CHAPTER FIVE #4
‘Only field training, sir.’
Alistair considers it. ‘There would be conditions.’
Of course. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘No excessive muscle or weight gain,’ Alistair explains smoothly.
‘No undue exposure to the sun, and any instruction must be capped at a level consistent with casual juvenile engagement. If you agree to those terms, I will allow it. Although,’ he adds, rising to stand.
Lachlan does the same. ‘I would brace yourself for a fair degree of resistance.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Any further requests before I leave tomorrow?’
‘No, sir.’
A single glance towards the door tells him he is dismissed.
Lachlan wants very much to go, except— ‘Oh, one last thing.’
For fuck’s sake. Lachlan looks back. ‘Sir?’
‘Should my son’s adolescent curiosities begin to manifest sexually,’ Alistair remarks lightly, as though discussing paperwork, ‘you will ensure they are managed discreetly, safely, and without any external complications. I trust your judgement as to what that may require and remind you that your contract raises no prohibitions in this regard.’ He gives a bland smile.
‘Thank you, Lachlan. You’re doing a good job. ’
Much later, Lachlan leaves the Estate for the second time.
He only drives a few miles away to a payphone where he calls Margot and hopes she’s not too mad about it being five AM.
She was definitely asleep, that much is clear. ‘What the fuck is up?’
‘It’s me,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry for calling so early, but—’
‘Lock? Is it your mom?’
‘No.’ He closes his eyes. ‘Margot, I need you to get me out of this contract.’
?
But the contract is airtight.
No way out unless he’s fired and if he’s fired, he’s in for a world of hurt.
Margot makes no effort to mask her frustration that he didn’t implement or at least request any of the amendments she suggested, all of which would have gone towards helping him get free or at least refuting the morality clause.
Lachlan is stuck for four years, eleven months.
After the old man leaves, Julian is confined to his room, and it falls on Lachlan to ensure that he stays there. He expects the kid to pull out all the stops trying to get free, but he doesn’t. After three days of silence between them, Lachlan knocks on the door and is granted entry.
‘Can we talk?’
Julian was sketching on his tablet, but he sets it down when Lachlan comes inside and sits up on his bed, cross-legged. ‘You’re in charge.’
‘Julian—’
‘Jules. I fucking hate “Julian”. Jules or nothing.’
Lachlan accepts it readily. ‘Jules. I’m sorry for hitting you.’
The kid frowns warily, like it’s a trick. ‘Why?’
‘Because I hit you.’
‘Why are you sorry?’
‘I just am.’
Julian—Jules rolls his eyes. ‘Whatever. Is that all?’
‘No. I want to float you something.’
‘Float me something?’
‘Explain an idea.’
‘Like what?’
‘I spoke to your father about field training.’
‘I know,’ he sighs irritably. ‘I’m not interested in—’
‘But I changed my mind,’ Lachlan pushes on, hoping that this doesn’t backfire. ‘What I actually want to teach you is close-quarter combat alongside strength training.’
Jules’ gaze on him is unmoving, eyes slightly narrowed.
He is naturally mistrustful, this one.
‘Why?’
‘So if anyone tries to hurt you, anyone, then you can stop them. Your father wouldn’t agree to CQC in a million years.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s not the kind of martial arts rich kids are taught.’
‘Is that what I am? A rich kid?’
Lachlan doesn’t take the bait. ‘The training is brutal. Most people your age couldn’t hack it, but I know you can.’
‘You don’t know anything about me.’
‘I know you’re smart as fuck.’
‘He’ll never allow it.’
‘I’ll hide it from him.’
Jules gets off the bed. ‘Why?’
‘Because I want you to be able to—’
‘Why?’ he pushes with insistence bordering on anger. ‘You don’t care about me. Your job would be easier if you could just lock me in here and pass food and water through.’
‘I would never do that.’
‘He would.’
Lachlan wants to tell this kid he had no idea what this was when he took the job, that he had no clue what he was walking into.
He wants to tell Jules that no matter how much of a pain in the ass he is, Lachlan isn’t evil.
He’s not going to hurt him or be used to hurt him or…
God, he can’t even think about the last thing Alistair said to him.
He says none of that, simply nods and then tells Jules, ‘I’m trying to meet you halfway. ’
Jules’ gaze drops to his hands. ‘Like you did in the vent?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve never seen so much blood,’ Jules whispers to himself.
‘I couldn’t push you from behind, you might have folded.’
‘You could have put a board under me, or—’
‘There were too many variables, and it was my failure to not anticipate your presence in the vent. Your safety is paramount to me.’
‘Can I see your hands?’
Lachlan thinks about saying no, keeping the lines between them crisp and clear, but he owes him this for the slap. He takes a single step closer, extends his left hand, palm up. Jules studies it without touching. Lachlan watches his expression, sees the curiosity, the analysis.
‘Did you design those teeth?’
‘More or less. How did you know about the DVP?’ Jules shrugs, backs off. ‘So, what do you think about—?’
‘No.’
Lachlan expected resistance but it’s still disappointing. ‘I could explain more about what it involves.’
‘I said no.’ Jules surveys him fully, has no right to seem so resigned for someone his age and yet he’s riddled with it. ‘You’re his man. I’m not stupid.’
‘Fair enough. I’m sorry again for—’
‘Bodyguard,’ he says, tone guarded.
Bodyguard, Jesus Christ.
‘Yeah?’ Lachlan prompts, searching his face.
‘If you lie to me again about Mimi, I’ll make you sorry for it.’
‘Heard.’
‘Now get out and stay away from me.’