Bastian's Storm (Surviving Raine 2)

“…will have an effect on the weapons. Mountainous terrain increases the possibility of an avalanche when I fire, too.”

“I can ask,” Moretti said, “but I think everything is set now.”

“He’s done this intentionally to give himself better odds,” Arden replied.

“Possibly,” Moretti agreed, “but there isn’t anything to be done about it now. It has to be this way, son.”

I took note of how Moretti addressed Arden and looked at both of them a little more closely. Moretti was short and stocky, whereas Arden was tall and sculpted with lean muscle. His eyes were blue, Moretti’s brown. Arden had light brown hair, cut short against the sides of his head in proper military fashion, and a slight, scruffy beard, but Moretti didn’t have enough hair to determine what color it might have been in his youth. I couldn’t see any resemblance, but that didn’t always matter.

“I understand, sir,” Arden replied.

Moretti stood and headed over to the group that included Franks and Landon, and I took the opportunity to talk to Arden. He looked up as I approached, his face as passive as it had been during the meeting.

“Mister Stark,” he replied politely. He stood and reached out to shake my hand then sat back down at the table.

“I don’t really see Moretti as a bird-man,” I said as I sat down across from him.

Arden looked at me, and I saw him stifle a slight smirk.

“Rinaldo’s more than he appears,” he said. “Like many people in this room, underestimating him is usually a mistake.”

“You aren’t really his kid, are you?” I asked.

“Not by blood,” Arden said simply. “Not that it matters.”

I nodded slowly. His loyalties were set, no doubt about that. He clearly wasn’t someone who was going to turn on his boss. He wasn’t in this because of blood or for the money but a deeper sense of commitment and allegiance.

“You still think I’m a pheasant for plucking?”

Arden stared at me, his face blank. I saw his chest rise and fall slowly, as if he were centering himself.

“I think at the end of this, it’s going to come down to you and me,” he said. “After that, it’s no more than a matter of will.”

He looked me over briefly.

“And aim,” he added.

“You think that will be enough for you?” I asked.

“More than,” he replied. There wasn’t any bravado in the statement; he simply thought it a matter of fact. He had no doubt in his abilities, and I needed to throw him off his game.

“It didn’t keep you out of enemy hands in the past,” I said with a shrug. “It sounds to me as if you have a habit of letting people get the jump on you.”

His eyes tightened but only slightly and briefly. I was hoping for a stronger reaction, but frankly, I wasn’t accustomed to playing mind games. Any reaction at all out of this guy seemed to be a win.

Arden stood, took two steps to get around the table, and leaned over slightly to look me in the face.

“I hear you’re fighting for a kid,” he said softly. “Maybe when I’m done with you, I’ll put a bullet in his skull, just like his mother’s.”

Instantly, my hands were balled into fists. Once that happened, there was no more control left in me. I swung at him, made contact with his jaw, and sent him flying backward. I was on my feet and going for him a second later, but that was all it took for two of Moretti’s goons to grab my arms to try to hold me back.

It didn’t work.

I wrenched one arm out of the grasp of the guy on my right and used it to pop the one on the left hard enough to make him let go. I started to head back to Arden, who was on the floor and rubbing his chin but starting to stand back up again. Another hand grabbed my arm, but I couldn’t shake it off.

“Stop.” Landon’s voice rang clear in my head even before I realized he was the one holding me back. John Paul was on the other side, telling me to take it easy, that there would be a time and place for this, but not here, not now.

“Motherfucker,” I growled. I shook them both off of me though John Paul kept his hand on my shoulder as I stomped toward the door of the barn. I didn’t get far. A moment later, Landon was standing in front of me, blocking my passage.