Sloan slapped Fionn over the back of the head, earning him a “Ow!” in response. “What have I told you about giving up so quickly? If we gave up that easily, the Italians would have won the war years ago.”
“So what do we do? With the DEA hanging around, we can’t do anything stupid.”
“I’ll pay the DEA a visit.”
“What?” Fionn’s hazel eyes widened. He had the same eyes as his mother, but he looked like Sloan and his brother in every other way, just younger. Whenever Sloan stared at him, he saw Eoin staring back. God rest his soul. He would have been proud of his eldest.
“You heard me. We’re going to visit the DEA at the port.”
“Sloan, you can’t do anything stupid. If they arrest you—”
“For what?” Sloan smirked. “They have nothing on us, Fionn.”
“Sloan…”
“I’m sure my pet would love to visit where we conduct a huge portion of our business.”
Fionn rolled his eyes. “He better not get you killed.”
Laughter rumbled at Sloan’s chest. “Oh, nephew, you have no idea what my pet’s like. He enjoys the thrill.”
“Mhm.” Fionn obviously didn’t believe him.
Chapter Five
Conall woke up at some ridiculous time of the morning. His stomach had grumbled at him angrily, and he forced himself out of the bed, grabbing a pair of pants from one of the drawers. He didn’t bother with a shirt. He had no idea whose clothes they were, but he didn’t give a damn, either.
He walked out of the room and down the hallway. A maid—not the one from before—met him at the top of the stairs and paused when she saw him. She smiled cheerfully at him, not at all surprised that he was there.
“Good morning, sir. Are you hungry?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Turning, she headed down the stairs, and Conall assumed he had to follow, so he did. She looked a lot younger than Esmerelda and had a thick Irish accent, which probably meant she was born and raised in Ireland. The bun in her blonde hair was something Conall imagined on a forty-year old woman who asked to see the manager at retail stores, but she was so jovial, with a baby face that it looked wrong on her.
He didn’t say anything. Letting her lead him to the left of the stairs, she shooed him into a large dining room with a long table. There had to be at least twenty chairs accompanying it, and the room screamed with the same elegance as the rest of the house. It had large glass chandeliers gracing the high ceiling, and a beautifully crafted fireplace. Cutlery was already laid on the pristine tablecloth, and candles in delicate silver holders sat in the center.
When he headed for the fancy table, the woman nudged him toward another door instead. Inside was another dining room, but it had less elegance and was more…homely. There weren’t chandeliers or exquisite paintings that probably cost a small fortune—it was warmer, with the paint on the walls a soft cream, and the windows large and open, letting the sun filter in from the back of the house. There was a table in here too, but it was round and had only four chairs surrounding it. This room felt more intimate.
“Sit down please, sir. The boss should be with you shortly. He’s an early riser. While you wait, would you like some juice?” She said it all so quickly that it took a moment for Conall’s sleep-addled brain to catch up. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
She left him alone.
He stared out the window and into the backyard. It had to extend for miles, with the lush green lawn bright in the early morning light. There looked to be some sort of garden to the right, with a pathway leading into an opulent copse of trees. He couldn’t see very well from his spot, but he thought he saw apple trees in there.
A throat cleared and Conall whipped around to look at the door. Killough’s nephew stood at the threshold to the room, his dark blond hair wet from a shower, most likely. He had a pair of jeans on, as well as a Henley shirt, and any other time, Conall might have thought he was good-looking. But considering who he was related to, Conall merely narrowed his eyes.
“Good morning.” Fionn nodded his head as he shifted into the room, taking the seat opposite to Conall. “How are you?”
Conall hummed. He wasn’t here to make friends. Killough had only pissed him off further by putting his tongue in his hole. Did it feel good? Sure. It was fucking amazing, and that’s what annoyed him the most. He didn’t want to enjoy himself with the bastard.
“The polite thing to do is answer.” Fionn’s jaw tightened and twitched.
Conall leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I don’t give a fuck what the polite thing to do is. I won’t be here long enough to care.”
“Yes, well, we can only hope.” Fionn’s gaze narrowed on Conall’s elbows. “Every other one of Sloan’s pets had more manners than you.”
“You think I want to be here?” He snorted. “I’m not a dog that Killough can put a collar on. I don’t heel when he asks me to.”
Fionn shook his head. “You’re an idiot. That’s why he likes you so much. You put up a fight. It arouses him.”
Conall’s lips twisted in disgust and he fell back into his seat. “I’m not letting him near me.”
