Salt Kiss – Episode 05
Tristan slowed outside Mark’s office as an unfamiliar voice carried through the door. “Heard you’ve got stacks of cash in the club’s vault.” The threat was crude but unmistakable. “Give me the keys, or I’m gonna bust your fucking kneecaps.”
Every doubt about returning fell silent beneath Tristan’s training. He positioned himself beside the doorway and listened, counting voices and tracking movement by sound. At least three men were inside with Mark. Their attention was fixed on the money, which gave Tristan the advantage of surprise if he used it correctly.
“Then you must have also heard I’m not the one to fuck with,” Mark replied. His composure sounded unchanged from the interview, though he no longer controlled the room. Tristan pictured him facing armed intruders with the same infuriating calm he had shown before a loaded gun.
One of the men repeated the demand for the keys. After a pause, Mark appeared to yield. “Okay. I’ll give you the keys.” The answer made Tristan hesitate. It might be surrender, or it might be the setup for something reckless.
“Over my dead body,” Mark added. A scuffle erupted immediately—furniture scraping, bodies colliding, someone cursing in pain. Tristan exhaled through his teeth. Mark had skill, but confidence was not armor, and numbers would overwhelm him eventually.
“Fine by us,” a thug snarled. “Get him.”
Tristan entered fast. He struck the nearest attacker before the man could turn, redirected another into the desk, and planted himself between Mark and the remaining threat. Combat narrowed the world into angles, balance, and timing. Here, unlike inside his memories, he knew exactly what to do.
“Where is he?” Tristan demanded, scanning for Mark even as he controlled the room. “Mr. Trevena?” Protecting the principal came first. Pride, offense, and the earlier misunderstanding could wait until danger had passed.
Mark was still standing, though one assailant had nearly reached him. Tristan drove the man back and shifted into a defensive position. “Back the fuck up.” The command carried the authority of years spent making split-second decisions under pressure.
“Who the hell are you?” one of the men asked. His bravado had begun to crack now that the target was no longer alone. Tristan registered the man’s stance, reach, and likely next move without taking his eyes off him.
“I’m his bodyguard.” The declaration came before Tristan remembered that Mark had never actually hired him. It did not matter. For this moment, the role fit him more naturally than anything had since he returned from war.
The attacker barked a disbelieving laugh. “Bodyguard? You’re just another one of his cocksuckers playing dress-up.” The insult was intended to provoke shame, but Tristan had no attention to spare for it. He advanced, ready to finish the fight.
“Stand down, soldier.” Mark’s voice cut through the adrenaline. Tristan obeyed before he could stop himself, muscles remaining tense as he glanced back. Mark stood upright, controlled and watchful, once again issuing orders as if obedience were his natural due.
“That’s enough,” Mark said. He addressed the intruders with icy certainty. “Get out of here.” The men recognized the balance had shifted. One hauled another upright, and they retreated with threats abandoned in favor of speed.
Tristan watched until the last of them disappeared, then checked the doors and the room for a second wave. Only when he was satisfied did he lower his guard. The violent clarity drained away, leaving him in Mark’s office for the second time that day.
Mark adjusted his clothing and regarded him with open interest. There was no mockery in his expression now. Tristan had demonstrated exactly what the position required: he could fight, assess danger, and put his employer’s safety before personal conflict.
“So,” Mark said, drawing out the word as his gaze travelled over Tristan’s squared stance, “I see you’ve changed your mind about working for me.”
Tristan could have corrected him. He could have admitted that fear of returning to war had driven him back. Instead, he held Mark’s gaze and accepted the truth beneath the provocation: when danger came, Tristan had already chosen his side. Now he only had to learn the price Mark would demand for letting him stay.