Page 7 of Oath of Protection (Blood Oath Bargains #1)

SEVEN

NIGHT SHIFT

The safe house felt different at night. During the day, it was just another corporate apartment—beige walls, generic furniture, the kind of place you forgot the moment you left. But with the lights dimmed and city noise muffled by reinforced windows, it became smaller. More intimate.

Nico stood at the kitchen counter, watching Cam do a final security sweep through the living room. The man moved like he was mapping every angle, every potential threat, filing away details that might save their lives later. Watching him work shouldn't have been this distracting.

"Clear," Cam said, settling his weapon on the coffee table within easy reach. "Motion sensors are active, cameras are feeding to my phone. We're as secure as we're going to get."

"Good." Nico poured two glasses of whiskey, the good stuff he'd grabbed from his penthouse before they left. "Drink?"

Cam hesitated. "I'm on duty."

"You're also human. One drink won't compromise your reflexes."

"You don't know my reflexes."

Nico held out the glass anyway. "I know you took down a photographer in two seconds flat. I'm willing to risk it."

That earned him what might have been a smile. Cam accepted the whiskey, their fingers brushing for just a moment. Warm skin, callused hands that spoke of weapons training and careful discipline.

"Thanks."

They settled on opposite ends of the couch, maintaining distance that felt increasingly artificial.

Nico had spent the day watching Cam work—the careful assessment of every location, the way he positioned himself to protect without interfering, the quiet competence that made everything look effortless.

"How long were you in the Army?" Nico asked.

"Eight years. Three deployments to Afghanistan, one to Iraq." Cam took a sip of whiskey, his expression carefully neutral. "Left as a sergeant first class."

"Why'd you get out?"

"Injury. IED took out our convoy, and I took shrapnel in my leg. Doctors said I'd walk again, but running wasn't going to be the same." Cam's voice stayed matter-of-fact, like he was discussing the weather. "Army decided I was better suited for civilian life."

Nico studied his face, looking for signs of bitterness or regret. Found neither. "That when you started the security company?"

"Started in my garage with a laptop and too much time on my hands. Turned out keeping people alive was something I was good at." Cam glanced at him. "What about you? Always planning to join the family business?"

"Didn't have much choice. Sal made it clear early on that Valente men had responsibilities." Nico swirled his whiskey, watching the amber liquid catch the lamplight. "Sent me to business school to learn how to do it legally. Most of the time, anyway."

"Most of the time?"

"Some problems can't be solved with spreadsheets and market analysis."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of shared understanding settling between them. Both men who'd learned that violence was sometimes necessary, that protecting what mattered meant making difficult choices.

"You ever think about walking away?" Cam asked quietly.

"Every day." The admission surprised Nico with its honesty.

"But then I think about the three hundred people who work for legitimate Valente businesses.

The families who depend on steady paychecks.

The suppliers who trust us to honor contracts.

" He took a long sip. "Hard to walk away from that much responsibility. "

"Even when it might get you killed?"

"Especially then. Dead martyrs might not run businesses, but live cowards don't inspire much loyalty either."

Cam turned to face him more fully, his expression serious. "Is that what you think? That accepting protection makes you a coward?"

"Doesn't it?" Nico met his eyes. "I've spent fifteen years building a reputation based on being untouchable. Unafraid. And now I need a babysitter to keep me breathing."

"You need a professional to handle professional threats. There's a difference."

"Is there? Because from where I'm sitting, it feels like admitting weakness."

"From where I'm sitting, it looks like acknowledging reality.

" Cam leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet but firm.

"You want to know what cowardice looks like?

It's refusing help because you're too proud to admit you need it.

It's getting good people killed because you can't let go of your image. "

The words hit harder than they should have. Nico felt tension twist in his chest, a combination of anger and recognition that made him want to look away.

"Marco wasn't supposed to die."

"No. He wasn't." Cam's voice softened. "But he knew the risks when he took the job. Just like I know them now."

"And that doesn't bother you? Knowing someone wants to put a bullet in my head badly enough to hire professionals?"

"It bothers me that they think they can succeed." Cam's mouth quirked upward. "I take that kind of thing personally."

Despite everything—the stress, the guilt, the constant awareness of danger—Nico found himself almost smiling. "Professional pride?"

"Something like that."

The conversation was interrupted by Cam's phone buzzing. He glanced at the screen, his expression immediately shifting to alert.

"Motion sensor. Northwest corner of the building." Cam was already moving, weapon in hand, phone displaying camera feeds. "Stay here."

"What do you see?"

"Could be nothing. Could be someone checking our perimeter." Cam moved to the window, staying clear of direct sight lines while he scanned the street below. "False alarm. Homeless guy looking through the dumpster."

But he didn't relax immediately. Nico watched him maintain position for another full minute, studying the feeds, checking angles. Only when he was completely satisfied did Cam return to the couch.

"Sorry. Better paranoid than dead."

"Don't apologize. That's exactly the kind of paranoia I'm paying for."

Cam settled back into his seat, but something had changed. The easy conversation was gone, replaced by the awareness that they were here because people wanted Nico dead. That even in this secure apartment, surrounded by cameras and sensors, danger was always just a motion detector away.

"You ever get tired of it?" Nico asked. "Always watching, always waiting for the next threat? Never letting yourself just... exist?"

"You ever get tired of breathing?"

"That's not an answer."

Cam was quiet for a moment, rolling the whiskey glass between his palms. "Yeah. Sometimes. But then I remember what happens when I don't watch carefully enough."

"What happens?"

"Good people die." Cam's eyes met his. "Rodriguez, Martinez, Johnson—my whole squad. Good men with families, with futures. And I have to live with knowing I could have prevented it."

"How?"

"If I'd been faster. If I'd spotted the IED. If I'd made different calls." Cam's voice was matter-of-fact, but Nico could hear the pain underneath. "Three years of asking 'what if' and never getting an answer."

Nico felt recognition twist in his chest. "That's why you can't sleep."

"Part of it. The other part is..." Cam gestured toward the window, the sensors, the careful security he'd built around them. "In my world, letting your guard down gets people killed. And I can't—I won't let that happen to you."

"What about letting your guard down with me?"

The question hung in the air between them, loaded with implications neither man was quite ready to face. Cam's eyes searched his face, looking for something—permission, maybe, or absolution.

"What if I told you I haven't slept well since the first attempt on my life?" Nico said quietly. "What if I told you that every sound in the night makes me reach for a gun? That I lie awake wondering if this is the night they finally get lucky?"

"I'd say that's normal. That's survival."

"What if I told you that the only time I feel safe is when you're in the room? That you watching over me is the only reason I can close my eyes at all?"

Cam's breathing changed, his control visibly fraying. "That's dangerous thinking."

"Why? Because it's unprofessional? Because it complicates things?" Nico moved closer, close enough that their knees brushed on the couch. "Or because you feel it too?"

Nico laughed despite himself—a short, sharp sound that held more exhaustion than humor. "Fair point."

The motion sensor chimed again, and this time Cam's response was immediate. No hesitation, no explanation, just fluid movement from relaxed to combat-ready in the space of a heartbeat.

"Same location?" Nico asked.

"Different. East side, near the parking garage." Cam's eyes never left his phone screen. "Two figures, moving with purpose."

"Homeless guys don't move with purpose."

"No. They don't." Cam was already reaching for his radio. "Charlie Team, I need eyes on the east parking structure. Two unknowns, approach from street level."

The response came immediately. "Copy that. Moving to intercept."

Nico found himself moving closer to Cam without thinking about it, drawn by the man's calm competence in the face of potential danger. Close enough to smell his aftershave, to see the concentration lines around his eyes as he tracked the threat.

"Charlie Team to Base. False alarm. Couple making out against the wall. They're moving along."

Cam's shoulders relaxed fractionally. "Copy. Maintain perimeter watch."

"Well," Nico said when the radio went quiet. "That was exciting."

"That was Tuesday night in a safe house. Welcome to my world."

They were standing closer than the job required, close enough that Nico could see the intensity in Cam's dark eyes, could count the small scars that marked his hands. Close enough to notice the way Cam's breathing had changed, the way his gaze seemed to catalog every detail of Nico's face.

Work boundaries. That's what they were supposed to maintain. Clear lines that shouldn't be crossed.

But the line between them felt thin in the lamplight, sharing whiskey and the constant awareness of danger. When the man protecting your life was looking at you like you were more than just another client.

"We should—" Cam started.

"Yeah," Nico agreed, not moving away. "We should."

Neither of them moved.

The moment stretched between them, full of possibilities and complications that neither man was quite ready to acknowledge. Full of attraction that had nothing to do with protection details and everything to do with the way Cam's mouth looked in the lamplight.

Cam stepped back first, clearing his throat. "I should do another perimeter check."

"Right. Good idea."

As Cam moved away, checking locks and sensors with renewed focus, Nico remained by the couch, nursing his whiskey and trying to ignore the way his pulse had quickened.

Trying to ignore the fact that for a moment there, he'd wanted to close the distance between them and find out what it would feel like to kiss Camden Rios.

Work boundaries.

Right.

This was going to be more complicated than either of them had anticipated.