“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-comingprince 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.
