“Mum, huh?”
Mercy grunted in answer.
It was going to be fun explaining the entire thing to her when Finn returned. But more than anything, I wanted to be suffocated by his arse cheeks as he rode my face. If I died because of it, well, what a way to go.
“Tell me about this plan the Yanks came up with,” I grumbled. “Did you talk to them at all? I had my Lolly to settle down before I could get into this shit.”
He shook his head and laughed.
6
FINN
“What amI going to do? What should I do? What will Jamie say?” I whispered and crept through the hotel lobby. “He’s gonna say,nice knowing ya, lad. Then Mr. Killough will shoot me for causing so much trouble.” The fountain in the center burbled happily and the cool air was almost like a slap in the face after being outside. For some unholy reason the man driving the car hadn’t had the AC running on the way over here, and I’d been sweaty and dying. I’d put down the window the whole way and undid the top buttons on my shirt—as far as I could without flashing the camisole—but it was barely enough. Irritated and hot, I sighed and scrubbed my hands over my face, for once not thinking about the scars until my fingers were running over them.
In the end, it didn’t matter what anyone thought about a thing—except Legend. I knew the drill. At home the boss got whatever he wanted. I’d heard the story of how he’d walked into the Exotic Virtue, pointed at Conall Morrissey, one of the brothers who had operated it at the time, and just walked out of there with him to service his cock. Sure, Conall was a Company man and had done great things for us while Mr. Killough was in jail, helping Fionn Killough keep everything running, but the fact remained that Mr. Killough had just pointed at a man, who then went with him, whether he wanted to or not.
I shuddered, not sure if I was excited or horrified that something like that had happened to me. It didn’t seem real. I wasn’t the same guy I used to be anymore. I poked at the biggest scar on my right cheek and followed it up to the split in my eyebrow.
Mr. Sweeney—Legend—was the one who had the final say over us here in Australia, and if he said I was staying at his house, then I’d better fucking get over there or I might lose my head. I swallowed hard and heat blasted my stomach. Or he might take his frustration out on me in other ways. I rolled my shoulders and the damp lace tugged across my nipples, something else that had been driving me crazy since Legend had put his mouth on me.
Before we’d left for Australia, Cillian had lectured all of us about being on our best behavior here, and it wasn’t only because he didn’t want word to get back to Mr. Killough that we were disrespectful in ally territory. No, being rude to the wrong people was always dangerous.
Anxiousness made my skin buzz in an odd way, but it didn’t dampen the insidious heat slithering through my body. Last night I’d been looking for a quick fuck. One night. I wasn’t sure I was ready for something like this.
Having Legend’s lips on my skin set me on fire, but what if he did something I didn’t like? Would I just have to let him? Would he shoot me or feed me to his jellyfish? Did they eat? What I didn’t know about jellyfish—and everything else—could fill thirty books. I didn’t know Legend well enough to be able to have an answer for any of those questions, and that scared me—but in a fucked-up way, it was also a turn-on.
He was a terrifying mystery.
He hadn’t been able to wait to get my clothes off before he put his lips on me.
And it had felt so fucking good that I’d been ready to beg him to fuck me then and there.
My abs clenched as pure fire sizzled through my veins and my cock twitched. Oh my God, that man could kiss, but what was I getting into?
He’d moved me around as if I weighed nothing. He could probably bang me while holding me up in the air like I was a fuck doll. I tugged on my collar and rushed toward my hotel room, taking the stairs up. I could worry about whether or not I was going to be in trouble with Jamie and Mr. Killough later. Right now, I had more immediate problems.
Like packing to go stay with the guy who keeps telling me how pretty I am. A smile fought its way free to settle on my lips and I was walking on air. I hadn’t felt this good since before the accident.
Brushing my fingers over my face, I shrugged. Hell, maybe I would even watch a few tutorials and figure out how to cover the scars. That way he could take me out without being embarrassed.
When I was almost at the door of my hotel room, I frowned because it was hanging open, and I definitely hadn’t left it that way earlier.
Slowing, I shoved my hands into my pockets and listened hard. I stopped. Mom hadn’t raised a fool. I wasn’t about to go busting in there. Maybe it was just the hotel staff, but I didn’t see a cleaning cart. I didn’t normally carry a gun when I worked because with what I typically did, it could get me into more trouble than it helped. No one wanted some guy standing around armed. But now I wished I had a weapon.
There was a clatter in my room, like something heavy was being tossed. I took a step closer and noticed the doors to the other guys’ rooms were also open. Counting my room, we’d taken over five total. I frowned at the open doors, and since the others weren’t here, that was definitely strange, too. Again, if it was the staff, I didn’t see one of those carts. Maybe it was inside a room? I inched closer to the door of the room next to mine and stuck my head inside.
If someone had told me a tornado had landed on the suitcases, I would’ve believed it because they’d been flung everywhere. I shook my head and glanced at my room, where there was a muffled curse that sounded like a man.
Sighing, I rolled my eyes. What was going on? I snuck over to my room and peeked around the doorjamb. What I saw infuriated me.
The thin silk of my peach sleep romper with white lace—that’s what it had been called on the website—was ripped. I glared at the huge tear in it. A few seconds ticked by before I registered that it was hanging from a lamp. Rage boiled in my gut.
The rest of my lingerie was tossed on the floor, which damn it, that was not the way to treat expensive material, and then the smell hit me. My bottle of Black Opium must’ve been smashed by whatever this jackass had done because the scent was heavy in the air. Now that I was searching for it, I caught a couple of shards of glass glinting on the wooden floor.
My gaze finally rested on a tall, thin guy with mousy brown hair and bony shoulders who was bent over the bed. A small red backpack, the kind with strings for straps that people wore jogging, bounced on his back as he shifted.
“Hey, that shit isn’t fucking cheap,” I growled, then rushed in.
