That same night.
Paddy
Somewhere beyond the Delano estate, in the woods that surrounded the mansion, a small group of men was hunting around the body of the youth, who lay unconscious and bleeding.
Finally, one of them let out a shout.
“Over here! he called just as the leader, a grim-faced man with a flat face, hissed,
“Softly, you fool. ‘ and he grumbled under his breath,
“We don’t want those trigger-happy guards of Delano to discover us.’
The man who had shouted out in excitement had quietened down but he continued to shine his torch on an object on the forest floor which was covered in dry leaves and shrubs.
It was the backpack they had been ordered to find and bring back.
*
the men silently picked it up and after making sure that the contents of the backpack were intact, they swiftly boarded the vehicles they had come in and disappeared into the night, as silently as they had come.
One of them hesitated, his eyes on the prone, still figure on the ground.
“What about him, Afzal?’, he asked uncertainly, jerking his head towards Paddy.
Afzal Khan who was the leader of this operation, scowled, his thin face narrowing further in distaste.
“idiot.’ he muttered.
The other man with the leader sniggered openly as Afzal said sharply,
‘Boss did not ask us to do anything about him. It was an accident and there are no cameras here.’
The man who was in the vehicle, behind the wheel, mumbled,
‘Pansy.’ He was openly scornful of the third man who had hesitated to walk away so callously.
The third man, whose name was Farid Hamza, flushed darkly. He had only been recruited into the group because his uncle was related to Afzal. He hated his job but there was little that he could do. Returning to Afghanistan was out of the question now. He turned slowly and followed the others who had already got info the waiting vehicles.
Afzal Khan was speaking into the phone as the vehicles drew away and sped off.
“Got it,’ said the leader into the phone, patting the backpack that lay on the seat beside him.
***
The man at the other end of the phone smiled coldly. He looked up, his one eye seeking approval from his uncle eagerly.
Bother Paval was watching his nephew.
Dusak nodded curtly as he spoke.
‘They have the information. Knocked down the fellow and retrieved his backpack.’
‘And what did they do to the fellow? That hacker?’ asked Paval immediately.
‘He is …dead.’ shrugged the youth dismissively. But his insides were churning as he understood what his uncle was asking him.
‘Ahh!’ the old man shouted, whirling about and he smote his forehead for emphasis.
‘They should have killed him; disposed of his body and the vehicle!’
Dusak sat up, sweating with fear.
“If Lucien Delano gets to know that his adopted son was run off the road, he will not sit idle, you fool!’ thundered the monk who had shaved his head and looked frightening in his long brown robes.
Dusak swallowed nervously.
In a voice that cracked, he said,
“Shall I ask them to go back…’
Paval picked up a glass paperweight and replaced it on the table, with a clinical iciness that was deathly in its quality.
‘NO!!!” he said in a voice that was soft, almost sad, in its quietness, ‘It is too late!”
*
Cole
He looked around himself.
As the son of Lucien Delano, he had naturally assumed that he would be given a certain amount of respect, and given comfortable lodgings.
But no, that had not happened.
Alright, so he had misread the situation and had kissed the woman who happened to be his father’s wife, so she was his stepmother. But so what?
No crime there, after all.
*
But no, his father, the great Lucien Delano, had taken umbrage to that.
After beating him up to within an inch of his life, the man had ordered his Capo to have him shifted out of the mansion immediately.
The giant Latino had brought him here and he was deposited in a room in some god-forsaken cottage. Through the barred window, he could make out that he was on the grounds of some fancy resort. But far away to be noticed by any guests who came this way. besides, a couple of husky men, armed to the teeth, were patrolling the grounds, and he knew that there were some who were keeping watch over him.
Cole smote his forehead with a fist and winced.
The room was anything but fancy. It was meant to be some sort of holding cell, he guessed, with a bed with a lumpy mattress, a tiny window and a toilet that he could barely squeeze into. The reddish-brown stains on the wall and the floor left him with a cold dread.
Blood.
Someone had been tortured here. Or many someones, he reflected miserably. But Cole was anything if not full of arrogance.
No table. He had to eat his food sitting on the bed and he hated his father for having done this to him. But most of all, he hated the woman who was responsible for his plight.
The woman had no business to be walking about with her big tits jutting out and her large a*s rolling. But his father had beaten him up so badly, he saw that his face was bruised, the skin around his eyes was purple and he still had a bad headache. He swore. Damn the woman.
*
Rising to his feet, he bellowed, ‘Open the damn f*cking door, you f*ckers! Do you…’
He stopped abruptly as the door was flung open and a woman strode in.
Pasting a smile on his face he began to speak,
‘Hey, I knew that…’
The thin woman with cold eyes and a hard face, in a long coat and short, cropped ice-blonde hair did not seem to hear him.
Her eyes were glittering with rage as she approached him.
She moved to him and before he could guess at what she intended to do, she had swung her leg, hitting him with utmost accuracy, in his very private area.
“OOOOWWW!’ he screamed as he dropped to the ground, clutching himself.
Doubled over, he gasped, his eyes watering, ears ringing.
“You make another sound, mother f*cker, and I shall chop them off.’ snarled the woman as she left, whirling around.
He lay on his side on the floor, trying not to cry as the door slammed shut and he heard the key turning in the lock.
Cole lay there for a long while, nursing his balls, fearfully wondering what was going to happen next.