Rare Vigilance by M.A. Grant

Chapter Five

Cristian’s group waited in their usual balcony and crowed welcomes when they spotted Cristian—and Atlas—making their way closer through the crush of bodies on the floor below. The club security at the base of the stairs leading to the balcony let Cristian past without a word. Atlas inspected the man as he passed, disliking the small pang of worry that came with the sight of yet another unfamiliar face. Helias had sent him information on Vladislavic employees, but the list of names without any accompanying pictures offered him little help.

The scene at the top of the stairs soon provided him a distraction. Vasilica, dressed in a thin, shimmering dress designed to show off her long legs and the bare skin of her upper back, leaned in to press soft kisses to both of Cristian’s cheeks. Constantin, in a surprisingly classy floral print suit that complimented Vasilica’s dress, kept a hand at her lower back and offered a bright smile to the new arrivals. “Took you long enough to get here,” he remarked as Cristian slid past Vasilica and headed toward the comfortable booth Ioana and Andrei occupied.

“Had a stop along the way,” Cristian told his friends.

Atlas took up his post against the railing, where he could see both the stairs and the dance floor beneath them. He wasn’t part of the group, had no desire to be, and the evening’s strangeness wore on him. There was no doubt tonight’s shift would leave him a mess in the morning. Already, the mingling scents of the club sharpened the edge of the headache that had officially set in on their drive away from the riverfront. Sweet perfumes, spiced cologne, biting alcohol, and the sting of sweat wafted up off the dancers, an inescapable potpourri he hoped he could stomach for however long Cristian decided to remain here. At least tonight’s music wasn’t the usual, high-pitched club mixes. Instead, the throbbing bass and low notes set up in his chest like a heartbeat and he used them to steady his breathing.

“And your meeting?” Andrei asked Cristian.

“Short, thankfully.” He paused before adding, “We stopped to see Nell.”

Movement from the booth. Atlas glanced over to find Ioana leaning forward toward Cristian. The stiletto heel of her left foot tapped against the floor and she tilted her head toward Atlas. “He drove you?”

Cristian leaned over the far railing, watching the dancers below. He didn’t look at Atlas when he shrugged and said, “He was going to find out sooner or later.”

“Did you invite him inside?” Vasilica asked. “You didn’t, right? I mean, I doubt he could understand.”

“Just because he works for Whitethorn doesn’t mean he’d be okay with it,” Constantin agreed. “He’s a little straitlaced—”

That was unnecessary. “He is standing right here,” Atlas growled. It earned him an amused look from Cristian and glares from the others as they closed ranks. “Does someone want to tell me who this Nell is?”

“Not really,” Cristian said. “I’m thirsty.”

He sauntered away from the railing and moved toward the stairs. The flashing lights of the dance floor below cast him differently, and gave his movements a predatory edge. Atlas tensed without meaning to.

Cristian noticed. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m going to get a drink.”

Constantin stepped in front of Cristian. He leaned close and muttered something in Cristian’s ear while showing off something on his phone screen. Whatever he said was unwelcome because the wide, bright smile Cristian had put on dimmed somewhat. Atlas was getting better at noticing his counterfeit expressions. Cristian took one last look at the phone, shook off his friend’s hand, and looked directly at his bodyguard.

“Want anything, Mr. Kinkaid?”

Atlas shook his head, too aware of Ioana rising from her seat behind Cristian, her lips twisting in a strange way. Vasilica’s breathing sped up. Even Andrei had looked away from his drink to watch the exchange.

Rather than asking Constantin to move out of his way, Cristian sidestepped into Atlas’s space. His elbow brushed against Atlas’s arm and lingered. It could have been taken as mild flirtation, if not for the way his gaze fixed on Atlas’s throat rather than lifting to meet his eyes. Atlas struggled against the instinctive urge to reach up and cover the skin—and its scars—with his hand and settled for turning a little, hiding them from Cristian’s view. His doctors had called him fortunate; the injuries had healed well enough, with minimal discoloration, that they weren’t too obvious from a distance. Up close though, the bumps and ridges of scarred flesh were more obvious. It was part of the reason he didn’t let people near enough to see the true extent of the damage.

Cristian didn’t seem to have the same sense of personal boundaries most people, or vaguely polite animals, did. He ignored Atlas’s discomfort and leaned closer to murmur, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind you joining me, you know?”

“I’m on shift.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Cristian said.

“All the same, I’m fine here,” Atlas said.

“Too bad.” Cristian sighed and continued on his way, his light steps down the stairs obscured swiftly by the music. The moment he left, the rest relaxed some. It was a relief to know the strange, tightening anticipation hadn’t been in Atlas’s imagination alone. If all of Cristian’s friends picked up on the tension and expected Cristian to do something regrettable, it meant there was a genuine reason for concern. He needed more information.

Atlas turned to Ioana, trusting her protective streak would win out over her desire to close ranks against him. “So, this Nell... Is Cristian safe with her, or should I be concerned?”

Ioana shot Andrei a quick look. He made a face and waved her off, returning to his drink and the entertainment below. When Constantin and Vasilica didn’t speak up, she answered, “You don’t need to worry about Nell.”

Right. Sure. Just like he didn’t need to worry about them lying to his face. He caught sight of Cristian in his periphery. The man stood by the bar, chatting with someone, and Atlas tried to keep him in sight while continuing the conversation. “Good. I got a little worried after the whole duffel bag thing.” He let it hang there, hoping one of them would take the bait.

Constantin indulged him with a flabbergasted, “What duffel bag thing?”

“Well, he brought a full duffel bag out of the clinic with him. It was empty after he visited Nell.”

Andrei swore, low and rough, before glaring at Atlas and warning, “What Cristian does is none of your business.”

Atlas offered a brilliant, fake smile and held up his hands. “I agree. But I’d like to know if I’m about to get caught in a father-son pissing contest that will leave me unemployed.”

“Trust Cristian,” Vasilica urged. “He wouldn’t do anything to hurt the family. Angelica taught him well.”

“Angelica?” Atlas wracked his brain and came up empty. “I haven’t met her yet.”

“You won’t meet her,” Ioana said bluntly. “She’s dead.”

Her statement destroyed any chance there may have been to dig for more information. Everyone’s head dropped and even the music couldn’t drown out the pained silence of the balcony. It was a line not to be crossed, so Atlas nodded and glanced over his shoulder to look for Cristian. He was no longer at the bar, instead weaving his way through the crowd toward a door marked Staff Only. Of course he was going to sneak off without telling anyone. This was the kind of shit that would have gotten Todd to quit. Atlas started to follow, but a second flash of movement gave him pause.

The man working through the crowd after Cristian was younger than Atlas expected, with broad shoulders and the expectant stride of a winner. He couldn’t slip through the dancers as easily as Cristian, but he gave good chase.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

He was halfway down the stairs by the time he heard Vasilica’s call. He ignored her and the sudden argument between the others, instead keeping his gaze fixed on Cristian’s pursuer. There was no choice but to follow him into the crowd. The bodies swallowed Atlas without mercy, buffeting him back and forth in the human current. All the scents he’d valiantly been ignoring pummeled him anew. His stomach churned, but he swallowed down the bile, kept his hands outstretched, and firmly parted the people before him. He made good time, but wasn’t fast enough to catch the other man. The sight of the door swinging shut gave him the motivation he needed to close the distance.

He paused when he finally reached the employees-only entrance, taking a quick look around for anyone else coming. Only when he was sure he wouldn’t be surprised by any newcomers did he slip past the door. The short, uncluttered hall branched off into a series of rooms. Most of it appeared to be storage, he noted as he peeked through cracked doors. He found what could have been a private lounge, though the antique furniture filling the space was far fancier than anything he’d seen before in similar spaces.

The music was muted here, and Atlas didn’t have to strain as much to listen for signs of his quarry as he attempted to check each room. This is taking too long, he fumed as he closed the door to a well-kept bathroom. But then, down the hall, came a thud against a wall. Atlas moved before he could think.

The refinished wooden door between him and Cristian was locked. No matter. A well placed, and likely too violent, kick granted him access. He burst into the room, prepared to defend Cristian.

He didn’t need to.

That much was obvious from a glance. Yes, Cristian was caught between the wall and the man who’d been following him. But judging from the bare, flushed skin exposed by their open shirts and dark teeth marks on each other’s skin, Cristian wasn’t in any physical danger. Well, unless suffering blue balls counted.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Cristian demanded, not relinquishing his hold on the other man, who continued to paw at Cristian’s well-muscled chest. A very naked chest Atlas couldn’t stop staring at. “You are not needed, Mr. Kinkaid.”

“You sure, baby?” the other man murmured against Cristian’s neck, giving Atlas a slow once-over. “I’m game if you are—”

Cristian slid his fingers up the man’s neck and clutched at his hair, quieting him with the movement. Atlas wished the man hadn’t shut up. Holding Cristian’s gaze was more intimate than he’d expected. Maybe it was Cristian’s flush, or the way his fingers tightened and drew an amused groan from his lover.

Whatever it was, Atlas did not like it. He did not like how easily someone slipped past his—and the rest of the security’s—guard. He did not like that Cristian blamed him for doing his job, as if, by bursting in, he broke some kind of rule he had no knowledge of. And, more than anything, he absolutely did not like the prickle of dark anger in the pit of his gut, the frustration bursting into life over seeing Cristian debauchedin a stranger’s arms. Someone unvetted, who could have hurt Cristian before Atlas had a chance to intervene, destroying his career and Bea’s reputation in a single moment.

No, Atlas did not care for that shit at all.

“Who is this?” he asked.

Cristian opened his mouth to answer, but bit his lower lip in frustration when he couldn’t come up with the name. The other man, seemingly unoffended by it, offered, “James.”

“Yes,” Cristian said, “this is James.” The man in question nuzzled at Cristian’s neck. Cristian hissed, his head tilting back to grant better access. “Leave, Mr. Kinkaid.”

“Mr. Slava,” Atlas bit out, “an unknown man followed you in here. I am not leaving until I know he’s not a threat.”

“A sexual threat, maybe,” James laughed. It was not a funny joke.

Atlas’s world narrowed to the still chuckling man in Cristian’s arms. He would show this asshole exactly how easily he could neutralize a threat.

James must have sensed the danger, because he lifted his mouth from Cristian’s neck when Atlas took a step forward and warned, “He told you to go.” He nipped at Cristian’s collarbone, smiling when Cristian sucked in a startled breath in response. “Think you need a new bodyguard,” he mumbled against the reddening skin. “This one doesn’t listen.”

Enough. Contractually, he had to put up with Cristian’s crappy attitude, but that did not require him to suffer any other fools. Atlas took a step forward, eyeing the best place to grab James, but a hand settling firmly on his shoulder stopped his forward momentum.

He hadn’t heard anyone enter the room behind him, a concerning sign of how distracted he’d let himself become in the heat of the moment. The rumbling question in Romanian, too fast to catch any words, came from Andrei. There was also movement to his left as Ioana stepped up next to him and addressed Cristian. She sounded resigned, not surprised, to arrive at such a scene.

Cristian answered with a sharp tone Atlas hadn’t heard him direct toward his friends before. They must not have been used to it either, since Andrei sucked in a breath and Ioana narrowed her eyes at whatever vitriol had been spewed in their direction. Cristian dragged James’s mouth off his neck, ordered in English for him to wait for a second, and spoke again to Ioana in Romanian. When he finished, she sighed and turned to face Atlas.

“We need to go,” she said flatly. “If not, he’ll call his father.” And, as if she knew what Atlas was about to argue, she continued, “He’s done this before. Decebal will side with him. He always has.”

Andrei released Atlas, as if the threat of Decebal’s ill humor was enough to ensure his compliance. Probably a mistake on Andrei’s part. Atlas closed the distance to Cristian and James. He pulled James away, stepping between him and Cristian to form a physical barrier. Cristian’s body brushed against his back. The memory of his bare skin was a distraction Atlas couldn’t afford. A potential threat still stood before him.

James’s surprised expression soothed some of Atlas’s anger, but not enough to keep the venom from dripping into his voice. “I’ll leave. After I do my job and search Jimmy here.”

James squeaked. Ioana and Andrei tried to reason with Atlas. Cristian remained silent. His shocking lack of protest was all the encouragement Atlas needed. He patted down James with brusque efficiency. He didn’t even give a sharp, cruel twist to the man’s balls, though he was sorely tempted to. Deserved a fucking medal for his professionalism. By the time he’d finished, James looked suitably chastised and sexually frustrated, Constantin and Vasilica had found them, and Atlas thought he was prepared to face Cristian’s rage. He gave James a nod and announced, to no one in particular, “He’s clean,” before turning to face his charge.

He’d expected anger from Cristian. Instead, he found the flush of embarrassment. “Happy?” Cristian spat, unable to meet his gaze.

Oh, fuck.

“No,” Atlas said.

He hadn’t meant to humiliate Cristian in front of everyone. He didn’t want to hurt him. He wanted to do his job well. He wanted—

Fuck, he didn’t have words to explain it all, especially since he wasn’t sure he understood his reaction. Vetting sexual partners was a familiar, albeit awkward, part of the job. He’d never done it with such a personal investment though. He needed to pull back and try to get the situation back under control. He promised Cristian, “Now that I know he’s not a threat to you, I’ll leave you two alone.”

Cristian laughed, a low, hollow thing, and shook his head. “He’s not a threat. You are, but not him.” He finally looked at Atlas, really looked at him, and Atlas’s heart sank at his bitter curiosity. “I’ve never seen you lose your control before, Mr. Kinkaid. How interesting. Makes me wonder why.” He leaned in, bare chest on display and his breath warm on Atlas’s cheek. The allure vanished with his explosive words, which wounded Atlas like a shot to the chest. “Did you wish it was you?”

He flushed.

“Bad puppy,” Cristian whispered.

“Cristian.” Ioana’s sharp call cemented Atlas’s fuck up. She’d heard the exchange. The others likely had too.

Cristian didn’t argue with her. Instead, he drew back and glanced past Atlas toward Ioana. “Get Mr. Kinkaid out of my sight.”

Atlas didn’t wait for her to escort him away. He walked out of the small room of his own volition, head held high. Vasilica had already vacated to the hall, where she leaned against the wall to watch Atlas. She had the grace to wait for Ioana to close the door behind them before saying, “Well, that could have gone better.”

Atlas braced for her to unleash on him. Instead, she offered him a shrug. “But, since he didn’t try to rip out your throat, I guess it didn’t go too badly either.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Constantin said, clapping Atlas on the shoulder. He looked a little nervous to be so close, but he didn’t move his hand right away. He was offering...comfort? A dubious attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. “We’ve all dealt with something like this at one time or another.”

Andrei grunted in agreement. “Never stood our ground though. Either you’re brave or stupid.”

“Or maybe just good at my job,” Atlas argued.

Constantin gave a slow nod. “Yeah, you’re good at that too. Cristian won’t ever say it to your face, but he does know that. We all do.”

Not reaching out to accept that olive branch could come back to bite him in the ass one day soon, so Atlas seized the moment. “Thank you, Constantin—”

“Dinu.” He tilted his head, his dark hair falling over his brow and a genuine smile lighting his face. “Anyone who’s trying to keep Cristian safe gets to call me Dinu.”

“Fine. Dinu. Thanks.”

Ioana cleared her throat. “Mr. Kinkaid,” she said, “we can take care of Cristian from here. It won’t be long until he’s—” She made a face, one that wrinkled her nose and made her look younger, hinting there might be something beyond her seriousness. “I just mean that we’ll bring him out to the car once he’s done.”

“And,” Vasilica said with a grin, “if you’re already in the car, he can’t slip past you and leave you here, a mistake which would require an explanation to his father.”

“Good point,” Atlas said, surprised by the help. “I’ll have the valet bring it around.”

Dinu walked him the short distance to the employees-only door, fidgeting all the way. Atlas sighed and came to a halt before he stepped back out into the club proper. This probably wasn’t a conversation to be had in public.

“Spit it out,” Atlas said.

“Look, you may not want to hear this, but you seem to actually give a shit about this job beyond the paycheck,” Dinu muttered. “So you should know... Decebal isn’t the only one who values loyalty. Cristian values it more than his own safety. Lots of the other agents, they didn’t get that. They didn’t realize how hard Cristian works to keep us in his father’s good graces. So I wouldn’t worry about the clinic or Nell or anything. He’ll take care of it all. That make sense, Mr. Kinkaid?”

“Atlas,” he said without hesitation. And then he lied, “And yes, it does. I appreciate the explanation.”

He mulled over Dinu’s words long after he dropped the crew off at Decebal’s house and returned to his shitty apartment. Doing his job and ensuring Cristian’s safety were his contractual obligations. Yet Dinu made it sound like it was Cristian’s role to ensure the safety of everyone else, and that doing otherwise was a sign of disloyalty. He just couldn’t figure out if Dinu was referring to his curiosity about Nell, or his reaction to James in the back room. Regardless of the situation, Atlas would put Cristian’s safety first. It was his duty as a professional.

Unbidden, he recalled Cristian’s accusation. Did you wish it was you?

He groaned and turned over in his bed, staring at his alarm clock in a fruitless attempt to forget the final barb and his subsequent embarrassment. He hadn’t come up with a response then, and he still couldn’t figure one out now.

The minutes ticked by. He ran through the night again, trying to find evidence to disprove Cristian’s assumption. No matter how many times he tried, his memory kept sticking on foolish details, like the way the flush had spread over Cristian’s chest, or the way the shadows caught along the line of his jaw when he tilted his head back—

The twist in his stomach was warm, gentle, and nothing like the frustrated churning he normally experienced when he reflected on the day’s shift. It was tantalizing. And wrong. There were few commandments held for Whitethorn employees, but no entanglements with clients was at the top of the list.

He twisted onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes, desperate to block the images from replaying again. It didn’t work. The longer he lay there, the clearer the awful truth became: Cristian Slava was not just another job, and he was absolutely fucked.