Page 3 of The Chameleon

Ares nodded, giving his men the “go ahead.”

He watched as the tiny red light on each explosive lit up, indicating that they were armed and active. There were sixexplosives in total, enough to break through the solid rock and surprise their guests above.

Taking a step back, he adjusted the red tie around his neck before folding his hands in front of his body.

Three… two… one…

Bang!

The rock above them exploded as all six explosives went off in unison.

Ares watched with fascination as bodies and stones fell, sending dust and debris into the air as people landed with a painful thud.

To his left, a young man quickly rolled along the ground before throwing his hands up above his head.

“I’m one of Mickey’s guys!” he shouted, eyes wide as he scanned the number of armed men currently holding assault rifles at him.

“Hold your fire. This one’s not a target,” Ares barked, raising his hand and pointing to the buff young man whose muscles were too big for his body.Seriously, did this guy eat nothing but protein shakes all day?

Then recognition set in. Ares had met the young man a few months ago in New Jersey when he was delivering a shipment of guns to the O’Brien crew.

Yes. The young man had been used as a distraction to help entice Ares into giving the O’Briens an extension on the money they owed him for a few shipments.

Ares had seen through the charade, but it was fun to watch the gorgeous young man sweat and squirm when he realized that he was being offered up as a juicy steak to a closeted homo who specialized in trafficking guns and killing people—not that Ares would have taken them up on the offer, but he appreciated the view.

Above them, fire raged, and gunshots erupted. All hell was breaking loose, yet the Devil himself was down here with them.

“Put your hands up,” Ares barked at the sleazy-looking man with the scrunched-up face. The man must be the leader, the one they calledSeamus.

Ares’s attention was briefly interrupted when two screaming men fell through the hole in the rock above them.

“Cillian, you okay?” Mickey, the leader of the O’Brien crew and the reason Ares was here, called down from the gaping hole the two men had just fallen through.

It appeared that Mickey and his crew were just tossing evil men into the pit that Ares and his team had just created.

Efficient.

“Yeah, just chillin’ down here with Ares and his army,” Cillian shouted back up with a smile on his face.

“Got room for some more?” Mickey hollered as two other young men peeked their terrified faces over the edge of the hole.

“Yeah, we got room. Send ’em down,” Ares chuckled up at Mickey.

They watched as three more of Seamus’s goons were tossed down into the pit like they were nothing more than rag dolls.

Two nights ago, Mickey had reached out to Ares, explaining that a man by the name of Seamus had a journal in his possession that listed personal information about Ares and other wealthy, powerful men and that Seamus planned on using this information to blackmail Ares into giving him control of the gun trade in Europe—something Ares had worked his whole life to achieve.

Apparently, Seamus had already used the information contained in the journal to gain control of the criminal underworld in Ireland and was looking to expand his reach eastward.

Like fucking hell.

Naturally, Ares offered to help Mickey take down this ambitious asshole, offering up the venue, weapons, and some of the best-trained killers he had working for him.

“Stand up,” Ares ordered, looking at Seamus and his group of pathetic-looking gangster wannabes. “This is what happens when you fuck people over for power. True power comes from making friends, alliances, and having respect for one another. Take me and Mickey. I’ve been doing business with him and his family for over twenty-five years now. We work together, and we respect each other. This is why we have both been in business for so long. Ain’t that right, big guy?” Ares called up to Mickey, who was standing alongside members of his own crew, watching the execution that was about to take place.

“Damn right, buddy,” Mickey responded with a hint of an Irish accent.

Mickey was the head of the O’Brien crime family in New Jersey. Originally from Ireland, the O’Briens had spent the last few generations making a name for themselves in the United States.

---