25. Jared

25

JARED

R aising his wrist to his face, he glanced at his watch once again.

9:25 p.m.

Jared let out a huff as he glanced around the large hanger once more, wondering what the fuck they were waiting for.

They had arrived at a small airport just outside of Paris where the rich and uber-wealthy housed their planes when they weren't jetting across the world, making all those around them envious.

They had loaded their bags onto the plane and been greeted by the small, well-trained crew that would be servicing them during their flight to the Netherlands—Amsterdam, to be precise.

That had been over twenty minutes ago.

Yet, here they were, pacing outside the plane, waiting for God knows what.

Finally losing his cool, he turned to Matteo, who was standing next to the staircase to his plane with his Prada sunglasses on, looking all GQ gorgeous.

"Okay, why the fuck are we still standing here?" Jared spat out. He would normally never talk to Matteo in such a harsh tone, but his nerves were on edge, and his patience had run out twenty minutes ago.

Matteo turned his head slightly, jaw tense and barely moving.

"We're waiting for… him ," Matteo said. His words dripped with disdain.

Before he could ask who he was referring to, he was interrupted by the sound of four SUVs roaring into the hanger. Each parked on an angle, in perfect unison with one another. One would think they were filming a car commercial with the way each vehicle stopped on perfect display.

Jared and the rest of the gang watched as the backdoor of the middle SUV opened, and a dark-haired man dressed in a black pinstriped suit, complete with a red pocket square and a black vest over a white dress shirt, stepped out of the vehicle.

Without warning, the remaining doors opened, releasing several large men, all dressed in combat uniforms. Each of the men marched, forming two orderly lines just behind their leader in the expensive black suit.

The air grew thick as both crew leaders glared at each other from across the hanger.

"'Bought fuckin' time," Matteo growled, not making any attempt to move or greet their new comrades.

Ares pushed the side of his suit jacket back and slipped his hand casually into his pocket. There was an air of confidence that radiated off the man; perhaps it was his expensive suit and strong, bold features, or perhaps it was the army of disciplined killers standing behind him in perfect unison.

Whatever it was, Jared was glad to see the man.

"Hey, it takes a bit of time to pull together the type of manpower you were requesting. Had to assemble my A-team and grab a few… toys."

Ares turned his head slightly, then nodded.

Behind him, both lines of angry-looking men turned to their vehicles and began unloading crates and duffle bags from the SUVs. They carried them over to the plane's cargo hold, where they started loading the items.

Jared watched as Ares walked up to Matteo and gave him a crooked smile. He stepped past the six-foot, scowling Italian and began climbing the stairs.

"Are you coming? Your boy won't save himself," Ares called over his shoulder as he stepped onto the plane.

Say what you will about gun traffickers, but Ares had style.

Matteo let out a snarl before adjusting his suit jacket, then following his nemesis onto his plane.

Jared and Chase exchanged a glance.

"You dipshits coming?" Matteo shouted from inside the plane.

The rest of Matteo's team hurried onto the plane, followed by the super-secret death squad that apparently Ares controlled.

Fifteen minutes later, they were up in the air and waiting patiently as the friendly flight attendant asked each one of them what they would like to drink. Unfortunately for Diesel, his favorite flight attendant was not working their flight.

"I'll take a vodka, straight, love," Ares said, giving the young woman a warm smile—well, as warm a smile as someone like Ares could give.

The man was a wolf in sheep's clothing. His clothes might say rich and powerful, yet his face and body screamed scary monster who eats puppies for breakfast . And if his face wasn't scary enough, there was the nasty-looking scar running along the side of his neck. Talk about making a man look badass. Was it a battle wound? An assassination attempt? No one knew, and no one dared to ask.

"And you, sir?" she asked, turning her attention to Matteo, who sat diagonally across from Ares, pretending to read a book.

"I'll have a gin martini, please," Matteo responded, folding the top corner of the page and placing his book down on the seat next to him.

Ares glanced over at the cover but refrained from saying a word.

Jared could feel the tension between the two men. They appeared to hate each other—or at least Matteo hated Ares, yet they kept working together when needed.

Was it a rich man's thing? Was there some sort of uber-rich code where the wealthy and super-powerful had to help out one another when the money signal got thrown up in the sky? Or was there more to this embattled relationship?

Jared had no idea.

The flight attendant returned with their drinks before disappearing once again behind the curtain at the back of the plane.

"You know, this is the second time you've called me for my help in these last few months," Ares began. "People are going to start thinking that we are friends or something."

Chase and Jared sank down in their seats, hoping that their presence would go unnoticed. Having Ares and Matteo both in the same room was like shaking a box of thirty-year-old sticks of dynamite. You never knew when the damn thing was going to explode.

"I'll do what I have to in order to ensure the safety of my guys," Matteo responded flatly. There was no bite, no gratitude, just a steady rhythm to his tone. "Even turn to the Devil himself if I need to."

That last comment had Jared and Chase both leaning into each other, trying to contain their laughter.

Ares smirked. He picked up his drink and took a sip, eyes glancing around the private jet as he swallowed.

"Hmm," their newest guest hummed. "It's a nice jet you got here. Very fancy." The man looked down into his drink as he swirled the liquid around in the glass. "I don't own one myself, but I guess for someone as pretentious as you, having a jet is kind of a requirement," Ares casually mentioned, taking another sip of his vodka. His eyes casually roamed over Matteo, dressed in his usual perfectly tailored suit.

"What can I say? I prefer to fly in style than as a rat in a ship's cargo," Matteo quipped, jabbing at Ares's preferred method of transportation while trafficking guns.

Jared felt his shoulders jiggle as his body betrayed him and let out a chuckle.

Across the aisle, the corner of Ares's lip curved upward, giving away the slightest hint of amusement.

It appeared that the man had succeeded in getting his boss to casually converse with him, even if it was to insult him.

"So, what do we know?" Ares asked, turning his attention toward the two giggling idiots sitting across from him.

Matteo shot Ares an annoyed look.

"What? What's the point of asking you? I know you'll just refer me to your muscle goons here, so I'm cutting out the middleman," Ares retorted, giving his shoulders a slight shrug. "Feel free to get back to enjoying your pretentiousness." He flipped his hand as if telling Matteo off.

Matteo just shook his head in annoyance.

Jared wasn't quite sure what Ares's background was. He had dark curly hair, slicked back just behind his ears with a rounder nose that gave him a bit of a Greek vibe. Yet, when the man talked, he had a bit of a French accent with a hint of Egyptian. Or Arab?

The man was a fucking chameleon. His accent changed depending on the day, even his movements and mannerisms changed from time to time. Every time Jared saw the man—which wasn't that often—he had a new theory as to where the man originally hailed from.

Matteo nodded to Jared.

After getting the okay from his boss, he pulled out his phone and pulled up his app.

"Using a tracking device, we were able to track them to an industrial area in Amsterdam."

Ares nodded his head, listening closely as Jared spoke.

"What do we know about the facility?" Ares asked.

"I'm still gathering info, but it looks like it was officially closed five years ago but has had power pumping through the building for the past three years," Chase added. "I'm still researching and looking at possible access points."

"Elijah," Ares called, snapping his finger at a large, scowling man sitting two seats over. The man stood up and stopped next to Chase. "Elijah will help you finish your assessment. He is the head of my security team and has worked jobs for me before in Syria, Uzbekistan, Moscow, and Romania. This man can get in and out of a hole in the desert without disturbing a grain of sand."

Chase nodded, closing up his laptop and moving over to another two-seater that gave the men a bit more room to work.

Sensing a pair of beady eyes on him, Jared glanced up at Ares, who was staring at him with inquisitive eyes.

"So? You are the boyfriend?" the man asked, French accent coming out thick.

Every time. It always threw Jared off balance seeing a Greek-looking guy who greeted like an Italian, swore like an Irishman, yet sounded like a Frenchman.

Jared shook his head. "No, just friends." He shot a glance over at Matteo, who was pretending to look out his window.

Ares shook his head, not believing him.

"The look in your eyes tells me different." Ares glanced over at Matteo before turning his attention back to Jared. "I've seen people in love before, but none of their eyes looked quite as intense as yours. I see fire and passion and a hunger that will only be satisfied when it is holding the man who it loves in his arms once again."

Ares took a sip of his vodka. "I also see something else."

Now, Jared was curious. "Oh? What's that?"

"I see power, possession, and rage. A man like you loves with more than just his heart. When he finds his match, he bonds with them. No matter where they are, he can feel them. He can call to them. The love and bond that they share were built out of joint pain. A shared suffering that only the two of them understand. It is that connection, that possession, that draws the two of you together. And when the safety and security of one of those men are in danger?" Ares gave an evil grin as he leaned back in his chair. "God help the man who caused it."

Ares let out a quiet chuckle as he downed the rest of his drink in a single swallow.

Jared considered the man's words. He was right. He felt that passion, that fire, that pull. He felt like a bomb ready to explode. He just needed to point his rage in a particular direction.

"So, tell me, Ares, have you experienced that sort of passion yourself?" Jared asked, curious about how such a dangerous man could know so much about something so intense.

The wicked smile slowly faded from Ares's rugged features. His eyes drifted toward Matteo, who sat staring out the window—his martini still untouched.

"Twice. Once with someone who was taken too soon, and the other…" his voice trailed off as if lost in a distant memory. "Let's just say that our fires burn so severely that we often mistake it for hatred."

Jared watched as the man's once-hardened face softened until it was filled with nothing but sadness and loss.

Was it possible that one of Europe's most feared men was actually… brokenhearted?

Jared wasn't sure what Ares's story was, but he was sure that it was an interesting and complex tale. Someone with that much sadness in his eyes had to have a truly heart-wrenching story.

The screen on his cell lit up blue, letting Jared know that yet another hour had passed.

God, he missed Isaac. The more he thought about the sweet, annoying, blue-haired punk, the more he just wanted to wrap his arms around his body and squeeze the fuck out of him.

"Don't worry. In a few hours, you will be reunited with your man."

Realizing he had spaced out, Jared looked over at Ares and gave the man a half smile. He wanted more than anything to see Isaac's smiling face once again. Beat him at video games and kiss his stupid face.

"I hope so," was all that he could manage.