Page 6 of Winds of War

“Please, don't go yet.” Evongrabbed his friend's arm, desperately clinging on it. I want to tell you the whole story. I need you to understand why I did it.”Cahal nodded, plopping down on the edge of the bed again, and the smaller boy inhaled sharply, continuing his story. “Tim started to laugh and told me men would like me weak so I won't put a fight when...” Evon stopped again, a terrified expression on his face.

“Goddamn monsters. They'll pay in droves, both of them.” Cahal's stormy-gray eyes darkened, narrowed to two slits. “One of these days, I'll pay a visit to my aristocratic father and have a serious talk to him. The fucker won't like my proposition, but he won't have a choice.” The boy's full, seductive lips twisted in an ugly rictus.

“I'm afraid, Cahal,” Evon whispered, the mix of sheer determination and hate in his friend's eyes making him shiver. “I know we talked about this, and you started to plan the move even before you turned eighteen, but that Nigel Warthon devil is ten times shrewder and crueler than Bob. He would never agree to...”

“Shh, baby, please, don't stress over this.” Cahal gently put a finger on Evon's chapped, pale lips. “Let me take care of everything. I need you to be healthy and strong. I want to see you smiling and happy. It would give me the strength to do what needs to be done.” The boy kissed his friend's forehead.

“I promise I won't give you reasons to worry.” Evon softly sighed, putting his thin arms around Cahal, closing the space between them. “Please”—he bored his sky-blue eyes into the other boy's stormy-gray ones—“if you feel the waters are too deep and the sharks too dangerous...”

“We talked about this a million times over the last two years, but I'm telling you again: I'm not interested in running Nigel-Fucking-Warthon's organization and be a hotshot gangster. All I want is the motherfucker's money, to buy us that big, luxurious villa you dream about, and hire men who will guard you around the clock. The day after you turn eighteen...” Cahal stopped, a smile brightening his face and making his eyes shine.

“What will you do?” Evon put his head on the other boy's chest, closing his eyes. “You told me a thousand times, but this is my favorite part of the story.”

“I'll marry you and we'll live happily ever after. True story.”

CHAPTER 5

Nigel Warthon stared in the little mirror above the rusty sink in his cell, shocked as every other time he saw his reflection. The savage look in his eyes, the hair in dire need of a trim, and the unkempt beard—nothing in his appearance reminded of the elegant, composed aristocrat Nigel had been before his enemies' evil machinations brought him to his knees and landed him into that small, stinky cell.

Those who knew the man in his previous life would barely recognize his face under all the wrinkled skin that made him look twenty years older than his real age. Nigel often wondered what the reaction of his former business partners and subordinates would be at the sight he offered, but he never got any answers because once his sentence became final, everyone avoided him like plague.

Well, not everyone. Cahal, the bastard he had from one of his numerous, scandalous extramarital affairs, visited Nigel every two or three months. When the kid was thirteen, his mother, a notorious high-class prostitute, sent him to live with his father. Warthon never acknowledged the boy and treated him like dirt, but Cahal stubbornly refused to leave.

Another, younger, smaller boy by the name of Evon followed him everywhere, casting fearful, distrusting glances around and flinching at almost every noise. Nigel found himself fantasizing about him being buried deep inside Evon's small, tight ass, moaning in delight at the sound of the boy's desperate pleas and sharp cries of pain.

However, he somewhat sensed that his friend being hurt would turn Cahal into a raging beast, and so he stayed away from Evon, although his cock was tenting in his pants every time the fragile blond was around. Nigel's self-restraint paid off, ensuring him Cahal's loyalty. Even if the bastard just stayed on the other side of the window and only stared at him, never picking the phone up, he was the man's only connection with the outside world.

One of the guards came to Nigel's cell and announced to him that he had a visitor, pulling him from his thoughts. As usual, Cahal sat there, staring at the inmate, but that time, the man sensed something was different. A few seconds later, pain flickered in the boy's stormy gray eyes, then disappeared, replaced by the hard to decipher expression Nigel had become used to.

The inmate gasped in shock when Cahal picked the phone up, but he hurried to do the same, afraid the boy would change his mind. “Over the six years since I came to live with you. I never asked for anything. My mother had the DNA test proving you were my father, yet you treated me worse than a dog.” Cahal's voice was flat, voided of any emotion.

“Had you asked for something, I wouldn't have given it to you, anyway.” Nigel couldn't help being sarcastic but regretted his words almost instantly. “Sorry,” he muttered, “I didn't mean to offend you, but...”

“I don't care.” Cahal's laconic answer came in a cold voice, cutting the man short. “I've developed immunity to your insults, the poison in your words doesn't touch my soul anymore. I've come here to inform you I want your money, art collections, houses, and cars. Basically, everything you own.”

Nigel huffed, sarcasm returning in his voice. “No offense again, kid, but I don't think you have what it takes to run that organization. Besides, do you know where the money you want so much comes from?”

“I have no idea.” Cahal shrugged. “Weapons, drugs, illegal gambling—I don't care as long as the money is flowing into my pocket. I'm not interested in running your organization, never was, never will be. In six months, you'll transfer all your assets into my name. Of course, I'll work for every goddamn cent.”

The boy's voice, a mix of harshness and determination, impressed Nigel very much. However, he didn't want to give up so easily, so decided to test Cahal some more. “Work? What...work do you think you can do for that kind of money?”

“How about clearing the path for your enterprises by eliminating your direct competitors, the biggest threats to the kind of business you run?” Cahal paused for a few moments, then continued, ignoring the disdain-filled stare Nigel gave him. “I'm talking about Lester Ames, Jorge Montemayor, and, of course, Ardan MacNamara, the bane of your existence.”

“That's...interesting and very, very ambitious,” the inmate said, arrogance dripping from his voice. “What makes you think you would succeed where others with more experience and intelligence failed?”

“I won't take it personally and won't underestimate my enemies like you did. Plus, I know when to be humble.” Cahal gave a thin smile. “You didn't bother to check if your former associate, the famous Alexander, was dead for real, and he placed men loyal only to him in key positions inside the organization. They weakened your influence and stole your clients. Also, you underestimated Ames, who kidnapped his boss's sons, sold the firstborn for sex, raped him, and molested the younger.”

“That waste of space did what?” Nigel's eyes went wide with shock and disbelief, his mouth agape. “Yes, I see what you mean. I completely ignored that one, thinking he was no more than a worm, but... Anyway, let's stick to the point. How are you going to eliminate Ames, Montemayor, and MacNamara? It still seems like a mission impossible to me.”

“I won't move a finger. I'll let them fight against each other, only taking down the last man standing. There are a lot of things you don't know.” Cahal’s answer came in a voice filled with superiority. “The street war Montemayor wants to start, for instance. I'll help him with that, and I'll make sure MacNamara's organization will also be sucked into it.”

“Smart kid,” Nigel said, his voice filled with admiration almost against his will. “Did you consider that one, maybe even two of the bastards could make it out alive from the carnage? What would you do then?”

“Surviving the hell that street war would unleash would take all your rivals' strength and energy, so the trial would leave them weakened. I would take advantage of it by either attacking them one at a time or making them jump at each other's throats.” Cahal shrugged. “Anyway, I focus my efforts on eliminating them from the first round, so to say.”

“You mean you plan on helping them eliminate each other?” Nigel leaned forward, his forehead touching the cold glass separating him from his bastard son. “Do that, kid, bring me solid, irrefutable proof that the fuckers are dead and buried, and all I have will be yours.”

With a small nod, Cahal left the chair and stepped out of the large, cold room, heading to the prison's exit. I sure managed to impress father dearest, he said to himself, a smile of satisfaction spreading on his face. Now, it's time to take care of the really important things, Cahal continued his monolog, climbing into the car and heading to the nearest grocery store.

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