Nonchalantly, he climbed up from the pool, leisurely walking toward a stack of fresh robes and plucking one to dry himself off. He pocketed the used condom, because Alex, nice or not, was still a sociopath at his core. A sociopath who did not want any surprise heirs somewhere in the universe. Achilles still sat behind me, bracketing me with his legs. He kissed my shoulder. “You sure you’re good?”
“Yes. Are you?” I looked up to search his face.
He nodded. “It was needed. Did it help?”
“Yes,” I said honestly. “I think it did.”
No one could ever know what had happened tonight, but I trusted all three of us to never breathe a word about it. Too much was riding on it for the truth to come out.
Even if people found out, I couldn’t find it in myself to regret what had happened between us. It was the closure I needed to a horrifying period in my life.
Achilles proved to me that he put me before him. Before his obsession. Before his jealousy.
Swiveling my entire body so I was face-to-face with Achilles, I smiled up at him. “Thank you for this.”
His eyes never wavered from mine as he barked, “Rasputin. Get fucked.”
“Been there, done that, even got the shirt.” We both turned to look at the pakhan fastening the last button of his crisp dress shirt. “And way ahead of you. I’m wholly disinterested in the cuddling portion of the event. Tier.” He sauntered to the lip ofthe pool, his mouth twisting in a smirk. “It was good seeing you again.” He leaned down, touching his lips to my forehead.
“Same here.” I pulled away. “Next time we catch up, we’ll be wearing a lot more clothes.”
He winked and found his way out of the pool.
Turning to Achilles, I put a hand on his cheek. “How much does it hurt?”
“Not enough to fuck this up.” He covered my hand in his.
And I knew, in that moment, that we were going to be okay.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Achilles
How did the saying go?If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain.
I was going to the fucking mountain, and if I had to move it, so be it.
Tristan Hale had bailed last night at the Forbidden Fruit Club.
But he was still in New York—my home, my playground, my turf.
He wasn’t getting out of here without a little chat.
My first step? Shut down New York’s airspace. Well, sort of. Every private airport in the tristate area reported to me about incoming and outgoing flights, and all commercial flights were monitored by Jeremie, who was once again at my disposal.
My second? Fermanagh’s, Tiernan’s pub.
Alex was still in the city, conducting business with his Irish bestie. I hated to interrupt their little makeup-and-gossip sesh, or whatever the fuck they were doing, but I had pressing matters to discuss.
Parking my Ducati in front of Fermanagh’s, I popped my helmet off, tucking it under my arm, and sauntered right in. I strode past the drunken crow, and into Tiernan’s back office,where two Irish soldiers greeted me with a stern look. They blocked my path to the ajar door.
“If you don’t move right this second, I’m smoking your ass like you’re a fine Cuban.”
Tiernan’s husky chuckle sounded from the office. “Liam, Tadhg, let him through.”
They parted ways, and I bulldozed inside, finding Alex and Tiernan enjoying a joint and a drink together. Two peas in a shitty-ass pod.
“Hello, brother-in-law.” Tiernan puffed smoke in my direction.
