Desperate Enemies 3 Adam Carpenter (books like beach read .TXT) 📖

too, cursed, but for a different reason. There, in the viewer of the periscope, appeared dark shadows that broke the moonlight on the water. For a second, he thought he was delirious from lust. But no—those were subs. Without explanation to Block, Green ran down the street, holding up his pants with one hand, to radio San Francisco harbor from the house.

As it turned out, it was a fleet of three Japanese I-26s. The Navy gave chase and finally sank the lot just off northern California. In effect, putting the kibosh on what might have been surveillance for another Pearl Harbor.

All Green remembered was the sweet, nutty taste of Private Michael Block's juices as he spoke to the base supervisor.

And they awarded me for a job well-done.

A sea breeze whipped up and buffeted the side of the cab, breaking Green's reverie.

“Storm is coming,” the driver said.

“Sonny, you have no idea.” Still Green wondered. . .

What next?

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Part Five

“The Desperate Hour”

By Adam Carpenter

* * * *

For the first time since he moved to Wonderland's beautiful Eldon Court, Rich North didn't want to think about what was to come next. He'd had enough of the intrigue, the drama, the danger, especially since last's night wild celebration showed just how great life could be. Who could have envisioned a party that would include the following: bottle after bottle of champagne, a faded, but still beautiful star of the silver screen, the ghosts of Albert Einstein and a military coup during World War Two, the joyous expressions on the faces of two men who loved each other and announced their plan to spend their lives together, all wrapped up in a discussion of protecting their valued land through the California landmark society, and lastly, the comforting, haunting words of Gerald Green, an influential Eldon Court settler, who, while invoking the pioneer spirit of Drew Saunders and his love for Aidan Turner, lectured them about what was important in this world: love, support, fidelity? Rich had almost sensed a connection to Marc that he hadn't felt since before the shooting, their eyes lingering on each other amidst the various toasts that were offered up. Regret tinged looks, but looks nonetheless. Yes, too many bottles of bubbly had been consumed.

No wonder Rich had slept in this morning. He was exhausted just thinking about the events of the night. Perhaps a bit hung-over too.

But even in the midst of all those thoughts, as the sun glinted across his eyes and pried them open to the possibilities of a new day, the one word that nagged at him was this: almost. He and Marc, they were still miles apart in their relationship and last night had just been the latest example, the two of them returning home together but not, and even tipsy managed to avoid each other. Back in happier times, they would have been screwing their brains out until they fell asleep. Living in separate rooms, with Rich in the bedroom, Marc upstairs in his studio-cum-apartment, there was a sense of incompleteness swirling around them. This had not been the intent when they'd made that fateful decision to leave the east coast and move to Wonderland and set up their ideal home at Number Five Eldon Court. Ideal. The word toyed with him.

So much had happened since then, and Rich knew most of it had been his fault.

His cock's fault.

Fucking other men had gotten him in big trouble back in New York. The fresh setting of a picturesque village on the Pacific coast hadn't cured him on his wandering eye, his lust for sex, and now it appeared his hunger had finally cost him the most important thing in his life—the man he loved. He thought back to the first night back in Wonderland, the two of them staying at the Bayside Hotel, pretending to have just met each other at the bar, Rich taking him up to the penthouse suite and stripping him down in the elevator, sucking him, fucking him, watching as Marc energetically shot his thick load all over Rich's chest, soaking the dense mat of hair.

Ha, things had really changed. Rich, rising from the oversize, empty bed, padded over to the mirror where he looked at his weary face, surprised he could even look at himself after all he'd done this past summer. New lines had cropped up around his eyes, and he thought he could detect more than a hint of gray in the stubble that littered his cheeks and chin. He gazed at the healing wound on his upper chest where the bullet had pierced him. The skin was puckered and it always would be, a bald spot on his chest. The hair had begun to grow back over the rest of his chest with a vengeance; he was thankful for the testosterone that still coursed through his body. As he ran a hand across his strong chest, he mused that another week or so, his chest just might start looking like it used to, dark and thickly furred, just how Marc preferred it. Perhaps when his inner—and outer—hairy beast returned, he could lure Marc back to bed, back into his heart.

Tossing on a pair of tight black jockey shorts, Rich made his way downstairs, listening for the sounds of human activity. Since coming home from the hospital, he and Marc had essentially been reduced to being roommates, hardly sharing meals, their conversations, if you could call them that, civil but uninspiring. At times, Rich would even look Marc's way and find his once-upon-a-time lover quickly looking away. Did he repulse him that much?

“Marc, are you home?” he called out as he reached the main floor, only to hear an echo through the large Victorian house they shared.

A fresh pot of hot coffee was waiting in the kitchen, a clear indication Marc was up and about, probably out for a morning jog. Something he did often these days, didn't have to be morning. Rich had noticed