Chapter Three
Ardan exhaled slowly, his eye trained through the scope of his sniper rifle. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just waited. He couldn’t read Mancini’s or Santiago’s lips from here, but he imagined exactly what the conversation was about. Santiago had no leadership roles in the Lords. He was a hitman, an enforcer who killed on orders like Ardan. There would be no other reason for Mancini to be talking to him unless it wasaboutArdan.
Which meant Mancini knew he was here.
Ardan fantasized what it would feel like to pull the trigger and watch the bullet pierce through Mancini’s chest, right where his heart was, but he knew a failed hit when he saw one. Even as Santiago rose, rolled his shoulders, and left through the front door of the café, there were too many variables. Customers littered the little café on the main street, a young girl no older than ten sat on a bench in front of the glass window of the shop, her German shepard attached to a black leash in front of her. The bullet would shatter that glass, possibly seriously injure her. He wasn’t about taking unnecessary risks and hurting innocents.
His finger hovered over the trigger and then he sighed, lowering the gun. Damn it.
“That must have been hard for you.”
Ardan stiffened, Santiago’s drawl sending a thrill of excitement down his spine. That voice always excited him, even after they ended their friends-with-benefits relationship.
He stood, brushing the dirt off the knees of his pants, and turned around slowly, a smile curving at his lips. Santiago looked good, more muscular than Ardan remembered. The large black circular tattoo on his chest peeked out from behind his Lords’ cut, and multiple necklaces hung from his neck. The last time Ardan had seen him, he was clean shaven, but the beard gave him an extra appeal.
“Hey, Santi.”
“Ardan.” He stepped closer and grabbed the back of Ardan’s neck, dragging him into a hug. Ardan leaned into his strong body and breathed in the familiar, raw scent that usually came with Santiago. Once upon a time, he thought about what it’d be like to be in a real relationship with Santi, but the dream hadn’t lasted for long. While the sex had been phenomenal, they’d always been great as friends, and only friends.
“How was your meeting with Mancini?” Ardan asked when Santiago let him go and shifted backward.
He raised his brows and smirked. “Who were you watching more? Me or him?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Ardan replied with a shrug. He glanced back toward the café and grabbed his binoculars from the ground. Peering through them, he realized Mancini had disappeared. “He knew I was here, didn’t he?”
“Of course he did.” He leaned against the brick wall that had the door he came through, which led to a flight of stairs. Ardan had flirted his way through the lawyer’s office, acting as though he was a client until they showed him the way to the roof for a smoke break. He’d caught the attention of one of the attorneys, a young man who was all grins and starry eyes, the kind Ardan could easily mold to do with what he wanted. Charming people was part of being an assassin. He wanted people to look away at the right moment and forget things they shouldn’t remember.
It made him wonder how Santi got up there, though. He was attractive, but with a frightening bad-boy vibe.
“What are you doing here, Ardan? You didn’t approach Odin for permission to do business in Pleasant Beach.” Santiago crossed his arms over his massive chest. “You know that’s not allowed.”
“Who says it’s business?”
Santiago snorted and he tilted his head toward the sniper rifle. “That’s business. Did Killough send you? He knows the rules.”
“The boss doesn’t know I’m here.” Ardan buttoned up his suit jacket—he’d undone it to get comfortable on the ground with the rifle. “I came of my own accord. Sloan only knows I’m chasing Mancini. He trusts me to do the job.”
“And you decide to risk a war to get the job done?” Santiago shook his head.
“I kill, the boss doesn’t need to always know how.”
“Did you just admit you’re a hitman, Ardan? Only hitmen would take that attitude toward their employer.” Santi’s mouth twitched into a half smirk.
Ardan stared at Santiago, his face impassive. George taught him to be controlled, no matter the environment. Emotions hurt people, both physically and mentally. He would know too, especially since he’d been working as a contractor for Sloan for a long time, and he’d been the only one who stepped up to teach Ardan how to survive in this world. “Hardly. Hitmen lack art, they’re impulsive and disloyal, paid off by the highest bidder.”
“I’m a hitman.” Santiago’s smirk widened.
“You’re also a biker. At least you’re loyal to your patch and brothers. The Italian is a snake in the grass who needs his head chopped off. Knowing Mancini, though, he’d be a hydra and regrow two more heads in its place.”
Santiago laughed.
“Did you tell Odin?” Ardan finally asked.
Santiago’s laughter died down and he squinted at Ardan, as though he was trying to figure him out. It’d been years since they’d last seen each other, and it almost felt like they were strangers. “Yeah. He’s pissed. Wants you to come to the clubhouse right now.”
Ardan exhaled a long breath and turned on his heel. He opened the bag he’d brought the rifle in, which looked like a regular duffel bag, and started to dismantle the gun. “If he tries to kill me, I’ll put a bullet in his head first, Santi.”
Santiago grunted. “I’ve convinced him not to tie you to his bike and drag you over the road for your disrespect. At least pretend to be apologetic.”
