6. Tristan
Tristan
Igave Isolde some time to change, but fifteen minutes have gone by.
Did I really want to knock on the door of the women’s locker room? Hell no. But like last night, I have a duty of care. Which I realize isn’t a great example, considering what happened.
And once again, I only have myself to blame when I barge into the locker room and find Isolde standing in just her underwear and a woman’s head level with her pussy.
“Uh, sorry.” I need to find Cade and kill him quick, because I can’t keep doing this. I’m not going out of my way to find Isolde naked, but it’s happening way too often.
It’s unprofessional, checking out your client’s round ass.
I begin to turn away, mentally slapping myself when the other girl moves her head.
“You must be Mr. Grumpy.” The girl straightens.
At night Leon’s gets turned into a fight club. It brings in a specific clientele. It’s not Fujimori’s by any means, but it’s a place to drink and watch fighters pummel one another. Because of that unsavory bit of nature, I’m surprised to find the youngest Akatov daughter.
Gym bunnies only hang out when the fighters are around.
But Adeline smiles cheekily, tossing hair over her shoulder, more at ease than I would have thought.
Especially because this place doesn’t hand out a lot of memberships.
Leon personally approves every gym membership, which means not only has Akatov met him, but he must actually like her.
“Mr. Hot Bodyguard, right?” She holds out a hand, stepping closer. “I’m Ads.”
“Tristan.”
“You normally check on all your clients when they’re in the locker rooms?” Her smile is just as bright, but it’s a pointed message.
“I was worried.”
Isolde shoves her legs into a pair of shorts before turning around. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Dimly, I’m aware it must look like I’m staring at Isolde’s crotch. Based on the ringing silence in the locker room, we all know what I’m really looking at.
A long, nasty-looking scar curves along her upper thigh before hiding under the pair of tight shorts.
Isolde’s hand moves, breaking the spell. A faint pink paints her cheeks as she tucks hair behind her ear.
“Yell for help if the Akatov tries to kill you.” The door closes behind me.
Luis picks his head up while doing pushups. “Did you just come from the girls’ locker room?”
Antonio’s moves still until some noise rattles in my throat. He rushes to finish his reps.
It’s a small group today. Luis, Antonio, and Elias Rojas. The latter isn’t even my employee, but he grew up next door to me, and despite the more than ten-year age difference, he’s my responsibility. He’s training for the fights and always joins our workouts.
Because he’s not officially my employee, he’s the one who feels like he can pepper me with annoying questions.
“How’s it going?” he asks, mid-crunch.
When I’m not inclined to answer, Antonio pushes his luck. “Is she going to come with us every time?”
It’s not exactly a bad question. There’s no way I would have brought Ren to Leon’s. She’s not exactly down to earth with her tailored suits and online shopping addiction. Plus, she’d probably sit and bitch the whole time if I dared to bring her to a gym.
I made a split-second decision this morning. If I’m being honest, after talking to Ciaran, I’d like to move Isolde to a safe house. Her location has to be compromised by now, but I know she won’t go for it.
She’d looked shattered after Ren left. I don’t have a sister, but I’ve got enough female cousins to know how nasty the fights can get. And Ren and Isolde are two peas in a pod. I heard their bickering. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but I’d never seen Ren look so frustrated before.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, we’d been in a shootout.
Technically, it’s probably not even a good idea for Isolde to workout.
But other than the gun range, this is the only place that clears my head.
Nobody’s going to make a move on Isolde while we’re here.
At least not without everyone in this building jumping to save her.
Trips to the gym would give us both some quiet time. It’s important for me to have these check-ins with my guys, and Isolde can find some of her own endorphins.
“If she wants to,” I answer Antonio.
Isolde didn’t seem too put out when she realized we were at a gym. And my shoulders lighten, liking the idea that she wouldn’t mind coming here more often. This contract came unexpectedly and potentially will be a long haul. I’d be grateful to still get the chance to hit up Leon’s.
Out of the corner of my eye, she appears with Adeline. The Akatov daughter heads toward the weights, but Isolde starts up a treadmill.
“You okay, cousin?” Luis asks, pulling himself off the floor.
“Great, we’re going to do sprints next.”
Antonio mutters in Spanish, abruptly stopping when my eyes cut to him.
“You’ve got three more reps,” I remind him. Isolde messes with the treadmill settings. The giant shirt she wears covers her shorts, highlighting her pale legs. I can’t see the scar from here, but I know it’d be visible even with the distance.
Bit by bit, Ciaran had said last night. Cade likes to cut women up.
A giant rock sits in the pit of my stomach.
What the hell happened, Isolde?
I’d wanted her to open up to Ren so I could eavesdrop.
The scar is still painful looking, a bright pink. It’s got to be deep, and there’d have been a shit ton of blood, considering it intersects with her femoral artery.
How the fuck did she survive that? How the fuck can she pretend like everything is okay?
She’s not, a voice in the back of my head says, and I know it’s true. Isolde knows she’s in deep shit. She’s just not letting anyone in.
Nerves light inside me. My job is to keep my clients safe, not solve their personal problems. But Isolde’s demons are going to come after us if she keeps this up.
“Cuz?” Luis taps my shoulder. “Are you okay, or what?”
Luis is a full head shorter than me, and despite being in his twenties, he’s never outgrown his class clown persona.
“I’m fine.”
He lifts a heel up to his ass, stretching. “I think Matheson’s codename should be Blue.”
“What?” I ask, not liking how he announces this to the group. “What are you talking about, codename?”
“Codename.” He shrugs, like I should simply understand.
“We don’t use codenames.” We’re not the fucking Secret Service.
“Ren had a codename.”
“Ren had a codename?”
“Big Boss Bitch.”
“You cannot go around calling Ren Callahan Big Boss Bitch!”
Luis has the audacity to appear confused. “No, we’re not using the derogatory version of the word ‘bitch.’ It’s like the good kind.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “No codenames.”
“Blue works perfectly,” Luis reasons. “She wears blue all the time. Get it?”
I know what he’s talking about. She favors this blue hoodie, and her eyes are crystal clear. But I take a deep inhale anyway.
“It’s a very flattering color on her, actually,” my cousin says, suddenly acting like he’s the goddamn editor of Vogue. “What are you doing?”
I’d think it’d be perfectly obvious what I’m doing. Trying to meditate instead of throttling my younger cousin, but his voice causes me to look over.
His dark eyebrows are furrowed, brown eyes quizzical. “Why do you keep looking over at her like that?”
“I’m not looking at her.”
Luis thinks otherwise. He places his head in his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose in what I assume is a perfect imitation of me. Except he peeks between his fingers, not so slyly tilting his head toward the treadmills.
“You keep doing this.” His fingers spread wider, giving him a better vantage point.
I drop the hand covering my face. “No, I’m not!”
“Yeah, you are. You keep watching her.”
“Of course, I’m watching her. We’re paid to watch her.”
By fucking Hadrian Hallow, and now that I’ve thought of his name, my hand squeezes into a fist.
“But this is how you normally watch people.”
Luis lowers his hand and straightens. His eyes narrow, his lips pursing together in what I think is supposed to be a snarl. His eyes are almost closed when he casts the faintest side-eye over his right shoulder.
“Knock it off. That’s not how I look. And fuck off before you freak Isolde out.” Her earbuds are in, and she looks straight ahead as she works out.
Which is great considering Luis does in fact stop squinting only to shoot me a mocking look. “Isolde, is it?”
A sigh escapes me.
“That’s awfully familiar of you,” Luis says. “You sure you don’t want to be more professional and use a codename?”
“We’re not calling her Blue!”
“I like it,” Antonio chimes in. I hope this motherfucker likes all the sprinting he’s about to do.
“I mean, she is wearing a blue shirt,” Elias adds before shutting up and focusing on his pushups. One word from me, and Leon isn’t likely to offer him a spot in the boxing ring.
“No codenames,” I tell the group. “Before we leave, I want to go over the schedule. I know we hadn’t planned on taking on a client needing around the clock protection so soon after Callahan. We’ve got some gigs on the calendar, and—”
After a lifetime of Luis, I know the exact moment he stops paying attention. I spin on my heel, ready to round on him when I’m cut short. He might be an idiot, but my lovable cousin doesn’t just stand around, mouth hanging open like he is now, without good reason.
“Shit,” Antonio curses from his spot on the ground.
I’ve never seen someone go so fast. For a second I wonder if Isolde’s doing her own timed sprints, but she never stops to adjust the treadmill.
She just goes and goes. Her heels kicking up, her arms and shoulders in perfect form. If it weren't for the dangerous whir of the treadmill, we might not be so taken aback.
But the machinery is fighting for its life; that’s how hard she’s going.
Isolde isn’t jogging on the treadmill. She’s running for her life.
She thinks I don’t see it. The terror on her face when Cade’s name is mentioned. Her fear freezes over her pale, delicate features before she wipes it blank. She’d rather be a hamster on a wheel than let anybody in.
“Should we. . .” Elias says.
Luis rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, that thing is going to break.”
They’re not joking. Either the treadmill or Isolde is going to get hurt. Probably both if I’m being honest.
My muscles tense as I gear up to be the overbearing bodyguard, the creepy guy at the gym who’s gonna tell Isolde what to do.
I’m saved when Adeline prances over, stepping up onto the front of the treadmill. Leon wouldn’t like how she plays around on the gym equipment, but my jaw unclenches slightly.
Isolde slows the treadmill, taking out her earbuds. Adeline chats away, uninterested in working out, her attitude spreading to Isolde, who steps off the treadmill.
Luis curses under his breath in Spanish before shooting forward.
I miss the back of his shirt by a hairbreadth, my fist clenching around air.
“Look at that.” Luis squats down, taking in Isolde’s scar.
“Luis,” I seethe.
He’s oblivious. “That’s fucking awesome. Shit. Look at that.”
Isolde blushes slightly, and she doesn’t meet my eye. She shrugs at Luis’s comment, looking away.
“That is gnarly,” Luis awes. “Can I touch it?”
Adeline doesn’t hide her laughter. “Down, boy.”
Luis pops up, a cheeky smile on his face. “Sorry, Blue. Boundaries, I get it.”
“Blue?” Adeline asks.
“Codename,” Luis replies, serious. “Like Secret Service, you know?”
I pick a spot on the ceiling and count to ten. There’s nothing I can do about my cousin—I’m just going to have to fire him. I’ll deal with my aunt later.
“Nice,” Adeline says, knocking her elbow into Isolde. The Brit winces, and the Akatov’s face immediately falls. “Oh, no, I’m sorry! Is that the side that got hurt?”
“It’s fine,” Isolde tells her before speaking to me. “We’re going to get coffee and hit up a bookstore after we meet Lennie.”
My eyes narrow on her. “Doesn’t Lennie have a job?”
“She’s taking a half-day,” Adeline explains.
“Don’t you work?”
She smirks. “I’m remote, so I’ll be fine. Besides, don’t you know Isolde is helping Lennie plan her wedding?”
My gaze cuts back to Isolde.
“I have to help Len,” she says, her fingers tightening in the hem of her shirt.
It’s only because I know she’s still upset about this morning that I relent. Besides, I rationalize, it’s not like Adeline and Lennie Akatov won’t have their own guards.
“You should try Marco’s if you’re getting coffee,” Luis pipes up. “Try their horchata latte.”
Firing Luis is too generous. He’ll have to die.
“We’re just gonna get dressed,” Isolde says, finally looking me in the eye.
I shoot her my best ‘Grumpy Man’ expression, as Ren likes to call it. I’m not under any impression that I scare Isolde, but I blink when I catch sight of her shoulders softening.
“Unless you guys aren’t ready?” she asks.
Three heads swing my way.
“Sure.” Three sets of sighs loosen from the guys. Until I add, “We’ll just make up the sprints next time.”