Chapter 20: Chapter Twenty

Asher

After putting my exceptional prosthetic skills to good use, my brothers were unrecognizable. Bexley was the embodiment of my teenage wet dreams, standing before the mirror as she struggled to secure her wig in place. Dominic helped, having successfully fit his own. Hundreds of bobby pins later and the transformation was complete.

“How do I look?” she asked, slipping on a thick-rimmed pair of glasses.

I sucked the drool from the corner of my lips. “Like the mother of my future children,” I muttered, causing my brothers to splutter with laughter. “No, seriously, you look convincing. No one would ever believe it’s you under there.”

“And this turns you on?” she retorted, casting a critical eye over her nerdy attire. “Sensible shoes, a floral ankle-length frock, and a chunky knitted cardigan?”

I flicked my eyes up and down, dramatically. “It’s what’s underneath them that counts.”

Bexley’s eyes bulged and her nostrils flared.

“Whatever floats your boat,” she muttered.

Dominic handed out gadgets to Braxton and Cruz, leaving us for last.

“Bexley, Ash, come take your pick,” he encouraged. “You’re going to Spain, so how about heat-censored sunglasses and a hand-held fan that can double as a rotary blade? Pick up as many items as you need. They’ll fly through the security checks without a hitch. I travel with them all the time.”

Bexley put on the custom-made jewellery and knocked the cyanide compact, kiss of death lipstick, and a perfume vaporiser into her hand-luggage. She did it discreetly, but I was onto her stealthy movements.

“Be careful with those, they are not toys,” I warned, frowning.

She maintained a look of innocence. “I know, I’ll be careful.” Then she picked up a lady’s dress watch, snaking it around her wrist. “Could you help me with this, please?”

I fixed the clasp into place, then held on to her wrist. “Don’t tamper with it,” I advised. “Not even to set the hour hand forward. It’ll automatically adjust to suit the time zone. To detonate the bomb, take off the bracelet, push the side button, then throw it at your target. It’ll act like a grenade. The back is magnetic. It will stick to any metal surface. The same rule applies; press it, then run for cover.”

“Got it,” she answered, absorbing the information.

We were ready to leave. Dominic piled his belongings onto the jet ski, then changed into his snow gear. Braxton loaded his Jeep, Cruz prepared a private plane, and we planned to hop on board with him to catch a ride to the airfield. Bexley almost broke down in tears as we all hugged goodbye.

“When we reach our designated safe zones, we have to report to Alpha Two. Dad and Uncle Jaxx are on standby; they will update us when we’ve all checked in,” I reiterated the plan, going over what we agreed with Dad.

“Be careful,” Bexley said, kissing Dominic and Braxton one last time. “I love you so much.”

She fought back tears as they left, unable to look away until they had disappeared out of sight.

“Babe,” Cruz beckoned, draping his arm across her shoulders in a protective gesture. “It’s time to go.”

Bexley nodded, letting him escort her into the jet. As he warmed up the engines, I completed the shutdown procedure, eliminating the data from the computer system. If our enemies ever found this place, they would presume it was an abandoned military outpost and not our secret hideout.

We were up in the air within minutes, peering out through the windows at the arctic landscape. Bexley was determined to spot a polar bear as we reached the coastline. But after no such luck, she slumped back with disappointment. It didn’t take long for us to arrive at Svalbard regional airport at Longyearbyen. They granted Cruz permission to land, thanks to the false identification Dominic provided. Then Bexley and I said our farewells to him. We boarded a flight to Norway, and from there we caught a direct trip to Madrid. Bexley seemed on edge throughout the entire flight, feared to death that the authorities would be there waiting for us.

“Relax,” I whispered, leaning closely as the flight attendant passed. I glanced back with annoyance. “Excuse me,” I spoke, much to Bexley’s dismay.

The flight attendant flicked her gaze to me and flashed a megawatt smile. “Yes, sir. How can I help?” she asked, shuffling backwards with the trolley.

“Can I have two bottles of bubbly for me and the wife?” I inquired. “We’re celebrating our honeymoon.”

Her face lit up with glee. “Oh, congratulations!” she exclaimed. Then she handed over two plastic glasses and two miniature bottles of champagne. “Have a drink on us,” she offered kindly.

It was the first time I had seen a champagne bottle with a crew cap. I met Bexley’s death glare as the attendant bustled away. Then I busied myself, pouring the drinks.

“Let’s make a toast to the start of our new adventure,” I suggested, not realizing that we had attracted everyone’s attention. They were all fawning over our news, joining in with the toast.

“To the happy couple!” a passenger commented.

Bexley snorted her mouthful of champagne, looking every inch the awkward geek she was supposed to be. “Thank you,” she replied, shying her eyes away.

A round of applause erupted around the cabin.

“See,” I murmured, keeping my voice low. “Just act naturally and everything will go as planned.”

I practically had to eat my words as we arrived in Madrid. My suitcase was nowhere to be seen and I was just about to lose my shit. Everyone was leaving, and we were among the last few remaining passengers who were waiting. My heart was beating so fast, I almost went into cardiac arrest. That wasn’t like me at all. I was usually so composed.

“Darling, stop stressing. You’re acting like a typical Brit,” Bexley teased, fighting the urge to giggle. “Look there it is.” She pointed.

The couple we met on the plane had already collected their last cases and loaded them onto a trolley. The guy turned to me with a sympathetic grimace. “It would be a different story if it was her case, wouldn’t it?” he said, injecting a little light-hearted humour into the situation.

I grinned. “I know. I would never hear the end of it,” I agreed.

Bexley dragged my case from the conveyor and I hauled it onto the trolley.

“Where to now, Derrick?” she asked, using my fake name.

I waited until we were safely outside to resume our conversation.

“We have a reservation at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel Ritz,” I told her, noticing her startled expression.

“That’s lavish, isn’t it?” Bexley panicked. "Shouldn't we stay somewhere discreet?"

“It's perfectly reasonable for a young couple to stay at the Ritz on their honeymoon. Derrick Stanley is no cheapskate, Margaret — or should I call you Marge?" I retorted.

Bexley shot me a side glance. "Don't you dare."

"We have to look the part. You wouldn't want to stay in a dingy bed-and-breakfast on your honeymoon, would you?” I explained. "We can search for one if you prefer."

“No, the Ritz is fine,” Bexley was quick to answer. “We’ll just have to maintain a low profile.”

“Newly-weds spend most of their time in the bedroom,” I commented, hinting my smutty thoughts. “But since we’re here to locate clues, I included attractions on the package. Tomorrow we’ll visit the Reina Sofia National Art Museum and see what we can discover.”

We arrived at the prestigious hotel, famished and fatigued. As Bexley showered, I checked in with Dad, then called room service to order a late dinner.

Dad text back within moments, notifying me I was the last to reach out. That meant my brothers had made contact. We set the wheels in motion and initiated phase one of the plan.

“Is everything alright, babe?” Bexley asked, emerging from the bathroom in just a towel.

She raked her hand through her wet hair, casting me sultry eyes like a sex kitten. My cock thickened beneath the thin material of my boxers. I had stripped down to my underwear to cool off, but Bexley sent the temperature soaring.

“It is now,” I rasped. “Come here, I’m starving.”

I patted the bed, then lay down flat against the mattress. As Bexley crawled over me, I grasped her hips, hoisting her to my face. With her knees at my ears, I pulled the towel from her body, baring her gorgeous physique. Her feminine heat greeted me as I kissed my way up her thighs, finding the slick cleft of her pussy too good to resist.

“Ash,” Bexley groans. “Dinner will be here in a minute.”

“They don’t work that fast, babe, and neither do I,” I rasped, going in for the kill.

Bexley arched her back as my tongue speared her clit and began to stroke.

“God,” she gasped, curling her fingers around the bedpost.

Her bud swelled against my lips, the sweet juices rolling down my tongue, licking, lapping, tasting, until her legs shook with the rapture of her climax.

“Fuck this, I’m taking what’s mine,” she murmured, freeing my iron appendage from my boxer briefs.

Bexley angled it where she needed it and enveloped her mouth around the crown. My balls shrank to the size of walnuts as she bobbed her head, swallowing me down to the root. The position was perfect, a sweet orchestration of oral pleasures. Her ravenous sucks and my greedy feasting soon had us flying apart. My balls tingled at the same moment her thighs clung to my head, our frantic momentum increasing as we chased our release. I drank her delicious nectar and she swallowed my musky cream; our bodies writhing on the crisp white sheets as we worked up a sweat. My dream woman.