“They’re dead,” Conall said quietly, like he knew exactly what Forrest was thinking. They’d talked about that day a few times over the phone.
“Good.”
The car, driven by one of Killough’s many chauffeurs, pulled up in front of a mansion so huge Forrest’s eyes bugged out of his head. The moment he stepped out of the car, his jaw dropped as he took in the two story mansion made up of whites and browns. The windows were wide and open, with balconies attached to some of them, and while Forrest didn’t know much about architecture, it had to be one of the prettiest designed houses he’d ever seen, even covered in snow and with leafless trees.
Conall nudged him. “Nice, huh?”
“Whydidyou want to stay at the Exotic Virtue for a week?” Forrest asked, eyeing Conall with disbelief. “If I lived in a mansion like this, I’d never want to leave.”
Conall shrugged. “I missed my friends.”
“I wouldn’t miss them if I lived in a place like this.”
He rolled his eyes and then laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, doofus.” He grasped Forrest’s wrist and dragged him inside.
The foyer was just as Forrest imagined—grand staircases made of marble and high ceilings, with a stained-glass chandelier that took up most of the ceiling and looked like a replica of a galaxy spiral. The effect ofmore money than Godwas finished with real live servants who opened doors for them. He felt like he’d lost his mind. Forrest had had a dream like this once. He’d married a rich man who doted on him and gave him whatever he wanted. It’d been perfect, the kind of life he wanted to live. It came half true. He lived in elegance at the Virtue, but he’d earned it through the hard work of using his ass, not had it given to him by a handsome man with more money than what he knew what to do with.
Rourke moved through the doors and when they shut behind them, two maids collected their coats. Forrest took the chance to watch how Rourke reacted to people like this. He worked for Killough, he obviously knew what to expect, so there wasn’t any surprise or awe in his face when he passed one of the servants his beige jacket.
Forrest slid his own off, one of the cheap, black double-breasted coats he’d found at JC Penny the first week he’d worked at the Virtue. It had looked fancy, so he’d bought it, but now he felt like a fraud. These men probably ownedrealexpensive wool coats, the kind that cost more than all Forrest’s possessions combined. The Killough Company would probably buy him one if he asked, but it wasn’t something that benefited clients.
The maid bowed her head when he passed the coat to her and she scampered off with it afterward.
“This is weird,” Forrest murmured.
“You got a Pretty Woman vibe?” Conall teased.
Forrest poked him again. This time he got the right spot and Conall squirmed.
“Rourke!” Killough strode out from the double doors to the right, looking every inch the boss he was, with a suit clearly sewn to fit him perfectly. Pinstripe and a dark navy blue, the clothing made him look more imposing than usual. He held out his hand as he reached their gathering, and Rourke took it, taking Killough’s hand in a firm handshake.
“Sir.”
“Welcome.” Killough looked past Forrest and straight to Conall. He grinned, released Rourke’s hand, and held his arms open. Conall smiled in a way Forrest hadn’t seen from him before—half mischievous, half loving—and he stepped into the boss’s arms, kissing him gently on the lips.
“Hello, sir,” he whispered just loud enough for Forrest to hear.
“Hello, pet. I missed you.” He gathered Conall against his body tighter and placed a few kisses on his forehead and over his cheeks.
“It’s only been a few days.” Conall sounded exasperated, but also adoring. He stared up at Killough with what Forrest called heart eyes. “Fuck me while I’m here?”
Forrest’s cheeks burned. He was a professional, which meant dirty talk didn’t faze him, but it felt like more than games between Killough and Conall. The words and the way Conall said them held an intimacy that Forrest longed for. The two men yearned for each other’s touch, missed it.
Forrest peeked a look at Rourke, but he stared straight ahead, his attention on the stairs rather than the couple. Forrest gazed around and he noticed that most of the men and few women in the room stared at everything but Killough and Conall. Is that how it’s done?
“Forrest.” Killough’s smooth voice broke Forrest out of his surveillance, and he glanced back at the mob boss. His bleached blond hair hung loose on his head, not gelled up like usual, and the hard frown lines of his face were gone. He looked more relaxed and… friendlier. Forrest didn’t fool himself, though, he knew Sloan Killough was anything but friendly.
“Mr. Killough, sir.” Forrest didn’t know the etiquette here, so he bowed his head like he’d seen Rourke do before. “Thank you for allowing me to visit your home.”
“That’s quite all right. Rourke says he needs you here.”
Forrest glanced at Rourke and smiled. “Did he?”
Rourke cleared his throat, but he didn’t glance at Forrest. His gaze stayed on Killough, but a pink tinge flushed at his cheeks that Forrest hadn’t seen before. Much to Forrest’s absolute dismay, his heart skipped a beat and his stomach knotted in excitement. Even if he wanted to tell his body Rourke’s blush meant nothing, his heart wouldn’t believe him.
“My pet has also told me we can trust you to be here, and I have faith in my pet’s opinion.”
Forrest smiled at Killough. “I trust him too. I’ve always trusted him, sir, and you couldn’t have chosen a better man to have at your side.”
