Buried

CHAPTER 19 | trust nobody

📎A/N.  Here we are again :)  For those of you on holiday, I hope you are enjoying yourselves.  

Thanks for reading and don't forget to vote and comment.

Also, for those of you who have not yet read my other story Masked... if you are enjoying Buried you may also wish to check out my other completed story :)  or at least recommend it to a friend :)

Have a wonderful day and smile at a stranger.  You may just make their day :)

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He was getting restless; or, at least the voice in his head was. Ambrose pulled his errant thoughts to focus back on the conversation with Junior. His Lieutenant had phoned to provide him with a deal gone incredibly wrong, as well as to voice his concern about Elijah's extracurricular activities. Activities that could expose them.

"And you are sure you saw Zublouwski?" questioned Ambrose, still not believing what he had just heard.

"Positive," came Junior's reply, "he was being hustled into his car by his minders when we arrived at the docks."

Ambrose considered the ramifications. The Russians had stepped out of bounds one to many times. He was ready to rip them limb-from-limb ... and then carry out the same justice to every member of their family.

"And you told those sons of bitch's that you had the payment as agreed?"

Junior sighed in frustration. "We had the gold bullion for the deal. But they refused to complete the transaction."

Ambrose screamed down the phone. "You have got to be fucking kidding me! We had a deal."

His temper escalated out of control.  As he stood, he grabbed the top of his desk and proceeded to tip the massive and expensive antique desk on its end. With the sudden and violent action, what had been sitting on his desk was now scattered across his office.

He was livid. Beyond livid. He had brokered a deal with the Mexicans to supply him with over four tonnes of Ecstasy. The drugs had a street value of over four hundred million dollars. The distribution chain had taken months of careful planning to set up. It had disappeared in the blink of an eye, without any warning.

"Those fucking Russians got in my way again" he growled. This time, the voice in his head became more demanding. More feral and primal. It wanted out. Now. It shared his rage.

Ambrose left the destroyed office and headed out through the French doors that exited to the back of the house, and made a b-line for the trees. As he passed the pool house a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Going somewhere?"

Ambrose held his tongue from lashing out at Elijah. Choosing to provide a curt, "For a run," instead.

In the short time since Ambrose's first turn, he was becoming less and less tolerant of the Werewolf. Elijah had a tendency to make himself too at home. Too prone to walking the thin line between what was reasonable and outright stupid.

The head of the New England Mafia was slowly, but surely, learning the benefits of his new life. He was more active; stronger and faster. He did not require as much sleep as before. His eyesight was sharper, he no longer needed to wear reading glasses. To his delight, his hearing was acuter. Every part of him felt alive and young. He had not felt this vibrant and energised in years.

One of the other significant changes that was somewhat unsettling was that his libido was constantly on overdrive. Most nights, he had found himself in one of the cities bars, pulling some strange woman out into the back alley, throwing her up against the wall, and rutting her as if he were a hormonal teenager. Something he had not been in many years.