“My contractual obligations began tonight. Your father expected me to be here,” Atlas said. “As he is my employer, I will be following his
orders.”
The crack of the cue ball hitting Cristian’s intended target didn’t quite drown out the surprised inhalations of Cristian’s friends. Clearly no one talked to the boss’s son like this. He’d have to ask Bea exactly how many agents Cristian had run off. He couldn’t believe no one had stood up for themselves.
Cristian rose slowly, beautifully indolent, even as he offered Atlas a twisted smile. “How well trained you are already. Watch out, Helias. He’s going to steal your place as Father’s most loyal lapdog.”
Helias ignored the taunt. “If you no longer need me, Cristian, I have some matters to attend to. I assume you’ll introduce Mr. Kinkaid to everyone?”
Cristian waved him off and stepped aside so the tall woman could take her place at the table instead. “Sure, sure. Andrei. Vasilica. You’ve met Ioana. And this is Dinu to his friends, so you get to call him Constantin.” Cristian pointed to each person as he spoke, forcing Atlas to keep up with the quick pace, and probably assuming he wouldn’t remember everyone.
Andrei, the bruiser, was old enough to be Cristian’s uncle. Might be, actually, considering how he hovered protectively at Cristian’s shoulder. Vasilica was the pool shark, though the predatory glint of her eyes was more for Atlas than for the game. Ioana remained a silent shadow at Cristian’s other side, and Dinu—Constantin to Atlas, apparently—glanced up from his phone to nod back to acknowledge Atlas’s existence. These four must be common fixtures around Cristian if Helias wanted them introduced.
Cristian seemed a little sorry that Atlas didn’t ask for the names again. He waited for a moment longer before turning back to Helias. “There. Introduced. Have fun sorting out tonight’s mess. And don’t worry about Mr. Kinkaid. We’ll take good care of him.”
Not ominous at all.
Atlas didn’t move when Helias left the room. He was out of the way of the table and area of play, so Cristian wouldn’t be able to complain, but he wouldn’t give ground and retreat. Nope, he would stand there until Cristian acknowledged him.
He’d have a while to wait, it seemed, as the game continued without a moment’s pause. Vasilica took her shot and swore when she missed. Cristian moved up to the table and finished out the game with three swift, well-placed shots. Vasilica groaned, though she didn’t seem too bothered with the loss. Constantin chuckled and leaned in to murmur something to her.
Atlas didn’t catch it. Cristian had his full attention as he sauntered closer, cue resting lightly over his shoulder. The pose stretched his shirt over his chest and Atlas fought to not stare at the clearly defined lines of muscles shifting beneath the cotton. Okay, maybe he stared for a moment.
Cristian noticed. He invaded Atlas’s space like he had the night before in the hall, stopping mere inches away this time. He was close enough Atlas caught a light hint of chamomile mingling with the detergent clinging to his shirt. If Atlas breathed too deeply, their shoulders and chests would brush together. He ignored the prickling over his skin, a warning against the forced proximity, but remained in place, waiting for some kind of recognition from his charge.
His stubbornness won him the battle of wills. It took an awkward silence, but Cristian finally asked, “Are you playing?”
The mildness of the question surprised him. Maybe Cristian only acted out to authority figures like his father or Helias, and Atlas had just been unfortunate enough to get caught in the crossfire. Maybe they’d work this out here and now. He could hear his CO’s hoarse voice barking out, First rule of engagement: only engage if the target is hostile.
“Not during my shift,” Atlas replied.
Cristian smiled and tilted his head, peering up at Atlas through his lashes. “Then you’re useless to me. Wait outside until we’re done,” he purred. When Atlas didn’t move, his tone sharpened. “Do you know how to obey? Do I need a whistle to train my father’s lapdog?”
The target is fucking hostile.
Behind Cristian, Ioana and Andrei shifted. He flicked his gaze to them, only to be met with hard stares and growing frowns. Movement to his left. Constantin had taken a step forward, closer to the corner of the billiards table. His phone had been tucked away, leaving his hands free. Vasilica’s hand rested lightly on the crook of Constantin’s elbow, but it wasn’t a hold that urged him to caution. It was a sign of solidarity, a promise to back him if things got ugly.
Atlas was outnumbered and there was no chance in hell these four would mind their own business if he decided to disobey Cristian.
The brat knew it. He smiled and flicked his hand toward the door. “Shoo, puppy. The adults have games to play.”
With no other choice, Atlas turned and left the room. He tried to ignore the laughter following him out into the hall. The click of the door shutting at his back reminded him of the finality of a gunshot, of a confrontation ended by force and might, rather than diplomacy.
Cristian’s taunt was far too accurate as Atlas loitered in the hall. The other people passing through shot him understanding looks. A few glanced at the door behind him, then offered him a faint smile of commiseration. They didn’t have to say anything else. The pity in their gazes delivered the message to him just fine—Glad I’m not in your shoes.
No wonder other agents had walked away from the job. If Cristian was this much of a nightmare when he was stuck at home, how bad would he be once they left the property? Or when they were at a private event or out shopping or doing whatever else it was Cristian did for entertainment? Maybe he could talk to Decebal and find out if this was normal behavior. He preferred to not call in the boss so early, but if Cristian’s life were truly at risk, it might be worth the blowback to have the lines of their positions clearly drawn by the actual employer.
Atlas stewed over how to bring up the issue while he waited for Cristian and his gaggle of cronies to finish their game. It was a long, boring wait before he heard movement behind the door. The soft thud of footfalls moving closer and the murmur of mixed voices filled him with such relief he actually moved away from the door so he wasn’t blocking their exit. Ioana emerged first. She didn’t spare him a glance, simply strode away and headed up the stairs. Constantin and Vasilica came next, side by side and chatting about needing a snack. They pulled a hard right and headed for a different door, probably one leading toward the kitchen. Andrei came out last.
He paused in front of Atlas, who had to crane his head back to look up. The man was an intimidating sight. Broad shouldered, barrel-chested, and with an expression of supreme disapproval, he glared down at Atlas like he was personally responsible for the dull night.
“Cristian is waiting for you,” Andrei rumbled. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the partially closed door. “Do not make him upset.”
“I have no intention of it,” Atlas lied.
The mountain before him gave a huff to indicate his obvious disbelief of the statement before sauntering away toward yet another door in the hall. Scattering like rats from a fleeing ship, it seemed. Atlas took a moment to steady his breathing before pushing open the door into the billiards room.
“You wanted to see me?” he began, only to trail off at the sight of an empty room.