Rare Vigilance by M.A. Grant
Chapter Fourteen
Atlas obeyed. He felt Cristian’s gaze on him the entire drive back, just as he still felt the press of his hand on his bicep. That earlier touch lingered long after they parked in the employees’ lot—Cristian didn’t want to deal with the valet—and were let in the back door by an impatient Ioana. It remained when Atlas watched Cristian put on his fake exuberance to greet his friends in their private booth. It even remained after Dinu clapped Atlas on the shoulder when he and Cristian passed on their way to the bar.
The two men stood close together as they waited for their drinks. Cristian slouched against the bar and Dinu lounged near him. Their elbows brushed and they kept leaning in to each other as they tried to talk over the music. There was no tension between them, no unspoken signs they wanted more space. It was a marvel to witness.
In his experience, touching wasn’t safe, unless it was a hug or kiss from Bea or his grandmother. Touch existed in silent, secret trysts that could get him discharged from the military, or medical emergencies focused on teammates he cared about. Touch had never come from a courageous need to comfort. But that’s why Cristian had laid a hand on him tonight, and Atlas ached for more.
The men were met with cheers when they returned with a ridiculous number of drinks. Cristian lifted his first from the tray and glanced at Atlas. “Are you sure, Mr. Kinkaid?” he called.
To an outsider, it looked like an offer of a drink. Atlas knew better.
“I’m sure, Mr. Slava,” Atlas replied. “I’ll be waiting over here when you’re done.”
Cristian relaxed at Atlas’s reassurance. He steadily nursed glass after glass as the night wore on, and refused all suggestions he feed. His friends slipped away from time to time, but he didn’t comment, seemingly content in his own company. Only Ioana, who abstained so she could drive the others home, guessed at the reality of the situation. She joined Atlas at the railing and offered him a glass of water.
“We’re going to need to go home soon,” she told him quietly. “Decebal’s only rule tonight is that Cristian gets back before sunrise.”
“Almost time to go then,” Atlas mused as he finished his drink.
Ioana nodded and looked over her shoulder at the others. “I’ll leave him to you?”
“Fine with me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kinkaid.” Ioana took Atlas’s empty glass and headed to the group.
She managed to get them corralled fairly quickly, though they had to wait for Andrei’s return from the bathroom. When he rejoined them, there were a few minutes of goodbyes and then Atlas and Cristian were alone.
He let Cristian finish off his drink before closing the distance between them. Cristian wasn’t very drunk for someone who’d been putting it away all night; Atlas wondered idly whether vampires could get drunk the same way humans could. Regardless, the lines of tension bracketing his lips had eased at last. He slouched comfortably in the booth and watched Atlas’s approach through heavy lids.
Atlas stopped a polite few inches away. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than I expected,” Cristian lamented. His legs sprawled open a little wider as he shifted to inspect Atlas. Whatever he saw made him heave a deep sigh and reach for another glass. “I don’t want to leave yet.”
He stepped into Cristian’s space. The brush of his thigh against Cristian’s knee sent an illicit thrill up his spine, especially when Cristian took a sharp inhalation. It was easy to lean forward and pluck the drink away before Cristian could get in another sip. “I’d rather not risk breaking tradition. This is the latest we’ve been out.”
“Past your bedtime, Mr. Kinkaid?” Cristian asked, tilting his head up. The movement made his hair fall away from his forehead and stretched the line of his neck. Atlas wanted to trace the tendon there.
Instead, he rolled his eyes and set the drink down before offering his hand to Cristian. “Not at all, Mr. Slava. But we’re skirting a little too close to dawn.”
Cristian reached up and clasped Atlas’s hand, allowing him to haul him to his feet. “Well, we can’t have that. Lead on.”
The street behind the club was quiet and empty when they emerged from the building. Atlas kept Cristian at his back out of habit as he hit the remote and let the car’s lights illuminate the darkness. There were a handful of other vehicles parked farther away, all belonging to the employees on this last shift, but no one else was around. Atlas wondered if he could convince Cristian to park here more often and sneak in the back. He didn’t know if it was breaking some kind of protocol to let Cristian in through the employees’ area. He should ask Decebal about that the next time they spoke.
“Thank you for tonight,” Cristian said, opening the front passenger door. His mood must have improved if he didn’t want to be alone in the backseat anymore. “I needed it.”
“Sure,” Atlas said.
The moment he sat, he knew something was wrong. Cristian shifted in his seat, as if that would somehow make the car feel more balanced. He threw a confused look at Atlas. “It feels off to you too, doesn’t it?”
“Stay in here,” he told Cristian.
He turned on his phone’s flashlight and moved toward the rear axle. He swore when he spotted the flat tire. It wouldn’t take him long to change it, but it was still a pain in the ass. Thank God he’d pushed for them to leave a little early. He stepped around and called for Cristian to pop the trunk, but swore again when he saw the rear tire on the passenger side was also flat. What were the fucking odds on that?
He dialed Helias, but the man didn’t answer. There was only one other person he could think of who might be able to help quickly. He found Cristian resting his elbows on the dashboard so he could peer up at the sky. “Can you call Ioana?” Atlas asked, noting the pale blues overhead. “We have two flats, so she’ll need to come get us.”
Cristian fumbled pulling his phone out. “What?”
“You heard me. Shittiest luck ever,” he lied, trying to ease Cristian’s worries. Two flats the same night, on the tires that were hardest to see from the door into the club... This wasn’t bad luck. This screamed something else, something bad, and he needed to focus and keep Cristian safe while they figured it out. “At least Ioana can drop them off and come back for us.”
“I don’t know if we’ll make it back in time,” Cristian said, voice tight with worry.
The same fear dug into Atlas’s heart, but he couldn’t give in to it yet. “We’ll still get back.” Atlas pointed at Cristian’s phone. “Call her.”
He used his own phone to check for a rideshare, but found no one in the area. A little more concerned, he started to look up cab companies when Cristian began speaking. Ioana must have answered finally.
“Put it on speaker,” Atlas told Cristian.
He did, and Atlas caught the tail end of her frantic “—the hell is going on over there?”
“Two of our tires are flat and we can’t get back to the house. I need you to come pick us up.”
“Atlas, we aren’t home yet. I won’t have time to get back to Rapture and then home before—”
Cristian growled something under his breath and unbuckled his belt, ripping free of it as he dragged himself out of the car. He ignored Atlas’s call for him to calm down and kicked the flat rear tire, spewing Romanian so fast Atlas couldn’t tell where one word ended and another began.
“Ioana, I need to go,” Atlas said and hung up.
Cristian had run out of steam by the time Atlas got close enough to hand back his phone. He accepted it without a word and leaned against the car.
“Hey,” Atlas said, nudging Cristian with his elbow, “I promised I’d get you back safely and I will. If we need to, we’ll hang out inside Rapture until nightfall. We’ll make this work.”
Cristian sighed, but didn’t argue. It was encouragement enough for Atlas to urge him up and herd him back toward the building. They were almost to the door when it opened and a lanky young man stepped out. He blinked when he spotted them and gave an awkward wave. “Umm, hi. You need something?”
“Flat tires,” Atlas called back.
“I don’t suppose you could give us a ride?” Cristian asked.
The man looked from Cristian to Atlas and back to Cristian. “I’ve just got my bike here, man.”
“Cozy. I promise I know how to ride,” Cristian said and stepped forward.
The entendre he’d thrown out—maybe deliberately, maybe not—definitely short-circuited the other man’s brain. The club employee’s eyes widened a bit and he gave Cristian a lingering look that made Atlas want to throw the useless car keys at him.
“So,” Cristian said, moving even closer, “will you help? I’d make it worth your while.”
“You would?” the young guy asked, staring as though the world had narrowed itself down to Cristian alone.
Enough. If Cristian was dead set on getting home before dawn, Atlas would ensure it happened. He didn’t need anyone else to do it for him. He stalked forward. The man finally looked over and squeaked in dismay. Atlas pulled out his wallet and fished for the emergency cash he kept behind his driver’s license. He held it up in front of the young man’s face.
“We would be very grateful if you’d loan us your bike for an hour,” he said. And, because he was feeling petty, he added, “I’m sure Mr. Vladislavic would also appreciate you offering your assistance so I can get his son home.”
“M-Mr. Vladislavic?”
Atlas offered a cool smile. “The owner of Rapture, yes. I’ll make sure he knows how much you helped us...” He trailed off, lifting a hand to indicate he wanted the man’s name.
The guy picked up faster this time. “L-Leroy.”
“Thanks, Leroy. I’ll make sure Mr. Vladislavic knows he can thank you personally. Keys?”
The man scrambled to pull them out of his pocket. Atlas ignored Cristian’s soft chuckle behind him. Leroy started to hand the keys over, then paused, and looked over Atlas’s shoulder to Cristian.
“M-maybe I should drive Mr. Slava back. That way Mr. Vladislavic can meet me in person,” he said.
Cristian shook his head and tsked gently. “I wouldn’t bother him right now,” he said. “But we appreciate your help, Leroy. I promise Mr. Kinkaid will be very careful with your bike and will return it as soon as he is able.”
Damn, this shift was going to run long. It would be so much easier to hunker down in Rapture, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue with Cristian. Not on this grim anniversary. Atlas bit the inside of his cheek and nodded, silently agreeing to deal with the vehicle situation later.
Cristian leaned in and plucked the bills from Atlas’s fingers. He dropped them into Leroy’s hand and scooped the keys up in exchange, smiling prettily all the while. “He’ll be back soon.”
They left the poor, bewildered man to make his way back inside the club and quickly found his bike. It wasn’t anything fancy, an older, well-used model. It must have been picked up for cheap. “You want to drive?” Atlas asked.
Cristian looked at the keys, then up toward the lightening sky above them. He swallowed hard and shook his head. “I think I’ll let you. I’m a little...distracted.”
“Fine.” Atlas swung himself in place and groaned a moment later after a fruitless search. “No helmet?”
“Drive safely then.”
“Stupid kid,” Atlas grumbled. The bike came to life with a spat before settling into a comfortable purr. “Sure you don’t want to stay here?”
Cristian hummed and wrapped his arms around Atlas’s waist. The weight of the embrace shocked him into silence. “Hurry, Mr. Kinkaid,” Cristian murmured. “I have no desire to meet my mother this morning.”
They raced the dawn out of town. The roads were undisturbed except for the few odd cars moving about before the rest of the world had woken. The muted colors of night grew brighter every minute the sun crept closer. Cristian clung tighter to Atlas, as if they could somehow escape morning. Atlas mentally cursed Cristian’s stubborn refusal to stay at Rapture as he pushed the bike faster. Cristian’s tension leached into him with each press of the man’s body against his back. They leaned into the turn for the road to Decebal’s house and Atlas barely avoided wobbling when Cristian hissed and buried his face against Atlas’s back. He wasn’t hurt, but his obvious fear left him hiding himself from the sunlight threatening to break through the canopy of trees lining the road.
Atlas punched in the code for the main gate and drove Cristian up to the front door. He didn’t wait for Atlas to turn off the bike before lurching free and rushing to get inside. No thanks. No goodbye. The door closed with a heavy thud, leaving Atlas with a borrowed bike and the task of returning it to its owner. His sense of foreboding only grew worse the closer he got back to Rapture. He pulled into the small employee parking lot, parked Leroy’s bike in its original spot, and returned to Decebal’s car.
The tires looked worse in the light. Atlas knelt and dragged his finger along the flap cut into the thick rubber. A check of the second tire confirmed similar treatment. They’d both been slashed. Someone had been waiting in the shadows. Leroy’s arrival had been a blessing in more ways than one.
Atlas phoned Helias and left a message for him about the car. He figured the consilier would know who to call to get it fixed. And since it was Decebal’s club, it made sense to leave the keys with one of the employees inside. He ended up banging on the door for a while before it finally opened. It wasn’t Leroy peering out at him though.
The young woman fixed Atlas with a strange look. He’d seen her before, serving drinks at the bar, though he didn’t know her name. “I know you,” she said, opening the door a little wider. “You’re Mr. Slava’s bodyguard.”
He nodded. “Atlas Kinkaid. Our car had some trouble. I’m supposed to leave the keys here so Mr. Casimir can get it taken care of.” He held them out to her. When she took them, he held up Leroy’s keys. “And I needed to return these to Leroy. I appreciate him loaning his bike.”
Her nose scrunched and she laughed. “Leroy? Who’s that?”
The back of his neck prickled. “Leroy. Skinny, average looking. He rides that bike over there.” He pointed.
The woman dutifully looked, but shook her head as she withdrew back into the safety of the doorway. “I don’t know who’s that is. No one here rides a motorcycle. And we don’t have anyone named Leroy on staff. Oh, Mr. Kinkaid, are you okay? You don’t look too good.”
The swooping in his stomach didn’t ease, even when he tried to smile at her. “I’m fine. Sorry. Long night. I’ll find him later then.” She didn’t look convinced, so he went another direction. “I appreciate all your help. Thanks. Have a good day.”
He checked the door after she closed it. Solidly locked. Good. One of the few good things he could think of at the moment.
Leroy didn’t work at Rapture. Yet he’d followed them out to the employee lot, where he’d parked his bike without the staff knowing. Atlas’s eyes burned without his sunglasses. He knew he was running out of time to get home before a new migraine took hold, but there were more important things to worry about now.
They’d been set up. He’d expected there to be fallout after the call with Bryony. Between his behavior and Cristian’s refusal to obey her, there was no way she’d let them get away unscathed. He just hadn’t expected her retribution to come so quickly. Worse, he couldn’t decide who she was targeting. Did she suspect his doubts about working with her? Or was this an attempt to move against Cristian, to test whether Atlas would be able to fend her off? Perhaps that’s how Leroy fit into it all. He’d offered to drive Cristian back on his own. He could have been tasked with kidnapping Decebal’s heir. His timing was shit though...this close to dawn, there was a real chance Cristian wouldn’t have made it far. Atlas pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to breathe. Bryony must have had a place to stash Cristian somewhere nearby. At least, that’s what Atlas had to hope, because the thought that she’d willingly risk her nephew’s life just to prove a point meant she wouldn’t hesitate to do worse to anyone else.
Until he and Cristian were able to stop the creatures hunting in Scarsdale, he couldn’t allow Bryony to overthrow Decebal. That meant he needed to warn Decebal of her machinations, which would require proof. Preferably proof that would keep his own involvement out of the conversation.
He pocketed the bike’s keys and examined the plates. Maybe Bea could help him.
She picked up on the third ring. “Atlas?” she croaked, still groggy and grumpy. “Why are you calling me?”
“Got a bit of a situation. You still have someone who can help us run plates?”
“Hold on.” He heard rustling. Bea loved soft things and had a tendency to fall asleep in nests of blankets when she stayed up too late working. The laptop must have been close by, judging from her quick keystrokes. She mumbled under her breath to herself for a bit, but eventually said, “I’ve got someone. Can you text me what you need?”
“Yep. I’ll even send some pictures.”
“Delightful.” She yawned. “I’ll get back to you later.”
“Talk to you then,” he agreed. He snapped a few pictures of the bike, including its likely stolen plates and sent them to her. Then, with nothing else to do, he headed for the front of the club to call a taxi, praying it arrived before anything else could go wrong.