Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

mouthful of whisky before closing his laptop and putting it on the
    side table. He stretched out his arm. “Come to Daddy, Angel.”
    “Daddy, I‟m so sorry I was disrespectful.”
    With a speed that would have been amusing under other circumstances, Angel
    sat down beside Kael, tucked his feet under his buttocks, and leaned his head on
    Kael‟s shoulder. His boy didn‟t screw up often, and when he did, he took his
    punishment bravely, but when the moment of his forgiveness was complete, he
    always broke down with gratitude. He cried quietly for a few minutes while Kael
    hugged him to his side.
    “All right, boy, that‟s enough. Be brave now.”
    “Daddy, I‟m truly sorry.” Angel wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve and sat
    upright, still pressed into Kael‟s side, holding tight to the arm wrapped about him
    to ensure Kael did not move it. “Jack is my best friend in college and he‟s gay too,

    Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

    25

    but I don‟t think he‟s into leather. He doesn‟t understand the protocols of the
    dungeon.”
    “No, but you do. I don‟t think he‟s as mature as you, so don‟t start acting like
    an idiot just because he does.”
    “No, Sir. I think he‟s had a pretty easy life. People like that grow up slower.”
    Kael kissed Angel‟s forehead. “Yes, they do.” He might as well tell him now.
    “I‟m not going to be teaching my morning language classes anymore.”
    “Daddy, why not?” Angel looked surprised. “You love those classes. Are the
    students still acting like morons?”
    Kael grabbed his glass and took a long swallow of his whisky, enjoying the
    burning sensation as it warmed his throat and stomach. He had complained a
    number of times about the lack of respect and attention among his students.
    “They‟re all idiots. I had to smack one of them today.”
    Angel looked warily at him. “You had to smack someone. Daddy, I hope at
    least it was a dude.”
    “Yes. An overweight, slow-witted crybaby who ran off to human resources to
    complain that Mr. Saunders was a big nasty man.”
    “So you got fed up and quit?” Angel asked.
    “No.” Kael paused. It killed him to admit the truth, but he‟d never lie,
    especially not to Angel. “Conran called me to his office and told me I was no longer
    allowed to teach languages, only my afternoon self-defense classes.” Kael had not
    elaborated to Angel about the true nature of what he taught trainee operatives.
    Angel was well aware that Kael had worked for ten years as a highly trained
    assassin, the best in his field. But Kael never told him anything he didn‟t absolutely
    have to know.
    “Just because this one dude complained?”
    Kael took another slug of whisky and handed the glass to Angel. “Get me
    another one.”
    Angel took the glass and hurried over to the sideboard. The boy always took on
    any job with gravity and care, even if it was just filling Kael‟s whisky glass or
    turning on the shower to get the water to the perfect temperature before Kael
    stepped in.
    “No, there were lots of complaints,” Kael admitted. “You see, people have no
    work ethic these days. When I was at College Grange, they taught us to pay
    attention to the masters, listen, be respectful, that kind of thing. So when I went to
    Cambridge and when I went to train at MI6, I took that kind of disciplined
    approach with me. That‟s why I was always top of my class. Do you pay attention in
    class, boy?”
    “Yes, Sir.” Angel stood in front of Kael, handing him his glass. “I‟m doing really
    well. All my teachers say so.”

    26
    Fyn Alexander

    “Right, good.” Kael knew the answer already. He checked in with Angel‟s
    teachers every week, though the boy didn‟t know it. They all said he worked
    diligently in class, was respectful to them, and was very popular with the other
    boys.
    “Even so I couldn‟t do as great as I do if you didn‟t tutor me as well, Daddy.”
    The words warmed Kael through. He so badly wanted to do right by his boy,
    and so far he seemed to be on track. Angel was doing well in school; he cooked and
    cleaned at home; he worked out hard at the Paris Gym with Kael, and his muscles
    were developing and gaining strength despite how very slender he was. He had
    even talked Kael into taking him to the target range to learn how to shoot, and the
    natural aptitude for accuracy he had displayed in Bosnia had continued there. In
    the last few months, Angel had become a crack shot with an assault