2. Ares

2

ARES

T he cold night air cut deep, slashing across Ares's face as he exited the car. He pulled his coat tight across his chest and shivered as he looked up at the broken-down building standing before him.

Fucking place.

He hated it here. Nothing but weird smells, trash everywhere, and people who wanted to fuck you up the ass any chance they got.

Criminals.

Every fucking one of them. As far as the eye could see. They would sell their mother to the devil if they thought they could make a quick buck off of her.

Weakness.

It was all any of them looked for. Trying to find it. Exploit it. And take you out at the knees.

That was one of the important lessons Ares had learned long ago—never show weakness. The moment you did, you were done for. The fuckers were like sharks. They all swarmed in the second they smelled blood.

Which is why he was standing outside an industrial warehouse in the middle of fucking November in Lithuania.

Ares turned to Elijah, his head of security and second in command, and shook his head.

He really fucking hated it here.

Elijah just stared. He didn't need to say a word. He knew exactly what was going through Ares's mind.

The man was ex-special forces, having worked under various regimes in the Middle East before branching out on his own as an independent contractor doing work for different crime lords or corrupt politicians across the globe. Elijah had many talents, one of which was the ability to get in and out of heavily guarded areas without being detected. Watching the man work was like watching an artist create. You were just… in awe.

But just like every master spy, Elijah's luck eventually ran out, and the man was captured in Qatar. The funny thing about capturing a man like Elijah, the government never publicizes the arrest. They don't want word getting out that they are in possession of such a high-value target. They want privacy while they… extract their own information. Having other governments or agencies looking over one's shoulder limits the tactics one can use on a prisoner before eventually executing the man.

It was Ares who eventually discovered the talented mercenary being tortured for information… just days away from his execution.

Although Ares had never met Elijah before, he had heard rumors of the man's talents . Not wanting to see those skills go to waste, Ares secretly arranged an escape and helped get the man out of the country before his execution.

Ever since then, Elijah had been serving faithfully by Ares's side. There is little trust in the criminal world, but saving a man's life can help build an everlasting bond between two criminals—especially ones with trust issues.

So here they were—brothers in arms—well… more like master and his guard dog . But still, they looked out for each other.

"Let's get this shit done so we can get the fuck out of this place," Ares mumbled to Elijah. He turned and began trudging toward the well-guarded entrance to the facility.

At the door, they were welcomed by three men holding assault rifles. Two of them held their weapons with confidence and experience, while the third looked like he had just been tossed a gun and told to look like it wasn't his first time.

"Evening, gentlemen," Ares greeted, looking at the one man who actually looked like he might have killed before. Thankfully, the man appeared to understand English. Whether he spoke it back was yet to be determined.

Lithuanian was one language Ares had not been able to master. He spoke pretty decent Russian, but he wasn't sure how many people in this god-forsaken country spoke Russian. Frankly, he didn't care. Let's just say that Lithuania always left a bad taste in his mouth. He also had the scar on his neck to prove it. That was the one and only time someone had actually got close to ending his life.

Lessons learned. Bodies long buried.

Ares studied that man who appeared to be sizing him up. The man had a gun in his left inner jacket pocket but doubted he would have time to reach for it. If he were stupid enough to try anything, Elijah would have a bullet between the idiot's eyes before the man could even cock his weapon.

Although, it would be a pity if the man ended up with lead poisoning. He had this rough, handsome-angry look about him like he enjoyed hate-fucking women up against dumpsters in the back of this trashy facility. The guy probably liked giving them a bruise or two in the process.

The man had two-day stubble and a nasty-looking scar across his eye. Ares had to admit that the scar made the guy look totally badass.

The other two guards were posers, meant to instill fear and hopefully stop would-be trespassers or unwanted guests from entering. Although, the one guy who looked barely out of puberty would probably shit himself if Ares were to pull out his own gun and point it at the man's balls.

"And you are?" the man with the eye scar grunted. His grip tightened on his weapon as he waited for Ares to answer.

"The big boss," Ares responded, giving the beast a wink. In a pissing contest, you always made sure to show confidence.

The man stared at Ares for a moment, no doubt marveling at what a powerful man really looked like, before nodding to his two buddies. The two posers pulled open the doors for Ares and Elijah.

It appeared that the man with the scar knew who Ares was after all. Ares smiled internally. It was great that his reputation preceded him.

Once inside, Ares marched over to where a group of men were gathered, waiting for his arrival.

"Ares," a jacked-up muscular man welcomed, hopping off a crate he was currently sitting on to stand and greet Ares.

"Joris, it's good to see you, old friend," Ares responded, taking the man's hand and shaking it firmly. "How have you been?"

"Been good," Joris noted with a shrug. "Been busy setting up a few new deals and making sure things run smoothly at the club. Can't complain. How are things with you?" the man asked, pushing back a few stray hairs that had fallen out of place.

In addition to being shredded as hell, the man was Lithuania's next up-and-coming prince of crime . He was young, ambitious, and knew how to work the criminal underworld.

Ares met Joris three years ago while he was drinking in a shitty dive bar in one of the rougher parts of town. Some low-life idiot pulled a knife on Ares, attempting to rob him while he was taking a piss at the urinal.

A broken nose and three busted ribs later, the would-be robber crawled out of the bathroom, bleeding and barely conscious.

Smirking, Ares walked over to the bartender, ordered a scotch, then sat down on one of the barstools and began wiping the man's blood off his knuckles. The bartender, who introduced himself as Joris, passed Ares his scotch, then spent the next three hours explaining his plans for the future of his bar.

Two months later, Joris had opened his newly renovated bar through which Ares was running his guns and cleaning his money. It was a win-win. Ares provided the capital and gave Joris the legitimacy and street credibility to run his criminal activities in Lithuania, and Joris provided the foot soldiers to help Ares expand his territory and control throughout Europe.

Over the next few years, Joris made quite a name for himself. He brought Ares a lot of business and was proving to be quite the ally in the European criminal underworld.

Money, power, fear, and respect. Those were the pillars of any successful criminal enterprise.

"You know. Same shit, different day. Can't go anywhere near Uzbekistan for the next couple of years, but other than that, life is good." Ares fixed the vest of his suit like he was disinterested in the topic.

Joris chuckled. "Private or government?"

"Wealthy family pissed that I won a contract instead of them."

"Ahh." Joris nodded in agreement. He knew better than to ask too many questions.

Off to the side, they heard a whimper.

Turning his head, Ares glared at the reason he was there. The reason he had suddenly left a lovely dinner party he had been enjoying at a certain German diplomat's home in order to fly two hours to deal with this… shit.

Bound and gagged, a sniveling young man sat on his knees, bleeding and awaiting his fate. Underneath him lay a large plastic sheet, kindly set out to control the mess that Ares was no doubt about to make.

Joris and his men were so thoughtful.

The room was quiet. No one dared to make a sound or get in the way of Ares and the wrath he was about to unleash.

"Who found him?" Ares asked, eyes fixed on the man who had tried to fuck him up the ass.

"I did," a man Ares recognized as Joris's bartender replied. It appeared that Joris's men were pulling double duties.

"And the other guy?" Ares asked, turning his attention back to the piece of shit sobbing on his knees.

"Already disposed of him," the man said, arms folded across his puffy chest.

Ares got the sense that the man was trying to impress him with his take-charge attitude. And why shouldn't he? Getting in Ares's good graces was a smart move for any man.

"So, what was your plan? Steal a few crates from my shipment and shortchange Joris on the delivery? Did you think they wouldn't notice that their delivery was a little light?" If there was one thing that Ares demanded, it was respect. And stealing from Ares was the biggest show of disrespect in his view.

An example would have to be made of this man. The criminal underworld needs to know what happens to people who disrespect Ares. His reputation and career had been built on fear and respect. If criminals didn't fear you, they didn't respect you.

And clearly, this man didn't respect Ares.

The man shifted his weight on his knees. He was bleeding from his head, and snot dribbled down the ends of his nose.

The man looked pathetic. He sniveled.

"Pl-please… Please, Mr. Ares." The man's voice was weak and tired.

People like this man made Ares sick. They pretended to be all tough and gangster, then the second they were bleeding and about to be murdered, they were all tears and whimpers. Talk about pathetic.

"Toughen up and grow some balls, man. At least die with a little self-respect and dignity," Ares barked.

Over his shoulder, he heard Joris give a snort, no doubt trying to contain his laughter. He liked Joris. The man might be young and still have a lot to learn, but he was loyal. He treated Ares with reverence and respect, and he was always willing to do whatever Ares asked of him.

Of course, it could also be the fact that the man was terrified of Ares and didn't want to end up at the bottom of a lake anytime soon. But Ares chose the more positive option.

"Did you get back all the guns that this little prick stole?" Ares asked the man who caught this sniveling piece of shit.

"Yeah, we got them back. Also took the hundred Gs this man was about to be paid for our product."

"Good. So at least you were well compensated for your troubles. I'm sorry that this shit happened to you. I assure you that this is not how I run my business."

"We had no worries, Ares. Never doubted you or your business for a sec," Joris responded. "We just called you, as I know you like to handle shit like this yourself."

Joris was right. Betrayal must be punished, and Ares believed in being the one to deliver that punishment whenever possible.

"Thank you, Joris. A man is nothing without his reputation, and right now, I would like to rectify mine."

Ares pulled a gun from inside his coat pocket and proceeded to attach a silencer to the end.

Even though everyone in this facility was well aware of what was about to happen, Ares still chose not to disturb the neighbors… however far they might be. It was the middle of the night after all. Why should the neighbors be woken up because this piece of shit decided he fancied a bullet in the head?

Yes, Ares was courteous like that. A real gentleman, if you will.

The man kneeling on the plastic became hysterical when he saw the gun. Begging and pleading and crying.

It's in the last few minutes of a man's life that you really get to see what they are made of.

Little men should not play at big men's games if they aren't willing to pay the consequences.

"You knew what happens to those who betray me. Yet, still, you chose to steal from me," Ares reminded, taking a step forward and raising his gun toward the man's forehead.

The man let out a scream as the bullet exited Ares's gun and found its target in the center of the man's head.

The lifeless body slumped forward, landing perfectly on the laid-out covering. Blood began to pour from the tiny black bullet hole, collecting nicely on the plastic below.

Joris was a smart man.

Ares liked Joris.

Turning back to the men who brought him his traitor, Ares began removing the silencer from his gun. Behind him, several workers started rolling up the plastic and moving back boxes.

"I take it you will dispose of this piece of shit?" Ares asked, looking at Joris. The man nodded. "What do I owe you for clean up?"

Joris shook his head. "Don't be stupid. We're friends. It's all taken care of."

This was why Ares loved working with guys like Joris. They knew the meaning of true friendship and loyalty.

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

The two of them walked out to the parking lot, bracing themselves against the frigid cold.

"Feel like coming by the bar? We can have a drink and get caught up," Joris offered.

Ares had been planning on heading right back home to Paris but decided that it was important to spend time with friends. He didn't have many, so he needed to be nice to the few that he had.

"Sure thing. That would be nice."

Joris nodded, then headed off to his car.

Ares glanced over his shoulder at the building that was crumbling before their eyes.

He really hated this piece of shit city.