Sloan raised a dark eyebrow. “What happened to your pants, Brion? It looks like you dressed for two different occasions.”
“Yeah, it’s nice, right?” Brion smoothed his hands over his chest and glanced down at his jeans. “It’s the in thing, Boss. Serious at the top”—he waved at the upper half of his body—“party down below.”
Cillian couldn’t hold in a groan, and I didn’t blame him. Was Brion serious right now?
Sloan pressed his tongue against his teeth, mouth open slightly and turned to the side so we could see his irritation. “If I see you in jeans again, I don’t care who your uncle is, I will throw you to the pigs. You are representing me and my company, and I won’t have an employee of a high position looking likethat.”
Conall stiffened beside Sloan, the amusement gone from his face.
Brion winced and real regret had him grimacing. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Sloan stared at him for too long and the air grew tense. A car passed us and slowed down, almost like they were thinking about stopping to see if everything was all right before they thought better and kept going. Smart of them.
Finally Sloan made a sound and turned to glance at one of the empty storefronts. There wasn’t much there, other than a large dusty window with chipped lettering. The walls surrounding it were brick, though, and it had sturdy bones.
“We’re going to open a hair salon,” Sloan said abruptly.
I frowned at him, and so did the others.
Sloan smirked as he looked at each of us. “That’s what my deal with Sidorov is. This is his neighborhood, of sorts. He knows the people around here and he found the location. He has women and men who have a cosmetology license. We’ll get people in here to renovate and have this business up and running in less than a month.”
Cillian shifted his weight. “But why, sir? We’ve got businesses to launder the money through. More than enough. Why this?”
Sloan’s smirk widened. “Thiago Reyes started a salon in Miami.”
Realization dawned on me. It’d always been a battle of wits between Sloan and the Mexican drug lord. They played a game of one-upping each other, and starting a salon would piss Reyes off, especially if Sloan’s legitimately made more money than his. Another business wouldn’t go astray, either.
“The cops are already on our ass.” Brion stroked his chin. I had no fucking idea why he was here and Brendan wasn’t.
“Yes, but this business isn’t under my name. Sidorov has it under control.” Sloan gave him a long look that had Brion licking his pale lips nervously. “No one in law enforcement will know it’s ours, not that it matters. The cops haven’t been able to prove a thing, have they?”
“And they’ve backed off since the death of the pain in the arse, Diaz.” Conall shrugged and began walking toward the building, then turned and kept moving backward, a grin on his face. “This is going to be an awesome spot. We could buy the shops around it, too, make our own little sanctuary of company-owned businesses.”
Sloan shook his head, a fond smile on his face. “Pet, come back—”
His words were cut off when the world rocked around us. The ground shook and a forceful explosion threw me into the air. My back hit something—a car—and I landed on the ground with a thump. My ears rang, the shrill sound of alarms and people yelling barely audible with the wailing already echoing in my head. The world turned black, but when I came around, pain pounded in my forehead. I reached up shakily to touch my head, and when I pulled my fingers back they were coated in blood.
Groaning, I finally gathered myself to glance around. My vision whited out before it adjusted, and it was chaos. Some people were on their feet, but most were still on the ground. It took me a moment to remember what we were doing, and when the sharp reality hit, I tried my hardest to push myself to my feet. It hurt. Everything hurt. My knees ached and it was agony to take a breath, but I needed to find everyone.
Fallon.
Someone touched my shoulder, a blonde woman who spoke a language I didn’t understand, but I shook her off and tried to focus on my surroundings. Cillian’s SUV was on its roof farther down the street, the windows shattered and the side blown out. Other cars looked exactly the same way. The shops we’d been looking at were shells of what they’d been, the windows broken and glass scattered across the street. Bricks had been blown out like a mortar shell had landed.
“Fallon?” I didn’t recognize my own voice, but I said it again. “Fallon.”
A groan nearby had me turning, and I breathed out when I saw Cillian and Rowen, bloodied and scratched but whole.
“What the feck?” Cillian touched his ear and grimaced because he probably had ringing sounds like me.
I turned again, assessing my surroundings. Sloan came from my left and grunted when he reached us, his usually perfect suit ripped, with drops of blood on the collar. He mostly looked healthy, though, minus a few scratches on his neck and jaw.
“Bomb,” I said, my voice scratchy. “Fallon—”
“I’m here.”
I spun and sighed in relief when I saw him, skin covered in dust and gray soot but healthy. Rushing over to him, I cupped his face and still checked him over. “Are you okay? How are your ribs? Fuck, what do you need?”
“I’m fine—”
