Page 15 of Memories of the Dark

“Nico Trevellyan, excuse me for the total lack of manners. Happy to meet you, and I mean it. My car is parked over there. The keys are in the jacket’s left pocket.”

“Here we go.” Spyros installed the teen in the backseat of the car as comfortable as he could, wrapping him in his leather jacket, then got behind the wheel. “Let’s take you to a hospital to have you checked. Don’t you have any parents or relatives to call and tell what happened?”

“My phone broke from the impact. It was in the back pocket of the jeans, and I don’t know their numbers by heart. And anyway, calling Granddad or Uncle Ardan would be a very bad idea. They would raise hell trying to get that poor bastard; he doesn’t know who he’s messing with. I have a better idea. Can you please turn around and take me to them? Alasdair will have me checked at the clinic.” Nico shifted uncomfortably, grimacing again.

“Alright, kid, to your uncle and granddad we go. They sound like two very protective, loving gentlemen. I need the address, or at least some directions if you please.” Spyros was slightly worried by the kid’s lack of reaction and disorientation but chose not to show it, grinning instead. “You don’t seem the talkative type, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Other boys your age talk your ears off.”

“Well, it runs in the family. All of us are on the quiet side, but it doesn’t mean we don’t express our feelings. Granddad and Uncle Ardan communicate without words. It’s like they can read each other’s minds. Just keep driving, I’ll tell you when to change the course. This route isn’t marked on any GPS as far as I know.”

Spyros nodded, focusing on the road. From time to time, however, he peeked into the rear view mirror, examining the kid curled in the backseat. He was probably in pain but made efforts not to show it, and the man started to wonder if that behaviour was natural or induced. Judging by his clothes and the fact that he owned a quite expensive car, the teenager most likely had a good, happy life, surrounded by the love of his family.

However, in the three years he spent working as an undercover agent, infiltrated in that goddamn child trafficking ring, Spyros learned that the victims of the most horrific abuse often hid their pain under wide, bright smiles. Those pale Asian boys, the “exotic merchandise,” as the soulless bastards who sold their bodies and crushed their souls called them, always looked happy and careless, just like the blond boy.

The kid didn’t mention anything about his mother or father, another thing that made Spyros suspect something wasn’t quite right with his family life. But then again, his own father was an useless drunkard who knew nothing else than spending his wife’s hard earned money on booze and cheap whores, leaving almost nothing for her and their son.

The boy’s voice giving Spyros directions was the only sound from time to time breaking the comfortable silence in the car. Thinking back to the moment when he and the kid exchanged the first words, the man laughed inwardly at his worries from earlier. Surrounded by his entourage, the blond was most likely a chatterbox, and suddenly he wished he could witness the teen in his natural habitat.

“Here we are. This is The Base, the most amazing place on Earth! Don’t mind the big guys guarding the gates. They’ll let you in right away, everyone knows my car.” Nico’s voice became suddenly very lively, almost happy.

“What on Earth did you forget again, kiddo? And why is this guy driving, and you laying on the backseat?” Lothier cast a worried look through the window, concern pouring from his voice.

“Some psycho driving a black SUV wanted to run over me, but Spyros here saved my small ass from going flat.” Nico directed a weak smile to the chief of the guards, who was already on the phone with Ardan.

“Whoever the goddamn bastard was, he ran intentionally into the kid. I was there. I saw the evilness in those cold, beady eyes, mixed with frustration and anger.

“Nico, child, are you alright?” Fabian came running, his features altered by worry, and hurriedly opened the car’s door. “Where are you hurting? Did you get to see that scum’s face?”

“Stop worrying, everyone. I’m fine, although I don’t know if I could have made it without Spyros’s help. He is the hero of the day, and yet, nobody has thanked him.” Nico cast an affectionate look in his rescuer’s direction while Ardan got into the car, overwhelmed by emotion, softly hugging him, a tear running down his cheek.

“My name is Fabian Bloom, and I’m this boy’s grandfather. Your act of kindness will never be forgotten, good sir.” Taking Spyros’s hand, he gave it a warm, energetic shake. ”Ask anything from me, and it shall be given to you.”

“Keep the kid safe. Don’t let anyone dim the light in his eyes, it’s all I want.” Getting out of the car, the man headed to the gates.

CHAPTER 13

“Is this the scum?” Seamus MacAtee spat the words and cast a contempt-filled look in the direction of the man three of his helpers were escorting inside. “Disgusting, filthy heap of shit. Did you think you would escape my wrath? Did you think you can lay your paws on him and get away with it?” He turned to the henchmen, speaking in a much calmer voice. “Where did you find the bastard?”

“He was still at that ratty motel and laughed in our face when we told him who we were and why we had come for him. The bloody bastard put up quite a fight. I didn’t think he had it in him.” Flint, MacAtee’s younger brother, kicked the prisoner in the shin. “What do you want us to do? Should I go and get the basement ready?”

“Not yet, I want to spend some quality time with our guest. I think I’ll rearrange his pretty face a bit... or a lot. Just tie him up on a chair and leave us alone but stay close. I may need you sooner than you think. Thank you, boys, you’ll be rewarded for the extra work.” A friendly smile brightened MacAtee’s face as the henchmen followed his orders.

“Twisted-minded fuck, son of a bitch, do you know who I am? Release me right now, and maybe I’ll let you live and serve me with your holes.” The prisoner, none other than Greenwood, swept his gaze over his captor, obscenely licking his lips. “I bet your ass is untouched. It will be a pleasure to bury myself inside it and...”

“Shut the fuck up, you sleazy worm!” MacAtee cut the captive short, backhanding him hard. “How could you harm so bad a man you were supposed to love and protect? A man so perfect in every way with such beautiful eyes? How, you slimy, lecherous, disgusting creature of hell?” The second backhand came with such a force, it slammed the chair down to the floor.

“Are you talking about using that little whiner as a punching bag or about the other things I did to him? Because I don’t know what I enjoyed more.” Greenwood spat a mouthful of saliva mixed with blood, shooting daggers at his captor. “Anyway, why do you care? That pathetic, worthless little shit is dead by now, and he was no one to you, so I don’t see the point of this cheap drama.”

“You killed the man I was going to marry! My dearly, beloved husband-to-be! You damaged his body, broke his spirit and took his life!” MacAtee plopped down on the other chair in the room, taking his head in his hands and inhaling sharply. “Give me a very good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now, like the rabid dog you are.”

Without waiting for Greenwood’s answer, the drug lord started to kick him, tied on the chair as he was. Imagining Fergus Trevellyan’s beautiful face bruised and bloodied at the hands on the man lying on the concrete floor, Seamus MacAtee balled his hands into fists, kicking quicker and harder until Greenwood’s screams of pain turned into quick, shallow pants.

The sickening noise of ribs cracking gave an evil satisfaction to the drug dealer, who stopped only when he got tired. Plopping down on the chair again, he tilted his head backwards, starting to build another strategy, his initial plans blown into the wind by Fergus’s death. The alliance with Ardan, Fergus’s twin, wasn’t possible anymore, so MacAtee had to think about another way of getting Fernando-fucking-Cortez off his back.

The bloody snake threatened him more than he ever had, making him think of a way to cover his traces earlier than anticipated. The initial plan was brilliant in its simplicity: he built himself the reputation of a cold, unforgiving bastard and used those bikers’ thirst for justice to his own advantage as they unknowingly helped him to eliminate small-time competitors.

With only the two of them left to dominate the New York City’s drug market, MacAtee would have delivered the final blow to Cortez’s business, by providing the bikers information that would have allowed them to attack the dealers working for the Colombian, replacing the cocaine with the inoffensive powder they produced. This way, Cortez’s reputation would have been destroyed forever, and the bastard, who ruined so many lives and families, would have ended up behind bars where he belonged.

Seamus MacAtee let out a long, heavy sigh, thinking about the time when he, too, would have to pay for everything people thought he’d done over the past ten years. However, when he entered the dangerous game, the drug lord was aware of the consequences and was ready to assume them, going down by himself. None of those who helped him and knew the truth should suffer, MacAtee made sure of it.

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