Three police cars whizzed past us going in the direction we’d come from with their sirens blaring.
“There’s an SUV following us,” Rowen said.
When I glanced out the rear window I saw the vehicle he was talking about—it was a big black Expedition like Cillian’s. Conall had his eyes closed and cradled his left arm close to his chest, and Sloan had his hand on the back of Conall’s neck, rubbing at the skin above his collar with his thumb. He looked angry enough to chew bullets for breakfast, his cheeks blazing red. I’d never seen him this way. Every now and then he caressed his thumb along Conall’s collar, almost like he was checking it was intact.
My stomach twisted, and exhaustion hit me like a board bashing the top of my skull. I felt fucking flattened. There was no way it was an adrenaline crash because I was still wired as fuck, with my toes tapping and fists curling, but it did feel like an after-fight drop, so what did I know?
When we pulled up in front of the glass-and-steel building that housed the super-swanky apartment the boss kept in Midtown, Sloan pulled Conall into a gentle kiss. I snagged Aspen’s hand and gave it a squeeze, and he didn’t let go right away.
Conall sat back from Sloan, and he smiled around at us. “Let’s go in. We can get this figured out inside.”
Sloan got out and held the door for Conall, and when I went to move, Aspen clutched my hand tighter. I frowned at him and got what was about to happen three seconds before Conall let loose a string of swear words that would have burned the ears off a sailor.
“You’ve got to be kidding. You want me to go inside, and you’re going to go off and—”
“Pet, we’ve discussed this.” Sloan’s words were deadly and low, even if he still looked at Conall like he was the center of the universe. Conall scowled, but his words dried up and he scooted out of the car. He didn’t look at Sloan as he stood, but he kissed Sloan’s cheek.
“Yes, Boss,” he muttered.
“Go inside. Rory will see to it you are safe. When I give him the word, he’ll escort you back to the Hamptons, but I have no idea what is going on. There will be no arguments right now, do you understand?” He glared.
“Yes, Boss.” Conall’s throat bobbed and he stared at the ground.
“Call Vail and Lorcan. You tell them to go to the mansion and stay put. I don’t care what they’re doing, they need to drop it and go until I give word otherwise.”
“You think it’s that bad?” Conall asked, almost in a whisper. He leaned down. “Be careful, all of you fucking be careful. Vail won’t be okay if you’re not.” He shook his head and pressed his lips to Sloan’s before he backed away. “Come home, Boss.”
Sloan nodded grimly, and Conall set off, no doubt to do exactly as Sloan said. I’d never heard one word about him ever letting the boss down. Sloan stood there until Conall and his bodyguards—who jumped out of the SUV that had pulled in behind us—were in the apartment building, and when the boss got back in, he glared around at us. I shivered and the hair raised on the back of my arms. His fingers drummed on his knees and a calm slid over him, the type that ended with drawn guns and bloodbaths. Someone honked behind the BMW, but Sloan didn’t give the word to go. My heart hammered as he scowled directly at me, but I let out a relieved breath when he turned his gaze toward the floor.
“What are ye thinking, Boss?” Cillian asked.
Sloan laughed, and I didn’t like the sound of it. “Are you prepared to do your jobs today?”
“Aye,” Rowen said quickly.
Cillian grinned.
Aspen nodded, calm as ever.
“I’m game,” I said, giving him my widest grin as I slid my hand free of Aspen’s.
Sloan smirked. “We’re going to the Bolshoi Room in Brighton Beach. I must have a discussion with Sidorov.”
Terror ran down my spine. I wasn’t exactly excited to be in another situation where I might need to kill a man, but it sounded like we were heading out to party.
“Won’t he have protection there? Isn’t that his turf?” Cillian wasn’t objecting, in fact he sounded nearly gleeful. “Brighton Beach, I didn’t think I’d see the day we were heading out that way for a bit of fun.”
“Yes, and we’re walking in and out of there.” Sloan stared around at all of us, then his lips quirked toward a nicer smile. “Conall and Vail are going to be together this afternoon, can you imagine what we’ll put up with if there are any new wounds on us when we get back?” He chuckled, and Rowen snorted. I couldn’t bring myself to join in because I was too worried we wouldn’t manage to waltz into Russian territory and back out again without trouble. “Brion, drive to Brighton Beach. The Bolshoi Room.”
“Where is that?” Brion asked, and Sloan shot an exasperated look at the back of his head.
“Use yer feckin’ head, boyo,” Cillian turned around to bark at him. “Or is it only there to keep the gobshite ye’ve got sloshing around in there from stinking up the car?”
Brion muttered something that sounded a lot like “fuck you,” which wasn’t smart. I didn’t even do that to Cillian, and I loved pushing buttons. By the glare Cillian gave the back of his head, I didn’t think he’d forget it, either.
It took nearly an hour with traffic to make the trip, and during that time Sloan was able to turn around and remove the panel in the middle seat so he could pull handguns out of the trunk of the car. The weapons were divvied up, and I was reminded too much of the day with Ilya. The cool metal of the small black Glock against my palm had my heart thumping too fast. I tucked the gun into an inside pocket of my jacket.
“What’s the plan, Boss?” Rowen asked as the car slowed in front of the Bolshoi Room. The restaurant wasn’t much to look at, and the BMW stuck out like a sore thumb among the few cars parked on the fresh blacktop divided by blinding new yellow lines. The boxy building had red siding and a flat roof, and the sign for the business was red lettering on a white background that looked like it was nearly ready to slide right off the front of the building and take out a patron or two.
