Three Vlog Night

by Z. A. Maxfield

  “She’s all right?” Bartosz asked. “Good news. Now get her keys. We need to go.”

  “You hit me for my piece of crap car?” she moaned. “You people suck.”

  “Bartosz didn’t hit you,” Ajax told her. “Dmytro found you like this. Don’t you remember how you got this way?”

  She was silent for a moment. “I remember I wanted a candy bar.”

  Dmytro asked Bartosz, “You didn’t see anyone?”

  Bartosz shrugged. “Last I saw, she was dancing with buds in her ears. What is that dance with the buttcheeks?”

  “You were twerking?” Ajax grinned, but she reddened and threw up again. Once more Dmytro fled. Ajax felt so bad he said, “Hey, it’s okay. Everyone twerks when they think they’re alone.”

  That made her laugh weakly. “Carl gets on me if I leave the office, but I wanted a Twix.”

  “I totally feel you.” Ajax nodded. “Sometimes you just gotta twerk and have a Twix.”

  Bartosz lifted his gaze to the ceiling.

  “Who are you people?” she asked suddenly. “If you’re not the ones who hit me.”

  “We found you lying on the floor, and now that we know you’re all right, it’s time for us to leave.” Behind her head, Bartosz indicated that he’d found a set of keys—hers, guessing from the Kuromi character key tag.

  “What’s your name?” Ajax asked.

  “Muse.” She visibly swallowed another wave of nausea.

  “Like the band?”

  “The muses. Dad was Greek.”

  “Mine’s Ajax.”

  “I feel sorrier for you.” She sat up and gingerly felt the back of her head. “Oh shoot. That’s gonna sting for days.”

  “I’m not gonna lie.” Ajax glanced at the wound again. “You might need stitches.”

  “Perfect. Gonna have to shave a patch of my hair. Again.” She rolled onto all fours and he helped her to her feet. “I hate that.”

  “Maybe you could help us out,” said Ajax. “Your cash drawer appears to have been cleaned out? Anything else missing?”

  “What are you doing?” Dmytro asked. “Are you Mrs. Fletcher now?”

  “Who?” he and Muse asked in unison.

  Dmytro shot him an irritated glare. “We don’t need to solve the mystery. That’s for the police. Now that your friend is well enough, we leave.”

  “Come, Ajax.” Seemed like Bartosz agreed. “She can call for help. I’d rather not be here when they arrive. This has nothing to do with us.”

  Both men headed for the door.

  “Call this JT person.” Ajax drew her into one of the waiting chairs and sat down next to her. He wasn’t about to leave Muse alone. For one thing, she still seemed dazed. “Is he home right now, do you think?”

  “He’s an EMT. He might be on shift. I could try.” She held out her hand for her phone.

  “Don’t give it to her,” Bartosz warned. “That’s three coincidences, Mitya.”

  They rattled off long strings of sentences in one of those languages they spoke when they didn’t want him to understand or argue. It looked like Dmytro wanted to go along with Ajax’s plan and Bartosz was against it.

  “What are they saying?” asked Muse.

  “No idea.” He shrugged. “Except the place we were originally supposed to go got broken into or something, and then our engine blew. I guess they’re rattled because they believe this has something to do with my stalker.”

  Dmytro and Bartosz stopped talking to glare at him.

  “You’ve got a stalker?” she asked.

  Dmytro said, “Why would you tell a perfect stranger—”

  “It’s not like it’s a secret.” Ajax smoothed a clean towel in his lap. “Everyone on Twitter knows.”

  “That you’re on the run from a stalker?” Muse didn’t look like she believed him. “You?”

  “Okay, I don’t have proof anyone is stalking me, but someone has been sending me all these disgusting emails, and some of the pictures in them were taken inside my house—”

  “Ajax.” Dmytro glared. “Shut up.”

  “See?” Ajax asked. “Rattled.”

  “I’m rattled too, considering.” Muse touched the side of her head again and her fingers came away bloody. She looked sick. “I think my brains got scrambled.”

  “That’s natural. Hold this here.” Ajax ordered her to put the makeshift ice pack on her wound. “Thing is, people always say there’s no such thing as coincidence, but that’s nonsense. Bad luck is just a series of coincidences. Even when the odds of certain things happening are statistically improbable, they still happen. Lightning strikes the same place all the time.”

  “Glad it’s normal for you, but—”

  “Hey. I didn’t say—”

  “Give me my phone back.” She held her hand out. “I’ll call JT and you can just leave.”

  “Perfect.” Dmytro handed it over and motioned for Ajax.

  “I’m not leaving this motel until someone arrives to look out for Muse.” He had to be stubborn here since no one else seemed to care.

  “Ajax, don’t be an idiot.” Dmytro blew like a bull. “You—”

  “Calm yourself, Dmytro,” Bartosz soothed before turning to Ajax. “He’s right. This is outrageous. We’re here to protect you. You must listen to us. Come with us or we’ll force you.”

  “Not. Happening.”

  Dmytro’s pale face darkened. “You are the most exasperating—”

  “You’re no serenity garden yourself, Mitya,” he fired back.

  Dmytro and Bartosz argued between themselves again. Whatever the language, their meaning was clear. Their mission was in trouble, and they had differing opinions how to save it. Dmytro looked like he wanted to kill Ajax and save his stalker the trouble. Bartosz seemed to be arguing in favor of reason.

  “I love when they do that,” Ajax confided in Muse.

  If he was honest with himself, he was in denial about the threat to his safety. People got threatening letters all the time. He didn’t want to believe anything was going to happen to him. So what if someone hacked the cameras in his house? So what if they had escalated from a mildly flirtatious tone to a brutal, frightening set of threats? Everybody on the internet got death threats. Everybody. If you didn’t, you might as well not exist.

  He’d wanted to get out of town and regroup on the off chance there really was someone following him, so he let his mother hire Iphicles.

  That’s why he’d gone along so meekly—for him. But people—girls—getting hit over the head? Leaving them to fend for themselves even though they were possibly still in danger? That crossed the line.

  “See sense,” Dmytro tried. “The girl is fine.”

  “Not going.” Ajax had perfected spoiled brat in Montessori school—not that he was one. What mattered most couldn’t be bought, even for his billions, so he wasn’t spoiled, per se. But he knew how to act like he could buy whatever and whoever he wanted. He knew how to live up to these men’s worst expectations.

  Dmytro sighed. “All right. You win. We wait until Muse has someone to take her to the ER. But not in this fishbowl. You stay hidden. Then we leave after they go.”

  Bartosz pocketed Muse’s keys. He practically dared Ajax to say something. Ajax gave an imperceptible shrug in return. He’d won the battle he cared about. He wasn’t a saint, and material things didn’t mean as much to him as people did. If they had to take her car to get to safety, his parents would compensate her.

  “You know what?” Muse glanced between the three of them and nodded approvingly. “It’s super cool that you have two dads.”

  Chapter 12

  Ajax Fairchild, you are filth. I will wash you clean with your own blood and bathe myself in the sweet liquor from your corpse.

  “I AM not”—Dmytro jabbed a finger Ajax’s way—“his father.”

  “Oh hell no.” Ajax’s daddy issues over Dmytro came from another place entirely—an unseemly, unwholesome place he’d like to explore with Dmytro at gr
eat length sometime now that he’d forgiven him for being a dick about Muse. “He’s really not.”

  Bartosz only laughed and stepped behind the counter again. “I’ll pick the office lock while you explain to the girl why it might be very unwise for her to let anyone know we’re here.”

  Enraged, she said, “I am a woman. Not a girl.”

  “Are you related to our client, by any chance?” Dmytro shot a glance her way.

  “Make your call,” Ajax urged Muse quietly. “I don’t know what those two will do if you keep them waiting too long.”

  She did as he asked and told whoever answered that she needed them to personally come check something out. Smart girl. Whoever it was agreed without hitting the panic button as far as he could tell from their conversation.

  “Who was that?” asked Dmytro.

  “The owner’s son. Like I said, he’s an EMT, but he won’t think anything of me calling this late. He probably figures he’ll have to unblock a toilet.” She leaned closer and indicated Dmytro and Bartosz with her eyes. “They’re not kidnapping you or anything?”

  “It’s nothing like that.” He glanced at Dmytro. “They’re security. It’s their job to keep me safe.”

  Her eyes widened. “Because of your stalker? You need two bodyguards?”

  He nodded. “I acted like a dick and someone took it personally.”

  She seemed surprised by that. “You didn’t act like a dick tonight.”

  “Online,” he corrected. “Mostly I act like a dick online. I’m what you’d call a squeaky wheel.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I like attention.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Just ask my parents. If I’m not getting enough attention, I generally do something outrageous. This time it came back to bite me in the ass.”

  “That’s pretty self-aware.”

  “I’ve been me for a while now.” He smiled faintly while Dmytro looked right through him. “What?”

  Dmytro shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m going to end up killing you myself.”

  “Sure he’s not your dad?” Muse asked. “He sounds like a dad.”

  Ajax blinked. “Not my dad.”

  “Come.” Bartosz had gotten the office door open. Now he waved them inside.

  “You go,” Ajax ordered Dmytro. “I stay with Muse.”

  Dmytro sighed. “I know this might be a novel concept, but as your security detail, we’ll need to keep you with us.”

  “We already had this conversation. The robbery has nothing to do with me, and I’m not leaving until I know Muse is with someone who will take care of her. She could be injured badly. She could black out, have a seizure—”

  “Oh, don’t I know it.” Dmytro cursed fluently. At least, that’s what it sounded like. He motioned Bartosz back into the office but drew his weapon.

  “Whoa. Hey, now.” Muse’s face paled. “No guns. City ordinance.”

  “Nice try, but a city can’t override the second amendment, and I have a license to carry concealed in this state.”

  “That’s not concealed.” She glanced toward Ajax. “Make him put it away.”

  Ajax got between them. “Put it away, Dmytro, you’re scaring her.”

  “How exactly am I to protect you if—”

  “At least sit, for God’s sake. Jeez.” Much to Ajax’s surprise, Dmytro did as he asked. “Keep your weapon out of sight.”

  Through clenched teeth, Dmytro said, “As soon as she’s taken care of, we leave.”

  “Fine.” Ajax sat beside Muse in one of the visitor chairs.

  “Fine,” Bartosz said from the office. “I feel compelled to say our client is a sitting duck.”

  “How many times do I have to say it? This isn’t about me.” Ajax waved his arms to indicate the robbery. “Whoever sent me those threats did not break into your safe house, disable the car, or rob this motel. Statistically speaking, the idea is preposterous. We’re right on the highway here. Any tweaker could have seen their opportunity to rob this place and taken it. Has anything happened before?”

  “Lotta car burglaries. And we had a carjacking once.” Muse glanced out the window. “Right there. We got security cameras after that.”

  “Bartosz?” Dmytro called out. “Check the video feed.”

  “I’m looking now,” Bartosz called back. “Skinny white kid. Black hoodie, no gloves. You can’t make out a face. They didn’t seem to care about the cameras.”

  “Couldn’t be a pro, then.” Dmytro appeared relieved by that.

  “The cameras aren’t really angled correctly.” Muse shifted uncomfortably. “I keep telling Carl we need to upgrade that system, but he thinks this is Pleasantville.”

  “Pleasantville is north of here,” corrected Dmytro.

  “That’s Pleasanton, and I was speaking figuratively.” Muse glanced toward Ajax. “St. Nacho’s is its own little Pleasantville. You know how you can feel about a place sometimes? Like a place has an aura?”

  Ajax nodded. “I do.”

  Already wearing thin, Dmytro’s patience was going to snap on this job, he knew it.

  “One of my friends says people come here because St. Nacho’s chooses them. It’s like nobody sees the place if Nacho’s doesn’t want them here. Carl hates that. It’s bad for business.”

  Ajax couldn’t help wondering what Dmytro thought about places that wanted people. It wasn’t simply the beauty of the scenery that drew him to a place, it was a deeper, older magic that Ajax Freedom would have denied outright but Ajax Fairchild understood on a molecular level.

  This motel felt like home. Like being in his grandfather’s living room and watching him tie flies. He hadn’t even seen St. Nacho’s the town, but already it was stirring his curiosity, calling his name.

  Probably only because of how Muse talked about it. But also, there was something odd about fetching up in the last place he expected to be and finding someone he meshed with so well.

  A few minutes passed in silence. If Dmytro had any thoughts about St. Nacho’s, he kept them to himself. Likewise, Ajax didn’t say more. He’d pushed his luck enough for the moment.

  Muse lifted a shaking hand to her hair. “This is the first time I’ve ever been robbed. My mom will make me quit for sure.”

  “How old are you?” Ajax asked.

  “Twenty-two.” She folded her hands in her lap. “You?”

  “Me too.” He hated giving his age. He felt so much older—the average human twentysomething was dog years younger than him. He’d been all over the world. Graduated from college. He earned his keep and dated men twice his age, when he felt like it. Outside his Ajax Freedom persona, he’d kept them interested in more than just his body.

  Despite how Dmytro treated him, he had a brain, a heart, a soul.

  He had guts.

  He didn’t feel twenty-two, except when Dmytro dismissed him with that cold, cold stare. Except when he wanted Dmytro, and his heart raced, and his dick thickened, and he didn’t feel quite in control of his own body any longer.

  His mother undercut him too, without really meaning to. She said not feeling twenty-two was one of the most common symptoms of being twenty-two, and she laughed at him whenever he tried to make the argument. He was an old soul. She didn’t believe in those things.

  Muse was an old soul too, he could see it. The way she handled being robbed, for one thing. The way she screwed her courage on and kept needling Dmytro and Bartosz even though she could have no idea what kind of danger she was in with those two. Ajax liked her. It was a pity Bartosz planned to steal her car.

  “That’s him,” she said when an old truck pulled into the covered parking directly in front of the motel’s front door. “That’s JT.”

  The truck’s lights went out and the driver leaped lightly down. He hesitated when he saw Dmytro. Pulled a tire iron out from beneath his seat. Ajax moved quickly to prevent trouble—as if a tire iron could stop one of these guys. Ajax opened the door for him. “Hi there. Y
ou need to look at Muse.”

  “What’s going on?” When he saw blood in Muse’s hair, he froze. “Oh God, Muse, what happened?”

  “Someone hit me, I guess. Robbed the till. These guys found me, and Ajax wanted to wait until you got here before leaving.”

  “None of you are going anywhere until I call the police.” He started dialing. “You’ll need to give statements.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We must go.” Dmytro moved like lightning. One minute JT had a phone and a tire iron, and the next he didn’t. Even Ajax was a little stunned.

  “What the hell?” At another narrow look from Dmytro, JT gave up and checked Muse’s wound. “Were you unconscious?”

  “She was,” Ajax told him. “That’s why we waited for you.”

  “Just who in hell are you?”

  “I’m Ajax Freedom, and—”

  “Wait—” Muse said the word, even as Dmytro winced. “What did you just say? Ajax Freedom? The Instagram guy? The geshmillion Twitter followers guy? The asshole who said women were like Canadian TV? Interesting but not good enough for American primetime? That Ajax Freedom?”

  Dmytro cursed. “We’re leaving a swath in the ground behind us that blind marmosets could follow. Do you not get that we’re supposed to be taking you to a place of safety and anonymity?”

  Muse couldn’t let it go. “You’re the It Boy who pretended to be like all those other classless rich assholes who—”

  “Does no one understand performance art?” Ajax asked. “Ajax Freedom was ironic. How many times do I have to say it?”

  “Dude.” Muse winced when JT probed her wound. “Ow. That’s tender.”

  “You’ve got contusions, and they’ll probably want to put in a couple stitches. Keep you overnight for observation. Let me call Dad to come here and man the office.” He cupped her face between his hands and looked deeply into her eyes. “You need to get this checked out. Call your mom and let her know we’re coming to the ER.”

  “No.” She whined the word. “Mom has never liked me working nights, even locked in here. Now she’ll nag me until I quit, and I’ll have to go back to work at Miss Independence full-time.”