Cillian shrugged but didn’t deny it. I’d known him for too long not to see the interest in his eyes. Vail was perfect for us, but playing with Fallon was just as fun. They were two completely different men with opposite reactions.
“Let’s go.” Cillian shoved open the garage door and stalked out with Rowen close behind.
Fallon didn’t move but glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “Does he want to fuck me again?”
“Maybe,” I said honestly, resting my hand on the back of his neck and squeezing. The suit prevented my entire palm touching his skin and I hated it. If I had it my way, both he and Vail would be naked twenty-four hours a day, bent over and holes ready and waiting for us. “But don’t expect anything but sex from him. He’s not going to take you on dates or treat you like his boyfriend. Vail barely gets that.”
“I know.” His face twisted in irritation. “I don’t expect that from him. I’m used to people not caring about me.” He shrugged and went to walk off, but I grabbed his shoulder and spun him toward me. He stumbled into my arms, and I hooked my finger under his chin, raising it.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” he whispered, jaw tight.
“The pity party. Your family is fucked-up, everyone knows that, but don’t act like you’re unloved. Vail loves you.” I gripped his chin tighter and tipped his face up. “I like you.”
“You do?” His gaze turned warm and his lips curved into a small smile.
I grunted. “Why do you need the words?”
I never understood other people and their desire to hear what they already knew. I’d spent all that time in the hospital with him, and I’dshownhim I cared—why didn’t he see it? People lied so easily when it came to saying things, actions spoke louder, yet Fallon still wanted to hear me say it.
“Because you’re not the easiest person to read,” he said softly. “You glare and you make sounds, and until recently you barely talked to me. I don’t know how you feel because sometimes you don’t even look at me.” His mouth tipped to the side. “And I’m a good-looking guy, everyone stares at me.”
I rolled my eyes—he also made jokes to lighten the mood. In a lot of ways Fallon was like me and Cillian, he hated talking about the serious stuff. I didn’t say anything to him, just tilted my head toward the garage door when Cillian shouted, “Hurry the feck up, ye twats.”
Fallon sighed before leaving the house. I locked up and joined them at the SUV. Cillian and Rowen were already in the front, so Fallon and I took the back seat, which wasn’t unusual. Fallon entwining his fingers with mine between us was new, though, and I liked it.
The ride into the city took longer than usual because of the morning traffic, but the entire trip was spent listening to Cillian’s favorite rock music. By the time we reached Queens my head was pounding, and the only reason I wasn’t annoyed was Fallon’s fingers still linked with mine.
“Where are we going?” Fallon asked as the GPS in the SUV guided us to turn down a narrow street. The buildings we passed were the type found in old neighborhoods all over the city, with brick facades in a variety of colors, and heights that ranged between four and ten stories. It was almost like the architects had been in a competition to see who could come up with something the least like everyone else. Cars were packed into parking spots in front of different kinds of shops, including a bakery and a Japanese grocery store. The area reminded me of my teenage years, after Dad died and we couldn’t afford to stay in the home I’d grown up in. We sold the house and moved to something we could manage, which was an apartment in Jackson Heights in Queens. The businesses in that neighborhood were owned by locals, and everyone knew one another. Even though it’d been a dangerous area, mostly for outsiders, it was also a homey one.
This street was no different, and it was busy, with the sidewalks jammed with people who stopped and chatted. Farther down it got less busy, until we reached a bunch of empty storefronts with barely anyone around.
“What is this place?” Rowen sat forward and frowned when we finally caught sight of Sloan’s BMW on the opposite side of the street. Sloan and Conall stood on the same side of the street we were driving down, in front of an empty shop, but when they saw us pull into a spot in front of them, Conall grinned, waving.
“Guess we’re gonna find out,” Cillian said as he gave Conall a two-fingered wave back. It was almost illegal not to acknowledge the boss’s pet. The last thing anyone in the Company wanted to do was insult him because Sloan wouldn’t let anyone off easy for that.
Once Cillian parked and turned off the ignition, I tossed my cap onto the seat, and we all hopped out.
“Gentlemen.” Sloan greeted us with a sharp nod, and we were all fast to return the gesture.
“Don’t you look stylish,” Conall said, taking the time to peruse each one of us, but there was no real interest in his gaze. He got what he wanted when Sloan slapped him hard on the ass, making him chuckle.
“What is this place, Boss?” Cillian asked, straightening and raising his chin. He’d do everything in his power to make up for the fuckup with Ilya, that I was sure of. It wasn’t often Cillian did something stupid to make the boss pissed at him.
“You’ll find out soon, when—ah, there he is.”
We glanced toward Sloan’s car where another, flashier vehicle pulled in behind it. The brand-new Ford Shelby GT500 Mustang in a bright orange color with a black racing stripe had me rolling my eyes. I didn’t have to guess who it was. We didn’t see him often because he was always somewhere in the country searching for “new opportunities,” but Brion Goffney had always been a pain in the ass—a kid in a world of big bad men. He was only slightly older than Fallon, about twenty-five or twenty-six, but had the attitude of an eighteen-year-old party boy. And like Fallon, he was a legacy—the nephew of Brendan Curran, Sloan’s current lieutenant who managed the businesses the Company kept around to launder money.
Brion made no move to get out, and while we couldn’t see what he was doing through the tinted windows of his overzealous car, I guessed it was something like checking himself out in the mirror.
Sighing, Sloan gestured for us to follow him across the street, which didn’t take much effort with the light traffic. When we arrived beside the Mustang, Sloan rapped on the window, which slid down to reveal a goofy grin on Brion’s face.
“Sorry about that, Boss. Had to look my best.”
Like his uncle, Brion had dark red hair and a splatter of dark freckles across his pale cheeks. I didn’t know his history and didn’t care. Not many people in the Company did. They thought he was nothing more than a spoiled brat who’d made his way to second-in-charge of the money laundering businesses through his connections. I knew better than that—Sloan didn’t put someone in a position of power without reasons.
Brion threw open the door and slid out of his low car, and the sight of his entire body had Conall cough-laughing into his hand. Fallon’s lips twitched, too, but I nudged him to keep him quiet. Cillian shook his head while Rowen rolled his eyes. Like the rest of us, Brion had a black suit jacket and a white dress shirt, but he didn’t have the black pants that normally went with it—rather, he’d chosen to wearjeansandsneakers.
