Page 34 of Winds of War

“What my...what our boyfriend here is trying to say is that we are going to accompany you and make Detroit our new home. We are going to help you build the sanctuary you are dreaming of. I'll offer my input and support, Soames will keep both of us safe, and at the end of the day, the three of us will have our wicked ways with one another. What do you think about that?”

“Is it...are you trying to say you want me in your life...as your lover? That both of you have feelings for me?” Joaquin stared at Cian and Soames in disbelief as the two young men nodded, smiling brightly. “But…I didn't say anything to any of you about what I feel. How...how did you guys figure it out?”

“When I was little, the old, wise women who raised me used to tell me about the fated lovers whose destiny was written into the stars since the beginning of time. Even if they lived thousands of miles apart, they felt this irresistible pull that brought them together,” Soames said in a faraway voice as Cian came on his other side, seeking his warmth and protection. “I guess that's what we are. Soulmates.” The man hugged the blond and Joaquin to his chest as peace descended over him.

CHAPTER 27

Seamus stopped the car's engine. “We will have to walk from here,” he said dryly, glancing at Montemayor, who was splayed on the backseat. “The meeting point is some half a mile down the road.”

“Half a mile? No way in hell I'm going to walk that distance,” the Mexican protested, not moving an inch. “Had you told me from the start, I would have not agreed to this.” He let out a frustrated huff.

“Come on, did you expect us to drive to the gates and then wait outside until young Warthon's boyfriend lures MacNamara's son out of the sanctuary so we can kidnap him?” Seamus let out a short, amused laugh. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “We are going back to the airport.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Montemayor got in sitting position, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. “I don't want to go the fuck back. I want to kidnap that whiny little puppy and make his bastard of a father surrender to me,” he hatefully spat.

“And I want you to listen and do what you’re told,” Seamus calmly replied, revving the car's engine up. “Look, for me, eliminating Ardan MacNamara doesn't represent a priority, I only got into this mess because you are my associate, but that can change in a blink of an eye.”

“What the hell are you insinuating? Do you intend to turn your back on me and become that motherfucker's ally whore? Is this your big plan?” Montemayor wanted to pull his gun out of his holster, but Van was faster, making him freeze, hand into the air.

“If I think better, you are not cut to be my distinguished friend's associate,” Seamus shook his head, speaking in that flat voice that always got on the Mexican's last nerve. ”You never listen to what I tell you and have a big problem with following orders.”

“No, please, don't do that,” Montemayor whined to Seamus's immense satisfaction. “I promise I'll do better. I'll be more cooperative. Will you please tell your guard to lower his weapon so I can get out of the car?” The question was asked in a very polite, almost submissive voice.

“I'm going to give you one more chance.” Seamus gestured to Van, who put his gun back into the holster. “One more misplaced comment, and I am going to replace you with young Warthon, who, unlike you, didn't skip the obedience classes. I expect you to leave your gun in the car. You have no use for it out there. My armed men waiting in the bushes on the side of the road will annihilate any possible opposition.”

Montemayor clenched his jaw, mentally cursing the arrogant bastardwho was bossing him around, but he didn't comment, acting according to the order he’d been given. After walking about half the distance, he stopped, casting a worried, fearful look around. Did you hear the noise coming from there? I...I don't think it was made by your men. You just said...”

“Hello, Uncle dearest, or should I call you by your real name, the treacherous bastard who killed his brother in cold blood?” Joaquin Montemayor came out of his hiding place, a cold smile on his face. Long time nosee. Don't tell me you are not happy to see me.”

“What...I...I sent my men to kill you and the whore who gave birth to you.” The Mexican gang leader stared at his nephew in shock, mouth agape. “Where have you been hiding all this time, you little bastard? What traitor hid you?” The man turned to Seamus, his eyes burning with rage. “Can you tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Well, this is a family reunion, so I am going to leave the two of you to...settle your differences.” The fake drug dealer patted Van on the shoulder, speaking in a voice filled with understanding. “We'll meet back at The Base. Now go and do your duty as Lucas's father; avenge the innocent blood this disgusting pervert spilled.”

As Seamus spoke about twenty men came out of the bushes, surrounding Montemayor and making him kneel. The realization hit the Mexican with the force of a hurricane: the so-called African job was part of an evil, brilliant, carefully put together revenge plan. MacAtee's powerful friend, even if he was real, had no intention to take me as partner, Montemayor thought, cursing the moment he agreed to meet Seamus.

The traitorous serpent used greed, the Mexican's greatest weakness, against him, bringing his unsuspecting victim exactly where he wanted him to be: at that brat Joaquin's gunpoint. At that point, Montemayor raised his head and met Van's stare, his blood turning to ice when he saw the mixture of anger, coldness, and disgust in those dark brown, almost black eyes.

Van pulled his weapon, too, aiming first at the Mexican's head, then, lips twisted in an evil smirk, lowered it. Suddenly, the almost eerie silence was torn by the sound of a gunshot, followed by a long, sharp wail of pain coming from Montemayor, who stared in terror at the wound in his thigh. Another one, having the other thigh as target, followed shortly after, sending the cartel leader to the ground in a pathetic heap.

The steel toe of a boot hit Montemayor in the ribs so hard, the force of the impact made him flip onto his back. He started to wail again, his vision blurred by tears of pain, much to Joaquin’s immense satisfaction, who was now crouched down in front of him. The young man put his gun on the ground and produced a knife, smirking evilly when he pointed it to his uncle's abdomen.

Hate and revenge contorted Joaquin's beautiful face into an ugly mask as he slowly pushed the sharp blade into Montemayor's soft flesh, then pulled it in a swift move. The young man repeated the operation three times in a row, then got back into a standing position, towering over his uncle.

“Unlike you,” Joaquin spoke in a smooth, calm voice, “I like to give people a second chance. The Base is only about a mile away. If you reach it, you'll get medical attention, and I'm willing to give you a clean slate. I'll forget all the pain you've caused me and my poor mom, and I'll embrace you as a loving uncle.”

“Please, don't go. Don't leave me here,” Montemayor whined, pleadingly extending a hand in his nephew's direction. “I promise to make up to you, to make things better, to...”

“I'm very excited at the prospect of you and me having a normal, harmonious uncle-nephew relationship,” Joaquin said in mocked enthusiasm, “so please get to The Base as fast as you can. If I were you, I'd hurry up. This place swarms with stray dogs at night, and not all of them are cute puppies...”

Montemayor opened his eyes, casting a disoriented look around. It was almost pitch black, and the man had to blink a few times to adjust his sight to the lack of light. When his vision became a little more focused, he realized he was in the middle of the road, but for a few good seconds, he couldn't remember how he got there.

Montemayor shifted to get into a more comfortable position but regretted it instantly as pain surged through his body, the sharp wails he let out rippling through the silence surrounding him. Bloodshot eyes wide with terror, the Mexican remembered the most recent events, his blood turning to ice.

That little bastard stabbed me and let me die here like a useless, old fucking dog, Montemayor thought, rage taking over him. He realized that he must have passed out from the pain and stayed that way for a good few hours. Well, let's hope my battery’s charged enough so I can get to that goddamn place and get medical assistance, the Mexican said to himself, doing his best to get up while ignoring the pain in his thighs.

A distant howl coming from the right side of the road made Montemayor stop in the middle of his action. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered Joaquin's warning about stray dogs that weren't always sweet puppies. That was the plan, he thought, his heart maddeningly hammering into his chest. This is why he and that beastly guard didn't kill me. They left the dirty work to the dogs.

Stopping in the middle of getting up, short as the break was, cost Montemayor his balance, and he fell flat on his stomach, the impact with the hard ground making the pain even more intense. The distant howl from earlier turned into a cacophony of barks and growls that got louder by the second.

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