Page 1 of Ride the Whirlwind

CHAPTER 1

“If you ever threaten my family again, if you even breathe in their direction...” Ardan leaned over the desk, grabbing two fistfuls of Godfrey's jacket, his turquoise eyes burning with an all-consuming anger.

“Easy, boy,” the older man spoke in a dismissive, spiteful voice, “or you'll faint again like the weakling you are, or even, gods forbid, have a heart attack. I don't want to be accused by that hysterical brat that you died because of me.”

“These are the last words I'll ever speak to you,” Ardan hissed between clenched teeth, ignoring Godfrey. “I'm not your son anymore, so you should expect the worst from me. If you think of attacking my family once again... You don't know what I'm capable of, mister.”

“You sure have a lot of nerve to come here and threaten me like that.” The older man smiled coldly. “What you are doing right now is called trespassing, mister law abiding citizen, so how about I call the police to have you arrested?”

“Be my fucking guest,” Ardan returned the smile. “We'll see who’s going to jail, the man who tried to kidnap and hurt two innocent, defenseless teen boys, or the father who came to beg you to stay away from them. You have no idea how dirty I can play.” He bared his teeth.

“They won't find anything to use against me and you know that very well.” Godfrey relaxed into the chair, casting a smug in the younger man's direction. “It's going to be my word against the one of two immature, easy-to-influence teenagers,” he finished with an evil grin.

“Maybe,” Ardan replied with a somewhat mischievous tone, “but they will have a lot of fun digging deeper into your life and business, and I, like a law-abiding citizen, am going to help the investigators with whatever I can. I will tear you down. It’s not the first time I’ve done that to my enemies, and it won't be the last. Ask the late Alexander Kane.”

“You...you wouldn't dare,” Godfrey stuttered, suddenly realizing the dimension of the disaster Ardan could unleash upon him with only a few words. “I'm your father. You owe me respect if not affection. What kind of man are you to work against the one who gave you life?” The man recovered his self-control, his voice ironic again.

Ardan shook his head with an amused smile. “Your memory gets worse by the day. You disowned me and my brothers years ago, and today it's time for me to do the same. You are no longer my father. I curse you to die alone, afraid, and in pain.”

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...Ardan stared at the coffin on the edge of the freshly dug grave, unable to believe it contained the earthly remains of the one who was Godfrey MacNamara. The syntagm couldn't be closer to the truth because the man's death was violent, humiliating, and agonizing. Once the killer was done with him, there was almost nothing left of Godfrey.

Cold shivers ran down Ardan's spine as he remembered the last words he spoke to the one who, in spite of his many sins, gave life to him. He cursed Godfrey, something no son should ever do to his father and, being the superstitious Scot he was, feared that the curse would turn against him. Things shouldn't have gone that far, Ardan thought, a lone tear sliding down his pale cheek.

Fabian Bloom, who accompanied his honorary stepson to the funeral, sensed the younger man's inner turmoil and protectively draped an arm around his shoulders. He looks so skinny, pale, and lost wearing black from head to toe, the man thought, his heart breaking for Ardan, who barely got back on track from the living nightmare his archenemy Alexander Kane put him through three months earlier.

The hostility Godfrey's employees showed to the two men, although silent, was heavy, almost tangible. Some of them went as far as accusing Ardan of their boss's death—indirectly, of course, but the innuendo was there. The man's sincere words of regret were met with coldness, indifference, and irony. All the other participants at the funeral avoided him like plague, even Connelly, Godfrey's right hand, who’d always had a good word and warm hug for him.

Fabian discreetly messaged Alasdair, telling him they were about to leave. Soon, the man sighed, relieved, Ardan was going to be in the arms of his loving husband who took care of his body, mind, and soul better than anyone. Godfrey would never know what a lucky bastard he was to have such a dutiful, affectionate son who mourned over his death in spite of the horrible way he’d treated him.

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“It's good to be home,” Ardan softly spoke, a melancholic look in his turquoise eyes. “Where is everyone and how is Tarrin? He didn't seem himself this morning.” He plopped down on a chair at the kitchen table, letting out a tired sigh.

“Papa Lance sent us a ton of food, including your favorite dishes. Meatballs in tomato sauce, matzah balls soup, or the mouthwatering fish dish?” Alasdair wrapped his arms around his husband, pulling him in a tight hug. “I can answer all your questions while you eat.”

“I can't win an argument against you. I've learned that the hard way.” Ardan gave a small smile. “So, fish it is. A little bit of soup would also be great, thank you.”

“There’s the man I love so much.” Alasdair offered his husband one of his cute grins, filling a plate and a bowl from the pot and pan on the stove. “Peyton came by earlier and took Paisley and Axel. They’re going to sleep over at Selma and Alexis'. Lorcan and Cian are at Daniel's, and Leon took Tarrin and Ira to your Pater's. Elias, Abernathy, and Elaine are also there.”

“We've raised a tribe of nomads,” Ardan grinned, amused. “Tarrin followed in Lorcan and Cian's footsteps, and it seems Paisley and Axel will do the same. Thank gods for cousins and best friends. These boys really need a distraction right now, especially Tarrin, who somehow considers himself responsible for...Godfrey's death. I have to talk to him in the morning, tell him to stop blaming himself for something that obviously wasn't his fault.”

“I don't want to pressure you into anything, but shouldn't you talk to Elaine, too? The girl deserves to know the truth about her origins, and you need this, also. It would finally bring you peace of mind,” Alasdair whispered, caressing Ardan's blond-grayish strands.

“I talked to her just after we came back from that goddamn island. She didn't want to know whose blood runs through her veins, and I agreed with her. Elaine's fathers' names are Jacob and Samuel Staubmann, her older brother's name is Sylvain. She said we are the cool, gay cousins she always dreamed about, and our boys are the best friends she wished for.”

Alasdair nodded in approval. “Elaine is a very wise girl who knows what she wants, and I'm happy she's a part of our life. We should talk more about the kids. It makes you very hungry.” He grinned, pointing to the empty bowl and plate. “I'm going to run a bath. That will make you feel calmer and more relaxed.”

Ardan shook his head. “No bath. Shower. You and me, together, your hands all over me and mine touching that gorgeous body of yours. Then, we'll cuddle and continue to talk about whatever you want. I want to hear your voice, Spitfire. It heals my soul.”

Alasdair nodded, cleaned the table, and put the dishes into the sink while his husband watched him, the signature shy smile playing on his lips. He looks much better than two days before when he found out about Godfrey's death, the redhead thought, studying Ardan with the corner of his eye.

However, his husband was far from his usual, serene self, Alasdair said to himself, mentally cursing the man who, even after his death, had such a great impact on his son's life. However, in a twisted way, the redhead was grateful that Godfrey treated Ardan so cruelly because it brought him close to the one who was more of a father to him than anyone else: Fabian Bloom.

While Alasdair finished washing the dishes, he thanked all the deities that his uncle accompanied Ardan, who he considered his son, to Godfrey's funeral so he didn't have to face the hostile atmosphere by himself. Fortunately, everything was over, and they could carry on with their lives. The young man sighed, relieved.

He invitingly extended his hand, and Ardan took it with a small, grateful smile. Once in their bedroom, the two men started to undress each other slowly, enjoying every second of that ritual of love. The whole world was reduced to the two of them, kissing and making out while they discovered each other's bodies, the experience always new.

Under the shower, Alasdair's hands slid up and down his husband's torso, mapping the plane of muscles lightly flexing under the tanned skin, lathering every inch with Ardan's favorite body wash. Gradually, the redhead went lower to the other man's waist and supple legs, massaging them and relieving the tension in the muscles.

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