25. Matteo

25

MATTEO

A fter spending three hours trekking through dirt and mud, they finally arrived at a small town an hour away from the France-Spain border.

Ares used some of the cash he had hidden to get them a tiny room located just above a beaten-down store. They tried to get a few hours of sleep, with their angry watchdog never taking his eyes off Jorge.

Once the sun came up, Ares took off to meet a friend of his who was going to help with transportation and getting them across the border, hopefully remaining undetected by Edwin and his crew, who were still apparently hunting them down.

Matteo had sent Jorge into a bakery to grab them all some breakfast items, while Matteo popped into a small clothing shop right across the road from the bakery. He wanted to buy them all a few extra items to help them through their journey.

Picking up a black and green button-up shirt, Matteo wondered if it would look good on him. It was made of a very thin and airy material that would breathe nicely in the summer. It was cute. It had this hot Spanish look to it—like he was going to seduce you, then fuck you till dawn.

His body was still in amazing shape from working out with a personal trainer four times a week, then swimming in their indoor pool every other morning.

Yes, Matteo was vain and liked to look his best whenever possible. He prided himself on his looks and knew that he had to keep up with all the other beautiful men he had working for him at La Maison .

Holding the shirt up to his chest, he checked himself in the mirror and, for once, wished that Ares was around to give him his opinion.

Yeah, the shirt would look great on him with the first two… okay, the first three buttons open in the front. Staring at himself in the mirror, he wondered what he was doing. He was supposed to be buying them clothes for their journey today, not hot Spanish sex clothes clearly made for the summer.

He put the shirt back on the rack and gave himself a mental beatdown. Nothing but vain and selfish.

"This is for you," a man said, appearing out of nowhere.

Matteo spun around, startled, and noticed a man standing next to him holding a cell phone.

"Umm, excuse me?" Matteo asked, confused. He glanced down at the phone the man was trying to give him.

The man didn't answer, just glared at Matteo with a menacing stare.

Matteo swallowed hard. There was something about the man that made him uneasy.

The eyes.

It was definitely his eyes.

They were black as night and appeared void of compassion or feeling. This was the type of man who murdered eight people and then went out for brunch without a second thought.

Cautiously, Matteo reached for the phone, then brought it to his ear.

"Hey, big guy. Long time no talk," a voice he hadn't heard in ages spoke. Matteo's stomach dropped.

"Edwin. Where are you, you little piece of shit?"

There was a chuckle on the other end of the phone.

"Oh, don't worry about where I am. You should probably be more concerned with where my friend is."

What does that mean?

Matteo glanced at the man who had handed him the phone. The man was a head shorter than Matteo, with long, greasy hair and a tiny scar running across his left cheek.

The man just stared at him, not saying a word.

The phone beeped against Matteo's ear.

"Take a look," Edwin's voice dared.

Matteo pulled the phone away from his ear and clicked on the text that had just come in. It was a video file.

Matteo's stomach sank even further.

He hit play on the video and watched as the familiar backdrop of La Maison de M's theatre filled the screen. A room full of guests laughed, joked, and appeared to be having a great time. Then one of the figures in the background came into focus. It was Diesel, and sitting next to him was Isaac—both laughing as they enjoyed some drinks with a table full of guests.

"Now, it appears that my attempt at collecting you at the cabin last night failed, so I'm implementing plan B. My associate standing next to you will calmly escort you out of the store and into the van parked right outside. The driver will then take you to an undisclosed location where I am hoping that you and I can have a little one-on-one chat in person. If you refuse to follow the man or go quietly, my associate who directed this little home video will start randomly shooting people in your little theatre. I can see the headlines now: ‘ Massacre at perverted gay nightclub. Rich and powerful men found with cocks out, riddled with bullets. ' Sounds like a real page-turner, doesn't it? So, what do you say? Will you come quietly? Or would you rather spend the next week cleaning blood off your walls?"

"If you hurt anyone in my club, I will kill you myself."

"Now, that's the spirit!" Edwin cheered. "So, do we have a deal?"

"Yes," Matteo muttered under his breath. His jaw was clenched, and he wanted nothing more than to strangle the man standing before him.

The idea of slaughtering innocent people just to get to him infuriated Matteo. If Edwin had any real balls, he would have faced Matteo in person.

Well… perhaps Matteo might just get a chance to have a brief up-close-and-personal discussion with the little twerp once he arrived at his destination.

The man with the scar took the phone from Matteo's hand and shoved it into his pocket. He must be a local hire. Matteo doubted that Edwin was the type of person to have actually built up a team of his own. Edwin didn't have the balls to be a leader.

The two walked past the store owner, who didn't appear to notice or give a crap. He held his newspaper high on his brow and didn't say a word as the two men exited his store.

Matteo didn't blame him. Most people didn't want to get involved in criminal activity, especially when they had businesses on the line.

The two walked out of the shop, where a beat-up van that looked like it should no longer be anywhere near a road pulled up and opened its side door. An angry-looking man holding an assault rifle pointed it at Matteo, then nodded for him to get in.

Judging by the look of the man, his orders were not to be disobeyed. Where once his left eye had been, there was now only a badly healed-over scar that looked painful even to this day. His jaw was set slightly off-kilter as if it had been broken numerous times in the past.

Glancing over at the front seat, the driver sat with his arm hanging out the window, looking like he didn't give two fucks who saw him kidnapping a rich-looking white dude off the side of the street.

You had to love poor, small neighborhoods. They all knew how to keep their heads down.

The man behind Matteo gave him a slight nudge toward the open van door.

Just as Matteo was about to step inside, he caught sight of Jorge, standing across the street in front of the bakery, holding a white paper bag and a tray of coffees.

The boy looked terrified. He stood there, frozen, eyes filled with fear and concern.

Discretely, Matteo shook his head "no," hoping the boy would remain silent and out of sight. So far, no one had noticed or cared about the young man standing across the street, watching them force Matteo into the van. He hoped that the boy would listen and not do anything stupid, like trying to save his ass. Matteo didn't want to risk anyone else's life unnecessarily.

Inhaling his last bit of fresh air, Matteo said goodbye to freedom and stepped into the van. He decided to take a seat next to a scowling gentleman who looked like he enjoyed scaring young children on Christmas Day. Hey, if he was going to die, he may as well make friends with Satan's bulldog . Maybe he might put in a good word for him in the end.

As the van drove off, Matteo did his best not to look at the young man struggling against his conscience, trying to decide if he should jump in front of the moving vehicle or listen to his friend's instructions. Matteo didn't want to add to the kid's guilty conscience by meeting his gaze… one last time.