Three Vlog Night

by Z. A. Maxfield

  They weren’t chain places but had names like the Melody Inn and Serenity Lodge. They had a certain structure—a square U of buildings around a pool. They had icemakers at each corner. Sometimes they’d stayed in little cabins too, where they’d felt like the only people in the world. He was dying to look in the bathroom and get a peek at the pool.

  There was even a glassed-in spa and sauna room across from the office. No one had been in there when they’d walked by, but the water had to be warm because steam filled the room.

  Saunas were fun. He liked both, dry heat and the drama of dripping water over lava rocks to create steam. He enjoyed the anonymity inside the redwood-scented cubicles—how no one made eye contact even if you were in one of “those sorts of places.”

  Dmytro and Bartosz probably weren’t interested in hearing what he wanted, but perhaps instead of the pool, they’d let him relax inside the closed spa room?

  There were few cars in the parking lot, and no one could possibly know they’d be there. Surely it would be safe enough—there appeared to be only one way in or out.

  He made a mental note to ask, but then Dmytro and Bartosz started barking at each other in whatever language they spoke, and Ajax sat in the office chair to wait and watch.

  Dmytro, the taller one—the one with eyes like ice chips—had brown hair. In a breeze some of his locks lifted in rippling slow motion, like an anime.

  Unlike every other thirtysomething guy Ajax knew, Dmytro’s hairline didn’t look like it was going to recede anytime soon. In fact, he had hair like one of Putin’s shady kleptocrats—thick and silky. In some places it glistened with silver.

  OMG, another silver fox. No fair. His parents had apparently hired a probably straight silver fox to guard him twenty-four seven—one who even looked like his old bodyguard, Anton, for God’s sake. Ajax glared at him and muttered, “Coincidence? I think not.”

  Maybe they thought he couldn’t get into trouble with a fatherly type. That joke was on them. If ever there was a twink with daddy issues, that twink was him—not that he wanted to call a guy Daddy and get his ass spanked for being a bad boy.

  Ajax simply liked dating older men. Guys his age were dumb and hung and wanted to play the field. Often they were tragically immature. Ajax wanted a guy who was settled. He wanted someone who had gravitas and intelligent conversation to offer. He didn’t like going out much but wanted fine dining sometimes, art museums, concerts, but no more clubbing. He wanted to stay home and cook for his lover and throw a ball for a dog.

  Maybe he wanted the family life he’d never had? He didn’t see anything wrong with that. The young dudes he’d met didn’t even think about that sort of thing.

  He’d always been ahead anyway, leapfrogging his peers through school and in what he wanted out of life. His mother said the kids his age would catch up, but now… he doubted anyone would look twice at him after the Ajax Freedom debacle.

  Bartosz had left Ajax’s bags strewn around. While he arranged them, Dmytro shot him a smile that made him shiver all over. Again, no fair, no fair, being a walking wet dream come to life at the worst possible moment.

  Between the two guards, Bartosz was probably logistics and Dmytro was…. Well, if this were a spy movie, a man with eyes as cold as Dmytro’s would be the assassin—the man with special talents like marksmanship, close-quarters combat, and poisons.

  Mother always said if it looks like a duck, and it walks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck—make sure you have plum sauce on hand.

  Dmytro looked like a mercenary, and he was utterly silent when he walked across the room. He was controlled, focused, dangerous, economical. He never wasted a movement. Never said an unnecessary word.

  That his smile was a sweet aberration gave Ajax both a shiver and a secret thrill. Something genuinely feral growled deep inside him.

  Despite how forbidding Dmytro was, Ajax felt struck by lightning every time he met Dmytro’s gaze. He was smitten. Smote. Whatever. His gut did a little happy dance whenever Dmytro’s eyes landed on him. His cock wanted to fill and groan and beg. He wanted to plead for the merest touch of one of those big hands on his skin.

  Sure, Dmytro seemed angry all the time. He was hard as forged steel. But Ajax had played with every dangerous thing he could get his hands on all his life. Now, he itched to get his hands on lethal, perfect Dmytro, with his bull-like shoulders, trim waist, huge arms, and silent confidence.

  Dmytro was heroin to Ajax—one whiff and he was hooked.

  He was curious to see what Dmytro kept checking on his phone. Was he with someone? And if so, was that person was a woman or a man? Were they nice? Or dangerous like Dmytro?

  “What are you staring at?” Dmytro asked abruptly.

  Caught, Ajax had no choice but to go on the offensive. “Aren’t you supposed to be calling your office?” He glanced up. “Mother would pair your liver with fava beans and a nice Chianti if she saw this popcorn ceiling. That probably has asbestos in it, you know.”

  “She could try.” Dmytro hummed to himself while he continued to scroll.

  A full minute passed.

  Ajax hated the very nature of silence, and Dmytro had mastered the art of creating the most uncomfortable silences ever.

  The minute lasted forever.

  When Ajax couldn’t take it anymore, he asked, “What are you looking at?”

  Nearly colorless eyes bored into him. “None of your beeswax.”

  Ajax sat on the bed, stung. “No need to be hostile.”

  “I’m not hostile, I’m private.” There went that smile again.

  Ajax got up and wandered the room, opening drawers, poking at the ancient four-cup coffee maker. He turned the television on and off.

  When he went to play with the clock and phone, he wound up behind the Ice Man and glanced over his shoulder to see his phone screen. Facebook? Two of the most adorable little girls Ajax had ever seen hugged each other in a photograph, each wearing a furry headband with ears.

  His chest hurt, they were so precious. “Oh my God. It’s Pooh and Tigger. I can’t even. Who are they?”

  At first Dmytro didn’t answer him, and actually, Ajax was glad. It gave him a brief ache of time in which to imagine they were Dmytro’s nieces, and he and Dmytro would get to the bottom of this whole death threat thing together. Dmytro would then confide he had some profoundly conflicted feelings for men, after which they’d take the girls to Disney World.

  The screen went black. “They’re my daughters.”

  “I see.” Ajax’s heart sank. All the really hot ones were taken. “So their mom is, er… with them now?”

  “None of your beeswax.”

  Ajax went back to playing with the motel phone and accidentally dialed the front desk.

  “Oh, shoot. How do I—” Whatever button he pushed, the phone kept on ringing until Carl answered.

  “Seaview Motel. How may I be of service to you this evening?”

  “Um. I wondered if—” A single look from Dmytro stopped him. “I’m just bored, Carl, I’m sorry.” He drew out the words like a dying man. “What’s there to do around here?”

  “Well—” Carl probably would have answered, but Dmytro took the phone from him and hung it up.

  “Little hint,” Dmytro offered. “When you’re in hiding, you hide.”

  Ajax went to sit and, at the last second, stopped himself. “Well, that’s disgusting.”

  “What?”

  “The bedspread.” Ajax didn’t like having to explain something so obvious. “This”—he pointed to a spot—“has probably been jizzed on by everyone who has ever used this motel.”

  “How do you figure?” Dmytro’s question sounded genuine.

  “How old do you think it is?” Ajax whispered.

  “Old.” Dmytro glanced at the faded paisley pattern. “But statistically speaking, at least half the visitors have probably been women. Some were children. Not everyone jizzes on motel bedspreads. Some people might, for example, pull the bedspread
down and jizz between the sheets, and some might fuck in the bathroom, or up against a wall, or over the chairs. I daresay some have even enjoyed fucking right up against that window. I know I would. I, myself, have jizzed all over motels like this one, but never on the bedspread. That would be unsanitary.”

  The weird thing was… Ajax couldn’t tell whether Dmytro was joking. He was definitely hiding a smile, but maybe he was just glad to make Ajax uncomfortable?

  Hoarsely, Ajax managed, “I think you’re probably an outlier.”

  At that moment, Bartosz returned. “All quiet. I doubt we were being followed. I called Iphicles for a backup vehicle. Zhenya is sending a team tomorrow morning to replace ours.”

  “So we’ll have to remain here for now?” Dmytro glanced toward Ajax when he said that, as if he had to steel his resolve. “We’re stuck here?”

  Bartosz gave a nod. “The breakdown gave Zhenya an idea to set up decoys, so we sit tight and see how things play out. I need to catch a few winks anyway.”

  “Can I spa, at least?” Ajax asked. “If I can’t swim, can I at least spend a little time in the hot tub? It might relax me. I probably won’t sleep otherwise.”

  “A bedspread is bad, but slightly above room temperature human soup is all right?”

  “Hello, chlorine bleach.” Ajax ground his molars. “You don’t have to understand. You just have to remember I’m the client.”

  “Your parents are the client.”

  “And my parents love me.” Ajax stuck to his resolve. “They want me happy.”

  He wasn’t above playing the baby billionaire card if he could stretch his muscles out in a hot tub and it helped him sleep.

  A slight frown dented Dmytro’s forehead. “Just so you know, I do understand. The video that started the death threats was”—Dmytro showed the first sign of humor—“surprising for someone who worries about germs.”

  “Alcohol and I are frenemies,” Ajax admitted about the rant and the subsequent confessions—among which was the delight he took in certain sex acts that no one with a germ phobia would consider attempting. “Alcohol loosens me up, but obviously that can backfire.”

  Dmytro spoke in sympathy. “I once drank so much I made entry into the wrong house. My wife—”

  Ajax waited, but Dmytro didn’t finish his sentence. Ajax chose not to ask. Dmytro wore an expression so hollow he didn’t dare.

  “What are your daughters’ names?” he asked instead.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Dmytro answered, “Alexandria and Penelope. Sasha and Pen. Sasha is the elder.”

  Bartosz gave a loud groan before he headed for the door. “That is truly my cue. He won’t stop talking until he’s described every hair on their perfect little heads.”

  “We could go down to the spa and talk there,” Ajax offered hopefully. “If we spa, you can make sure no one in this fine establishment kills me while I warm up. I’m cold.”

  “Should have thought of that before you gave your scarf and hat away.”

  He flushed. “I didn’t—”

  “Didn’t you?” Dmytro lifted his brow.

  Ajax turned away to rub warmth into his shoulders. He still felt Dmytro’s eyes on him. That was okay because now that he knew Bartosz needed sleep and Dmytro had adorable little girls, they seemed warmer somehow. More human.

  “Please?” The puppy dog eyes only worked on his father, but he tried them anyway. “I promise I’ll observe every rule you set forth if you let me go to the spa.”

  Dmytro shook his head. “No.”

  “What could happen?” Bartosz asked. “No one knows we’re here.”

  “I could lock him inside the sauna and tell his parents he had a terrible desert mishap?”

  Bartosz’s eyes twinkled when he said, “Let him go, Mitya. Have a sauna and unwind. After Toronto—”

  Dmytro said something that shut Bartosz up immediately. Bartosz gave him a wave of disdain and left, letting the door close quietly behind him.

  If Ajax had his phone, he could record their conversations and Google translate them. As it was, he was unable to understand most of what they said unless it was accompanied by obvious gestures—eye rolls or shrugs. Bartosz left them alone to stew.

  “You should speak English,” he said helpfully. “Or I should learn Ukrainian or whatever you speak. I could do that if you gave me my laptop back.”

  “Bartosz and I were speaking Russian that time. And since I don’t want you to understand me, I would simply switch to another language.”

  “No need to be hostile.”

  “When you need to know something, I will tell you very clearly in English. You have your bags. Where would you like to change?” He glanced at his watch. “I believe the spa closes at ten, so if you want to go—”

  “Really?” Ajax tried not to leap for joy.

  “Did I not speak English?”

  “Thank you!” Ajax got his big bag, unzipped it, and found his swim trunks easily. “I really need this.”

  Dmytro picked up his pilot case and said, “Take that to the bath and change. I’ll change out here. Knock when you’re ready, bring towels, and we’ll make our way down together. You stay behind me. You stay low.”

  Ajax laughed. “You make it sound like a military operation.”

  “It might as well be. Think about it. The house we planned to use was compromised. Now the car we used is disabled.”

  Ajax shrugged. “Coincidences happen all the time, Dmytro.”

  “Or someone is intentionally herding us into a trap.”

  The words made Ajax’s heart plummet. “You don’t actually believe that.”

  “No, I don’t.” Dmytro sighed. “That kind of conspiracy is reserved for Bond films and bad television.”

  “Right? Why not just pop me coming out of the gym and save yourself the trouble of sending all those stupid letters? Whoever has been threatening me is doing it because they’re too lazy to come after me. They’ve had ample opportunity.”

  Dmytro’s jaw tightened, but he shooed Ajax into the bathroom, which was perfectly, tragically dated. Earth. Tone. Tiles. Like being in the Museum of Natural History. Still, Ajax hoped Dmytro didn’t make him live in there. There was barely enough room for the toilet and bath, and he had to close his eyes for a minute and remind himself to breathe.

  Dmytro got to change in the dressing area outside. Presumably normal people didn’t mind seeing one another change. Dmytro must have issues on that score. God, how disappointing for Mrs. Dmytro if he did. The man was utterly beautiful.

  Ajax stripped down and slipped on his trunks before folding his clothes neatly. He chose two towels and tapped on the door.

  “Come.”

  “Are you decent?” The sight when he stepped out of the bathroom—Dmytro wearing a Speedo bikini bathing suit like some European gigolo—made Ajax’s eyes pop out of his head, owooga. On him, everything that was wrong with bikini suits was right. Dmytro sat to put on sandals before slipping a Tommy Bahama linen shirt on like an afterthought. He put his phone in his shirt pocket.

  Ajax took in the breadth of his shoulders, long legs, package, and… weapon? Ajax’s breath caught. Dmytro’s gun—large and dark and deadly—lay beside him on the bed. While it was intimidating as hell, it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as the man himself.

  “Here’s the towel you asked for.” An inconvenient rush of hot longing made Ajax’s blood speed south. He handed one towel over and kept one strategically positioned against his groin.

  “Thank you.” Dmytro barely acknowledged him. He picked up his weapon and folded it into the towel as if they were simply going to the pool to kill someone. Nothing to see here. Ajax waited while he lifted the curtain and peered out.

  Dmytro glanced back at him. “You do everything I say, immediately, even if it doesn’t make sense. You follow instructions.”

  “Understood.” The words made perfect sense, of course, but following wasn’t Ajax’s superpower, and explaining cognitive dissonance to thi
s hulking Ukrainian G.I. Joe supermodel with a gun wouldn’t get them to the spa in time to use it.

  Instead, he agreed to go along and get along. He got a delightful mental image of Dmytro giving his little girls the same do everything I say speech when he took them to the park, and somehow that relaxed him enough to make him smile.

  Dmytro did a double take, narrowing his eyes as if he was trying to read Ajax’s thoughts.

  Dmytro had Ajax follow behind while they snuck down the back stairs. They clung to the shadows beneath the motel’s gallery. This forced him to study Dmytro’s broad back at great length, if only to keep from looking at his tight, beefy ass. Ordinarily Ajax wasn’t a size guy. Not primarily. He hooked up with other geeks and gamers when he wasn’t dating a man he was serious about, and most, like himself, still had some growing to do. Dmytro didn’t fall into either category. He wasn’t aging in the same way normal human men seemed to age, and he had no room to grow. He’d burst his skin if he ate a single pumpkin seed—such was the iron inside the tamperproof steel case that was Dmytro.

  As they walked around the fenced-in pool together, Ajax longed to touch Dmytro’s skin, to feel the muscles ripple beneath as he took each step.

  Then they entered the damp warmth of the spa room together, and a bright burst of happiness filled him, along with the irresistible scent of chlorine and redwood. The pebbly surface of a slip-proof floor grabbed at his shower shoes, making them snap when he walked. He crossed to a well-worn bench and left his towel to explore one of two saunas first.

  “You like wet or dry?” he asked, as he checked the insides of each enclosure to make sure they were alone. The saunas were nice-sized, but he didn’t think he could sit in one for longer than a few minutes. Airplanes were bad enough. Private jets bad enough. But these were way, way, way too small to spend any length of time inside.

  “Neither. I’m only here to babysit.”

  Besides being insulting, the words were a major let down. “You’re not coming in?”