“I’d like to find out,” I said, and there was more laughter, but I didn’t open my eyes, only snuggled deeper into the warm arms around me.
4
ASPEN KAVANAGH
Vail’s leg was bopping,knocking my knee every so often. He combed his fingers over and over again through the fringe on the end of the red-and-black plaid scarf draped around his neck. It looked good with the black sweater he had on. I’d ignored the little movements at first, but an hour into the trip I’d had enough and grabbed his thigh in a tight grip. He gave me a wide-eyed glance, a silly, nervous smile spreading across his mouth.
“Sorry. I can’t sit still for long,” he murmured.
I stared at him carefully, taking in his full lips and bright brown eyes. He had the prettiest face I’d ever seen on a man with a square jaw that offset the softness of his mouth. Cillian and I had fucked pretty guys before, but no one quite like Vail. He was unique in every sense of the word—personality and appearance both. The men and women we’d shared were submissive and compliant, but none had ever begged like Vail. They didn’t enjoy sex like he did, and there was never a bigger turn-on than knowing someone was loving a good hard pounding. Vail took each of our cocks so easily and still had the stamina for more.
“So, Aspen.” He gave me a wide, toothy smile, his leg begging to bop again, even with my hand gripping at his thigh. “I realize I don’t know much about you.”
Fallon snorted from Vail’s other side, his gaze sliding from his window to us. He was quieter than usual, but he always was before a fight. Going to New Gothenburg was putting him on edge, especially after he’d been so confident he could beat the Knockout Boy. Now he didn’t seem so sure. His golden hair was a mess around his shoulders and tight lines of stress pulled at the corners of his mouth. “No one but Cillian knows a thing about that guy.”
“That’s bullshite,” Cillian said from the driver’s seat and glanced at us in the rearview mirror. “We just don’t tell yer scrawny arse nothing.”
Fallon rolled his eyes and went back to staring out the window, and I almost felt bad for him—almost. He was a pain in our asses, but he was a good guy. For the most part. He tried, and he was a fucking great fighter. We needed that kind of guy in the Company and in our little group.
“What do you want to know?” I asked quietly. I didn’t have a problem with speaking, I just didn’t know why everyone wanted me to blab nonstop. When I was a teen, I didn’t talk at all after my father died. Mom had taken me to numerous counselors, who told her I was a lost cause. Not directly, but what they had said was close enough. Cillian was the first guy I met who I openly spoke to, but before him it was Sloan who had me telling him my name and why I was there on his doorstep.
“My dad’s Irish, my mom’s from the Virgin Islands. She moved to Boston to attend MIT.”
“Really?” He tilted his head. “I love genetics. They are so interesting. My grandfather was German and my paternal great-grandmother was Irish and Scottish.”
“Ah, so we have another Irishman in our midst,” Cillian said with a laugh. “We can make ye a Killough man yet.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t.” Vail shook his head quickly and brushed his blond hair off his forehead. “I’m not very good with weapons.”
I suspected he wouldn’t be very good with killing, either, but I didn’t say that.
“How much farther do we have?” he asked, wringing his hands together and staring out the window on my side.
“Relax,” Cillian said with a chuckle. “We’ve got hours to go.”
“Oh.” He sighed and fell back against his seat. His curious gaze turned to me, and I stared back at him, waiting for his mind to stop racing and for him to ask me the question that was lingering there. It took him a few minutes before he nodded, as though inwardly confirming to himself he needed to ask. “Have you always wanted to be in the Killough Company?”
I stared at him longer, and he shifted nervously. “Yes.”
“Why?” He cocked his head and reminded me of a puppy my dad had given me once. The canine was a golden retriever that followed me everywhere. He’d been my best, most loyal friend when my dad was diagnosed with MND. I’d named him Nugget, and his death had hit me as hard as my father’s.
“Why not?” I raised my eyebrows at him when he frowned harder at me. He sighed loudly, and I laughed. The sound seemed to surprise him because his gaze shot back to me, and I answered the question he wanted to know. “My father was in the Irish mob in Boston.”
“Are you from Boston? You don’t have an accent.”
“Yes and no. My father moved us to New York City when I was four. I never knew why until after he died.” I shrugged, not missing Fallon’s attention as well. Not even he knew this story. The only ones who did know anything about my history were Sloan and Cillian.
“And?” Vail chewed on his bottom lip, his leg bouncing harder until my hold on his thigh tightened. He swallowed deeply, the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing.
“Dad stole from them and was on the run.”
He gasped, eyes wider than they were before. “No one steals from the mob. Did they find him? Is that how he died? Oh my God. Did you see a hit on your father? I’m so sorry.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t be asking you about his death.” His shoulders slumped, and I felt bad for him, so I curled my arm around him and dragged him closer to me.
Chuckling, I shook my head. “No. My father wasn’t killed by the mob. He died from motor neuron disease.”
He winced. “That’s a horrible illness.”
I nodded. “It is.” And it affected everything I did. I watched my father waste away until he couldn’t talk or take care of himself. The medical bills piled up until Mom couldn’t afford it anymore. After he died she would sit and cry at the kitchen table, all over some damned pieces of paper demanding money. She’d made her peace with Dad going, but she was still being hounded. The second I graduated high school I joined the mob my father worked for when he got to NYC. “My father stole information from the Boston mob for the Killoughs. What he gave them was how they managed to destroy the Boston mob and control this half of America.”
