Page 74 of The Chameleon

Fucker.

“Fine. Come on. Let’s get out of here,” Ares ordered, walking toward the door.

25

MATTEO

After spending three hours trekking through dirt and mud, they finally arrived at a small town an hour away from the France-Spain border.

Ares used some of the cash he had hidden to get them a tiny room located just above a beaten-down store. They tried to get a few hours of sleep, with their angry watchdog never taking his eyes off Jorge.

Once the sun came up, Ares took off to meet a friend of his who was going to help with transportation and getting them across the border, hopefully remaining undetected by Edwin and his crew, who were still apparently hunting them down.

Matteo had sent Jorge into a bakery to grab them all some breakfast items, while Matteo popped into a small clothing shop right across the road from the bakery. He wanted to buy them all a few extra items to help them through their journey.

Picking up a black and green button-up shirt, Matteo wondered if it would look good on him. It was made of a very thin and airy material that would breathe nicely in the summer. It was cute. It had this hot Spanish look to it—like he was going to seduce you, then fuck you till dawn.

His body was still in amazing shape from working out with a personal trainer four times a week, then swimming in their indoor pool every other morning.

Yes, Matteo was vain and liked to look his best whenever possible. He prided himself on his looks and knew that he had to keep up with all the other beautiful men he had working for him atLa Maison.

Holding the shirt up to his chest, he checked himself in the mirror and, for once, wished that Ares was around to give him his opinion.

Yeah, the shirt would look great on him with the first two… okay, the first three buttons open in the front. Staring at himself in the mirror, he wondered what he was doing. He was supposed to be buying them clothes for their journey today, not hot Spanish sex clothes clearly made for the summer.

He put the shirt back on the rack and gave himself a mental beatdown.Nothing but vain and selfish.

“This is for you,” a man said, appearing out of nowhere.

Matteo spun around, startled, and noticed a man standing next to him holding a cell phone.

“Umm, excuse me?” Matteo asked, confused. He glanced down at the phone the man was trying to give him.

The man didn’t answer, just glared at Matteo with a menacing stare.

Matteo swallowed hard. There was something about the man that made him uneasy.

The eyes.

It was definitely his eyes.

They were black as night and appeared void of compassion or feeling. This was the type of man who murdered eight people and then went out for brunch without a second thought.

Cautiously, Matteo reached for the phone, then brought it to his ear.

“Hey, big guy. Long time no talk,” a voice he hadn’t heard in ages spoke. Matteo’s stomach dropped.

“Edwin. Where are you, you little piece of shit?”

There was a chuckle on the other end of the phone.

“Oh, don’t worry about where I am. You should probably be more concerned with where myfriendis.”

What does that mean?

Matteo glanced at the man who had handed him the phone. The man was a head shorter than Matteo, with long, greasy hair and a tiny scar running across his left cheek.

The man just stared at him, not saying a word.

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