Three Vlog Night

by Z. A. Maxfield

  It hurt his parents to hear that people thought they’d done a terrible job raising him. His entire family—especially his parents—was disappointed in him, and anyone who believed in them now believed they’d raised a monster.

  Iphicles—Dmytro and Bartosz, and no more liberty for the foreseeable future—was the price he was going to have to pay for his stupidity.

  Chapter 8

  Ajax Freedom, I am coming for you like night and death. I will break you open and send the rot and filth inside you to hell.

  DMYTRO WAS seldom surprised, but he was now. How had it never occurred to him? Ajax had to have known Anton. Dmytro had still been in Ukraine when Anton took that last fatal plane trip to South America. Ajax and his family had probably gotten the news first.

  The fact shocked Dmytro all the way to his toes.

  Ajax had good memories of Anton. He probably even knew more about him than Dmytro did, because Anton had become a new man after leaving for America. When he left, Anton had been a mighty warrior. But by the time he died, he fought on the side of the angels.

  Even Dmytro, who missed him like a drowning man missed air, could not wish for a better brother, a better role model, than Anton.

  He watched Ajax’s face now. Wondered if he could learn anything he didn’t know about Anton from him. Wondered how he could ask when he’d been so deliberately rude and unforthcoming himself.

  Ajax’s body wasn’t boyish, only his face. Only his attitude, as he swirled from place to place, fluid and confident, at home in that small pool of water. He let the jets massage his well-defined muscles, and when they blew air into his shorts, he laughed and patted himself down self-consciously, reminding Dmytro of a brightly colored betta fish. Testy and bellicose. Ready to do battle. Uniquely beautiful and uniquely arrogant.

  “Did you really know my brother?” Dmytro asked before he could think about the words. “Because I didn’t. Not here. He changed when he married, and then he moved, and I didn’t know him after.”

  “I was just a kid.” Ajax rested his arms on the side and kicked his feet lazily in the churning water. “I don’t suppose I knew that much about adults back then. He was very good to me.”

  “Was he?”

  A smile found Ajax’s lips. “My parents were awesome, but they were never there. Anton always made time for me.”

  “And Anton talked to you?” That squared with Dmytro’s memory of him. He wasn’t the warmest man, but he liked children and always had time for a word or two. Never acted impatient or as if Dmytro’s questions were stupid.

  “He taught me card games.” Ajax appeared lost in the memory. “And board games. Sometimes he read aloud to me or sat with me on the plane to give my parents time to sleep.”

  Dmytro had to swallow the sudden sadness that enveloped him. “He was unselfish. I remember.”

  “He taught me self-defense. And to shoot.” Ajax smiled suddenly. “Mom wanted to kill him, which seems kind of counterintuitive, but Mom’s a serious peacenik, and when she saw me with a gun in my hand, I thought she’d—”

  “How well can you shoot?” Dmytro sat forward.

  Ajax rolled his eyes. “Obviously not as well as Anton.”

  “Obviously.” Anton had been Spetsnaz, in the security service Alpha Group. Dmytro had similar skills and a good education. He’d tried to follow in his footsteps for a time, but back then, because of his father, he didn’t take orders well. Or at all. When he met his former boss and the man’s shady associates, he decided to become muscle for hire, which led him in an entirely different, far less glorious direction.

  But Anton had been a one-man army. If he’d taught Ajax to shoot even half as well as he’d taught Dmytro when he was a kid, then Ajax could be a highly proficient amateur.

  Dmytro wondered how good Ajax was. They were there to protect him, but if he could also protect himself, perhaps in the direst emergency, they could make a weapon available to him.

  Ajax swam around a bit more and then rose from the water, dripping, his lean, athletic body coltish but in no way childlike.

  Ajax had sparse body hair, but it was dark and easy to see. The feet in his shower shoes were huge, like flippers. His hands narrow and long. Dmytro frowned and glanced away.

  He would test Ajax’s self-defense moves. Perhaps he could carry on where Anton left off? Be an unofficial uncle, and by so doing, learn more about his brother and lay an unwanted attraction to rest? He never found anyone irresistible. Not when the price was so high.

  “We’ll find a place for target practice. And for working on hand-to-hand,” Dmytro decided. “If you’re good enough, you can help us keep you safe.”

  “Really?” Ajax’s eyes widened.

  Dmytro asked, “You’re a man, aren’t you?”

  It was a long time before Ajax answered. “I am a man.”

  Dmytro nodded. For him the matter was settled. “You must learn to defend the things that matter. The world is cruel.”

  “Yes, it’s very cruel.” Ajax swiped a hand over his damp face.

  As he dried himself off, his eyes seemed haunted. Dmytro would have liked to know what put that haunted, unhappy look there, but decided it was probably better he didn’t.

  Chapter 9

  Ajax Freedom. I am the Bringer of Death.

  JUST LIKE that, Ajax fell in love with another man he couldn’t have. It didn’t take much, of course. He was twenty-two. He fell in and out of love like a Skee-Ball, bouncing, rolling, falling into first one guy and then another.

  But when Dmytro said, “You’re a man, aren’t you?” he fell into the fifty-pointer, right to the bottom, at least for the moment, at least until the next hot guy made him feel good, or cherished, or even a little competent, probably. At least until Dmytro barked at him or ordered him around—or left, because he obviously would, once the job was over.

  The moment was golden. Dmytro seemed like a god come to earth just for him.

  Because nobody treated him like a man. Nobody. And considering he’d already graduated college, become a YouTube sensation, and been part of a wildly successful podcast, you’d think someone would give him some credit.

  He held a degree in mathematics from a good college. Could have easily gone to grad school. Instead he’d turned an unconventional sense of humor and a basic loathing of the world at large into a fucking industry.

  Chilled to the bone from their walk back to the room, he went into the bathroom in the motel room to rinse the chlorine off his skin and shampoo his hair. Now he stared at his face on the Ajax Freedom T-shirt he wore in the mirror—which seemed just a little too meta—and willed himself to chill the fuck out.

  There was no point to hiding his attraction, but there was probably no point to having it either. The entire world now knew Ajax was gay, but Dmytro didn’t seem to be, what with the wife and the daughters and all, and also, duh, Ajax was only a job to these guys.

  He walked back into the room in time to see the tiniest sliver of Dmytro’s inked back before the T-shirt he was putting on fell like a curtain to cover it. Plaid sleep pants made him look like a dad. Just not Ajax’s dad.

  Not. At. All.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” Dmytro narrowed his eyes.

  “No reason.” Ajax flushed. “When can we go for target practice?”

  “I’ll run the idea past Zhenya and Bartosz, and we’ll find out if there’s a range around here in the morning. If we think it’s safe enough, then we’ll consider it.”

  “Do I get to use your gun? Or Bartosz’s?”

  Dmytro plugged his laptop in before placing his watch on the nightstand between the beds. “We’ll see, I said.”

  Averting his eyes, Ajax asked, “Did I get any love letters today?”

  By which he meant the really scary ones.

  Iphicles had started monitoring his security feed when his admirer sent pictures from inside his house. Then they’d removed his electronics, cloned them, and kept any interaction private to keep Ajax
from worrying.

  Except he was worried. This guy was different. This guy was skilled. Ajax made certain no anonymous users could comment on his feed, and somehow his stalker had bypassed the code he wrote to prevent it.

  Iphicles wasn’t even close to finding out who hacked him. The email harassment kept coming. Its personal nature scared him. There was a different mind at work there—the threats were more visceral, more powerful, as if their sender had his hand inside him already and was tightening his grip around Ajax’s lungs. There was a sick but clever mind behind the attack.

  “Some.” He noticed that Dmytro wasn’t looking at him. He had set his things on the nightstand and rose to turn on the light between them before turning out all the rest. “Peter sent a list of names for you to look at.”

  He handed over a slip of paper. Ajax skimmed it. There were five names on it. A Xander, a Josh, two Jasons, and a Rafe.

  “What are these?”

  “Do you recognize any of those names?”

  “Maybe. They could be online acquaintances or guys I hooked up with, although it’s kind of sketchy, because I normally don’t remember last names. I met a guy named Rafe at a party last year.” The man was memorable, if only because Ajax had determined to avoid him in the future. “He was an arrogant ass.”

  “Yeah? More specific impressions?”

  “He had this weird way of staring. And he licked the condensation from his glass like a lizard. My money’s on him, if we’re dealing with a guy who wanted to get with me but couldn’t get past first base. But cripes. Joshuas, Jasons, and even Xanders are everywhere. I’ve met a few of each at parties or clubs through the years and I’m sure I pissed one off. There’s this one Jason guy who seemed… jealous. He was rude and egotistical.” He’d made a note of the dude’s Instagram handle. “He has reminded me more than once I don’t deserve the success I have.”

  “Great.” Dmytro sighed. “Could any of them have a special reason to harm you?”

  “All of them. But does someone need a reason? I upset the status quo. I made it okay—even stylish—for people to be assholes, and then I called them out on it.”

  “From what I can see, you called yourself out, Ajax.”

  Uncertain, he asked, “What do you think that means?”

  Dmytro shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Can I please have the window bed? Being on the inside makes me feel closed in.”

  “No. Take the bed by the bath while we’re here.” Dmytro didn’t look up until he plugged his phone in. Then he patiently met Ajax’s gaze. “It’s for your safety, Ajax. If anything happens, you’re to take your phone into the bathroom, lock the door, and call 911 for help. Get in the bathtub if there’s any shooting.”

  Ajax gave an eye roll. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “If there’s an emergency,” Dmytro said sternly, “Bartosz and I will place our lives on the line for you. Please do as I ask.”

  A mutinous feeling swept over him. He hated being told what to do. He hated unknown threats and uncertainty. “This is bullshit.”

  “It’s not bullshit to me.” Dmytro turned away, but not before Ajax saw he was visibly angry. “Your safety matters because getting home to my daughters alive matters. How I do that, when I spend my time protecting other people’s children, is by careful preparation and planning, and—”

  “I’m sorry.” Feeling slapped again, Ajax turned away and sighed.

  Dmytro gave a sharp rap on the wall, and Ajax jumped about five feet. Seconds later a thud echoed back. “Bartosz will take the first watch and I’ll take the second. When it’s my turn, he’ll sleep in here with you.”

  Ajax didn’t expect they’d braid each other’s hair, but he’d hoped Dmytro wouldn’t leave him alone with Bartosz. Not that there was anything wrong with Bartosz. But he’d talked to Dmytro. Felt some kind of bond—over Anton, maybe. Now it looked like that was wishful thinking too.

  Ajax brushed his teeth with the same care he gave to all aspects of grooming. He was meticulous. Precise. It was time-consuming but well worth it. He’d never had a cavity in his life.

  Alter ego Ajax Freedom wasn’t that guy. He spent his evenings drinking Jӓger bombs and fell asleep draped over the backs of couches. He’d passed out in hotel bathtubs in order to avoid sorority girls who wanted to get with him. That life was never meant to last, because Ajax Freedom was performance art. He’d never believed it could go quite so horribly wrong, but what had he expected? He’d basically trolled his audience twenty-four seven.

  He slipped into bed and glanced over at Dmytro, who lay on his side, phone in his hands. Ajax couldn’t tell whether he was reading the news or interacting with someone.

  “You want the light off?” he asked about the table lamp between the two beds.

  “I’ll get the lights in a minute.” Dmytro thumbed something into his phone and put it aside. “Do you take anything to sleep?”

  “No. Why?”

  “If we have any problems, I want to know now whether I can wake you or if I’ll need to simply pick you up and carry you.”

  Ajax’s groin tingled. “I don’t take anything, but you can carry me anyway, if you want. Anton was an awesome piggybacker.”

  Dmytro gave that the look it deserved. “Go to sleep.”

  “All right.” He rolled over and punched the surprisingly nice pillow. “I’ll need the light off to sleep.”

  “Fine.” Behind Ajax, the light went out. “Do you want me to sing a bedtime song too?”

  “I could use a bottle of water.”

  “That,” Dmytro said, “I can do.”

  Dmytro picked up his phone again, and a couple minutes later, a discreet tap on the door led to a fresh cold water bottle for Ajax.

  “That’s service.”

  “Iphicles is client-driven,” Dmytro offered. “Whatever I can do to make this easier without compromising your safety, I will try to do.”

  Ajax sat up and turned on the light to do an irony check. He didn’t see any. Maybe Dmytro had warmed up to him?

  Then the cold smile was back. The glacial eyes. “That said, if you do anything reckless or stupid, I will not hesitate to duct tape your mouth, cowtie you, and throw you in the trunk of a car.”

  “Hogtie.” Ajax swallowed. “We say hogtie.”

  Dmytro shrugged before turning the light off. “Get some sleep. I messaged Zhenya about taking target practice, and he’s looking into it.”

  Ajax shut his eyes and imagined holding a gun again. Letting Dmytro stand behind him to help him sight a target as Anton had done, face close to his, breath puffing at his neck as he said in his rich Eastern European accent, “All right, now Ajax, let out the breath you’re holding. Squeeze, do not pull, the trigger.”

  “Awesome.” This was gonna be torture.

  Chapter 10

  Ajax Freedom. I am the angel of the apocalypse, and I am right behind you.

  DMYTRO HAD learned a lot about Ajax in the brief time they’d been together. Ajax confirmed a lot of his expectations. Ajax tested boundaries and he needed constant attention. But he was neither an idiot nor a wastrel.

  In truth, he was a bit of a Renaissance man—a mathematics major, an extremely competent hacker, a bit of an actor, with a broadly ironic take on politics and the world in general. He was probably claustrophobic. He had self-defense training and money to hire security on his own had his parents not done it. After the threat to him was discovered, he’d only need to go back to his secure apartment building and get on with his life.

  Using Iphicles was overkill, even for a billionaire’s son, unless there was a credible threat. So why had he asked Zhenya about finding a gun range? Surely once this danger was gone, Ajax could go on his merry way.

  He wondered what Ajax would choose to do next. He possessed surprisingly keen insight for someone his age. And every so often, caught in just the right light, he was….

  Dmytro frowned into the darkness before lighting his flashlight. Thank heav
ens Ajax was finally asleep. For a little insurance, he opened the boy’s Shearwater dive watch, placed a tiny tracking device inside, and snapped the case closed.

  It wasn’t strictly ethical. He hadn’t discussed it with Bartosz in advance. Zhenya probably wouldn’t approve, as Ajax hadn’t attempted escape. But one never knew how one might lose a client.

  Dmytro had no interest in losing Ajax.

  By moonlight, he took in Ajax’s closed eyes and sharp nose. The dark smudges where his lashes lay on his high cheekbones. Plump, pursed lips, pale skin, beard shadow and dark, curly hair…. Ajax had a disturbing kind of beauty.

  As if he knew he was being watched, his eyes fluttered open. For a second he looked as if he didn’t know where he was, and then he smiled.

  “Oh. Hi.”

  Dmytro had trouble catching his breath. “Hello.”

  “Are we doing the changing of the guards?”

  Dmytro nodded. “Soon.”

  Those thick lashes fluttered closed, but Ajax’s lips curved into a smile. “Not too much ceremony, please. I need my beauty sleep.”

  “No, you don’t,” Dmytro muttered as he rose from the bed.

  Ajax’s eyes opened wide, and Dmytro could have kicked himself for saying anything.

  “You’re infamous,” he improvised. “Compared to that, beauty is nothing.”

  Ajax pulled the covers over his head. “You have no idea how little either of those things means to me.”

  Dmytro wanted to walk away. He wished he could ignore the implication of Ajax’s words and simply switch places with Bartosz and walk the perimeter in peace, but curiosity got the best of him. “What makes you say so?”

  Turning to face the wall, Ajax said, “My parents hate me.”

  “Of course they don’t.” Dmytro pulled the curtain aside a crack. “They’re moving heaven and earth to keep you safe.”