“At least tell me his arse is worth it,” Jamie said with a mischievous smile curling the corner of his lips. “I’ve never seen ye two share anything before, let alone a man. That arse must be magical.”
Sloan rolled his eyes and stood. “I don’t want to know.” He smirked, though. “How are you doing with Reed?”
Cillian stood as well, and I did the same so we were on even footing with Sloan and Jamie. “Aspen’s been working him. He’s the best at the job, but Reed’s stronger than we expected. He hasn’t said a word.”
Sloan raised a dark eyebrow. “Then work him harder and stop worrying about a piece of arse, Cillian. I’m on a time limit and need my product. The last thing I want to do is disappoint customers. Am I clear?”
Cillian winced. “Yes, sir. After we get the information, did ye still want us to drag out the torture?”
“Yes. Make him hurt.” Sloan waved toward the door, and we took it as the dismissal it was.
Jamie led us out of Sloan’s office and into the hallway. I glanced at the artwork—housed in golden frames—that we passed, and while I knew they were expensive, I didn’t understand why. They were paint splattered on a canvas, nothing more interesting than that. I knew for a fact the boss didn’t appreciate artwork, but it was more having it on the walls he cared about. He wanted people, especially men like Elio Folliero, to know how rich and powerful he was. I didn’t blame him. When you got to that position, you had to do shite like that.
We reached the entrance hall, where a man in a leather jacket and worn jeans was sitting on the left side of the white marble double staircase. I hadn’t seen him on the way in and took a moment to study him. His blond hair had been brushed off his forehead, what seemed to be a grease stain darkened the back of his right hand, and his black boots were dirty, filthier than I expected anyone to wear in Sloan’s mansion. He reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on who. I didn’t know this man. He certainly didn’t look like one of our men.
“Ya’re here.” Jamie’s face lit up when he saw the blond, and I didn’t miss the extra bounce in his step as he approached the man. He held open his arms and the stranger stood, cheeks burning red as he cuddled into Jamie’s body. Burying his face against Jamie’s neck, the blond peeked over Jamie’s shoulder to look at us.
“You told me to meet you here,” he mumbled.
Jamie laughed and pulled back. He turned to us and slid his hand into the other man’s. “Boys, this is Hunter, me beautiful partner. Hunter, this is Cillian and Rowen.”
Hunter gave us a shy smile and a short nod. “Pleased to meet you.”
My gaze rose to the left side of his jacket and landed on the small Kings of Men MC insignia with the skull and a crown on top. The name of the club arched over the skull, and below it was the words New York City. On the right side of the jacket was a patch that said President.
“Aren’t the Kings in New Gothenburg?” I asked, pointing at his insignia. “I didn’t know they had a chapter in New York City.”
“We’re new,” Hunter said, smiling in pride.
“Hunter’s the son of King, the club founder.” Jamie curled his arm around Hunter’s shoulders and dragged him close. It was strange to see how serious Jamie was about this, but there was nothing but love and pride in his words and expression. “He’s the president of the new chapter. King trusts him to make a name for himself and the club here.”
I raised my eyebrows and nodded. I’d heard about Sloan’s dealings with King, but I didn’t know a damned thing about him, other than he handled drugs and other odds and ends in New Gothenburg.
Cillian nudged me with his elbow. “He’s also Forrest’s twin brother.”
“Who?” I blinked at him, and he snorted.
“Forrest. The whore at the Virtue. Ex-whore?” He shrugged as Hunter glared at him.
“They call themselves professionals, not whores,” Hunter said sharply, the protectiveness for his brother carving hostility into his voice. I didn’t blame him. I understood the need to defend family, even if Cillian was a dick when he wanted to be.
“I’ve been to the Virtue once and it wasn’t to get me rocks off.” It was to find Cillian to drag him out of there, and he knew it, too. I gave Hunter an apologetic smile. “I don’t know Forrest.”
Cillian rolled his eyes and huffed out a laugh. “He’d have to confess his sins every time he walked in there. His God wouldn’t like him in a whorehouse.”
I shoved Cillian hard enough to move him even though he was heavier than me. He knew I hated him bringing up my faith. The men in the Killough Company still went to church and confessed their sins from time to time, but very few cared like I did. It was expected, considering we killed and committed crimes every day. What was the use of confessing when we’d do the same again tomorrow? But when I died, I wanted a place in heaven. Father Shay knew that and accepted it, even if he didn’t agree with my penchant for sleeping with men.
“It’s nice to meet ye, Hunter,” I said as a way of changing the topic. I held out my hand to him, and he shook it with a smile.
“You, too.” He glanced around, taking in the grand chandeliers, marble tiles, and shiny gold and white everywhere. “Am I the only one who thinks this is a lot?”
Jamie grinned. “He has to make sure everyone knows who the boss is.” There was a fondness in his voice I could relate to. Sloan was fierce and dangerous and an easy man to respect. He did what needed to be done for himself, his business, and his men. As long as you didn’t fuck up, he took care of you.
“Why am I here?” Hunter asked, not unkindly. He cocked his head and stared around again. “If this is the kind of house you want, think again. We’d need an army to clean it.”
Jamie laughed, his eyes twinkling as he laid a kiss on Hunter’s cheek. “We’re going on a date.”
Hunter’s eyes widened and he stared down at himself. “You didn’t tell me that. I came straight here from working on my bike. Fuck, Jamie.”
