Cristian steps forward, presumably to murder Ares, but Angelo holds him back.
“For fuck’s sake,” Richard snarls. “I didn’t come here for a goddamn soap opera.”
“I suppose we did get a bit off track there,” Ares says. “That seems to happen every time we get together.”
“Let’s do what we came here to do,” Richard orders.
Our men fall in beside us as a show of loyalty.
“Right.” Ares whistles. “Come on out, then.”
Ares’s brothers and a small army of his men filter out of a shipping container, heading our way with their weapons aimed and ready.
We all draw our guns, and Angelo adjusts his tie, a silent signal. A second later, red laser sights cut through the darkness, settling on the targets opposite us.
“Well played.” Ares chuckles, glancing up at the stacks of shipping containers.
Angelo called in reinforcements, and they came in over the fence and took their positions while we were having this standoff.
“You’re surrounded,” Angelo tells him. “So think carefully about your next move.”
“True.” Ares gestures at one of his men, and he hands him an AK-47. “But this changes nothing for me.”
Ares strolls into the epicenter of the powder keg, and his men join him, lining up like a firing squad. We’re all a hair’s breadth from a bloody massacre when Ares turns around and takes aim at Richard Holloway instead.
“What the fuck?” Richard roars. “We had a deal.”
“See, that’s the thing, little dick. I don’t make deals with double-crossers…or men who force themselves on women.”
“What are you waiting for?” Richard barks at his hired muscle. “Shoot him!”
Several of them squeeze their triggers, but nothing fires.
“I told you I’d supply the weapons,” Ares drawls. “Never said they’d be operational.”
“Come on now.” Cal backs himself against the van, holding his hands up as he pleads. “We can work something out.”
Ares makes a show of considering it, clearly fucking with them, but they don’t know him well enough to realize it.
“Perhaps if you get on your knees and beg, we could come to some kind of agreement.”
The men size each other up, waiting for the weakest link to cave first. Naturally, Cal takes on that task, sacrificing his pride as he falls to his knees. The other men follow his lead—all but Richard. His gaze drifts to the exit, as if he stands a chance of getting there.
Beside me, my brothers screw suppressors onto their barrels as I grab my quick-detach can and click it into place.
Ares and Angelo exchange a look, a silent understanding passing between them as we approach. It’s unclear what Ares’s motive is, but he’s giving the men to Angelo, since he was the one who was slighted.
We all know well enough that any gesture from a Stavros doesn’t come without strings attached, but that’s a problem for later.
“Zip them up, and put a lid on them,” Ares tells his men.
“Now, hold on just a minute,” Cal says. “I thought?—”
One of Ares’s men stuffs a rag into Cal’s mouth and secures it with duct tape before he shoves him down and zip ties his wrists and ankles. The other men follow suit, and one of the traitors—an attorney—tries to run. Angelo pistol-whips him and drags him back to the others, securing him personally.
Thirty minutes later, Cristian sends word that he successfully commandeered Cal Van Croft’s yacht and killed the beacon. He’ll meet us at the agreed-upon location.
At the private marina, we load the men onto one of our vessels while Ares waits to see us off.
