9. Ares

9

ARES

Y ou're a masochist. Why are you putting yourself through this? Time after time. Why?

Because… he… needs me.

No, he doesn't. It's because you feel guilty. For what you did. For everything that happened… because of you .

No, it wasn't my fault.

Yes, it was. If you hadn't been so ambitious. If you hadn't sought them out. They would still be alive.

But it wasn't my fault.

Wasn't it?

In the end, he knew that he was partially responsible for the deaths of Giovanni and Carmela Sabarino—Matteo's parents. If he hadn't been so trusting… if he'd just listened to his own instincts. But how was he supposed to know?

Because people can't be trusted, that inner voice he kept locked deep inside his mind whispered. He hated that voice. Always taunting, always digging. Ripping away at the layers until there was nothing left but raw emotions.

Emotions were weak.

They were a vulnerability.

They had to be kept locked away… deep in the dark, where no one would ever find them.

Pressing closed those heavy doors, Ares took a breath, then adjusted his suit.

He hated to admit it, but they were right. People were despicable and couldn't be trusted. No one. Not even…

" Bonsoir, monsieur . May I take your coat?" a young man wearing an expensive-looking suit asked. His smile was welcoming, and he spoke with perfect French diction.

That was one of the things about Matteo; he always made sure that his staff were impeccably dressed—well, at least the front-facing staff. The other boys, working in the theatre and roaming the hallways, were dressed a bit more… naughty.

Ares shook the dirty thoughts from his mind and returned a warm smile to the friendly man standing before him.

"Yes, thank you, boy." He took off his coat and the hat he was wearing and passed it along to the helpful young man.

His hat was a stylish black fedora, which he had purchased from a tiny boutique shop hidden on the back streets of downtown Paris. The shop was a hidden gem, known only to those who were familiar with the back streets of France's romantic district.

The shop had been around since the early 1900s and passed down from father to son over multiple generations. Each item sold was handmade and crafted to suit the wearer. Only the finest quality materials were used, and the craftsmanship was next to none. Yes, the hats may cost a small fortune, but they were one of a kind and made to last a lifetime.

Ares loved the hat. He thought it was stylish and made him look rich and powerful.

Oh, who are you kidding? You think that you're balding and are trying to hide that slowly growing spot on top of your head. Trying to keep up with that sexy GQ model are ya? Not sure why you even bother. The man has no interest in taking a second look at a decrepit old man like yourself. Rough hands, dry skin? Please. No one wants those hands touching their body—not even during a mercy fuck. Face it, old man, your time in the sun has passed.

Even his own inner thoughts were mean.

"Right this way, sir," the handsome young man offered, leading Ares down a long hallway and toward a large set of double doors. Doors that would grant access to a world of sin and debauchery. A world filled with fantasy, intrigue, and understanding.

The boy pulled open the door and gestured for Ares to enter. Reaching into his pocket, Ares pulled out a fifty and passed it to the boy with his thanks.

" Merci, mon amour . I'm André. Let me know if you need anything," the boy replied with the sweetest French accent.

Stepping into the theatre was like entering into another realm. The colors, the sounds, and even the air felt electrified.

People's senses were immediately captured in the magic of the world around them. People laughed, and music blared; it was all designed to keep men's endorphins running high and their morals running low.

The rhythm of the music called to Ares as he made his way through the dimly lit room—no doubt another trick designed to ensnare potential prey into a world filled with possibilities and wonderment… if only one would open their minds and call out to one of the many young men eagerly waiting to help bring forth all those fantasies.

A bottle of champagne was opened at a booth as he walked on by. Champagne was sent flying across the bare chest of one of Matteo's handsome dancers, only to disappear between the hungry lips of the young man's gentleman caller.

Two tables over, a short muscle cub poured a bottle of Jack Daniels straight into the open mouth of a handsy older man. The man's long black fingers played with the fabric of his companion's briefs, slowly sliding them in between the folds of the dark-green material. The young man let out a sinful moan as he ground his butt harder into the gentleman's lap.

All around Ares, passion and desire flared. It was true what they said. At La Maison de M , men's fantasies come out to play.

Ares stared out across the sea of half-naked men, some dancing, some grinding, some engaging in deep conversations with the men they were entertaining. All around him, people were enjoying themselves, lost in the magic of La Maison.

Matteo had built this.

The man had taken an idea and created a place where rich and powerful queer men could come and enjoy themselves without having to worry about judgment from the outside world. Here. Within these walls, people were free to be who they were meant to be.

Ares thought back to all his travels. In many places in the world, people were not able to live their truths. Many were persecuted or shunned because their sexuality or their sexual preferences went against societal norms.

Here, if you wanted to have a foursome or stand strapped to a pole while a man in an executioner's mask flogged your naked ass, no one batted an eye.

Men's sexual fantasies were their own and celebrated here at La Maison .

Ares knew all too well the struggles against societal norms. He lived in a world fueled by hypermasculinity, fear, and intimidation. Everyone wanted to prove how badass they were, how strong and tough. If people didn't fear you, they wouldn't respect you. And if people didn't respect you… well, they would take you out at the earliest opportunity and steal whatever territory they could get their hands on.

There was no way in hell he was letting anyone take what he had worked so hard to achieve.

It began when he was in his early twenties and just starting to build a name for himself. He did everything he could to hide the truth about his sexuality, fearing that if anyone found out that he was a sword swallower instead of a muff diver, people would ridicule him and refuse to work for him.

Year after year, he became angrier and angrier, watching all the men around him hook up and boast about their conquests. Meanwhile, here he was, being forced to get his dick sucked at glory holes and in the back of dark rooms, all in an attempt to shield his face and mask his true identity.

Very few realize how lonely it can be not to have that human connection… that desired intimacy during sexual activity. While blowing your load may feel good and provide an immediate endorphin rush, it does not fill that void left in your heart once you tuck your dick back in your drawers and pull up your pants.

Now, after he'd spent almost twenty years building a criminal empire, he had finally accomplished his goal. He was rich and powerful, and people now feared him .

Eyes floating around the room, he was in awe of what Matteo had built. All around him, people looked happy. Free and happy.

"I'm proud of you," Ares whispered under his breath.

"Can I get you a drink, Mr. Ares?" a smooth voice asked, cutting through his train of thought.

The bartender gave Ares a small nod, waiting patiently for him to answer.

Ares was pretty sure the young man's name was Shawn, but he couldn't recall for sure. Usually, when he stopped in, his attention was focused on other things, or should he say, someone else.

"Yes. Please. I'll have a whiskey," Ares responded, sitting his ass down on the fancy black and silver barstool that Matteo most likely had custom-made and flown in from God-knows-where. The man had impeccable taste… and money coming out of his ass.

Ares watched as the bartender turned to grab the bottle of whiskey off the shelf behind him.

The shelves, just like everything else in this fantasy realm, were stunning and majestic. The shelves sat in front of a mirrored wall that glowed purple from the professionally installed bar lighting. Each bottle that stood on display looked as though it held the secrets to the universe if only you took one sip.

"Your name's Shawn, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," the bartender replied, grabbing a glass and filling it with Scotland's finest. He placed the drink in front of Ares, giving him a teasing smile. "Enjoy your drink, sexy." The man gave him a wink before turning his attention to another guest waiting at the bar.

Handsome men like Shawn had the world at their fingertips. All they needed to do was ask, and they could pretty much get anything they so desired. Ares was pleased to see that the young man's good looks hadn't gone completely to his head. He was polite and sweet and appeared to enjoy engaging with the clients he was serving.

Reaching into his suit jacket, Ares pulled out a fifty and placed it into the large tip glass set discreetly at the side of the bar.

The place was packed.

"How's the bullet hole?" a voice over Ares's left shoulder asked.

Turning on his stool, Ares was greeted by a half-naked Jared, smirking, standing with his thumbs resting on the waistband of his underwear.

Jesus, man. Was every guy in this place a walking sex dream?

The man was shirtless, wearing only a tight pair of red boxer briefs that left nothing to the imagination. His bulge hung low, carrying the weight of his package down in his briefs.

Seriously. Did the guy have back problems?

It was difficult not to stare, especially when the outline of the guy's dick was so prevalent in his briefs. Ares may be almost double the young man's age, but still… he was only human.

Shaking the dirty thoughts from his head, he did his best to keep his eyes above the beefcake's broad shoulders.

The last time he had seen Jared, they were trudging around through a sewer on their way to rescue Jared's boyfriend, Isaac. That was also the operation where Ares stupidly got shot while jumping in front of a bullet to save their fearless leader—the man currently nowhere to be found.

"It's all closed up. No longer leaking blood all over Matteo's expensive sheets," Ares finally answered, taking a sip of his whiskey and waiting for the delicious burn of the amber liquid to fill his raspy throat.

Jared let out a snort-chuckle. "Yeah, M wouldn't stop bitching about how you were ruining his Egyptian cotton sheets."

"Yet, he kept replacing them every day with another set of the same expensive sheets."

"Yeah, that's M for you. He acts tough and mean, but deep down, he's nothing but a softy." Jared's face took on a brightness as he talked about his boss. It was clear that he idolized his boss and mentor. Ares couldn't agree more.

"So, how are things with you and your guy?" Ares asked, focusing on the black rims that surrounded Jared's chestnut eyes.

Jared stole a glance over his shoulder, no doubt pretending not to check out his blue-haired partner in crime.

Isaac was dancing two booths over, shirtless, on a table in front of four Filipino men. The snake tattoo on his back seemed to come alive as the boy moved as if protecting its master while he danced.

Fuck, that tattoo was creepy as sin.

"They're great. I still want to murder the guy from time to time, but at the end of the day, there's no one I'd rather have in my arms when I fall asleep late at night."

"Those are the best types of love," Ares noted.

He envied Jared. To have found love so young and know that you have the rest of your lives to share in that love was something truly remarkable. Ares had wasted so much of his own life hiding who he was and denying himself the one thing that would truly make him happy.

Face it. There's no chance in hell that someone like you will ever get that happily ever after. Nope. No, sir. Not you. There are way too many sins and lies and broken promises to ever make Cupid want to turn his arrows on you. No. There's a special place in hell for people like you.

Then, another voice deep inside his subconscious spoke. All alone. In the dark. With nothing but silence. That is your future.

Taking another sip of his whiskey, Ares shoved that voice back into its room and fastened the lock. He fucking hated that guy. Always reminding him that he was going to be alone. Forever. Because he was a monster, and nobody ever chose the monster at the end of any love story.

Stealing a glance at the man standing next to him, Ares's jaw tightened.

People always chose guys like Jared in the end. Hot, hung, muscled, and young.

Stop. You're getting jealous of some snot-nosed kid. The guy doesn't even have a quarter of the world experience that you do. He isn't rich, powerful, or feared by many. Yes, the guy might be young, but does he know how to make a man come without touching himself? Probably not.

Then he took a second glance at Jared and all his thick muscles.

Bloody hell. The guy probably does.

"So, are you here for the entertainment?" Jared asked, glancing around the room. "Is there someone specific you wanted me to send over?"

Ares tried to hold in his laugh. "No, I'm not here for the entertainment. I actually stopped by to check on Matteo. See how he's doing."

Jared glanced over at Shawn, who was busy serving one of his customers. "Uh, M isn't here right now."

There was something in Jared's voice that didn't sit right with Ares. Was Matteo in trouble?

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

Another nervous glance around the room. Jared was clearly conflicted about something. Now Ares was starting to get concerned.

"Jared, where did Matteo go?"

The young man remained silent for a moment, biting his lower lip. Finally, he let out a breath, appearing to give in to that inner voice of his.

"Look, he said he was taking a few days off to be alone and clear his head and that he would be back in a week or two."

Ares didn't like the vagueness of his answer. He studied Jared's face, searching for some sort of clue or indication that he was hiding something more. The boy was clearly conflicted, trying to respect his master's wishes while appearing concerned for his boss's well-being.

"Did he say where he was going? What hotel he was going to be staying at?" Ares asked, hoping for some kind of indication as to the man's mindset.

Was Matteo caving in on himself? Recoiling into some isolated, solitary confinement?

Or was Matteo simply looking to blow off some steam and was off relaxing in some luxury spa in Ibiza or Barcelona?

Matteo's state of mind was crucial to whether Ares was going to worry or not.

Ares didn't like the thought of Matteo surrounded by all those hot, golden-skinned Spanish men. Even if he was off relaxing in a spa somewhere.

Jared just shook his head.

What was going on with Matteo? Why was the man being so secretive? Fuck , the man could be so stubborn.

Ares pulled out his cell and pressed call on Matteo's number.

The phone went directly to voicemail.

"Fuck," Ares growled under his breath. Then he realized that Jared was still standing next to him with a concerned look on his face.

"Is everything okay? Should we be concerned?"

Shaking his head, Ares downed the rest of his whiskey with a snarl, then dropped a fifty on the bar.

"I'm sure everything is fine. Look, if Matteo does happen to call or come back home, tell him to give me a call. And if he doesn't, can you at least give me a call?"

Jared nodded, his chestnut eyes filled with concern.

Ares scribbled his number on the back of a napkin, then shoved that and two hundred euros into Jared's unsuspecting hand.

"Here. Use this and take your man out on a nice date."

The boy looked up at him, speechless. "Umm, thanks, Mr. Ares. That's really nice of you."

"No thanks needed." Ares stepped off his chair, giving Jared a pat on his back before heading toward the exit.

He needed to find Matteo.

He needed to make sure that the stubborn-ass Italian was alright.