Page 35 of Ride the Whirlwind

The young man shrugged indifferently. “Why didn't you ask the boss? He sent the notifications personally, twenty-four hours in advance, according to the statute's stipulations. Unless, of course, you chose to ignore his call,” Fitzgerald said with subtle irony, “in which case, you don't look good at all.”

“I never miss or ignore the boss's calls and messages,” MacTeague protested. “I check my phone every two hours and have special ringtones for... What are you staring at?” he asked Fitzgerald, who was looking at him with an amused grin.

“You are talking about Mister MacGowan,” the younger man said in the same voice he used when explaining something to his small children. “Our current boss's name is Craig Darrow. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a council meeting to attend.” He headed to the organization's headquarter's conference room.

” Arrogant bastard. One of these days I'll make you bite the dust, just wait and see,” MacTeague cursed between clenched teeth, but followed Fitzgerald inside, taking his place at Darrow's right side.

“Thank you for answering to my call so promptly,” the temporary boss started in a firm, but also smooth voice, looking around the room. “It means very much to me. I see you managed to join us, too.” He turned to his advisor. “I was afraid you wouldn't make it, because of your total lack of response.”

“Let's skip the pleasantries and get straight to the point like our real boss used to do,” MacTeague hissed. “What's the purpose of this meeting?”

“I've spent a lot of time thinking about how to improve the organization and identified the reason why things stalled instead of progressing. I've called Mister MacGowan, I've gotten in touch with the most prominent members of the council and found the approval and support I needed for implementing my idea, which is not against the statute of the organization.” Darrow smiled.

“Once again, boss, can you please tell us why you summoned the council? I'm sure all the others want to know as badly as I do”—MacTeague gestured around the table—“or have better things to do than listening to your...eloquence.”

“I only tried to delay the inevitable, but as you wish.” Darrow shrugged. “From this moment on, you are released from your duties as my advisor. Let's vote, gentlemen.” He turned his attention to the other members of the council.

“You...you can't do that,” MacTeague stuttered, giving the boss an incredulous look. “My father and his father before him helped the MacGowans bring all the Scottish gangs in the city under their command and served as their advisors. This position is rightfully mine.”

“Now who's delaying the debates? I can do whatever the hell I want as long as it's not against the rules, and you know I'm right,” Darrow replied in a cold, ironic voice. “Now stop acting like a frustrated teenage girl and accept the reality: your views and way of doing things are outdated, and it's time to step away and let another, more competent man do this job.”

“You’re bluffing, Darrow.” MacTeague regained his composure and arrogance. “They detest you, all of them, and will never support your candidate. By the way, you didn't give us any name yet, which makes me think you don't have a replacement for me.” He smiled triumphantly.

“You’re right on that one, I don't have a replacement; he's the right man for the job.” Darrow offered his still-advisor a charming smile. “A man who has the support and respect of both the traditionalists and the reformists. Gentlemen, I give you George MacIntyre.”

Niles MacTeague incredulously shook his head, still thinking that his rival was bluffing, but he lost all hope when he saw the benevolent smile his competitor offered Darrow. Filthy little traitor, the man thought, anger boiling inside him, he worked behind my back this whole time, pretending he's not interested in gang politics and power games.

MacIntyre was the only man in that room who could take the advisor position from MacTeague, and the man became even more aware of that when, one by one, MacGowan's associates voted in his favor. The conniving weasel convinced everyone to turn their back on me, he bitterly thought, shooting daggers in Darrow's direction.

MacIntyre won with a unanimous vote and accepted everyone's congratulations with grace and humility. The man knows a thing or two about how to become popular...and stay that way, MacTeague continued his trail of thoughts, leaving his seat at Darrow's right. The gesture was the formal confirmation of his defeat, and it also marked the end of an era.

Half an hour later, when the meeting ended, the man left the building angry and frustrated, swearing that he wasn't going to set foot in there again. Let the bastards vote me out. They'll see who they messed with. Once those documents come out—and they will—I'll ask the Russians to kill each and every one of them.

As for MacGowan, I have other plans with him. MacTeague's lips twisted in an ugly rictus. He'll live to see me fucking his precious son's face and tearing his ass with my big, fat cock, then giving him to my men to use him until there is nothing left of him to use. Then, I'll make the bastard wish he hadn't been born.

***********

“Good morning, Uncle Fabian.” Alasdair appeared in the kitchen doorway, his red curls messier than usual. “Did you sleep well?”

“Good morning to you, too, dear boy.” The older man smirked at the sight. “Yes, I slept like a log, unlike other, younger folks I know who indulged themselves in the sweet pleasures of the flesh, like our resident, very pregnant genius, often says.”

“Yes, my Ardan and I had a bit of fun between the sheets,” Alasdair admitted with a huge grin. “Okay, a lot of fun, and for a very long time.” Suddenly, worry clouded the redhead's emerald eyes, and he felt silent.

“What's wrong? I know that look very well. I've seen it in Uncle Alastair's eyes more times than I can count,” Fabian said in a soft, slightly pained voice. You took after him,” he continued, smiling weakly.

“It's about Ardan,” Alasdair started, looking tired all of a sudden. “Doctor Douglas and I had a private conversation in my office at The Base's clinic, and he informed me my husband suffers from atrial fibrillation.”

“Isn't he too young to be affected by that? Usually, this condition is diagnosed when the patient is around my age,” Fabian spoke in a calm voice. “Has the doctor asked for a second opinion?”

“He gave me the names of three reputable cardiologists from here who confirmed his initial diagnose. I got in touch with them, and they all said the same thing to me, too.” Alasdair looked into his uncle's eyes. “Ardan will be fine as long as he avoids stressful situations, which is almost impossible.”

Fabian nodded. “I agree, but we can keep an eye on him and step in if the situation requires it. Also, we'll be there for him whenever he wants to talk. Carter will help him, too. Ardan trusts the guy.”

“Yes, as long as he doesn't feel pressured into going to therapy,” Alasdair said in a low, somehow defeated voice. “This always was a very sensitive topic for my husband, who has a hard time trusting someone with his deepest secrets.” A faint noise coming from the staircase made the redhead leave his seat and walk out of the kitchen. “Here he is, the sexiest man alive,” he greeted a smiling Ardan.

“G'morning Pater, Spitfire,” the newly arrived said, plopping down on a chair, “Where is everyone? Are they still sleeping?”

“Good morning, son.” Fabian brightly smiled, leaving his seat and filling a big mug with steamy, aromatic tea from the kettle on the stove. “Jamie is in one of the annexes setting his lab up, and the others are in the library, searching for the will. I made copies of Count Borovski's original book catalogue, and each member of the special team got one and chose a section.”

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