He waved his hand toward the wide-open door and moved up the stairs, guiding us into a blinding entrance hall. The white marble floors reflected the chandelier light from overhead and had me squinting until my eyes adjusted. I did pause to admire the split staircases with their intricate black iron railings that came back together at the second floor. We’d been here a fair few times but not enough that the awe had been lost; we all stared at the polished floor we could almost see our faces reflected in. The boss was a man of taste and made sure his servants kept his place clean and spectacular. It was hard not to lose your breath when you walked into it. Our house was nice—more than nice—but it had nothing on this.
“What do ye think this is about?” Rowen asked, glancing at me, then Aspen, who stepped up to my side. The bastard was so quiet most of the time I didn’t even realize he was there until someone else acknowledged him. He moved like a ghost—his feet barely making a noise on the floor even though he had more muscle than I did. He was packed like a prop from a rugby team.
“Give me a second to mind read the boss’s thoughts.” I pressed my fingers to either side of my temple and closed my eyes, humming, before I shook my head. “Nope, not getting anything.”
Aspen snorted out a quiet laugh while Rowen glared.
“Ye’re a tool,” Rowen grumbled.
Aspen shook his head and moved around me to step in between us. He held up his palms toward us with raised eyebrows, his message clear. This wasn’t the time or place for bickering. The boss would get tired of that shite quickly.
Jamie walked out from down a hallway to the left of the stairs, looking every bit the smug arsehole he always did. His dark curls were a right mess, as if he’d fucked this evening and had only run a hand through them on his way out the door. As far as blokes in charge went, he was one of the better ones to deal with. Jamie wasn’t some serious fecker who had a tendency to chop off fingers. I’d met a few of those in Dublin when we worked for a gang. That’s where Sloan found us, when he’d traveled to Ireland with his father. I liked the boss. He wasn’t the kind of bloke who beat around the bush, and as long as you worked hard and stayed loyal, he treated you well.
Jamie was dressed in a slick blue suit, custom-designed and pressed to perfection. That charming smile he always wore spread wide across his mouth and his brown eyes sparkled with amusement. His right-hand man, Corbin, stood at his... well, his left side. He wasn’t much to see, very plain and a short, sarcastic fucker besides, but then again, I would be at the end of my nerves, too, if I had to deal with Jamie’s antics. Last I heard, though, Jamie had settled down with a cute twink.
“Ya wouldn’t be starting shite with Rowen there, now would ya, Cillian?” Jamie gave me a roguish grin.
“That wouldn’t be anything new, would it?” Corbin asked with a shake of his head. “Cats and dogs don’t go at it like they do.”
These guys were two of my favorites, in part because, like us, they were direct from Ireland. They were as green as any of us fucking leprechauns could get.
I smirked. “Aye, I don’t start anything I can’t finish.” Reaching around Aspen, I shoved Rowen’s shoulder. “This wee fecker doesn’t give me enough fight back. He’ll probably go to church after this and confess his sins to Father Shay.”
Jamie laughed, his face lighting up. “Nothing Shay’s not heard before, is it?”
Corbin crossed his arms over his gray suit and shook his head. “That lad has heard more interesting stories than any of ya will likely tell him. He’s familiar with all our demons.”
Aspen grunted and shrugged because it wasn’t entirely a lie. For those of us who were religious, which was about every Irishman that ever existed, going to confession was part of a weird tribal ritual. Any real leprechaun got their arse handed to them by their parents if they didn’t go to church at least once a week—minimum. Hell, I remembered how fanatic my ma was about it. She always dressed us in suits with gel in our hair, perfect boys who shined so effortlessly, Mrs. O’Murphy from down the road had no choice but to come over to us in the pews and commend Ma on a job well done in raising us.
When I got old enough to argue, it was Da who put his foot down and brought out the belt. He never hit us, but the threat alone had us at Ma’s side as we said our prayers. Until the wholecoming outthing. The Catholic Church had grown less relevant over the years, especially in America, but Ireland was a completely different story, especially when I was nineteen and feeling brave. It got my arse kicked out of the only home I’d known, and as retaliation, I’d taken Rowen and Eamon and left for Dublin.
“What’s the boss want?” Rowen asked, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking on his feet. Prior to leaving home we’d both dressed in a suit, the kind the boss liked to see his top-notch men wear. Theeejithad grabbed a sky-blue one I’d told him more than once would show blood too easily. Sloan Killough demanded perfection, and as a representative of his company, his soldiers had to reflect that ideal. I wasn’t brave enough to approach Sloan in anything but a suit.
“That’s for ya to find out.” Jamie twirled his hand in an overdramatic movement and grinned wickedly, eyes twinkling. The fucker only got serious when the real shite went down, otherwise he always looked like he was having the time of his life. “Sloan called for all of ya specifically. Said ya were the only ones he was wanting for the job.”
That usually meant it involved a great deal of violence. Aspen and I specialized in brutal attacks, and as much as Rowen complained about it and went to confess to God, he had his set of skills as well. He was the one who balanced us out, brought us back from the brink of chaos so we wouldn’t kill the bastard we were torturing. But when push came to shove, he was also a sharpshooter. Give him a long-range rifle and a target in the far distance and he could take them out.
“In his office?” I asked.
Jamie nodded at the hallway and turned. He and Corbin led us toward the boss’s office. The polished floor gleamed under the glittering lights, and artwork that was either stolen or extremely expensive—worth more than I ever hoped to earn in a lifetime—lined the walls. I noted a couple of paintings that were pilfered from the most high-tech museums with their overcomplicated security systems. Oisín, our sneaky wee mouse of a thief, got through protection like that easily. He’d replaced the artwork with fakes, something he’d personally overseen, and he claimed that none of his switches had been spotted.
Oisín had a thing for art.
He also hada thingfor my and Aspen’s cocks. We’d both had a go at him at the same time, and he might be a mouse on the job, however, he was a tiger in the bed.
But he had nothing on Vail.Does Aspen want a go at him?
I glanced at my friend, with his tight mouth and gaze focused. When it came to the job, he had no other thoughts except our work. He was my partner in crime in all things blood and sex. How I’d ended up in the same bed sharing a man withRowen, of all people, I had no fucking idea.
Jamie knocked on the wooden door when we reached it. “Come in.” It sounded like Sloan was in a feckin’ mood.Great.
Corbin and Jamie swept through first, and when we entered, I smirked. The boss was leaning back in his seat behind the glossy wooden desk, head thrown against his office chair and eyes closed, mouth curled in absolute pleasure. He hummed and held up his palm to tell us he needed a moment. The pleasant tease of vanilla tickled my nose, which I doubted the boss was responsible for, but it lingered in the air.
Grinning slyly at Aspen, I walked over to one of the black leather chairs on our side of his desk. Jamie took the other one while the rest of the guys sidled up behind us.
Sloan groaned low in his throat and his lower body jerked, and while I couldn’t see what was happening beneath the desktop, I could easily guess. Slurping sounds grew louder, joined by some choking every time Sloan thrust his hips forward, and after a few seconds, he grunted before relaxing. He slid back on his wheeled chair, and his pet, Conall, crawled out from under the desk. Conall sat on his lap, and they kissed passionately, mouths eating at each other until Sloan patted him on one leather-encased arsecheek.
“Thank you, pet.” Sloan’s American accent was always a bit captivating, considering he sounded like one of us otherwise. It was a difference I enjoyed.
