Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

Atlas’s gut pitched. What had Cristian brought her? It clearly had come from the clinic. Cristian was playing a dangerous game with his father’s business, one Atlas doubted Decebal would stand for.

Cristian waved over his shoulder to Nell, biting down a soft smile until he looked up at Atlas. Whatever he saw must have upset him because the smile disappeared.

“So... Nell, is it?” Atlas asked. “Do you visit her regularly?”

Cristian ducked his head, brushed past Atlas, and tossed the empty duffel in the car. “It’s none of your business.”

Atlas tried to coax Cristian back into conversation. “She assumes you’re coming back soon. If that’s necessary, I’ll plan—”

“Plan for what?” Cristian snapped. “You don’t plan. You are given directions and you follow them. I told you to stay where you were. You didn’t.”

“I am responsible for your safety,” Atlas reminded him. “I can’t do that if you don’t tell me what you’re doing. If you were to get hurt and your father asked me how, I wouldn’t—”

“My father is not to learn of this!” The furious command rang out between them, bouncing off the warehouse facade and echoing too loudly into the sudden, unnatural quiet.

Fuck. Atlas took a half step back, thrown momentarily by Cristian’s snarl and the flash of anger in his eyes. At least he had confirmation Decebal wouldn’t approve of Cristian’s actions. For all the good that knowledge would do him.

Cristian sucked in a breath deep enough to make his nostrils flare, and forced himself to move farther away from Atlas and readjust the rolled cuffs of his shirt. He kept his head ducked, avoiding Atlas’s gaze, and said, quieter this time, “Ioana and the others are probably waiting for us.”

“Probably,” Atlas agreed, not moving.

“We should go.”

“I suppose so.”

Cristian retreated into the car, slamming the door behind him. Atlas stood there, mind racing with all the ways this could end badly. Somewhere nearby, an animal growled. He tried to peer into the shadows for it, but didn’t see it. That was probably for the best. His interaction with Cristian seemed a sign that he was in no place to help any cornered creatures tonight.

They didn’t speak the rest of the way to Rapture. Cristian didn’t even offer directions to Atlas to get them out of the shitty section of town. Instead, Atlas did his best to retrace their steps, failing a few times before eventually finding Scarsdale’s main thoroughfare and turning back in Rapture’s direction. The flotsam of the depressed areas faded, shifting into nicer neighborhoods of updated bungalows crouched over strips of lawn where young families made fresh, hipster starts. The run-down neighborhood convenience markets became upscale grocery stores boasting advertisements for affordable organic delights. Eventually, those insulated neighborhoods gave way to luxury apartment buildings and modern brownstones catering to the slew of white-collar professionals lured to Scarsdale by the new hospital and rapidly growing medical sector. The grocery stores underwent Cinderella transformations into fashionable boutiques with uncluttered window displays and artisan coffee bars with exotic names inspired by foreign places, or sturdy names pulled from famous American capitalists.

Rapture was nestled in this polished section of Scarsdale. Atlas remembered when it was a condemned movie theater. His grandmother, who’d worked the snack bar inside as a teen, had told him and Bea stories about the place. He felt a casual disgust whenever he brought Cristian there and had to spend the night looking at the bones of yet another piece of lost Scarsdale history, but he was also mercenary enough to acknowledge Decebal had landed a financial masterstroke with the place. It was a brilliant, urbane cuckoo that found ways to keep money local instead of being spent on mini vacations to Manhattan.

The long line of eager patrons waiting to get in warned Atlas they’d gotten there later than Cristian usually preferred. The crowd shifted when they pulled up and threw eager glances at the car. Atlas faced his usual mental gymnastics of whether it was better for Cristian to be able to jump the line to get inside, or whether his status drew unwanted attention they’d suffer for. He didn’t have time to convince himself one way or the other. Cristian was up and out of the vehicle before it came to a full stop. Atlas had no choice but to scramble out after his charge, leaving the keys in the still-running car for the poor valet. At the door, the bouncer, Novak, nodded to Cristian as he rushed past the raised rope. Maybe it was Atlas’s imagination, but Novak looked far more sympathetic than usual when he hurried past in pursuit. The gentle ting of the rope settling into place behind him did nothing but set his nerves further on edge as he followed Cristian into the belly of the club.

Chapter Five

Cristian’s group waited in their usual balcony and crowed welcomes when they spotted Cristian—and Atlas—making their way closer through the crush of bodies on the floor below. The club security at the base of the stairs leading to the balcony let Cristian past without a word. Atlas inspected the man as he passed, disliking the small pang of worry that came with the sight of yet another unfamiliar face. Helias had sent him information on Vladislavic employees, but the list of names without any accompanying pictures offered him little help.

The scene at the top of the stairs soon provided him a distraction. Vasilica, dressed in a thin, shimmering dress designed to show off her long legs and the bare skin

of her upper back, leaned in to press soft kisses to both of Cristian’s cheeks. Constantin, in a surprisingly classy floral print suit that complimented Vasilica’s dress, kept a hand at her lower back and offered a bright smile to the new arrivals. “Took you long enough to get here,” he remarked as Cristian slid past Vasilica and headed toward the comfortable booth Ioana and Andrei occupied.

“Had a stop along the way,” Cristian told his friends.

Atlas took up his post against the railing, where he could see both the stairs and the dance floor beneath them. He wasn’t part of the group, had no desire to be, and the evening’s strangeness wore on him. There was no doubt tonight’s shift would leave him a mess in the morning. Already, the mingling scents of the club sharpened the edge of the headache that had officially set in on their drive away from the riverfront. Sweet perfumes, spiced cologne, biting alcohol, and the sting of sweat wafted up off the dancers, an inescapable potpourri he hoped he could stomach for however long Cristian decided to remain here. At least tonight’s music wasn’t the usual, high-pitched club mixes. Instead, the throbbing bass and low notes set up in his chest like a heartbeat and he used them to steady his breathing.

“And your meeting?” Andrei asked Cristian.

“Short, thankfully.” He paused before adding, “We stopped to see Nell.”

Movement from the booth. Atlas glanced over to find Ioana leaning forward toward Cristian. The stiletto heel of her left foot tapped against the floor and she tilted her head toward Atlas. “He drove you?”

Cristian leaned over the far railing, watching the dancers below. He didn’t look at Atlas when he shrugged and said, “He was going to find out sooner or later.”

“Did you invite him inside?” Vasilica asked. “You didn’t, right? I mean, I doubt he could understand.”

“Just because he works for Whitethorn doesn’t mean he’d be okay with it,” Constantin agreed. “He’s a little straitlaced—”

That was unnecessary. “He is standing right here,” Atlas growled. It earned him an amused look from Cristian and glares from the others as they closed ranks. “Does someone want to tell me who this Nell is?”