have gone longer," Allen replied. "What the fuck do you want, Tybalt? I haven't done anything to
cross Azura, and I'm allowed on his turf. It was a legitimate hit. Why were you sent?"

"Because anyone else we sent out would have come back crying," Tybalt said congenially. "Azura wants
you for a job."

Allen gestured sharply. "Not interested, and even if I was, you'd have to go through my handler. I know
you know I have one now, Tybalt."

"Mm, yes. Didn't believe it 'til I saw it, though. He's already in the limo."

"You son of a—"

"Ah, ah, ah," Tybalt said and lifted his gun again. "Your boy is fine, if likely to be a lot pissed off when he
wakes up. Get in the car, Sweet-tart."

Allen obeyed, but only because he knew he had little choice in the matter. He climbed into the
ostentatious limo that pulled up the curb, rolling his eyes at the pointless melodrama. "I see your boss
still has a flair for the ridiculous."

Tybalt only smirked and relaxed back against the soft leather of the seat opposite Allen. Ignoring him,
Allen moved to where Jack was slumped in a corner, gently checking him for injuries. "What did you do
to him?"

"He took a knock to the head; he'll be fine," Tybalt said. "I have to admit, I didn't believe the rumors that

you'd found Marcus Brighton and taken him as your handler. He's damn near a fucking urban legend,
but there he sits, pretty as you please. Where the fuck did you find him?"

Allen sat back, though he left a hand wrapped loosely around Jack's arm. "He found me and decided to
stick around."

"You do know what the contract on him is, right?"

"I find it funny, Shakespeare, that after all this time you still think I'm a fucking idiot. Yes, I know what
the contract is on him. If even one of you attempts anything—"

Tybalt cut him off with a laugh. "We have better things to do with our time than help the Brighton family
with revenge. If anything, we owe Marcus our thanks."

"The name is Jack, you fuckwit," Jack said, voice groggy, but the anger in it sharp. "Who the hell are
you?"

"I work for Azura," Tybalt replied.

11 |
Megan Derr
– The Christmas Package
Jack eyed him speculatively then grunted. "You're the one they call Mercutio or whatever."

"Everyone's a comedian," Tybalt said with a sigh. "We're here. Try to behave; I don't like to shoot people
on Christmas Eve."

Squeezing Jack's arm lightly when he heard him draw breath to make a retort to that, Allen followed
Tybalt out of the limo, Jack close behind. Tybalt led them into a skyscraper fronted entirely with glass.
Neon light spelled out Azura Corp over the entrance. Inside, the lobby was quiet, save for the two

guards on duty. They didn't look like cheap rent-a-cops.

Reaching the elevators, Tybalt led them inside one, then pulled a key from around his neck and fit it to
the control panel. He turned it and then pushed a button for the top floor. The rode up to the
penthouse in silence, though Allen could see Jack was dying to say something.

He almost smiled at the way Jack looked pissed off and not much else. It really and truly struck him,
then, just what Jack could have—should have—been. If he hadn't helped get his entire family arrested,
along with more than half the people who had worked for them, he would have been Azura's equal.
Brighton had never been quite as large or powerful as Azura, but they'd been close. Jack had walked
away from that life, but he still carried traces of it.

The elevator chimed softly, and as the doors slid open, Tybalt led them through the main living area of
the penthouse and halfway down the hallway where he rapped on a door before pushing it open. Inside
the room were two other men: one seated behind the desk, the other perched on the edge of the desk
next to the first.

"You found them rather quickly, Tybs," said the man sitting on the desk, sliding off and turning around.
He was pretty as fuck, like some sort of dark-haired, dark-eyed, sultry wet dream with a husky voice to
match. Allen had never met the man, but he knew him anyway. Only Mickey, Azura's right hand, would
sit that close and that casually, and everyone who met Mickey said he was beauty enough to tempt the
straightest, the most faithful, and even the dead. Pretty as he was, he couldn't compare to Jack. Allen
glanced at Jack, smiling faintly at the way he continued to look only extremely pissed and thoroughly
unimpressed.

Tybalt closed the door then moved to stand by the floor-to-ceiling windows, leaning casually against
them, gun still held in one hand. "Wasn’t hard. Allen isn't a drama queen, like some of them. I'd watch
Marcus—I mean Jack—though; he's a little bitchy."

Jack ignored him, attention focused on the man behind the desk. He was dressed in a black suit with a

blue tie that brought out the famous azure color of his eyes, all the more stark for the white-blonde of
his hair. "What the fuck do you want, Azura?"

Azura leaned back in his seat, looking amused. "I have a job for you."

"Not interested," Jack said flatly. "We're off the clock 'til after New Year's. Get one of your own errand
bitches."

"My men would be recognized, and your man comes highly recommended."

12 |
Megan Derr
– The Christmas Package
Jack shrugged. "The answer is still no. We don't need your money, and we haven't done anything
wrong."

"Oh, no, three murders is perfectly acceptable," Azura replied dryly. "You seem to forget that there is a
rather ridiculous sum of money on your head. There is nothing you can do about it should I care to turn
you in."

Jack laughed. "Spare me the threats. The only way you're taking me anywhere else tonight is dead, and
that would upset your plans. We're not interested in your job."

"Not even with what I can pay?"

"There isn't enough money in the world to make me agree to tangle with you."

Azura smirked, and Allen felt a chill because no one ever smiled like that unless they knew they were
going in for the kill. "Money, no. I would not insult you by offering money. What I can offer is a counter
to that contract on your head."

"Bullshit," Jack said. But Allen could tell from the slight tensing of his shoulders that he knew Azura was
right: if Azura put out word that Jack wasn't to be touched or else, then people would back off. The
only man willing to go toe-to-toe with Azura was a crime lord called the Emperor because nobody knew
who the fuck he was, not even Azura. "We work independently. We're not falling in with you or anyone
else."

If the contract was cancelled, they could go home. Allen's stomach knotted at the idea of being owned
by Azura—which was what taking the job would amount to—but they would be able to relax slightly and
not worry about the day they finally got hit, and he could finally take Jack home. "What's the job?" Allen
asked before Jack could argue further.

"It doesn't matter," Jack said flatly. "I’m not agreeing to anything that binds us to the Azura's generosity.
It's unreliable."

"That's laughable coming from the most famous turncoat still breathing," Azura said. "It's a straight
delivery. No muss, no fuss. Take the package to an address I'll give you, see it makes it directly into the
hands of the recipient. After that, you're free and clear; I'll see to it no one dares go anywhere near
you."

Jack started to speak, but Allen cut him off. "Fine. I'll do it. But if you betray us, Azura, Romeo and Juliet
here won't be enough to save you."

Silent until then, Mickey snorted and said, "Juliet. Like I've never heard that before. Come on, then, I'll
take you to the package and tell you what to do."

Allen followed him out, Jack on his heels, and he just knew he was in for a world of hurt the moment
they were alone. Mickey led them back into the main living area, over to a wide leather couch, and
picked up a small animal carrier that had been tucked out of sight under a side table. Inside, Allen saw,
was a small gray kitten. "That's a joke, right?"

13 |
Megan Derr
– The Christmas Package
Mickey laughed. "Not even a little bit. It's a message, and you're going to deliver it to this address." He
handed Jack a business card, then held out the carrier for Allen to take. "Any questions, you've got my
number there as well. Pleasure doing business, gentlemen." Mickey walked off, leaving them alone in
the living room.

Jack sighed and strode to the elevator, slumping in a back corner as they rode down. He didn't say
anything as they climbed back into the limo, simply stared out the window. By the time they got back to
their shabby motel room, Allen wanted to scream just to break the tension. He waited until the door
closed and he'd set the stupid kitten down, then said, "Why are you so pissed off?"

"Because I was working hard to ensure we didn't wind up in Azura's pocket!" Jack snapped. "Are you
crazy? Why the hell did you agree to it?"

"There wasn't exactly a way out of it," Allen replied.

Jack looked as though he wanted to hit something. "We'll never know now, will we? What in the hell
were you thinking? I'm your goddamn handler, so let me handle it!"

"I was thinking that it might be nice not to have a price on your head!" Allen snarled back. "I was
thinking it would be nice to go home and be able to take you with me without worrying about people
coming after us there! I was thinking it would be nice to see you relax, even if that means I have to
surrender my independence and live in Azura's pocket."

Allen didn't wait for a reply, just went around the room gathering up what little of his belongings had
scattered, then hauled his duffle bag and the damn kitten out to the truck, Jack close on his heels. He
was completely unsurprised that Azura's men had returned the truck to the motel. His first order of

business would definitely be new wheels.

He settled everything in the back seat, eying the kitten critically, but it was either the calmest fucking
feline to ever exist, or it had been sedated. Either way, it looked content enough, and there was food
and shit in there. Allen sighed, wondering how the hell he'd gotten into this mess. He was independent.
He didn't deliver things that breathed. He only worked for money. Of course, he'd always made a point
of working alone, as well. Simple rules, easy to follow.

Until his mother's delivery boy had calmly taken a bullet grazing and kept rolling with the punches ever
since.

Man, his father hadn't lied. Getting attached fucked up everything, and he couldn't even really be upset
about it. Suddenly he understood his father a whole better, and why he'd never killed his trouble-
attracting wife. Allen would keep Jack around until Jack no longer wanted him, and he would do
whatever necessary to keep Jack wanting him.

Jack was the ballsiest son of a bitch Allen had ever met and didn't even seem aware of it. Allen
wondered how different life would have been if Jack were still Marcus, but was glad they'd never know.
Marcus would probably have had nothing to do with him; Jack was all his, at least for the time being.
"Are you staying or going?" he asked gruffly.

14 |
Megan Derr
– The Christmas Package
"What the fuck am I supposed to do if I stay? Watch whatever the hell they show on late night TV? Or
one of those godforsaken Christmas movies. No, thank you. Anyway, someone has to keep you alive
since you seem hellbent on getting yourself dead."

"Strictly speaking, you're the one with a price on his head," Allen said, smiling faintly.

"Not now that you've sold yourself to Azura," Jack said sourly and climbed into the truck.

Allen's smile faded, and anxiety began to gnaw at his gut again. Shoving it aside for the moment, he
climbed into the truck and started it up, driving away from the motel in silence. He thought about
messing with the radio, but something told him to leave well enough alone until Jack broke the silence.

"What the fuck were you doing out, anyway?" Jack asked. "I woke up expecting a round two and
thinking maybe we'd go out after all since it seemed to mean that much to you, and I find the room
empty. You didn't even leave a fucking note."

"Sorry," Allen said, startled that Jack would have gone out after all, and his mood vastly improved with
just those few words. "I thought I'd be back before you woke, sacked out as you were, and I thought
you'd be safe enough for a couple of hours."

Jack sighed. "You still aren't answering my question."

Allen tightened his hands on the steering wheel and focused on getting past a particularly slick stretch of
road before he finally muttered, "I was trying to find you a Christmas present."

There was silence for a long stretch before Jack finally said, "You're an idiot."

Sighing himself, Allen said, "Where the hell are we going anyway?"

Jack looked down at his phone where he'd been pulling up directions and information the entire time.
"About five hours north to an address that is, quite literally, in the middle of fuck nowhere. House
belongs to Xavier Lord, Vice President of Lord Enterprises. I don't even want to know what kind of stupid
ass message Azura is sending by giving this guy a goddamn kitten."

Allen grunted in agreement as he headed for the highway.

"You don't have to get me a present, you know," Jack said quietly. "I really don't give a damn. Holidays
were just a source of additional tension for me."

"You have seemed tense lately," Allen replied, gripping the wheel tightly. He didn't like talking,
especially when there was so much at stake. Give him a carefully worded deal to rob or kill a man any
day.

Jack didn't reply, simply turned to mess around in the backseat, and only a protesting squeak told Allen
what he was doing—and sure enough, a moment later, Jack turned back around holding the kitten. "It's
kind of ugly. I thought all kittens were supposed to be cute."

Allen glanced at it briefly, reluctant to take his eyes off the shitty road. "It looks like dryer lint."
15 |
Megan Derr
– The Christmas Package

The kitten mewed in protest, and Jack laughed. "I think you are the least ominous message ever sent out
by a crime lord, dryer lint. My father was old-fashioned; he went for fingers and ears and shit. Getting
him to try something new was like pulling teeth, except, well, he was okay with pulling teeth." He shook
his head and settled the kitten in his lap, where it fussed for a few minutes, then curled up and went to
sleep. "He never would modernize, no matter how many times I showed him the efficacy of an image
sent directly to someone's phone or email."

"Doesn't surprise me," Allen replied. "Brighton was known for his old-school methods. Out of style, but
still effective. No one ever got close to bringing him down. It blew everyone away when you toppled his
entire empire like a house of cards."

Jack shrugged. "It wasn't quite that easy, but I did have a few advantages. I'm not the only one who's
been tense lately."

Allen winced inwardly; he should have known Jack would go right back to that the moment it slipped his
mind. "I'm only tense because you're tense." He didn't have to look to know Jack was rolling his eyes.
"Well, it's true. You've been—" Fucking miserable and bitchy as hell, he thought, but only finished, "Out
of sorts since we left Nashville a couple months back. I figured you were sick of it all. Can't imagine it's
much fun going back to getting shot at after having an ordinary life."

"I didn't know how to handle ordinary," Jack replied. "I was getting bored and fed up. Not to say I like
getting shot at …" He drifted off. "You're the one in danger by keeping me as your handler. If anyone is
sick of anything, it's you—"

"I'm not!" Allen burst out, accidentally jerking the wheel. He swore and corrected, then moved into the
slow lane and forced himself to relax a bit. "Anyway, if we do this stupid job, you're free and clear."

"Only by putting you at Azura's beck and call," Jack said sourly. "I could have gotten us out of it if you
had given me half a fucking chance. I don't see how we accomplish anything trading my freedom for
yours."

"At least this way there's no bullets coming at us or a car waiting to explode."

Jack's tone of voice said he was rolling his eyes again. "No one has tried to blow us up, yet. I'm worth
more alive than dead. My father wants to put the bullet between my eyes himself, though how he
intends to do that from maximum security I couldn't tell you."

Allen did not bother to mention the day he had, in fact, deactivated a rigged car. He supposed some
were willing to settle for the 'dead' part of the contract. "I doubt Azura will have much use for me, not
when he has Tybalt, and a score of other men nearly as talented, at his beck and call. Whatever his
game, I'll play it for now and no doubt you can get us out of it later."

"Mm," Jack said and put the kitten back in its carrier. "What we need is leverage, but I have no idea why
Azura would be targeting Lord Enterprises. Everyone knows that company is on the straight and narrow;

it's almost obscene how squeaky clean it is. Did you know we're being followed?" he added abruptly.

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Megan Derr
– The Christmas Package
"Kind of hard to miss that ugly ass Civic," Allen replied. "Rental plates, probably stole the car from
tourists. Wonder how they were put on to us so fast."

Jack made a face, slumping in his seat as though bored and putting his hand even closer to the gun
tucked away just out of sight. Allen wondered idly when he'd put it there, but didn't bother to ask. "They
could be after us for the Waterstone job. Figuring out we were in this pick-up wouldn't be hard. I'm
surprised you haven't ditched it already."

"Hasn't been a chance. We could trade with them."

"Do it," Jack said. Allen took the next exit off the highway and bypassed all the brightly lit diners and gas
stations until he found a deserted parking lot in front of a shutdown K-mart. There was nothing else
around for a few blocks except more deserted buildings, and it only took a couple of well-thrown rocks
to get rid of the two already-flickering streetlights.

The Honda Civic didn't show immediately, probably because they could smell the trap, but if they were
that easily spotted then they were also either amateurs or lazy, so Allen only had to wait. Ten minutes
later, the car pulled into the lot, and three men slowly climbed out. In the truck, Jack turned the
headlights back on, blinding all three of them. Allen drew his gun and said, "You're a little tall to be
Santa's little helpers, so tell me what you want before I give the local law enforcement your bodies as a
Christmas present."

"Fuck off, Sweet. We just want the goddamn cat and then we're gone. Don't make us shoot you, cause
those weren't our orders, but we weren't exactly told not to shoot you, either."

Allen sighed. "Who the fuck is so cheap he'd hire the three of you?"

"Why do you know everybody?" Jack demanded. "I thought I was the former big name criminal with all
the ins, but you flirt with half the people we come across and threaten to maim the other half."

"I don't flirt with anyone, but you," Allen replied. "Don't even think about, Stevie. You keep your hands
where I can see them, all three of you. Azura is paying me handsomely to deliver the cat, and if whoever
the fuck you're working for wants it, he'll have to try harder than you."

"Oh, fuck you," one of the men muttered.

Allen smirked. "I'm not into girls." The man flipped him off, and Allen asked, "Who the fuck are you
working for?"

"Someone I don't want to piss off," another man said. "Look, just give us the damn cat."

In reply, Allen shot out the tires in the pick-up, making the men scramble and jump as they thought, at
first, that he was shooting at them. Before they could get their guns out, Jack was on them, persuading
them to their knees with his own weapons. "Who the fuck are these clowns?"

"Low grade thugs," Allen replied. "They're just here as scouts. We'll get heavier gauge thugs later, I'd
imagine. Who the fuck are you working for, Stevie?" he asked the man who served as a sort-of
ringleader for the trio.
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– The Christmas Package

Stevie glared sullenly in the sharp glow of the headlights, but after a moment, petulantly said,
"Emperor."

Jack sighed and clubbed the nearest guy on the back of the head, and Allen made short work of the
other two then slowly drug them all into the pick-up. He retrieved the kitten and their belongings then
trudged over to the Civic. Settling the kitten in the back, he climbed into the passenger seat as Allen
started the car. "First Azura, now the Emperor," Allen said. "I might have known this would involve the
Emperor."

"We are right smack in the middle of a pissing contest," Jack said sourly. "Getting in between the
Emperor and the Azura is tantamount to suicide. Why a fucking kitten?"

"I doubt we'll ever know," Allen said and headed back toward the highway. "We've got four hours of
driving left, not including stopping to deal with whoever comes after us next. Luckily the highway is
pretty deserted, so spotting tails isn't going to be a problem."

"I'm more concerned with how they're finding us." Jack scowled at the dash, then turned around and
once more took the kitten out of its carrier. He examined it carefully, removing its little collar and
examining that as well. Satisfied both were clean, he set the kitten on the floor at his feet and examined
the carrier itself. "Aha," he said and displayed the tracking device placed on the bottom of the food dish.

Allen rolled his eyes. "What are we really doing?"

"Drawing out backstabbers, I think," Jack said thoughtfully. "It's the kind of scheme I've used before. Tell
the suspected rat something, let him think several other people know, see what happens. If it goes
south, you definitely have a rat. I still don't get the cat."

"I don't want to get the cat."

Jack laughed, and Allen smiled back, unable not to. Reaching down, Jack scooped the kitten up and
tucked it back into the carrier, sliding the tracking device into the pocket of his jeans. "Let's stop for a
bite to eat, see if we can't attract some trouble, hmm? Better if we draw the trouble in and control the
situation than get taken by surprise."

"You got it," Allen said and pulled off at the next stop that promised a diner that would be open.
Everything else might be shut down on Christmas Eve, but he could always count on Waffle House. They
pulled into the parking lot, and he made note of all the cars there, particularly of a fairly new BMW that
was glaringly out of place and would probably be a much sweeter ride than the stupid pick-up.

"Sometimes I think you would leave me for some car in a moment," Jack commented lightly, but there
was an edge to his voice that Allen suspected wouldn't have been there if they weren't both so tired and
strung out.

Allen snorted and habitually checked for his weapons as they walked towards the diner. "If anyone else
had told me not to hurt that son of a bitch for destroying my Bentley, I would have ignored him. If I
wanted my cars more than you, I'd already be at home." He pushed the door open and breathed a sigh
of relief as warmth and the smell of cheap, but filling food washed over him. Grabbing a booth right by
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– The Christmas Package
the grill area, he sat down and smiled at the tired waitress who came up. "Coffee, please, and a waffle
with scrambled eggs and bacon. Thanks."

"Coffee, pancakes, all the rest the same," Jack added and gave the woman his sunniest smile. "Merry
Christmas."

"Same to you, hun," she said, smiling back, and poured them coffee before going to put in their orders.

When she'd gone, Jack said, "So how long you figure until someone else tries to hit us?"

"Oh, I'd say an hour at most from the time we left Stevie and the others to their stupidity. So thirty
minutes, tops. Do you think that kitten is okay?"

"It's got fur, it's fine," Jack replied. "The car will stay pretty warm for a bit, anyway, and there was a
blanket in there. What is this about a house? It's the second time—" He broke off when Allen's phone
began to ring.

Allen heaved a sigh, recognizing the ringtone, and pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. Not
bothering to look at the display, he hit receive and put the phone to his ear. "Hi, mom."

"Hello, sweetie. Merry Christmas."

"Have you finally gone senile?" Allen asked. "Since when you do ever call to say Merry Christmas? Is this
some code you forgot to tell me about?"

She sniffed in offense. "What has your panties all bunched up? Jack mad at you and not putting out?"

"Mom!"

"Never got him a present, hmm? Well, that's all right, I'm sure he'll forgive you. He's a good boy." She
left off the 'unlike you,' but it hung there anyway, and Allen rolled his eyes again. "Well, I hope you boys
are enjoying your night and not running around causing trouble. Your father and I—"

Allen tuned her out as she rambled on with her usual stories for that time of year, setting the phone
down and stealing a few bites of waffle. He scooped the phone back up after a couple of minutes and
said, "Yes, I remember Aruba, mother. It's hard to forget the time one had to bolt down a hallway naked
because one's mother—no, I am not ever forgiving you for that. The girls laughed mom."

"You're too much like your father," she said, trying to be stern, but she couldn't keep the fondness from
her voice. "Well, I just wanted to call and make certain you boys were okay. You should come visit once
the heat is off; I'll make you gingersnaps and tea."

"You got it, mom. Try not to get arrested before then," Allen said. "Enjoy the holidays with Veronica."

"Love you, sweetie. And give my love to Jack, too. Bye now."

"Love you too, mom. Bye." He hung up the phone and pointed his fork at Jack. "Stop cozying up to my
mom. Nobody likes a kiss-ass son-in-law."
19 |
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– The Christmas Package

Jack smirked. "In-law, is it? I don't remember a ceremony."

"Thank god there hasn't been one because god only knows what my mother would do with it," Allen
retorted. "She'd invite all kinds of people in our world, many of whom prefer to stay several states or
even countries apart, and it would be all kinds of awkward."

"I don't remember a single wedding that wasn't awkward, and I can recall at least two that involved
bodies," Jack said, tilting his head thoughtfully. "I really don't like weddings. I hope we're not going to
have a formal ceremony."

Allen snorted. "At the rate we're going, we'd be shot or arrested before we made it to the wedding. Shut
up and eat your damned pancakes."

Laughing, Jack obeyed—for about two minutes. "So what was your crack at the hotel about taking me
home? You mentioned something just a few minutes ago, too. I didn't know you had a home.
Permanent location is kind of dangerous."

"Yeah, but hotels and cars get old, even with cars as nice as mine." Allen finished his waffle and started
on his eggs, finishing a bite before he replied, "Anyway, it's in the middle of fuck-nowhere New York.
Even my mother doesn't have the address, though I'm sure she's figured it out and just isn't telling me.
It's not much, and my cars are actually stored several hours away in a real city—that's where I had the

Bentley delivered from—but it's home, and I have all I need near to hand."

Jack snorted over his coffee cup. "So where do you get your fancy threads?"

Allen rolled his eyes. "I knew you'd go straight to that."

"Fess up."

"I have a tailor; he used to work in New York City—"

"You're ridiculous."

"But well-dressed," Allen replied stiffly.

Jack just snickered and flagged down their waitress for more coffee. His eyes snapped to the bank of
windows to his left. "What sort of guys roll up in a jag this time of night? Do any of you do subtle
anymore?"

"The Emperor doesn't hire subtle," Allen said. "You should know that. Guys like him and Azura, they're
untouchable and being flashy is just their way of reminding everyone of that." He sneered at the three
men stepped inside, dressed in cheap, rumpled suits that didn't really hide their shoulder holsters well
at all. "I guess they don't need taste either. Where did they buy those?"

Rolling his eyes, Jack sipped his coffee and relaxed back in his seat, the very definition of indolent. Allen
didn't reach for the gun on the seat beside him, but he shifted slightly so it would all the easier to do
later if necessary, though he was in no hurry to draw that kind of attention. The men reached their
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– The Christmas Package
booth, and the foremost, with a goatee that made him look he'd rather be a crack-addled rockstar, said,

"Good evening, gentlemen."

Jack smiled in that too-pleasant way of his that made Allen grateful Jack liked him. Anyone who thought
the pleasantness was genuine deserved what was coming to him. "Merry Christmas. To what do we owe
the dubious pleasure of your company?"

"Cut the bullshit, Brighton."

"The name is Jack, and if you don't use it, you'll be saying it in soprano," Jack said, voice still pleasant.
"Would you care to sit? You're making the wait staff nervous, looming like that, and none of us wants
attention."

Goatee jerked his head at the other two, then grabbed a chair and sat at the edge of the booth, lightly
touching his jacket as though warning them he had a weapon. Allen almost rolled his eyes, but when
Jack handled a conversation, he usually stayed out of it. He wasn't going to get himself in hot water by
interfering twice in one night.

He wondered how the hell his father had ever put up with his mother's doing all the talking, and how
often he'd been in hot water when he hadn't. It would have made him smile if he hadn't needed to
concentrate on the conversation at hand. "I'm surprised you didn't just smash and grab the car," Jack
said congenially. "We can see the Civic from here, but you could have grabbed and gone before we even
got outside to stop you. Very sloppy, gentlemen."

"Fuck off, Jack, we know you have it in here."

Jack smirked and fished out the tracking device in his pocket, casually dropping it on the table. "You
mean you know we have this in here? How stupid does the Emperor think we are? Then again, he did
hire you, so his opinion of grunts in general must be pretty low. Allen, we're leaving."

He stood up, and when one of the guys tried to grab him, shoved him away and strode off. When the

guy tried to go after him, the sudden sharp bark of, "Is there a problem here?" from the cook drew him
up short.

Allen grunted and rose, throwing cash on the table. He made a face, annoyed that he wouldn't get a
chance to steal the keys for the BMW from the guy in the corner immersed in his laptop. He waited
until they were just out of sight of the half-dozen people in the Waffle House, acting a split-second
before the other guys, shoving one and causing him to lose his footing in the snow and hit the ground
with an ominous crack where his head hit the pavement. The other guy tried to pull a gun, but Allen
broke his nose with a well-placed fist, then shoved him into the side of the Jaguar and clubbed the back
of his head with the butt of his own pistol.

By the time he'd dealt with that, Jack had the third guy out cold as well. "Merry fucking Christmas," Jack
said with a sigh. "Do something with them; I'm calling Mickey."

Grunting, Allen obeyed, stuffing the men in their car and binding them to ensure they wouldn't be
following any time soon. Then he flattened the tires to ensure they definitely wouldn’t be following any
time soon.
21 |
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– The Christmas Package

Flexing his cold fingers in their leather gloves, he returned to the Civic where Jack was standing by it, lost
in conversation. A minute later, he snapped his phone shut and shoved it back in his pocket. "I was
right; we're rooting out a traitor. That's why they wanted outsiders, pulled last minute, for the job. I
didn't ask why a cat; I assume it's Azura's idea of a joke."

"Probably. So do they have their traitor?"

"Yeah," Jack said, blowing out an irritated breath. "Mickey said we shouldn't have any more trouble, to
make the delivery and then do whatever the fuck we want. Text him when it's done, and forty-eight

hours later the contract on me is gone."

Allen smiled. "Then let's go drop off the damn cat."

"And hope that in forty-eight hours Azura isn't calling us to do something else for him," Jack said with a
sigh.

"Don't answer the phone," Allen replied. "That'll slow him down a bit." He reached out and tugged Jack
close. "Hi."

"Shut up," Jack said and kissed him briefly before pulling away and moving around the car to the
passenger side. "Are we keeping this car, or did you want to steal the BMW?"

Allen shrugged. "This'll do for now. I'll grab a better ride a little later. We've got three and a half hours,
barring further stops." Starting the car, he pulled out of the Waffle House lot and headed for the
highway.

By the time they reached their destination, he was ready for caffeine or a nap that lasted until the new
year. Allen yawned blearily and stared through blurred eyes at the obscenely over-the-top mansion in
front of him. The guard—who the fuck was mean enough to have a guard stationed at this poncy place
on Christmas day?—had waved them through after they had flourished the kitten and said it was a gift.
After that, Allen decided they must have had nothing better to do with such a stupid guard.

He drove up the long driveway until it horseshoed in front of the house itself, parking in front of the
stairs that led up to the door. Climbing out, he checked his guns, stretched to work the kinks out, then
walked around the car to join Jack. Holding the carrier still containing the kitten, Jack led the way up the
stairs. Allen strode up to the door and knocked, then glanced at his watch, unable to believe it was
seriously almost three in the goddamn morning. He was way past too old for this shit.

The door opened to an honest to fucking god butler, and it took all the self-control he had left not to roll

his eyes. "We have a package for Xavier Lord."

Silence met his words as the butler gave them both a thorough up and down inspection, then gave Allen
a look that said they had come up wanting. "Master Lord is indisposed. If you leave the package—"

Allen pulled out his gun and leveled it in the butler's face, his patience exhausted. There was no way he
would actually shoot some doddering old fool just for doing his job, but he wasn't above threatening
after being awake for entirely too long, frozen half-to-death, and really fucking tired of mewling kittens
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– The Christmas Package
and ego-tripping mobsters. "You are not Xavier Lord, gramps. I was told to give it to him directly. If he's
indisposed, we'll wait. Get him or show us to where we can wait."

"There's no need for dramatics," a dry voice said, and then a magazine-pretty man of thirty or so
appeared in the doorway, resting one hand lightly on the butler's shoulder. "Go back to your tea, Tony.
I'll take care of our guests."

"Yes, Master Lord," Tony replied and after giving them one last affronted look, departed.

Allen lowered the gun, but didn't put it away. "Do I have the dubious honor of meeting Xavier Lord?"

"Yeah," Xavier replied. "Who the hell are you?"

Jack stepped forward. "Special delivery for you. Prove you're Xavier Lord."

Looking amused, Xavier reached into the back pocket of his designer jeans and pulled out a fancy leather
wallet. He fetched out his driver's license and flipped it to Allen, who caught it neatly and looked it over.
"It's him." He handed the ID back, and Jack stepped closer to thrust the carrier at him.

"Enjoy," Jack said, then turned and walked off.

Allen tugged at his watch cap. "It's been a pleasure, Master Lord. Do take care of that cat."

"I will," Xavier replied. "Thanks for bringing him to me. Merry Christmas."

"The same to you," Allen replied and tucked his gun away, then strode off back to the car and climbed
into the passenger seat as Jack started up the car. He cranked up the heat and slid the seat back as far
as he could, making a futile effort to get comfortable in the small car. "I really can't wait to get home,
but it's hours and hours away yet." He sighed.

Jack made a soft noise of agreement, but didn't reply until they'd hit a clearer main road. "There was a
decent looking hotel a few miles north. We could crash for a day or two, wait until the contract is
definitely cancelled, then … go home?"

He sounded so hesitant, Allen opened his eyes. Jack always paid careful attention to the road, but not
that much. It was rare he actually saw Jack look nervous. He smiled. "Home sounds good, but if I show
you where I live, I'll have to kill you if you break up with me."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jack said, "but I wouldn't worry too much. Even if you didn't get me a Christmas
present."

"Yeah, yeah," Allen said cheerfully and stole a kiss at a red light, then settled back to doze until they
reached the hotel.


Fin