Page 71 of The Broker

The air grew thick as both crew leaders glared at each other from across the hanger.

“’Bought fuckin’ time,” Matteo growled, not making any attempt to move or greet their new comrades.

Ares pushed the side of his suit jacket back and slipped his hand casually into his pocket. There was an air of confidence that radiated off the man; perhaps it was his expensive suit and strong, bold features, or perhaps it was the army of disciplined killers standing behind him in perfect unison.

Whatever it was, Jared was glad to see the man.

“Hey, it takes a bit of time to pull together the type of manpower you were requesting. Had to assemble my A-team and grab a few… toys.”

Ares turned his head slightly, then nodded.

Behind him, both lines of angry-looking men turned to their vehicles and began unloading crates and duffle bags from the SUVs. They carried them over to the plane’s cargo hold, where they started loading the items.

Jared watched as Ares walked up to Matteo and gave him a crooked smile. He stepped past the six-foot, scowling Italian and began climbing the stairs.

“Are you coming? Your boy won't save himself,” Ares called over his shoulder as he stepped onto the plane.

Say what you will about gun traffickers, but Ares had style.

Matteo let out a snarl before adjusting his suit jacket, then following his nemesis onto his plane.

Jared and Chase exchanged a glance.

“You dipshits coming?” Matteo shouted from inside the plane.

The rest of Matteo’s team hurried onto the plane, followed by the super-secret death squad that apparently Ares controlled.

Fifteen minutes later, they were up in the air and waiting patiently as the friendly flight attendant asked each one of them what they would like to drink. Unfortunately for Diesel, his favorite flight attendant was not working their flight.

“I’ll take a vodka, straight, love,” Ares said, giving the young woman a warm smile—well, as warm a smile as someone like Ares could give.

The man was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. His clothes might say rich and powerful, yet his face and body screamedscary monster who eats puppies for breakfast. And if his face wasn’t scary enough, there was the nasty-looking scar running along the side of his neck. Talk about making a man look badass. Wasit a battle wound? An assassination attempt? No one knew, and no one dared to ask.

“And you, sir?” she asked, turning her attention to Matteo, who sat diagonally across from Ares, pretending to read a book.

“I’ll have a gin martini, please,” Matteo responded, folding the top corner of the page and placing his book down on the seat next to him.

Ares glanced over at the cover but refrained from saying a word.

Jared could feel the tension between the two men. They appeared to hate each other—or at least Matteo hated Ares, yet they kept working together when needed.

Was it a rich man’s thing? Was there some sort of uber-rich code where the wealthy and super-powerful had to help out one another when the money signal got thrown up in the sky? Or was there more to this embattled relationship?

Jared had no idea.

The flight attendant returned with their drinks before disappearing once again behind the curtain at the back of the plane.

“You know, this is the second time you’ve called me for my help in these last few months,” Ares began. “People are going to start thinking that we are friends or something.”

Chase and Jared sank down in their seats, hoping that their presence would go unnoticed. Having Ares and Matteo both in the same room was like shaking a box of thirty-year-old sticks of dynamite. You never knew when the damn thing was going to explode.

“I’ll do what I have to in order to ensure the safety of my guys,” Matteo responded flatly. There was no bite, no gratitude, just a steady rhythm to his tone. “Even turn to the Devil himself if I need to.”

That last comment had Jared and Chase both leaning into each other, trying to contain their laughter.

Ares smirked. He picked up his drink and took a sip, eyes glancing around the private jet as he swallowed.

“Hmm,” their newest guest hummed. “It’s a nice jet you got here. Very fancy.” The man looked down into his drink as he swirled the liquid around in the glass. “I don’t own one myself, but I guess for someone as pretentious as you, having a jet is kind of a requirement,” Ares casually mentioned, taking another sip of his vodka. His eyes casually roamed over Matteo, dressed in his usual perfectly tailored suit.

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