“Sure he would think you’re handsome,” Vail said, patting my knee. “I’d pay a lot of money for you.” He was so goddamned sincere I couldn’t even be upset with him, even though he had an amused twinkle in his eye.
I sighed while Rowen snickered, but when I met Aspen’s gaze his eyebrows raised a smidge, and my gut heated with excitement and embarrassment.
“Well, I am pretty amazing.” I winked at Aspen, a big playful one, and he chuckled.
Vail cleared his throat. “Not that I want to advocate for violence, but why aren’t you just going in and....” He mimed shooting, and I started to chuckle.
“Bug, it’s the type of situation where the pimp in charge is a cousin of someone Sloan likes doing business with, so we’ll be nice first.” Cillian sighed. “Fuck, and I wasn’t meaning to tell ye all that. But as it involves all of us, one of us would have probably let it slip.”
“Beating the shit out of him is nice?” I glanced around the room.
Aspen nodded. “If he’s breathing when we’re done, it was nice. But we have to drive home now. I’m going to find Auntie and let her know.”
“Let’s do it! I can’t wait to see how much someone would pay for my ass.” I shimmied my shoulders and stuck out my tongue.
Cillian snorted, Rowen sighed, Vail hugged me, and Aspen only shook his head and cracked his knuckles, as if he was actually worried. Worriedabout me. This day couldn’t get any better—unless he fucked me later.
3
ASPEN
The old soapfactory Ilya set up in wasn’t anything luxurious. In the growing nighttime gloom, it looked worn down from years of abandonment—the roof had holes in it and the brick walls were chipping away, leaving dust to flutter over the ground. I didn’t know who owned the building, but I was surprised it hadn’t been repurposed, considering it was prime real estate. Every inch of New York City cost money, and this manufacturing space wasn’t small. It was two stories and could fit a medium-sized apartment building into its width.
Cillian parked the Expedition on a street outside of what used to be an employee parking lot, behind a shiny black BMW I recognized immediately. It was the car Sloan gave Ardan to cruise around New York. Thanks to a low brick security wall, our vehicles were partially obscured to anyone inside the factory—I hoped.
“What’s the plan?” I asked, glancing in the rearview mirror at Fallon. He might’ve been an MMA fighter once upon a time, but I didn’t trust him to be completely safe in there. Fighting skills were nothing compared to guns and desperate men, and while he’d been on assignments with us, we’d never let him out of our sight. This was the first time he’d be going in on his own.
Fallon seemed relaxed and up to the challenge, though, and an excited smile spread across his face. He was still too young and innocent to the dangers of going in undercover, and I didn’t like this idea at all. He thought it was one big game, but voicing my opinion would only give Cillian ammunition to poke fun at me and my concern for Fallon’s well-being. Well, fuck him. Fallon was one of us now, in every way.
“Don’t know.” Cillian flashed me a smile from where he sat in the driver’s seat and pointed at the BMW in front of us. Rowen, who was in the back seat behind Cillian, smacked him on the arm. “That’s why Ardan’s here, innit?”
I grunted and stared at the BMW again. Ardan opened the driver-side door and slipped out like an Abercrombie model. He had the grace of an angel but killed like a demon. Not even I wanted to mess with him. Whenever I saw him, he always looked like he was irritated about something, with a crinkle between his dark arched brows. The passenger-side door opened, and I rolled my eyes when Mancini, Ardan’s Italian lover, got out. The cocky grin on his face worked against the business-casual, styled swoop of brown hair he’d brushed off his forehead. He wasn’t a bad guy, but wherever Ardan was these days, Mancini wasn’t far behind. It made sense; together they were unstoppable, two of the greatest contract killers in New York and maybe the whole country.
They were around the same height, but Mancini had a wider build, and unlike Ardan, wasn’t wearing a suit. He looked nice in a white button-up shirt that I thought might be Burberry, a black leather jacket, and a pair of jeans.
“Let’s see what they got planned,” Cillian said, getting out of his side of the SUV. He unzipped his green leather bomber jacket, most likely so he could have easy access to the weapons he’d tucked away before we set out earlier. I reached underneath my winter coat and patted my suit jacket, reassuring myself that my weapons were where they should be.
We followed Cillian out and onto the sidewalk where Mancini and Ardan stood.
Ardan nodded at us as we approached but didn’t hold out his hand. We had different jobs, and Ardan was higher than us on the food chain. He was almost besties with the boss. If anyone else had gotten drunk and fucked up an assignment, like he had years ago, they’d be dead. Ardan had gotten a second chance and now he was a recovering alcoholic.
“Gentlemen. Fallon.” Mancini glanced around at us and stopped to wink at Fallon, who returned a charming smile that had me shifting closer to him and glaring at Mancini. The Italian bastard just laughed, clearly amused by my act of... possessiveness? That’s what it was, wasn’t it? Well, fuck it. He was ours, and everyone needed to know to keep their distance.
Ardan nudged Mancini and it earned him a laugh, and then Ardan shook his head and gave us a pursed look, usual for him when he was bored. “Ilya will look for surveillance bugs, so we can’t put one on Fallon. We’re going with our next best option.” He pulled his phone out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and waved it at us.
“They won’t let him take a phone in there,” Cillian growled out, crossing his arms.
Rowen nodded in agreement, a serious expression on his face.
Ardan rolled his eyes. “Franco, say hello.”
A faint voice echoed from the phone. “Hello, Ardan’s friends.”
“They aren’t friends,” Ardan muttered, then gave us a fake smile. “Franco works for....” He glanced at Fallon and his mouth twisted. We knew what he was referring to—the Society, a secret organization of hit men and assassins for hire. Fallon had no idea they existed or that Ardan was part of them. “My other employer.”
“What other—”
I laid my hand over Fallon’s mouth to stop him from talking and shushed him quietly. “You don’t need to know.”
