Vlad was walking past one of the back doors when he heard the noise. Years of experience made him pause and pay attention. It had sounded a little like a muffled yelp. Silently, he made his way to the back door and opened it without a sound.
Dark alley. Five men, one of them wearing a waiter’s uniform. A gun in the waiter’s hand, pushed against Sebastian Summer’s back. A knife pressed to Tristan DuVal’s throat. Two hostages, three hostiles.
Vlad was no hero. He didn’t have a saving people complex. Later, he would rationalize his actions as logical: maybe these men had already gotten Luke, who was still nowhere to be seen.
So he didn’t think. He acted.
It was pretty dark and the men were already a good twenty feet away. Good thing he was an exceptional shot.
Vlad pulled his gun out and aimed it at the gun in the waiter’s hand.
The rest was a blur of instincts, blood and violence.
Three minutes later, the fake waiter was on the ground, bleeding from a head wound, his hands tied together by his tie. One of his buddies was knocked out, while the third one was whimpering under Vlad’s boot as Vlad drove the knife in his thigh deeper before knocking him out, too. Fucking amateurs.
“Well,” drawled a voice, breaking through the red haze that tainted his vision. “Not that I’m not grateful, but that’s a little excessive, don’t you think? Also, who the hell are you?”
Vlad straightened and turned his head, assessing the two other men. The shorter one, the one who had spoken, Tristan DuVal, was looking at him curiously. He seemed remarkably calm for someone who’d nearly been kidnapped.
A glance at Sebastian revealed that he wasn’t as composed as Tristan. He was pale, his wide dark eyes flicking from the men on the ground to Vlad. His mouth was red with blood.
Vlad felt his groin tighten and looked away, back to Tristan. “I’m Luke Whitford’s bodyguard.”
“Thanks, Luke Whitford’s bodyguard,” Tristan said with a nice smile.
What the fuck? What was wrong with this kid? He seemed completely unbothered by what had nearly happened.
Before Vlad could say anything, several security guards burst out of the door, followed by a few men, Luke among them.
“Where the hell have you been?” Vlad growled at Luke.
“I was on the phone with Roman,” Luke said distractedly. “Are you okay, guys?”
“Just fine, thanks to your Rambo,” Tristan replied. “I’m fine, Zach,” he said with an eye-roll when his fiancé started patting him for injuries. “I’m fine, babe,” he said, softer, as the man pulled him close and hugged him hard, murmuring something into his ear.
Vlad looked away. His gaze landed on Sebastian again. The model was gazing around, looking lost. He seemed...small, despite being taller and far more muscular than Tristan. The confident teasing, the cockiness from earlier, were nowhere to be seen.
Vlad frowned and looked away. It was none of his business.
He walked to the nearest assaulter and slapped him across the cheek. The guy groaned.
“Who sent you?” Vlad said.
The man glared up at him. “You’re Russian. Aren’t you supposed to be smarter than saving a couple of poofs?”
Vlad just looked at him for a moment before putting his hand on the knife still stuck in the guy’s thigh and driving it deeper. The guy screamed.
Vlad said, “Talk.”
“Vlad,” Luke said from behind him, sounding nervous.
“Talk,” Vlad repeated, pushing on the knife again. “Or I’m going to pull out this nice knife and put it through your throat.”
The guy whimpered, eyes wide with fear and pain. “You wouldn’t dare, Russian.”
Vlad smiled coldly. “Wanna bet?”
“Vlad, stop,” Luke hissed furiously. “You can’t just torture people for information!” He glanced around before hissing quieter, “We aren’t in Russia. Roman doesn’t need that kind of attention on him and his employee! Let the police handle that.”
Vlad nodded reluctantly and stepped away but not before saying, “They weren’t working alone.”
“How do you know that?” Sebastian cut in.
Vlad didn’t look his way when he answered. “They have headsets on. Someone was coordinating them.” Probably from a nondescript SUV that was already long gone.
“So you think they’ll be targeted again?” one of the men who followed Luke out of the club said. Vlad thought it was Luke’s friend.
He shrugged. “Probably. Cults are usually pretty obsessed and tend to fixate on something in case of a failure.”
“We’ll increase security measures,” Tristan’s fiancé said with a frown, his arms still around Tristan.
Tristan nodded before looking at Sebastian. “You shouldn’t live alone anymore. Can you move in with your family?”
Sebastian shook his head, still looking a bit off. “My family doesn’t live in London. I wouldn’t want to involve them anyway.”
“You can live with me,” Luke said, and Vlad’s stomach dropped.
“No,” Vlad cut in. “That’s too dangerous for you. I won’t allow it.”
Luke glared at him. “Luckily I don’t have to ask your permission if I want to invite people to my place.”