Close Quarters

Chapter 4: Close Quarters

They left through the hotel’s service tunnels, skipping the lobby and the paparazzi camped outside.

The black SUV was gone. In its place sat a plain gray sedan with reinforced doors and bulletproof glass. Kael pulled a hoodie from his own bag and shoved it at Julian, along with a dark cap. Julian’s famous face disappeared under both.

The drive out of the city was silent. Rain hammered the roof for two straight hours, the only sound in the car.

Julian pulled his knees to his chest and stared out the window as the city lights faded into dark, empty roads. He could still smell the rust-red ink from the letter. Without the fans, the stylists, the penthouse — he wasn’t Julian Vance, rock star. He was just a twenty-two-year-old kid being hunted.

He glanced at Kael. The dashboard light lit half his face. His jaw was set. His eyes kept flicking to the mirrors. One hand stayed near the gun at his ribs. The quiet strength of him filled the small space between them.

He looked dangerous.

For the first time since they’d met, Julian was glad for it.

The car turned onto a gravel drive hidden behind thick pines and stopped in front of a low building made of dark wood and concrete. It looked more like a bunker than a house.

“Where are we?” Julian’s voice came out hoarse.

“Apex safehouse.” Kael cut the engine. “Owned by a shell company. Not on any map. Nearest neighbor’s five miles out. Grab your bag.”

Julian stepped into the freezing rain and shivered. Kael was beside him instantly, unlocking a steel door with a fingerprint scan and a passcode. The sudden closeness made Julian’s pulse jump.

Inside, the house was bare — a leather couch, a small kitchen, one hallway leading back. No big windows. No room service. It smelled like pine and cleaning solution.

“Cozy.” Julian dropped his bag on the floor and wrapped his arms around himself. “Do I get my own bathroom, or are we sharing a toothbrush too?”

“You get the main bedroom.” Kael ignored the jab and moved through the house, checking window locks, pulling down steel shades until the place sealed shut like a vault. “I’ll be in there with you. It’s the strongest room in the house. If someone gets past the perimeter, that’s where we hold.”

Julian swallowed. The idea of sharing a room with Kael — of sleeping while the other man stayed awake and armed — made something tight and restless settle in his chest. “You really think he’ll find us?”

“I don’t leave that to chance.” Kael crossed to him and held out his hand. “Phone.”

“What? No. I need to text Marcus, post something—”

“Your social media is geo-tagged. Your phone can be tracked by anyone with the right software.” Kael’s tone didn’t leave room to argue. “He knew exactly where your car was parked in a private garage. That means someone close to you talked. Until I know who, you’re a ghost. Phone. Now.”

Julian opened his mouth to fight it — but he looked at Kael’s face and the fight went out of him. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dropped it into Kael’s hand. Their fingers brushed. The contact was brief, but Julian felt it longer than he should have.

Kael powered it off and locked it inside a small metal box on the counter.

“Go shower.” His voice softened, just slightly. “You’re shaking. Water’s safe.”

Julian didn’t argue. He grabbed his bag and went. The shower was basic, but the water ran hot. He stood under it until his skin turned pink, trying to scrub off the feeling of being watched. And, if he was honest, trying not to think about the fact that Kael would be sleeping in the same room.

When he came out, dried off, in gray joggers and a white t-shirt, the room was lit by one small lamp.

Kael was already there. His jacket and tie were gone, sleeves rolled to the elbow, forearms marked with old scars. He sat in a stiff chair wedged into the corner, facing the door, a handgun taken apart in his lap. He cleaned each piece slowly, an oiled rag moving over the metal with quiet precision.

Julian stopped in the doorway and stared. It should have scared him. Instead he found himself watching Kael’s hands work — steady, strong, scarred. The soft light caught the lines of muscle in his forearms. Something warm and unwanted stirred low in Julian’s stomach.

“You’re not sleeping in the bed?” Julian nodded at the queen mattress.

“I need to face the door.” Kael didn’t look up. He snapped the slide back into place with a sharp click. “I don’t sleep much anyway.”

Julian climbed under the covers. The mattress was fine. But the quiet of the cabin pressed in on him — no city hum, no traffic, nothing. He lay on his side, watching Kael in the lamplight.

The man was solid. Unshaken. Nothing about Julian’s fame or money seemed to touch him. This morning Julian had wanted to throw coffee at his head. Now, watching the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the quiet competence of those hands, Julian couldn’t picture feeling safe with anyone else.

“Hey, Kael?”

Kael’s hands stilled. He looked up. The weight of that gaze settled over Julian like a physical thing. “Yeah?”

Julian pulled the blanket higher, feeling exposed without his usual sharp tongue to hide behind. “Thanks. For getting me out of there.”

Kael didn’t say anything at first. Then the corner of his mouth moved, just barely, into something close to a smile. It softened his whole face for a second.

“Get some sleep.” His voice was low, steady. “Nobody’s getting through that door.”

Julian closed his eyes, listening to the soft click of metal as Kael put the gun back together. The sound of those steady hands working in the dark made something in his chest ease. For the first time in weeks, he actually believed it.