Three Vlog Night

by Z. A. Maxfield

  Dmytro opened the door and said, “After you.”

  Ajax had dressed incognito as he’d promised. He’d slipped a beanie Dmytro found over his curly hair. He’d borrowed Bartosz’s sunglasses, making him look like a child playing spy.

  Ajax started toward a table inside, near the window, where they could look out on the water but not be ravaged by the briskly blowing breeze. Instead, Dmytro chose a recently vacated four-top that put him in line of sight to every threat that could possibly approach them. He and Ajax sat with their backs to the wall, facing the entrance. Bartosz sat across from them, his body angled toward the boats.

  As soon as Dmytro saw the view—gray-blue sky, sailboats bobbing serenely in the murky water, seabirds angling for their breakfast—all the things that had been twisting him up inside unknotted, and he began to feel better. There was still an unease inside him. He could see he’d confused Ajax, maybe even hurt him by acting as if they’d never spoken the night before. As if they’d never exchanged confidences or condolences.

  Dmytro bitterly regretted opening up to Ajax about Anton. About parenting. He shouldn’t have gotten emotional. Shouldn’t have let his guard down.

  Trust—for lack of a better word—was supposed to go only one way in a relationship like theirs.

  Now Ajax looked at him with new, hopeful eyes. And Dmytro would have to let him down again. It wasn’t unusual for a client to develop feelings for him. But this time it would hurt both of them to walk away.

  “THIS ISN’T so bad, is it?” Ajax asked.

  “What’s not?”

  “This place. No one has a clue who I am here. We can probably even take a few days to chill while Peter finds whoever’s been threatening me. No need for a boat.”

  “If Zhenya says we get on a boat, we get on a boat.” Dmytro turned the breakfast menu pages with a snap.

  “The boy likes boats as much as you do,” Bartosz teased.

  “What’s that mean?” Ajax asked.

  “Motion sickness, remember.” Dmytro glared at Bartosz. “If I wear a patch, it’s not a problem.”

  A couple stared at them from a nearby table. Ajax flushed. “Um, guys.”

  “What?”

  “Can’t you at least take off your jackets?” Dmytro and Bartosz were dressed alike—both men wore black jeans with black polos and sport jackets. Both were big and brawny enough to announce “hired muscle” to everyone around.

  Ajax whispered, “You keep talking about me, but you’re the ones drawing unwanted attention.”

  Bartosz’s eyes twinkled. “You think they’ll be less curious once they realize we’re armed?”

  “I only mean—”

  “Here you go, gentlemen. Thanks for your patience.” Their waiter carried a tray with water and coffee mugs toward them, smiling. He was in his late thirties, wearing low-slung jeans and a skintight Harley-Davidson T-shirt. His eyes stopped on Ajax like he was the last glass of water in Death Valley. “Ooh. What can I get for you, sugar?”

  “Chilaquiles, please.” Ajax folded his hands on a placemat featuring eggs and bacon dancing together.

  “You want your eggs scrambled or served sunny-side up?”

  “Scrambled.”

  “Shredded chicken?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “And for you, sir?” He nodded toward Dmytro.

  “I’ll have the same.” Dmytro handed both his and Ajax’s menus over with a sour look.

  The server turned to Bartosz. “And you, babe?”

  “Fill me in.” Bartosz’s brows lifted flirtatiously. “Do I want waffles or french toast?”

  The waiter gave it some thought. “The waffles are out of this world. Like donuts fresh from a waffle iron. Ever tried a bacon waffle?”

  “I’ll take that,” said Bartosz. “Plus eggs and potatoes.”

  “Wait, you have street tacos al pastor?” Ajax saw a sign on the wall. “Those are the little ones, right? Can I try a couple of those too? Chips and salsa?”

  “You bet. What can I get you to drink with that, sweet thing?”

  Taken aback by the man’s engaging smile, Ajax decided to capitalize on it. Dude was hot. “How about a pitcher of margaritas?”

  “We’ll have coffee.” Dmytro took the menu out of Bartosz’s hand and practically slapped the server with it.

  “I’d have had to card you anyway, sugar.” The next look the server shot him seemed more sympathetic than leering.

  Ajax’s cheeks heated. “I’m of age. I have ID.”

  “Don’t bother. It’s fake.” Bartosz shot him a pointed look.

  When Ajax would have argued, Dmytro kicked him under the table and mouthed the word hiding.

  Another commiserating glance from their server subdued Ajax, and he didn’t pursue it, but he made a mental note to make sure the bar was stocked on this godforsaken boat they kept talking about.

  Although that was probably a terrible idea, what with both him and Dmytro getting motion sickness. Well… sometimes it helped if he ate.

  Meanwhile, there was the waiter to look at, and the boardwalk, where people were already cycling and skateboarding. Laughing and meeting up with friends.

  More people, some emerging from boats and some coming from the parking lot, were already lining up outside to wait for their turn in the tiny restaurant. The place had filled up quickly.

  “Guess we got here just in time,” Ajax observed.

  Dmytro rested his elbows on the table. “Guess so.”

  Their server brought them chips and salsa to go with their chilaquiles. Dmytro picked up a chip and played with it before dipping it. He brought it to his lips with enough salsa to savor, and ate it, chewing thoughtfully.

  “It’s good, but hot,” he announced. Ajax got his own and tried it.

  “You’re both insane.” Bartosz turned away. “I can feel the heat from here.”

  Ajax glanced heavenward. “Every chili has its own flavor. My dad’s a hot sauce guy, so I’ve been schooled. Mom can’t stand the stuff, though. I think she’s afraid she’ll lose control and a tear will slip down her cheek where someone can see. She hates looking weak.”

  “It’s not weak to cry.” Dmytro’s quiet words surprised all of them. Was that for him? Ajax had to wonder. He’d cried himself to sleep the night before.

  Or had Dmytro cried when Anton died? Had he cried for his wife?

  “It’s not weak.” Ajax wanted to lay his hand over Dmytro’s, though it would go over like an elevator fart. The waiter came by with their food then, and this time Ajax couldn’t see anything but him, his build, and his dazzling smile.

  He must have let on what he was thinking, because Bartosz laughed and said, “I think someone has developed a crush.”

  “Little lysytsya.” Dmytro flicked the side of Ajax’s head. “We mustn’t draw attention, remember?”

  Cheeks on fire, Ajax dug into his food. He was so hungry at first, he barely tasted the flavors, but after a while, he started savoring each bite.

  “This food is delicious.” He frowned. “What did you call me just now?”

  “Norka, more like.” Bartosz grinned at Dmytro.

  Dmytro laughed so hard he had to cover his mouth with a napkin. “Yes. Very much so.”

  “What was that?” Ajax asked between bites. “What did you say? Was it about me?”

  “Dmytro called you a fox,” said Bartosz, scooping up his eggs.

  “Fox? Oh.” Ajax was… not exactly offended. “Okay.”

  “Bartosz called you a mink.” Dmytro’s lips twitched with hidden laughter. “I agree. Mink fits better. You’re a mink scenting its mate with the waiter.”

  At this, he did a comic pantomime that made Ajax’s skin boil with shame.

  “Oh, come on.” He forked up a big bite of creamy refried beans and seasoned rice. “He’s hot.”

  Bartosz gave their waiter the side-eye and signaled for more coffee. “He is that.”

  “But it’s more than that.” Ajax swallowed and took
a sip of his water. “He’s just—real. He doesn’t hide who he is. He seems to like everyone. Makes them feel special.”

  “I will say he’s wasted here,” Bartosz remarked while Ajax watched their waiter’s round, firm ass retreat. “Serving pancakes for twenty-six tourists at a time. His mother must be so proud.”

  “His mother should be proud as long as he loves what he does,” Ajax argued. “It’s not the number of people who—”

  “How many Instagram followers do you have again?” Dmytro asked slyly.

  Ajax lowered his gaze to his nearly empty plate. “Not as many as Cardi B.”

  “The boy is a romantic attention whore, Mitya.”

  Ajax sought out a clean napkin. “Do you have a pen?”

  Dmytro’s brows drew together. “For what?”

  “So I can give the hot waiter my number, what do you think?”

  Dmytro stared at him in shock. “You have no phone. Plus, he’s far too old.”

  “It’s cute how you think that’d be a problem for—ow.” Ajax rubbed his calf. He glared when Dmytro didn’t apologize for bumping his leg again.

  “Don’t stare at the old man,” Dmytro ordered.

  “Everyone’s staring at him. He’s amazing.” Ajax laughed at the shocked expression on Dmytro’s face.

  “He’s an adequate waiter.” Dmytro arched his brow. “But… twice your age?”

  “Is not. He’s… thirty-five, at most. I’ve dated men way older. And anyway, my family would be totally elated if I found someone nice, even if they were on a first-name basis with Adam and Steve.”

  “Hmph.” Dmytro literally grunted while Ajax continued to watch the waiter move gracefully around the small restaurant. Frankly, at that point it wasn’t because he was really into the man, it was because Dmytro looked ready to kill him.

  “Let’s find you something to do that doesn’t involve you making trouble.” Dmytro wolfed down the rest of his food before opening the check wallet and laying a handful of twenties in it. “Something without death threats or—”

  “And leave you guys without a job?” Ajax asked. “You’d hate that.”

  Crack, crack, crack. The window next to Ajax’s head blew in.

  Dmytro’s body hit Ajax like a wall of meat, and they crashed to the floor with such force, Ajax thought Dmytro might have been hit. Bartosz drew his weapon and hovered over them, searching past the broken window for the threat.

  “Dmytro.” Ajax tried to get up, but Dmytro laid a huge hand in the middle of his back.

  “Stay down.” Bits of glass rained from his hair.

  “But are you okay?”

  Dmytro’s “Fine” was music to his ears. “Bartosz?”

  Someone shouted, “He’s got a gun!” and pandemonium broke out over the small crowd, People turned tables over, fleeing, slipping in food and spilled drinks and broken glass as they fled toward the back of the restaurant to escape the danger coming from the front.

  One woman fell, and Ajax saw the exact moment a man accidentally stepped on her wrist. He winced at the pain on her face as it broke, and moaned with her.

  “This is all my fault.”

  This was because he hadn’t taken the threats to his life seriously. Because he’d never believed the coincidences that led them to this place could be connected. Now he had to face the terrible certainty that he really was in danger, and his only thought was how?

  How could this be happening? None of the threads connected, except….

  Dmytro grabbed Ajax by the shirt collar and pulled him behind serving station. Cursing fluidly, he held Ajax still to dust glass off his hair and shoulders and check for injuries. Ajax straightened his shirt and looked Dmytro over. He appeared fine. In fact, the only person who seemed to be injured was the woman holding her wrist.

  Ajax’s brain couldn’t catch up in the chaos—the restaurant was full of broken chairs and very frightened people. Dust floated visibly in beams of light that arrowed into the floor.

  Wind scattered napkins and paper menus while Dmytro gently cupped Ajax’s bruised jaw with his large hands.

  “Are you all right?” That cool blue gaze held his. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

  “I’m okay.” Ajax felt all right. Only he felt all wrong too, because there it was—exactly what he’d wished for: Dmytro’s full attention. Dmytro’s hands on him. Dmytro giving him a look of such ashen concern he could not possibly be as indifferent as he’d appeared.

  His parents had hired Iphicles Security to guard and hide him, and everywhere they’d gone, there had been some unexpected mishap.

  Finally he was forced to admit it: this could not possibly be a coincidence.

  Someone in the Iphicles organization had to be involved. Ajax met Dmytro’s gaze, wondering if the same thing would occur to him. He wondered too whether trusting Dmytro and Bartosz was wise, considering.

  Bartosz returned out of breath, presumably from chasing the shooter.

  “Long gone,” he told Dmytro. “But we need to board now. The car is compromised. We’re compromised.”

  “I don’t feel so well.” Sirens signaled the arrival of police. Ajax felt exposed, confused, and very much alone. His knees buckled now that the danger seemed to have passed.

  Bartosz wrapped a strong arm around his waist and led him to the bathroom, where he found a stall and got sick. He’d just eaten, goddammit. Everything came right back up.

  Dmytro wisely stayed away, but Ajax could hear him with Bartosz outside the bathroom. They exchanged furious, guttural words—Bartosz reassuring Dmytro he’d seen no trace of anyone acting strangely, either on the boardwalk or in the parking lot, but that meant nothing. They had to move now. Dmytro concurred.

  Ajax joined them after he cleaned up and washed his sweaty face. Green-tinged skin was not a good look on him.

  “Look up.” Dmytro lifted his gaze. Ajax followed and saw bullet holes in the ceiling about ten feet from their table. Curious, he glanced back toward the docks.

  The shots had come from that direction.

  Whoever had fired on them could not have been trying to hit them.

  Whoever had fired those shots aimed high, almost certainly missing them on purpose.

  What did that even mean? Was his would-be killer playing with him?

  Ajax sat numbly in the kitchen with Dmytro’s jacket wrapped around him while their waiter helped customers retrieve their belongings and informed them everyone had to wait and give a statement to police.

  Something about Dmytro’s body language made Ajax uneasy as hell. He’d gotten a lot of threats in his time as Ajax Freedom. He didn’t want to believe it. He wanted to pretend his parents were overprotective and Iphicles was milking the job for cash, but no. Might one of the threats be legit?

  Other people had gotten hurt, and this could not go on.

  Dmytro returned, kneeling next to his chair, rubbing warmth into both of Ajax’s hands. He’d taken Ajax by complete surprise, knowing how cold they were before he did.

  “Ajax,” Dmytro began, “it’s time for you to acknowledge we have a problem.”

  Ajax nodded. Tears burned his eyes. He put his hands on Dmytro’s face, gripping his solid, lantern-like jaw between his palms. “Please help me. My parents will be so sad if anything happens to me.”

  Sorrow limned Dmytro’s features. “Ajax, I will be sad if anything happens to you. But from now on, you must trust me. You can’t argue with every word I say.”

  Ajax shook his head. “I won’t.”

  “Thank you.” Dmytro drew him into a warm embrace that shot electricity throughout his entire body. He could barely move. Barely think. Dmytro rocked him like a child, sharing his warmth and breath and strength. Ajax could find no words to thank him.

  “We will go to the boat as soon as we’re done here. Don’t be afraid, little mink.”

  “Oh, Anton.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Ajax gasped in shock and shame. The name had simply been there on his tongue. He knew it wasn
’t Anton holding him. He knew it. He just wished it was, maybe. But that was impossible, and it probably hurt Dmytro’s feelings.

  Dmytro shot him a wry glance. “My name is—”

  “I’m so sorry. I just—the name came out. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “It’s fine,” Dmytro said gently. “I wish Anton were here too, more often than you know. Come. Bartosz says we can hide in the pantry until the police arrive to question us.”

  Ajax went.

  Chapter 17

  Ajax, did you like my bullets? Next time I won’t miss.

  “I PHONED Iphicles.” Bartosz returned to the small storage room. He’d talked to the cook, who owned the restaurant, and the waiter who’d served them. Dmytro held his hand up for Bartosz to switch languages.

  “This is a goatfuck,” Dmytro muttered in Russian. “You saw no one suspicious? Are you certain?”

  “What does that mean?” Bartosz asked. “You doubt me?”

  “Whoever shot at us is on top of our every move, Bartosz.”

  Shoulders stiff, Bartosz glared. “You believe I’m being indiscreet?”

  “Well, I know it’s not me. How can they know we’re here?”

  “It’s not me, brother. I’ve taken every precaution. Followed Zhenya’s orders to the letter.” Bartosz narrowed his eyes. “What about you?”

  “I’ve done nothing.” Dmytro drew his jacket closed over Ajax’s shaking shoulders. “But I’ll get Zhenya to send someone to check us again for transmitters. There has to be something.”

  “Can’t be on the car. How could they have known we’d take it?”

  “Exactly.” Dmytro didn’t want to believe, but who else knew their position just then besides the three of them and Zhenya? “Is there something you need to tell me?”

  “Me? I’m not the one shooting fawning looks at the little mink.”

  “It’s the job to take care of him.”

  “You want him.” Bartosz switched back to English and directed a filthy look toward Ajax. “You told the girl who you are. Who else did you tell?”

  Ajax’s jaw dropped. “I—”