Page 13 of Ride the Whirlwind

The first time when he brought the subject of his succession up, Graeme said he would offer Camlann guidance and advice for a period of up to five years until the young man would learn everything about the organization he was going to rule. It was a long time; anything could happen to the young leader, the men thought as they voted Camlann as his father's successor.

For now, I’ve got you by the balls, Graeme thought, but you are a bunch of fools if you think I don't know what you are up to. At least one of you is plotting against me, threatening my son's life and the stability of the organization my father and grandfather built. I discover who the traitor is, and I’ll burn his house down with him locked inside before he could hurt my precious Camlann.

Meanwhile, Ardan was enjoying Brodie's company, listening to the man's enthusiastic chit-chat. His former cellmate was a reliable source of information about the inhabitants of that house, the man's personal observations making their portraits even more interesting. Ardan was like a dry sponge, absorbing all Brodie's words, assimilating and processing them, a good exercise for his mind that had been numb for so long.

Graeme McGowan, the boss, is a good man who took kids who had it rough under his wing and gave them a purpose in life. Viggo, his right hand and personal bodyguard, Fadyen, the bodyguard of his son, and Keith, who is a sort of secret counsellor, are all fiercely loyal to the boss, who they call Master.”

“What about the others? You said this Graeme guy rules over the biggest, strongest, most important Scottish Mafia organization, I imagine he can't do everything by himself.” Ardan cast his friend a questioning look, waiting for his reply.

“They are a bunch of assholes who give the boss a hard time now that he wants to retire and refuse to acknowledge his only son as his rightful successor. The poor guy is very patient. I would kick everyone's asses five ways to Sunday if I were him,” Brodie answered with indignation. “From what I know, Graeme worked himself to the bone, while the others just enjoyed the fruits of his efforts.”

“When he talked to me right after I woke up, the doctor called the boss his closest friend and benefactor. What do you know about the true nature of their relationship?”

Brodie smiled at Ardan's undisguised curiosity. “You see, I never thought a pair of crutches can loosen even the tightest sealed lips,” he said, amused. “People offer their sympathy and tell you all kinds of interesting things. For instance, Lon, one of the chauffeurs, told me Graeme rescued Doc Douglas from an abusive home and raised him as though he were his younger brother.”

“That explains his attitude.” Ardan nodded. “When I told him I need Spitfire and Pater here since, according to him, I can't travel for such a great distance, the doctor refused, saying his associates would get suspicious if they would see strangers in the house. Anyway, I don't understand why he refused to let me call Spitfire or Pater.”

Brodie frowned. “You know, that's a little strange. During one of my walks down the corridor of the second floor, I passed by a cracked door and heard Graeme telling Doc Douglas to send us our way as soon as you are completely recovered.”

Ardan's jaw tightened, his turquoise eyes became dangerously dark and narrow, giving Brodie chills down his spine. “From what you've told me, you came to know this house pretty well. I need to see Graeme, and you are going to help me.”

“I will, but on my terms.” The other man spoke calmly. “You can't walk, either, by yourself or with help, so we are going to use a wheelchair. I'll go get it and search for Lon. We need his help to get you into the two-wheel racecar.” Brodie grinned, leaving the room.

“That was fast,” Ardan said, his eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and admiration. “It seems you are pretty popular around here, which shouldn't surprise me very much.”

“I may not have other people's amazing combat skills, but I'm not completely useless, either.” Brodie offered the other man a smile and a wink. He helped Lon get Ardan in the wheelchair as comfortable as possible, then accompanied the chauffeur as he maneuvered it to the boss's office's door.

“What the...” Graeme started, but his voice instantly softened when he saw Brodie and Ardan. “I'm happy that you are finally awake. Douglas informed me this morning about it, but with all the agitation from the council meeting, I couldn’t visit you earlier. Anyway, you look like you want to ask me something, so go ahead.”

“I want to call my husband and Pater to tell them I'm fine, and I want to do it now. It's either that”—Ardan rose from the wheelchair—“or I'll go back to New York City...by foot.”

***********

Lester Ames let out a long curse, staring in disbelief at the photos scattered all over the coffee table and not knowing what to think anymore. Ten people from that hellhole, three guards and seven inmates, the most brutal beasts, told him that the MacNamara bastard succumbed to his injuries, and they had videos that backed up their claims.

And still the fucktard was all over the place, very alive and kicking, smiling even. In some photos, he was hugging his kids, laughing happily, and in others, his hands were all over that sexy piece of ass known as Alasdair Stark. MacNamara was also seen in the company of Fabian-fucking-Bloom, who, with his meek, humble ways, caused the downfall of the brilliant, powerful Alexander Kane.

Ames had no reasons not to trust his minions. They showed their loyalty on many occasions, never failing him. At some point, he thought the bunch of sorry losers calling themselves The Crew used a doppelganger like Alexander Kane did seven years earlier when he faked his death and retired from business to take care of those two snots.

However, Ames dropped the idea almost instantly because even with Conroy Winters' potent drugs, it still took them almost a year to brainwash the guy, to completely erase his personality, making him act, talk, and walk like Kane. The pathetic bastards didn't have so much time on their hands, so training a doppelganger to perfection was mission impossible for them.

Ames left his spot from the couch and started to pace around the room, letting out a long huff of frustration. There was only one way to find out what was happening in that serpent nest: to infiltrate a mole there. After thinking intensely for about a minute, the man laughed quietly, rubbing his hands with satisfaction.

He just found the perfect man for the job, and the perfect reason for his presence there. Who would suspect a police officer coming to investigate the mysterious circumstances surrounding their beloved boss's incarceration and alleged death? The dice are cast, Ames thought, an evil grin stretching across his face. I'll show those bastards who is the master of the game.

CHAPTER 11

“My beautiful Spitfire. I missed you so much!” Ardan cradled Alasdair's face in one of his hands, caressing his cheek with the other. “I’ve missed these emerald eyes, this bright smile, these tempting lips,” he continued in a yearning-filled voice.

“I’ve missed you, too, husband of mine, more than you will ever know. Gods, you smell so good. All my senses have gone crazy,” the redhead moaned, burying his face in the crook of the other man's neck. “Let's make love,” he whispered heatedly.

“I thought you were never going to say that.” Ardan smirked, pulling the redhead into his lap. “You are one of the most beautiful of gods' creations, and you are mine.” He delicately kissed the spot behind his husband's ear, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine.

“And you are my strong warrior with a heart of gold and the gentlest, most loving soul,” Alasdair purred, wrapping his arms around Ardan's neck and tenderly kissing his temples.

The other man didn't reply. Taking the bottle of lube from the nightstand, he prepared the redhead for the intrusion, then, after coating his cock with the slick substance, slowly pushed inside him. Moaning wantonly, Alasdair gyrated his hips, the moves seductive, almost fluid, taking his husband deep inside him.

Ardan peppered sweet kisses all over his Spitfire's neck and chest, gently sucking at the younger man's nipples, eliciting soft moans of pleasure from him. There was something special, innocent almost, about the way his lips touched Alasdair's skin, as he was afraid to hurt the redhead.

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