“I need for my boys to stop telling me what to do.” He dropped the glass against the table and turned to face the yard.
At first, I thought he was doing as we suggested, holding off on the whiskey, but I watched him clutch at his wrist and rub it as if it were hurting him.
When he fell silent, we looked among each other, and Eoghan was the first to speak out, “No one else going to talk about the elephant in the room?”
“Which one?” Junior mocked.
“The one shaped like a phoenix. The Sparrows aren’t our only concern anymore. If you think the ECD have gone away—”
“Leave things alone, Eoghan,” Da sniped.
“They’re dangerous.”
“You think I don’t know that? Been managing those assholes all my life. Just let it be.”
“Isn’t that a song?”
I snickered at Conor. “That’s ‘Let It Be.’”
“That’s right. John Lennon.”
As he hummed the melody, Eoghan scratched his jaw, but I could tell he was mad at the conversation derailing even if he was going to let the topic drop. “Are you doing anything special for Orthodox Easter?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Camille didn’t mention anything. Has Inessa talked about it?”
“Orthodox Easter,” Da griped, his dismissal and disapproval clear.
“You married us into the Russians, Da,” Eoghan stated calmly. “That comes with consequences. What do you want them to do? Wear green for the rest of their lives?”
Da’s shoulders hunched, slurring, “Green would suit them.”
Was he drunk already?
“So does red,” I said softly, earning myself a glare. “Are you feeling okay, Da?”
He sniffed. “I’m fine.”
“Ma told me you fell down the stairs last week,” Conor remarked, his focus on his phone.
“She’s exaggerating.”
“If you say so,” was Conor’s retort, but it was clear that he didn’t believe Da.
I couldn’t say that I blamed him.
Something was definitely going on with him, but what were we supposed to do? Torture the answers out of him?
The phone on the desk rang, and Da straightened up, slurring, “That’ll be your ma.”
“You drunk?” Junior demanded. “How many have you had this morning?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” Declan agreed, but he shuffled over to him and helped him straighten up. “Come on, you old bastard. Let’s sober you up with some of Ma’s roasted chicken.”
As they hobbled out of the room, Junior turned to me and demanded, “You need to talk with Ma. Get her to make him see a doctor.”
“He’ll do what he wants to do. Ma can’t make him do jack,” I argued.
He glowered at me. “Just fucking do it, Bren.”
“Yes, boss,” I muttered under my breath.
How much fucking longer until I could get my ass out of here?
As Junior followed Da and Declan, Conor murmured, “Don’t worry too much, Eoghan. I’ve got things under control.”
Eoghan frowned. “The ECD? There’s no controlling them.”
He wiggled his head. “Might have tipped off ICE that there was an illegal alien living in a certain hotel in Manhattan.”
“Keegan’s out of the country?” I questioned, sitting up.
“He is for the moment. I don’t think it will keep him out, but it buys us some time.”
“Or pisses him off even more. Look, the ECD hired several sharpshooters to kill a high-profile target. That target has yet to be killed. I’d have heard.
“Don’t think they’ve gone for good, because they haven’t. They might have gone underground for the moment but that just means they’re planning something.”
“Fucking know-it-all, James Bond.”
Eoghan grunted then flipped me the bird. “Da’s wrong. You don’t manage the ECD.”
“Not saying you do,” Conor denied. “I’m saying that you put roadblocks in their way.”
“That won’t work forever.”
Frowning, I asked, “Eoghan, what aren’t you telling us?”
“I’m telling you what I know. The ECD were shopping around for a sniper for a high-profile target. There have been no assassinations so far.” He got to his feet. “This is a waiting game.”
“Isn’t life a waiting game?” Conor asked, his tone almost wistful.
I squinted at them both then shook my head. “It’s too early and I’m too hungry for conversations like this. Let’s get some food.”
The sooner we ate, the sooner I could get the fuck home, and my new pool table had just arrived.
I had plans for it. Very specific, very detailed plans.
Fifty-Two
Camille
A sharp cry escaped me as Brennan ran his knife along the outer length of my thigh.
The fabric of my skirt parted like butter, and I moaned as I felt the tip whisper over my skin, close enough to leave a mark but I knew he wouldn’t.
Brennan bit.
He sucked.
He didn’t cut me.
My back arched against the blue baize of the new pool table, and I moaned again when he hooked one of my heels in the bottom right pocket and the other in the bottom left.
Legs spread, the now useless skirt flopped between my thighs until he lifted the flap and shoved it against my stomach, revealing lacy cream panties that had him groaning.
My eyes stayed on his face, remained on the rigidity of his features that showed a tension which had been present since we’d stepped foot on his parents’ compound.
Something had happened, though.
Something specific.
Something he didn’t want to tell me about. And whatever it was, it made his expression stern and his gaze somber.
A soft sigh escaped him, however, when he saw my panties, and I hissed when he pressed the flat of the blade in his hand against the gusset.
I felt that chill along my core and whimpered in response to that, and his rumbled, “So fucking wet for me, Camille.”
“Always wet for you,” I rasped, needing him to know that, hoping that it would give him some comfort.
He always comforted me. Always.
It hurt that he wasn’t letting me do and be the same source of harmony for him.
It was why I was here.
The pool table back at the Satan’s Sinners’ compound had been a place where clubwhores were often fucked. I’d seen women slipping pool balls into their asses, had seen hardcore sex take place on a surface that was anything but hygienic.
For no other man would I put myself in this position.
Not when the memories of my time with the Sinners were real and raw.
But he needed this. And this was something I could give him.
Reaching out, he snagged a finger beneath the crotch of my panties and pulled it away from my sex. A quick flick of his wrist and the blade tore through the expensive silk, and from the waist down, my clothes were left in shreds.
“I was hoping you’d be wearing a garter belt,” he said as he rubbed the knife’s handle against my clit.