Chapter Text
Vinicius had been thoughtful ever since he came back home after lunch. He knew Rodrygo noticed, and he didn't care. He was sitting in his favorite living room seat, the coffee having gone cold half an hour ago. The cup remained in front of his eyes, being observed as if he might find answers to his thoughts at the bottom—something that, to be honest, wasn't going to happen.
The lawyer arrived at four, punctual and formal as usual. He was surprised to be received in the living room instead of the office, but Vinicius didn't hear his words. He left the man talking to the painting of the first Los Blancos' boss above the chimney. Vinicius supposed Rodrygo had caught his indifference, because it had been a while since his voice had buzzed in his ears.
"Where's Jude? Haven't seen him for a while, and he doesn't usually separate from you at all," Rodrygo commented, bringing him back to reality.
It was almost ironic that this question was the one that pulled him out of his thoughts and forced him to suddenly raise his gaze to the man on the other side of the room. The chauffeur's beret in his right pocket reminded him.
"No fucking idea," he shrugged, indifferent.
"You've already fired the guy?" Rodrygo raised his eyebrows, surprised. "I thought you were getting used to him."
"I technically didn't fire him," he snorted.
"And what did you do, technically?"
Vinicius rolled his eyes, running his hands over his head at Rodrygo's clearly amused tone.
"I made him get out of the car," he answered with no intention of continuing the topic.
The lawyer frowned, shaking his head and making a strange face with his lips that gave Vinicius a sour feeling in his mouth. He hated that bastard making those kinds of expressions; it easily demonstrated he didn't agree with him, and his attitude exasperated Vinicius.
"I hope Jude comes home soon," Rodrygo added with a worried tone.
"Who the hell cares," Vinicius grumbled, annoyed. "Don't you have anything better to do, Rodrygo?"
The drug lord got up from his seat, irritated, and left his lawyer there, looking at him—not overwhelmed by his recent anger, not even surprised. Vinicius kept going until he was out of the living room and went upstairs to his bedroom. His head was about to explode, and there was a swirl inside him that was fucking him up on so many levels. What angered him most was that even though he had gotten rid of the bodyguard, he was still thinking about the man.
And god, Vinicius didn't even feel good about dumping him in a ditch, despite having an almost acceptable excuse to end that challenge he'd gotten himself into without even asking. Deep down, he was mulling over Jude's words, and it bothered him because that meant he was considering that he might not be right.
He slammed his bedroom door, threw off his jacket, tie, and shoes, and flopped onto the bed with a sigh. He took Jude's beret out of his pocket and, after staring at it for a while, threw it against the wall in front of him with anger and disdain. He remembered exactly how good it felt seeing the man so angry and annoyed, so different from how he had seemed during those days—serene, firm, and unbreakable.
To Vinicius, it was a triumph that Jude exploded. He had finally released the repressed emotions he felt towards him because of his attitude. Nevertheless, it fucked him up that he wasn't capable of scaring Jude when he crossed the line, and his words were really pissing him off.
He didn't want to admit it—it was difficult for him to do so—but part of him knew Jude was right when he said he couldn't do his job properly if Vinicius didn't trust him. And yes he knew he hadn't been fair to the man. He knew he'd been making it hard, and that if the communication between them had been better, the fat fuck wouldn't have ended up on the floor today.
But Vinicius had been distrustful ever since he was a kid, and it was difficult for him to accept new people around him, let alone trust them. He didn't let anyone get near him, and he didn't let others know him. It scared him that people might learn details of his life and personality. It was scary for him to see someone else protecting him because it meant that he was depending on other people, that he wasn’t in control.
Although, thinking about it, he didn't know why he was so pissed off. He didn't know if he was more bothered by Jude challenging him or by the surprise of finding out there was a personal motive as to why he was being a bastard during his trial. Because at the end of the day, he knew he would've been pissed to have any bodyguard, but it pissed him off even more that this one was Jude.
Maybe that's why there was something in the pit of his stomach squeezing tight, something he hadn't felt in so long.
"Tell me you didn't dump his body in the river," David walked into his room without bothering to knock.
"If I wanted to get rid of a body, I wouldn't dump it there."
"Unless you want it to be found," his friend snorted ironically. "So, where is he?"
Vinicius sat up, his back leaning against the wooden headrest, and looked at the man with clear annoyance and dissatisfaction. He didn't need to ask to know what David was referring to, and from his attitude, he could see David didn't want to play the same tug-of-war as always.
"I don't know."
"How can you not know, Vinicius? How stupid can you be? I hired him to be with you, not for you to dump him anywhere."
"Who says I dumped him?" he challenged, raising his chin.
"You idiot. You feel guilty about something you've done, and I know Jude wouldn't just walk away," he answered, crossing his arms. "Have you fired him?"
"I left him on the road, okay? Don't piss me off anymore. And I don't feel guilty about anything," he refuted, getting irritated.
David rolled his eyes and didn't say anything for a few seconds. Vinicius never thought for a second that the man was letting him off easy. He was just taking a breather, thinking of just the right words to fuck him up in every right spot—and the bastard was extremely good at that. That's why he loathed David a little, because it reminded him that David knew him, that he could get rid of everything he cherished in a moment, but here he was being his friend.
"You've got his hat, though," he said, glancing at the beret on the floor. "You better than anyone know how it is to want to be acknowledged as an equal, and that's what Jude has been trying to show you all week."
"It's not," he mumbled.
"Because you don't want it to be," he said in an accusing tone. "Tell me, what is it about Jude that's so bad it makes you such an asshole to him?"
"You want him to be my bodyguard for one."
He was kind of lying, and David could smell it—and again, he hated him for it.
"I'm not stupid, Vinicius," he shook his finger in front of his eyes. "You have something against the brat."
He didn’t like that his friend was calling Jude a brat—which was hypocritical because he called him that himself, but strangely, it was something he wanted to himself, and it irked him that someone else used that nickname for the guy. Vinicius discovered he hated feeling that way about Jude almost as much as he hated David for knowing him so well.
"Think whatever you want."
David walked around the room, grazing old figurines left by the old man. He then stopped again, sighing. He looked over at Vinicius and smiled in that way that irritated him.
"Since when do you want to fuck him? Ever since you met him, or ever since you basically came in your pants when I told you he would be your bodyguard?"
"What? I didn't do that , and I definitely don't want to fuck the brat," he frowned, offended, tensing up on his bed and straightening his posture.
"I’m soooo sure." he lengthened the vowels, his disbelief blatant.
Vinicius rubbed his temples, frustrated and annoyed. David was smiling like an idiot, he was sick of feeling that pressure in the pit of his stomach and of this dickhead coming to scold him as if he needed his opinion. The drug lord acted on instinct and threw a pocket knife he kept under his pillow at David, hoping to erase that cynical smile off his face. Nevertheless, David caught the weapon with a fluid movement, and his expression remained the same.
"I'd be willing to bet my right hand Jude likes you too, you know?" the man said with humor, playing with the pocket knife in his hands. "You could always seduce him... but that's not your style, right?" he mocked again.
"Never bet on anyone or bite the hand that feeds you. Didn't you learn that, David? Or did you forget how our old friend lost his fingers?" David made a disgusted face, and Vinicius knew he had touched a sensitive topic for his friend, but he didn't care.
"Cynical bastard," he insulted him with a petty mumble. "Whatever. Jude has two days left to complete the week, and I think he works at the Bernabéu tonight, so I'll go settle in my room," he pretended to yawn and did an exaggerated stretch. "If you're going out, let me know," he winked and walked towards the door.
Vinicius sighed, tired, sitting on the edge of the bed and cursed the bastard in silence. Even so, David apparently hadn't finished. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob, with that look of I'm-about-to-fuck-you-some-more written all over his face.
"It's hard to protect the ass of someone who doesn't trust you, Vinicius. Try not to be such an asshole to the guy."
He showed him his middle finger, but David didn't stay to see it. The only answer he received was the door closing again to give him privacy. He wanted to curse, many times and loudly. The sensation in his stomach grew, and Vinicius looked at the chauffeur's beret with anger and got up from the bed.
He was going out.
The shower calmed his bad mood. It didn't get rid of his frown, but at least the desire to shoot someone lessened. He had the service bring something light up for dinner before they went to rest, and he stayed in his room for the remainder of the afternoon, waiting for night to come so he could go out.
But Vinicius was impatient, so he left earlier than usual to visit a club like the Bernabéu. He did dress up for the occasion, but he didn't want to stand out more than necessary with a formal expensive suit that would only scream "mobster" everywhere. Dressing all in black with some leather had its charm, and Vinicius liked how those pants and the leather jacket fit him, even if they gave him a younger look and made people forget he was a mafia boss.
He didn't let David know when he left—he could stick all his rules up his ass, if they fit—and Vinicius didn't want a witness to how he went to the Bernabéu to find Jude. It had already cost him to accept his part of the blame in that discussion; he wasn't going to thank David too for being an annoying bastard. Plus, it might work to show he didn't need fucking reinforcement to protect himself.
He left his room at nine and walked down the hallway in the opposite direction from the staircases because he wanted to go through another door to avoid running into David. No matter how idiotic it made him feel to avoid his friend he'd had enough of the man for one day.
On his way, he went inside one of the main rooms, the one that belonged to Karim. Vinicius made sure not to look around, not focusing on the details that he knew remained just how the man had left them before he betrayed him. He opened the balcony's sliding door that faced a small basketball court and the house's garage. Vinicius jumped to the platform that worked as an awning and went down the wooden stairs until he reached the ground. After that, all he had to do was open the garage door with the remote and choose his black jeep.
He didn't care if David heard the engine on his way to the entrance, where Éder said goodbye to him with a formal greeting. It was already done, and he knew the man would find out about his escape; he just hoped he was smart enough not to follow him and ruin his mood even more.
Driving around Madrid at night was relaxing for Vinicius. He took a long detour to reach the Bernabéu, intending to allow more time for the club to fill up so his presence would go unnoticed. And so what if he was influenced by the fact that he hated admitting that he was wrong and that he didn’t have a single clue as to what he was going to tell Jude.
He stopped the jeep near the club's front sidewalk, a few meters away as to not draw attention. He turned off the engine and lights and stared at the entrance of the Bernabéu with hawk eyes. The line of girls with skirts and high heels wasn't long, but it was noticeable, and Vinicius found Jude the moment he walked out the door to help his colleague.
It was almost pathetic how he stayed in the car for more than an hour, just observing them, registering suspicious subjects. Vinicius, much to his chagrin, didn't know what the hell he was still doing there or what he was supposed to do. At least it was clear to him that Jude had good instinct as a security guard when he didn't let in an idiot who probably had drugs that weren't Antonio's.
Vinicius was getting tired of staring to be honest. He had to stop being an idiot sitting in a jeep watching his bodyguard. It was absurd—that man was his subordinate, a brat. He was the fucking boss of a criminal organization. What was he waiting for?
When he finally came to that conclusion, Jude touched his earpiece, gave a signal to his colleague, and walked inside the Bernabéu with worry on his face. Vinicius left the jeep then, hurried to the door, ignoring the line of people who hissed at his audacity, and focused on the other guard. The man recognized him instantly, removing the red rope for him. Luckily, all of Antonio's employees knew who Vinicius Júnior was, and they weren't stupid enough to deny him entry. They had learned their lesson fast when one day one of the new bouncers ended up with a broken wrist and hurt pride.
The heat and crowded environment hit him immediately when he walked through the door, intensifying as he moved down the hallway with its silver carpet until he reached the true center of the club. Once past the smokescreen, the crowd of people overwhelmed him, and he was unable to distinguish faces because of the blue pulsating lights. He walked around the dance floor to find the bar, where the agitating lights didn't reach and the illumination was steady.
He leaned against the wood, looking around the club, but he wasn't able to see Jude anywhere. So, he tried his plan B. Vinicius walked towards Antonio's office with a get-out-of-my-fucking-way look and entered without knocking, earning a growl from the Bernabéu's owner.
"You're almost as exasperating as David, but at least you dress better," Antonio greeted him.
"Was it necessary to talk about my clothes?" He approached the desk, walking around it and looking at the screens right behind the man. His setup was no joke.
"It is when David comes in with his horrible shirts and harasses my employees," the other snorted, turning around in his chair. "Looking for something or someone?"
"Jude," he said simply, not looking at the man.
Antonio pointed to a single screen, the one at the top left, and then Vinicius recognized Jude's back in the live video.
"I called him to help his colleague kick out three idiots who were doing too much with a girl. Every Friday, some asshole who can't drink nor flirt always shows up and ruins the environment of the club," he explained in a neutral tone. "Is it going well with him?"
Vinicius didn't answer. He was still staring at the scene developing in front of the camera. Jude hit one of the guys—a clean, well-executed right hook—at the same time he turned around and blocked another one before he could fall on his workmate, who was busy with the third imbecile.
"He has instinct. The guys trust him, and I've lost a good guard for the rest of the nights," he felt like he was being reprimanded, so he looked away from the screen. Jude already had the other bastard down. "David has a good eye for that."
"Are you trying to say something, Rüdiger?"
"I don't understand the urgent need to have extra security. You've never needed it," he shrugged. "Or maybe something is happening and you're not telling us."
"You're not a Blanco, and I don't have to give you any explanation," he straightened up, taking a glance at the screen from the corner of his eye again, making sure the two guards were kicking the three idiots out. "Jude is my bodyguard. Fuck you if you don't like it, or hire another guy to replace him."
"We're associates. I deserve to know if you're in a compromised situation and if I could find myself involved too," Antonio frowned.
"This has nothing to do with your business, Rüdiger, and I didn't come here to talk to you either," he said with a cold tone.
"Sure, you came here to steal my guard on the only day he works here," he replied venomously, lowering his voice.
Vinicius smiled cynically and turned around to leave through the same door he'd used to enter without saying anything else. Antonio didn't stop him either, and Vinicius wasn't interested in what he had to say about Jude. Fuck, he had claimed the man again, and he was the same one who had dumped him in a ditch that same day because he didn't want a bodyguard. What the hell was he doing? He wasn't sure, but Antonio's intention of keeping Jude at his shitty club had bothered him.
Not thinking about it anymore, Vinicius walked across the dance floor dodging bodies, knowing exactly which entrance Jude had used to go out and confront those guys. In fact, he had seen him greeting his colleague with a fist bump before making his way through the dance floor, and Vinicius had to quicken his pace to catch up with him.
Jude's face showed pure surprise when Vinicius grabbed his forearm, and he instinctively lifted his elbow to block any possible move against him. Truth be told, he wasn't wrong to think the man would react automatically by raising his fist—it was something Vinicius himself would do.
"Vinicius," he said, or at least Vinicius thought he did; the music was deafening and Jude's naturally low voice was hard to hear. "What are you doing here?"
"We need to talk," Vinicius replied, raising his voice and releasing his hold on the man.
"Didn't you make everything clear this afternoon?" Jude snorted, exasperated, crossing his arms.
Vinicius rolled his eyes.
"I hate this shitty music, Jude. Can you play the offended role somewhere I can at least understand the stupid things you're saying?" he said sarcastically, smiling at him like the bastard he could be.
He saw Jude's exasperation instantly, and something inside him felt satisfied, a weird part of him genuinely enjoyed getting under the serene man's skin. The taller man didn't resist or snap back; he just shook his head, gesturing for Vinicius to follow him. For once, Vinicius followed as Jude led him to a corner of the Bernabéu bar where the speakers weren't as loud, allowing the bartenders to hear drink orders. Vinicius couldn't help but notice that Jude had chosen a spot with a dead angle to the security cameras, perhaps sensing Vinicius wanted privacy or maybe because he knew Antonio was nosy as hell.
"What do you want? If you came here to fire me, you could've saved yourself the trip."
Clearly he was still mad.
"Just zip it. I'm not going to fire you. You're on probation until Monday."
That seemed to surprise him, and he raised an eyebrow.
"You dumped me on the road."
"And did something happen to you? Are you not an adult, or do you still need help wiping your ass, Jude?" Vinicius provoked him, this time enjoying his anger.
"Did you want to talk to me or mock me?" Jude ran his hand over his head. "Fuck you, Vinicius. I'm not continuing with this bullshit."
That made Vinicius react, pulling the man's arm forcefully to stop him. His cynical, satisfied smile was long gone, now replaced by a frown. Nobody left Los Blancos' boss with words hanging in his mouth or turned their back on him.
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"What I'm saying is that I'm not going to keep trying to protect someone who clearly doesn't want me to."
Jude didn't make any harsh movement to free himself from Vinicius's grip, though Vinicius noticed the man could easily pull his arm away and escape—he wasn't stupid enough to miss something so obvious, and the guy was strong. Nevertheless, the tall man remained there, firm and standing straight at his full height, and it annoyed Vinicius that he wasn't even a few centimeters taller so he wouldn't have to raise his head to meet Jude's eyes. Tension crackled between them like an electric current as they stared at each other, sizing each other up, wondering who would make the next move. Vinicius was the one to part his lips, ready to speak, and he licked them. He was acutely aware of how Jude's gaze dropped to follow his tongue across his lips, and yeah, fuck, he liked that.
"Are you afraid, Jude? Are you going to back down now?" His tone was more seductive than intended—lower and raspier—and even though he didn't know why the fuck he did it, he enjoyed Jude's mortified expression.
"There it is again," Jude mumbled, closing his eyes for a second. "This is a game for you. I'm just a kid trying to fill a job that's too big for me. Is that not what you think, Vinicius?"
Vinicius didn't realize who moved closer first, whether it was him or Jude, but suddenly their bodies were almost touching, their mouths only centimeters apart, and the infernal heat of the Bernabéu was burning him. He refused to believe it was Jude burning him.
"And what if I do? Respect and trust are earned, Jude."
"It's hypocritical of you to say that when you haven't even bothered to get to know me. During this time, all you've done is call me a brat and act like an imbecile," he complained in a low voice.
Fucking sexy.
Vinicius cursed himself internally for that treacherous thought, for feeling attracted to the man and for having given in to the feeling of guilt.
"You are a brat."
"I can't do this job," Jude added with a bold stare, his jaw tight.
Despite his words, he didn't move away.
"Why are you so fucking mad?" Vinicius frowned, annoyed. "I didn't leave you in the middle of the ocean or desert, Jude."
"It's not just about that."
"Then what is it?" he asked, challenging him.
"You don't respect me. You think that because you're a few years older than me, I can't look you in the eyes and be treated as your equal."
"No, I think that if you want me to treat you like an equal and acknowledge your abilities, you first have to prove yourself to me," he replied with a strong voice.
"I can't do that if you don't let me."
Touché, David would say, and yes, Vinicius might have realized what Jude was trying to tell him, but it was still hard to accept the blame.
"You're the one who's quitting like a coward."
Jude clenched his jaw, his features darkening and his eyes intensifying. The serene facade he always maintained was slowly crumbling, and Vinicius thought he was finally starting to see part of the man's severe personality.
"I'm not a fucking coward." There was sharp danger in his denial, and his mouth—his fucking mouth—was so close.
"Maybe so, but you're running away from me," Vinicius told him with a winning smile.
The tall man hissed, his warm breath landing on Vinicius's lips. Vinicius saw the man's consternation, his frustration at being torn between his pride, the challenge, and what he thought he should do. Shit, even Vinicius felt that way, though he wasn't showing it. When he'd left his house that night, he hadn't imagined he'd end up so close to Jude, provoking him to be his bodyguard again. Hell, he hadn't even anticipated how much it would piss him off to have the younger man step back and walk away.
"Because you only trust yourself, not me," Jude said, each word falling heavily. Vinicius realized Jude was staring at his lips instead of his eyes, and he didn't want to admit it, but he liked that.
"You're wrong. It's not even safe to trust me," Vinicius whispered softly, taking a step forward and letting the words sink into Jude.
It might have been the moment, the tension between them, or his fucking desire to win this game he hadn't known had started, but Vinicius gave in to the impulse urging him to kiss Jude and end this staring contest, especially when he saw Jude open his mouth to say no again. Fuck.
And Vinicius did. His hand shot up to the back of Jude's neck forcefully, pulling the tall man until their mouths crashed together, all teeth and flesh colliding. He moved his lips against Jude's possessively and demandingly, urging the man to respond, because shit, he wasn't doing it, and that frustrated him. He couldn't help but smile against Jude's lips when the man finally began participating in the kiss and placed his hands on Vinicius's hips, drawing him closer.
The intensity of the kiss increased when Vinicius traced the tall man's bottom lip with his tongue, giving him a heated stare. He could see in Jude's eyes that he liked it too. In fact, Jude traded tongues with him, deepening the kiss, and bit Vinicius's tongue slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to challenge him for trying to control something Vinicius had started.
Maybe that gesture was why Vinicius pushed him back, intending to pin him against the wall. Jude's moan was muffled against his mouth as he parted his lips wider and changed the angle of the kiss, surrendering to Vinicius's dominance as his back hit the hard wall. Vinicius felt long fingers digging into his waist forcefully, caring little or nothing about gentleness—even appreciating the roughness—and the nonexistent distance between their bodies allowed him to get drunk on Jude's intoxicating scent.
Fuck, it had been a while since Vinicius had kissed anyone like that, since he'd wanted to shut someone up and devour their lips the way he was doing with Jude Bellingham. Nowadays, when he fucked, he didn't even consider kissing the other person, and now he was remembering what it was like to have a lover who turned him on so much. That very thought was what made him stop himself.
Vinicius broke away abruptly, panting and hot. Jude's eyelids lifted instantly, and no matter how much it bothered him, Vinicius felt satisfied seeing the man's red, swollen lips and his pout at the sudden separation. And although it pissed him off to stop too, Vinicius needed to regain control of his body and mind.
"I haven't changed my mind," Jude said, his voice raspier and lower, and Vinicius cursed him for that.
"I kissed you so you'd shut the fuck up," Vinicius corrected him. "It worked pretty well until you started saying stupid things again."
"You still don't understand."
"No, it's you who doesn't understand," he said angrily, stepping back to think clearly. "It annoys you that I treat you like a kid, but you're running away like one just because things haven't gone the way you wanted."
"And this is coming from the man who refuses to have a bodyguard because he thinks his ability to defend himself is being questioned?" Jude raised an eyebrow sarcastically.
Vinicius felt exposed then. Something in his head went boom, and fuck, Jude had hit the nail right on the head with every fucking word, and Vinicius didn't want to admit that he was right. Because that's what it was about. Vinicius had always had difficulties gaining respect within Los Blancos because of his age.
"Fuck you."
He was angry and behaving irrationally. He wasn't used to a subordinate challenging him, telling him the truth to his face, and not trembling in his presence. Nor making him fucking horny and losing his head. Jude had never done any of those things, and Vinicius had definitely become turned on after kissing him. Maybe that's why Vinicius was here tonight, but that didn't matter anymore, right? The guy had quit, and Vinicius wasn't going to keep trying to explain something he didn't know how to express.
The only thing he wanted now was to leave the man behind, so he turned around, determined to get the hell out of the Bernabéu. The boss pushed through the crowds rudely, and he vaguely heard Jude cursing, but he didn't care. He didn't turn around when Jude called his name either.
The next thing Vinicius felt was a hit to his side that left him breathless, with flashing lights stunning him when he raised his eyes to look for the attacker. Strangely, there were no further blows, which wasn't how these things usually worked. When he turned around, he understood why.
Jude had the assailant by the neck and was dragging him like a rag doll, pushing him to the floor. Vinicius stared for two seconds at the guy in front of him with his back turned and received another hit when someone else jumped at him. He didn't have time to observe more because apparently the attacker hadn't come alone, and his friends wanted to join the party.
This time, Vinicius didn't stand still. His body automatically reacted to the attack, and he blocked the punch aimed directly at his face. He wasn't bad at hand-to-hand combat; ever since he was young, he'd liked to prove himself, and it was satisfying to kick the asses of bastards who thought he'd be weak because he was shorter. His opponent was the same height as him, with a slightly more robust build, but he was also slower, so it wasn't too complicated to send him straight to the floor with a broken nose.
Just at that moment, as the motherfucker's blood dripped to the ground, Vinicius realized his back was to Jude and that a small circle had formed around them. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the tall man focused on the bastard who was grabbing him by the waist, and he noticed there was another imbecile on his knees, clutching his arm in pain.
Vinicius didn't intervene in Jude's fight; he just observed as the man disposed of his opponent with fluid movements. Jude struck the attacker's back with his elbow, and the robust fucker fell to the floor, almost bouncing. Vinicius could've sworn the noise would've been heard throughout the club if that hellish music hadn't been so loud.
They shared a knowing look the moment Jude realized the fight was over. And fuck, Vinicius licked his lips looking at him, because somehow Jude had saved his ass despite refusing to continue as his bodyguard.
"Jude!" one of the security guards panted when he reached them. "Fuck, I hadn't even seen these assholes." The man laughed carelessly. Vinicius noticed he was older than himself and as tall as Jude. When the guard noticed Vinicius's stare, he looked at him and stiffened after recognizing him. "Júnior. I'm sorry I was too late, sir."
Vinicius snorted, rolling his eyes at the man's tension.
"Instead of apologizing, take these fuckers out and memorize their faces perfectly so they're never let in again."
The man lifted the one who was complaining about his arm, and Jude picked up the heavyset one he had just taken down. Vinicius narrowed his eyes, looking at Jude.
"We're not done yet, Jude."
Jude had the audacity to roll his eyes, but he raised his hand to his in-ear piece and pressed the button to communicate with the other security personnel. His colleague showed up a few minutes later looking like he was in a terrible mood.
"Find out why they went for the boss before you send them home," Jude said softly, giving the order, and the man's eyes gleamed with malice as he nodded.
"Move. We're going to take a trip to the basement," he said, greeting Vinicius with a nod.
The boss didn't stay to watch the fuckers being taken to the deepest parts of the Bernabéu. He turned around with his hands in his pockets and didn't wait for Jude to follow him—he just assumed he would. Because of the commotion, it was easier to move through the dance floor, as people hadn't returned to the center after the fight and were still watching them with a mixture of fascination and horror. He didn't care.
Vinicius felt better when the night breeze hit his face and the darkness opened before him like a sea of blackness and yellow streetlights. There were only a couple of passersby, some very drunk and others on their way to another club. The guard at the door kept quiet when he saw Jude was with him.
He walked toward his jeep and leaned against it to look at Jude. He noticed the man's bruised knuckles and cheek—nothing serious given his line of work. At the Bernabéu, he had barely registered that Jude's black clothing was less formal than what he wore as a bodyguard: regular pants, a plain black shirt, and combat boots. That was it, and he looked so fucking good.
"I thought when you told me to fuck off, our conversation had ended," Jude crossed his arms, kept his legs apart, and straightened his back. Vinicius would have laughed at his posture if he weren't so tired of playing games.
"Let's quit playing, Jude."
"I wasn't playing," he refuted with a serious expression.
"Okay," Vinicius grumbled, clenching his teeth. "Be my bodyguard."
Jude blinked, but he wasn't surprised or confused—he was just staring, not believing him.
"If you don't trust me, I can't protect you."
"You just did it in there," Vinicius objected, clearly annoyed.
"Because I know how to handle those fights, and you were unprepared."
Vinicius wanted to choke him. Why was it so fucking hard to make that brat do as he said? He had his answer, anyway. He had been a bitch, and Jude had his reasons for not wanting to come back and make a fool of himself. Vinicius squeezed his knuckles and clenched his jaw, tired of clinging to his pride when it was obvious that wouldn't work with Jude.
"I'm not used to getting help, okay?" he huffed. "It's cost me to become what I am now. I've earned everyone's respect by force. Nothing was handed to me and it pisses me off to delegate shit that I can do myself."
"It's hard for you to accept that you need help," Jude affirmed quietly.
"That's one way of seeing it," Vinicius growled, unconvinced. "You've never been scared of me and have always looked me straight in the eyes. That bothers me," he added. "And that's why I want you to be my bodyguard."
"Do you know how contradictory that sounds?" Jude nodded with a hint of mockery. "Why now and not this morning?" he asked.
Vinicius shrugged.
"I was testing you. I wanted to know if you were trustworthy."
"You're an asshole," Jude frowned.
Los Blancos' boss smiled smugly.
"I've come all this way. I'm not going to apologize for dumping you somewhere," he made a face, and Vinicius's smile grew wider as he took the chauffeur's beret out of his jacket pocket. "But I am offering you the opportunity for me to trust you."
Jude bit his bottom lip for a moment, long enough for Vinicius to find the gesture sexy, but he couldn't focus on that now, he told himself. And when the tall man cursed in a whisper and ran his hand through his hair, Vinicius was almost certain of his fucking answer.
"I hate that damn thing."
Vinicius threw the hat at him, and Jude caught it in mid-air.