Laurent held up the fake ID that claimed he was 22, and that he was a few inches taller than his actual height. The bouncer didn’t even glance at the piece of plastic. Laurent’s face could have gotten him into the club despite being 4 years younger than the age on the ID. The velvet rope was unclipped, and he waded into the noise and bodies.
The club was not an ideal hiding place. There was a book tucked in his satchel, but he had underestimated the unpleasant barrage on the senses. There wasn’t a steady light source, the lights moved and strobed in every hue, and attempting to concentrate on 11-point font would only worsen this new headache.
He tucked himself into a darker corner of the bar and ordered a cranberry lime soda. Casually, he put fingers to his temples a subtle way to hide his face from the majority of the club.
Laurent had decided on the club over the bookstore after a dizzying circle of reasoning. The bookstore, or trendy indie coffee shop, is where Laurent was expected to be, the club was not.
However, Laurent’s uncle knew this, knew that Laurent would know better. So, if it were more unexpected for him to do the expected he was no longer sure which was a better hiding place. He had managed to stay out of his uncle's grasp for several months so he was doing something right.
He decided on the club for a few reasons. One: it was owned by the Akielons, and two: it would be easier to disappear into the crowd.
Being on the Akielon side of the city was a risk, being in enemy territory, but was unsure if being returned to his uncle or captured by the rival mob was worse.
Unfortunately, he was more likely to get hit on in the bar than a bookstore, thus the attempt to casually hide his face.
Just as he thought it a body sat heavily on the stool next to him.
“Hello, Princess,” said Govart.
—
Damen, with his senses finely tuned to detect blonds, noticed when he entered the club. Even shoving through a crowd he was graceful. The slender blond sat at the bar and turned his back to the room.
Nikandros followed Damen’s gaze.
“No,” he said, “blonds are off the menu.”
“I’m just looking,” Damen protested.
They were in the VIP booth. Nikandros gestured aggressively at the line of people who hoped to get in and join them. There were a few bottle blonds in there but those only directed his eyes back to the natural one at the bar.
“Pick one of those,” Nikandros said, redirecting Damen’s attention to the people in line. One of the bottle blonde’s waved when he glanced at her. Nikandros took the initiative to gesture her past the bouncer.
“Nik—” Damen began.
“Don’t worry it’s diet blond.”
There wasn’t space directly next to Damen on the white leather couch, so diet blond had to sit across from them and next to Pallas who scooted a few inches away.
Damen’s blond radar redirected his gaze to the one at the bar. There was someone next to him now.
The bigger man jerked him from the stool and pressed him to the wall. Hands groping the blond’s body before he retaliated, jerking his knee into the man’s groin.
Damen stood without realizing it and was making his way across the room, but the crowd was thick with strangers and many wanted to talk with him.
The blond attempted to make an escape, but his attacker had kept his grip on the smaller wrist and when he recovered began to drag the blond towards the back door.
Damen saw the blond take a hit and stumble. He was a little more docile with his brain rattled and was easier to hustle out of Damen’s sight.
It took him precious moments to push through the crowd before he reached the back door. By that time Nikandros was at his side.
“Did you see?” Damen asked.
“I saw.”
The back alley was dimly lit and for a moment Damen thought he had lost them.
A scuffle at the far end caught their attention. Nikandros and Damen hurried towards the noise.
The kidnapper was trying to put the blond in the trunk of a black car and the blond was fighting with everything he had.
Damen saw the knife but didn’t reach them before it went into the blond’s shoulder.
When the kidnapper saw the two men running towards him, he dropped the blond in favor of fleeing.
Damen caught him while Nikandros went after the kidnapper.
The car took off spraying gravel and dust.
“Fucking idiot could have reversed and taken us out,” the blond mumbled.
“Call an ambulance,” Nikandros said.
“I left my phone in the club."
“For fucksake, Damianos,” Nikandros pulled out his cell.
“Don’t—” With a grip on Damen’s shirt, the blond levered himself to his feet.
“Why not?” Nikandros asked the phone partway to his ear.
“I— I’m fine,” the blond said with a hand over the wound, blood seeped through pale fingers. His breathing was shallow, obviously rattled, and in pain.
“You need a hospital,” Damen said.
“I’m fine,” he breathed and collapsed.
Damen caught him before he hit the ground and held the unconscious blond to his chest in a bridal carry.
“Take him to the light,” Nikandros suggested.
Damen did. The idea was to see how bad the knife wound was and how much blood had already been lost. Those objectives were forgotten when they saw the face.
“Oh god, is that—”
“The missing Veretian.”
“What was his name?”
“Laurent,” Damen said.
...continue
