27. Julien
twenty-seven
Julien
J ulien studied the scrawny man tied to the crate.
The one he’d just witnessed Cinn fawn over, despite being the one to endanger them all. Tyler had assumed Cinn would come to his rescue, and he had. The guy hadn’t even seemed that grateful, when Cinn was risking his life for him. When he and Elliot had dropped everything—including his dead sister’s possible reincarnation into a demon cat—to help him, a stranger to them.
Julien clenched his jaw.
They hadn’t said much to each other in the minutes since Cinn and Elliot had gone through the door. That was okay. Julien had very little to say to him.
Tyler’s tangled dark blond hair hung over a pale face that was resting on one knee. He lifted his head up to say, “You’re the one that wired over that money.”
Is that… supposed to be a thank you?
Play the game, Julien, play the game.
Julien smiled. “Oui.”
“The friend he’s trying to help. With the dead sister.”
“That’s me.” The friend with the dead sister, apparently.
Tyler coughed, an audible rasp to his breath. “So, when is Buns allowed to come home then?”
Julien’s skin prickled. Home is there, now. Home is us.
“Surely you guys can’t keep him in Switzerland forever?”
“He’s told you what he’s doing there. Auri is helping him learn more about himself.” Julien didn’t bother to hide his look of distaste. And then, because he’d let this infuriating man rattle him, he added, “Maybe you shouldn’t assume he wants to come back.”
Tyler lurched forward as far as the rope would let him. Julien glanced at the remaining guard, who seemed unbothered by their little spat.
“Of course he wants to come back. His life is here.”
“Is it? I’m not sure his restaurant would rehire him after he robbed it for you.”
If looks could kill, Julien would be dead meat.
Thankfully, at that moment, the door swung open, and Cinn emerged with Elliot and, presumably, the infamous Heino Richter. He instantly reminded Julien of his father: unyielding, untouchable. Someone who always got what they wanted.
Cinn’s eyes shot straight to Julien’s, a tiny but unmistakable smile on his lips when their gazes met. “It’s cold in here,” he said, the slightest hint of emphasis on the word cold .
“Oui,” Julien replied, crouching down to unzip the duffle bag with his gloved hands. Then, he positioned a certain couple of bank notes just so, so they would be the first ones to be touched. He kicked the bag into the middle of the concrete floor.
As predicted, Richter nodded towards it, and his two henchmen scurried over to it. Kneeling on the floor, one lifted the stacks of notes out of the bag, and then passed it to the other.
Perfect . Better than they’d hoped for, in fact, with two of them touching the money.
Moments later, one lifted his head, forehead crinkled. “Sir, there’s no way this is fifty G. It’s mostly—”
Newspapers . However, the man didn’t get to finish his sentence, as his body fell slack. He crumpled back into himself, then tipped over onto the floor, eyes blinking in surprise. Soon, all he’d be able to do was blink, if he was lucky.
A round of shocked gasps from Richter and Tyler.
“Wh—” the other one managed, before finding himself in a similar fate. He dropped the stack of money he was holding. The stack with the slight dusting of white powder to the notes.
Thanks, girl. Darcy’s ultra-concentrated Frostbite compound had come through, just as promised.
“Reynolds! Mitchell!” Heino Richter shouted, and for a moment Julien presumed they were the names of the fallen men, until he heard two pairs of footsteps pounding towards them through the warehouse.
Fuck .
“Elliot!” Julien shouted, already moving to Cinn, pushing him against the wall to stand firmly in front of him.
The overhead strips of fluorescent lights flickered as Elliot threw his arms wide. Sparks rained down upon them as he drew upon the lights, channelling every lumenmote he could towards him.
But the lights were weak—narrow, dim strips that barely lit the warehouse, and time was not on their side.
Two more men burst into the space, looking straight to Richter for direction.
“Kill them all,” was the only thing he uttered.
With his entire weight, Julien pressed a cursing and very much resisting Cinn further back into the wall. Richter’s backup security, knives glinting in their hands, looked between their fallen comrades and the three unarmed assailants with evident confusion before moving towards Elliot and Julien.
Julien’s eyes darted to Elliot, face crumpled in pure concentration.
A part of Julien ached to reach for the motes himself, so close, so within reach. His body longed to feel them coursing through him. It would be so easy. They were right there, waiting for him. Julien’s arms twitched, reaching up…
With an almighty crash, Elliot brought one of the light fixtures down from the ceiling, knocking one man down to the ground. Then, a flick of two wrists sent the lumenmotes he’d cultivated bursting in two directions—at the remaining gang member, and Richter himself.
An unseen current gripped their muscles, and tremors rippled through their frames, from the tips of their limbs to their cores. Collapsing to the ground, their bodies twitched with involuntary, jittery movements.
Tyler let out a low whistle, the first action of his that Julien approved of.
Cinn pushed Julien off him with a grunt. “I literally couldn’t breathe, you freak.” Though as Julien turned to face him, there was a tender softness to his expression that told a different tale.
With his trainer, Cinn nudged the shoulder of one of the men who’d been electrocuted. “What did the lumenmotes do?”
“Elliot converted them to electromagnetic waves to shock them.” Something that Julien had done himself many times, in the controlled practice sessions of his youth. “They better not be dead, Elliot.”
A smirk in response. “As if I don’t have perfect control. Fuck, Richter had a gun on him,” Elliot said, nodding to the handgun that lay on the floor.
“We’ll dispose of that.” Julien shoved it into the duffle bag, then retrieved his rucksack from near Tyler. Theoretically, he could have untied the guy at the same time, but he was busy. Busy sorting out his mess.
“Good thing Darcy didn’t come,” said Elliot. “She’d have freaked at all that.”
Julien was pretty ruffled himself, adrenaline still freely jabbing at his beating heart. He rummaged in his bag to find what he was looking for.
To a casual observer, it was an oddly shaped metal headpiece .
To motetech experts, it was a powerful memory disrupter.
Elliot grabbed the nearest unconscious man under the shoulders to pull up upright.
“What the bloody hell are you up to?”
Ignoring Tyler, Julien continued to install the LMD onto the man’s head. “Still up for what we agreed?” he asked Cinn, who nodded once, face set.
The Lumimeld Memory Disrupter was never designed to tamper with long-term memories. It had only been formally approved for memories obtained within the last twenty-four hours.
That didn’t mean it couldn’t be wielded for a range of purposes, in the right hands.
Connecting the headband to the palm-sized battery-powered controller, Julien began to charge the LMD.
Cinn, after untying Tyler, came to crouch down beside Julien. “So, they’ll all wake up with no idea who they are, even?” he asked quietly.
“ Oui . That’s the plan. Let’s hope they still have enough brain cells for bodily functions.”
Cinn’s face clouded as he stared at Julien’s first victim, whose head was vibrating as the LMD worked its magic. “I don’t give a shit about Richter, but these other men… We don’t know their stories.”
Oh, precious Cinn and his goddamn eternally caring nature. What was he going to do with him?
Julien turned down the dial.
It took fifty minutes to do all five of them. Julien took pleasure only in the one he’d saved for last: Heino Richter. Once he was done with them, Elliot and Cinn carried the bodies outside and dragged them to various parts of the industrial estate, in the hope they’d wake up separately.
Finally, it was done. He didn’t even bother suggesting to Cinn they at least wipe the last twenty-four hours from Tyler’s mind—he already knew what his response would be. Cinn had trusted Tyler to keep his own moteblessed ability a secret since he’d confided in him—Julien would have to hope Tyler would extend them the same courtesy.
Tyler, who’d been rather quiet throughout the whole thing, remained sheepish on the Tube journey back to the flat—hood up, eyes downcast unless Cinn spoke to him.
Now they’d accomplished what they’d come here to do, how much longer would they have to stay in London?
Silently filing into Bradley’s kitchen, exhaustion was evident on everyone’s faces. For a sickening moment, Julien imagined Cinn suggesting he and Tyler share Tyler’s single bed, but then they found the note from Bradley, a scribbled message about working the night shift, and offering his room.
In a bizarre show of domesticity—considering they’d just taken down one of London’s notorious drug lords—they took turns brushing their teeth in Bradley’s tiny yet spotlessly clean bathroom.
Julien opened the door to let Cinn in, then flinched in surprise as he shut it behind him, bolting the door.
“Everyth—”
He didn’t get to finish his question: Cinn’s tongue in his mouth was a slight barrier to further speech.
Stumbling backwards, Julien’s back hit the glass pane of the shower as Cinn pressed into him, his hands sliding around his back to grip his ass, hard.
When Cinn let out a tiny moan, Julien wedged his thigh in between Cinn’s legs, and he quickly rolled his hips into him. Cinn then dragged his mouth from Julien’s lips, to nuzzle his light stubble with his soft cheek.
“Thank you,” Cinn whispered. “You don’t know how grateful I am to you and Elliot.”
“You’re doing a great job of showing me,” Julien quipped. Turns out saving someone’s ex-boyfriend could be a well-rewarded venture. Good to know. “I hope that Elliot will be getting a slightly more condensed version of this thank-you message.”
Laughing, Cinn leaned back in for another hungry kiss that had Julien’s knees softening. Julien savoured the last lingering touch of Cinn’s soft, velvety lips as he pulled away, savoured every inch of his shaky breathlessness.
Julien wrapped his arms around Cinn’s back. “Where are you going? I was just about to turn on the shower. To cover up all the noise you’re going to make.”
One light squeeze of Cinn’s hard length through his jeans had him falling further against him, Julien’s name whispered on his lips.
Julien slid one hand up Cinn’s arm to interlace their fingers before trailing a line of kisses up his jaw. “I can be quick this time. I promise.”
Cinn’s temptation to give in was almost tangible, but he groaned, letting his forehead fall against Julien’s. “Don’t make this harder than it already is,” he said, grabbing Julien’s wrist and placing it on his chest to wedge it between them. “Tomorrow,” Cinn breathed into his ear. “Straight from the airport. Your house. It’s closer. And it better be anything but quick.”
Julien brought his hand up to run his thumb over the cuff of Cinn’s green beanie hat.
“I’ll make it worth the wait,” Cinn continued, capturing Julien’s hand to place his thumb into his mouth.
Three bangs on the bathroom door, followed by Elliot’s gruff voice. Cinn didn’t even flinch, didn’t take his eyes off Julien’s as his tongue licked slow circles into his thumb.
It was the single most erotic thing Julien had ever done with his clothes on. His dick gave a needy twitch, and for a brief moment he considered begging, a first for him.
With wide-eyed innocence, Cinn released Julien’s thumb with a small pop of his mouth, a string of saliva following it .
“For fuck’s sake!” Elliot snarled, followed by another bang. “You better not be doing what I think you’re doing.”
Julien pushed past Cinn and unbolted the door to reveal a grouchy-looking Elliot. “Since when is communal teeth brushing a crime?”
“When you’re brushing each other’s teeth with your mouths. Get the fuck out.”
Cinn, flushed gorgeously pink, ducked his head as he exited the bathroom.
They hovered together in the corridor, outside Bradley’s room, where Cinn was sleeping.
“Tomorrow,” mouthed Julien.
The corner of Cinn’s lips tilted up into a slow, soft smile. He stared unblinking at Julien as if he’d said something profound.
“Tomorrow,” Cinn promised.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Julien could only dream.