by M. A. Grant
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.
Chapter Fifteen
Bea’s friend ran the plates to find they belonged to a different motorcycle whose owner had died in a wreck. Bea suspected someone snagged them out of the scrap yard to use on Leroy’s bike. He didn’t know if it was the evidence he needed until he shared his findings with Decebal the next night.
“They were registered out of New Jersey?” Decebal asked as he skimmed the printouts.
“Yes, sir.”
Decebal frowned and set the papers aside. “That’s within the Wharrams’ territory. I’ll need to think on how to broach the subject with the Council. And that is not the worst problem.”
“Oh?”
“Someone deleted the security footage from last night, including the backups. There are very few people who would have access to do such a thing.”
The older man shuffled some of the papers on his desk, not meeting Atlas’s gaze. “Mr. Kinkaid, the mole within my family risked my son’s life this morning. I need you to find out who is responsible before it’s too late.”
“I’ll do everything I can to protect him, sir,” Atlas promised. It felt like a
lie though, poisoned by his own hypocrisy. Other than Bryony Wharram, Atlas himself posed the greatest danger to Cristian. “How involved do you wish to be in deciding the safety protocols?”
Decebal held up a hand and shook his head. “I hired Whitethorn because Beatrice said you could be trusted to act independently if I were unavailable. Preparing for such eventualities was your focus in the military, yes?”
“Yes, sir. Security and rapid response were my platoon’s specialties.”
“Then I trust your decisions with this matter. Do whatever it takes to keep my son safe, Mr. Kinkaid. As long as the threat to Cristian ends, you will have my full support.”
“Very good, sir,” Atlas said.
“Mr. Kinkaid,” Decebal called out when Atlas rose to leave. He waited for Atlas to meet his gaze before stating again, slower and firmer this time, “I trust you. Do not fail me in this.”
“I understand, sir,” Atlas said weakly. He couldn’t get out of the study fast enough.
* * *
Atlas hoped time would lessen the impact of Decebal’s offered trust. A few weeks later, the way his stomach swooped when he picked up an unknown-number call and heard Jasper on the other end proved otherwise.
“Mr. Kinkaid?” Jasper asked again when Atlas didn’t respond. “Are you there?”
“I’m here,” he said at last, setting his coffee mug down on his kitchen counter.
“You hadn’t called yet this week. I was growing worried,” Jasper said. They were all the right words, layered with just enough concern that a lesser man might believe it.
Atlas knew better.
“It’s been busy,” he told Jasper, refusing to explain further.
“I see.” Jasper cleared his throat carefully. “And how is this week looking?”
Atlas fiddled with the handle of his mug, mind racing. Before, he’d happily shared Cristian’s schedule, sure he was doing something good in passing along that information. Now, after everything, including the nearly fatal incident at Rapture, he understood the true risks of handing the Wharrams potential leverage. His refusal was necessary, but he couldn’t risk inciting Bryony’s further ire.
“Mr. Vladislavic and Mr. Slava are being very cautious considering the recent attempts made against them,” he lied. “Each evening’s schedule is different, and I don’t learn it until I arrive on shift.”
“I didn’t realize they’d grown so suspicious,” Jasper said thoughtfully. “I wonder what put them so on edge.”
“I’m sure you can think of a few things,” Atlas said before swallowing down the rest of his accusation. Showing his true thoughts on their methods would accomplish nothing but piquing Bryony’s interest. “I need to be careful while I’m on shift,” Atlas went on, grateful Jasper couldn’t see him and read the tension in his body. “Mr. Vladislavic is searching for anyone he thinks might be working against his family. Risking his attention is a bad idea. I’ll try to get in touch with you when I can.”
The silence stretched between them and Atlas was positive Jasper would call him out on his less than subtle rebellion. He wasn’t outright refusing to uphold his end of the bargain, but demanding greater autonomy in their agreement could easily be taken as acting against Bryony’s wishes. So it was a surprise when Jasper hummed and said, “So be it. Enjoy tonight’s shift, Mr. Kinkaid.”
* * *
Jasper must have jinxed him, Atlas decided later that night as he faced off against Cristian in the billiards room. What should have been an easy shift was turned on its head when Cristian declared he wanted to return to Rapture.
“It’s too dangerous,” Atlas told him.
“It’s not,” Cristian said. “Even if the Wharrams are waiting for me to show up, there’s no point hiding from them. I won’t let them dictate how I live my life.”
His courage stole Atlas’s breath. “Mr. Slava,” he began, unsure how to argue such a point.
Andrei snorted from his chair in the corner and said, “He’s not that noble. He needs to go there so he can feed.” His lip curled as he looked over Atlas, lingering on his neck. “Unless you’re offering to be his donor again?”
Atlas shut his mouth, grabbed the keys, and waited while everyone else got ready for the night out.
On the ride over, Cristian was adamant Atlas not accompany him in the search for a donor. They engaged in a silent battle of wills in the rearview mirror, until Atlas gritted his teeth and told Ioana she’d cover the job. She didn’t argue, thank God. She was the only one of the crew Atlas trusted enough to leave alone with Cristian.
He reminded himself of that fact again as he watched Ioana and Cristian pass through the crowd downstairs.
“So every time he’s wandered off here, he’s been looking for someone to feed from?” he mused aloud from the balcony railing as he watched Cristian approach a lovely young woman near the edge of the dance floor.
Cristian leaned in close, whispered something in her ear, and Atlas tried to suffocate his irritation when her hands clutched at Cristian’s jacket lapels. The emotion didn’t abate as he watched Cristian lead the young woman toward the Staff Only door, Ioana following close behind to do the check of his partner.
“Not every time,” Dinu piped up from his comfortable sprawl across the booth bench. He’d been lying down with his head in Vasilica’s lap for most of the evening. He seemed perfectly content with the way she absently ran her fingers through his hair while scrolling on her phone. “But it’s better to feed when you start feeling hungry rather than waiting too long.”
Vasilica nodded. She was listening, even though she didn’t look it.
“I’ve never seen either of you go off before,” Atlas pointed out.
Dinu looked up at the same moment Vasilica glanced down. A lewd smile crossed her face as they watched each other, and she ran a finger teasingly against the tendon in Dinu’s neck. “That’s because we have each other,” she said.
Dinu grinned up at her. “Yeah. She’s the easiest.”
Vasilica gave a fake huff of outrage and pinched Dinu’s neck. He winced and sat up as he apologized. When he glanced over at Atlas, he laughed. “Oh, please. You don’t actually believe all of that human propaganda about how vampires can’t feed off each other, right?”
Andrei grumbled something that made Dinu’s eyes narrow when he glared over at the older man. “Well, thank fuck you don’t get to decide how much the human knows or doesn’t,” Dinu said to him.
Vasilica’s smile was all teeth and poorly concealed dislike. At least she was directing it at Andrei. “Atlas is part of the family now, remember? Or are you challenging Cristian’s direct order?”
Andrei threw back the rest of his drink and abandoned the balcony rather than argue further. It didn’t stop him from shoving a shoulder past Atlas on his way down the stairs, but not every battle could be won cleanly.
“Sorry about that,” Dinu said. “He’s a prick.”
“He doesn’t want you talking about that kind of stuff around me,” Atlas guessed.
“Doesn’t matter,” Vasilica declared. “And ignore Dinu’s teasing. Humans don’t know enough about our world to actually make propaganda. They just throw shit at the wall and hope something sticks.”
“Like how vampires feed?” Atlas asked cautiously.
Vasilica wrinkled her nose and waggled her hand to indicate partial agreement. “It depends on the kind of vampires involved. Born vampires like me have a more refined palate. Made vampires like Dinu here are...less discerning.”
“We can feed on almost anything,” Dinu bragged. “Fresh blood, bagged blood, human, vamp, it doesn’t matter.”
“You just prefer mine, you garbage can,” Vasilica cooed.
Dinu gave her a sappy look that Atlas wished he hadn’t seen. “I would never feed off anyone else,” he murmured.
Vasilica flushed, the first tim
e Atlas had seen such a reaction, and nuzzled against Dinu’s neck. Whatever she whispered was too quiet for Atlas to hear, but judging from the way Dinu gently brushed the backs of his fingers down her arm, it must have been equally affectionate.
“So it’s harder for you to feed?” Atlas asked Vasilica. He thought of how bad Cristian had looked as Angelica’s death day neared. “Is that why you all kept pestering Cristian to come here?”
“No,” Ioana said from behind him. He started, making Dinu laugh, and Ioana slid past him. On her way she added, “That’s because he wasn’t feeding at all.”
He hadn’t realized just how hard she’d worked to give away her presence around him. The more comfortable she was, the less she pretended to be human. It was complimentary and unnerving at once.
“We all have to feed to stay healthy,” Vasilica said. “But those of us who are born vampires need the personal connection donors provide. Bagged or synthetic blood is little more than stop-gap to keep us alive.”
“And there are consequences for staying on it too long.” Ioana’s comment was unexpected and came out a bit raspy. Vasilica gave her a worried look.
Dinu cleared his throat and clasped his hand around Vasilica’s wrist. “True. But it’s still better than not feeding at all.”
“Why’s that?”
Ioana abruptly walked to the edge of their balcony, looking out over the railing at the dancers below. She tapped her fingers against her glass, a staccato rhythm out of step with the beat of the music. She stood drowned in shadow until a light twisted in its pre-programmed movements, casting slants of illumination over the tight downturn of her lips. “Vampires who don’t feed properly can become very dangerous.”
Dinu and Vasilica both avoided looking at her and returned to their flirting. Despite their avoidance, curiosity made Atlas step closer, giving Ioana ample time to move away if she didn’t want him to join her at the railing.
