Conall’s eyes glittered when he looked at Forrest. “Stop sucking up,” he teased.
Forrest flipped him the bird and much to his surprise, Killough laughed. “Enough, you two. Come, the generals are waiting. We’d like to hear the update on Diaz.”
Rourke, Forrest, Killough, and Conall walked through the doors Killough had come through earlier. They headed past a large dining room, through a kitchen, and toward the back of the house. Finally, they arrived at another set of big natural wooden doors with two soldiers standing guard who opened them.
Killough nodded at his men and the group shifted into the next room, where more men waited for them in a circle of high-back chairs. They reminded Forrest of Killough with their designer suits, tall imposing bodies, and the hard expressions on their faces. To be confronted with that many hard-eyed men nearly made Forrest turn and flee, but Rourke gripped his arm before he could, squeezing it in reassurance.
The doors closed behind them, sealing Forrest’s fate.
Killough held out his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Lieutenants, you know Rourke Tormey.”
Rourke bowed his head in respect, mouth pursed in a line of displeasure. Clearly he didn’t want to be here in front of these men either.
“And this is Forrest Brassard, a professional at the Exotic Virtue,” Killough continued.
One of the men smirked, mouth twisted as his gaze took a long stroll down Forrest’s body in a way that made Forrest feel used without even being touched. The general wasn’t an ugly man, with blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a handsome face, but something about him forced the hairs on Forrest’s arms to stand at attention as goose bumps pebbled on his arms.
“Is he to keep us entertained, boss? He can start by sitting on my cock.”
Rourke crossed in front of Forrest, and even though he couldn’t see Rourke’s face, he imagined, or hoped, that he wore the stormy expression Forrest loved, the same one that scared men into following the rules at the Virtue.
Killough tutted. “No, Lorcan, Forrest is here because he can help us with the Diaz situation.”
The blond man—Lorcan, Killough had called him—made a sound of annoyance. “Pretty boys don’t seem to be Diaz’s thing, so if you’re planning on catching her with her pants around her ankles, maybe we should go for a different choice.”
Forrest touched Rourke’s shoulder and slowly pushed him to the side again. He wasn’t going to let these men intimidate him. Forrest took some of the most powerful men in America to bed, and mob generals and lieutenants or not, he wasn’t going to let them see his fear. They could cut his throat in a minute, but if he’d shown his fear at any point during his career, he wouldn’t have become the Virtue’s highest earner.
“You’d be surprised what I can do.” Forrest’s mouth twisted into a naughty smile. “Not that you could afford me to find out, sweetheart.”
Conall laughed behind his fist, turning away from Forrest and the other men with a faux cough to hide his amusement.
Killough raised his eyebrows at Forrest, while Rourke’s lips twitched in a smile. A few of the other men snorted at Lorcan’s enraged stare, but before he could open his mouth to retaliate, Killough held up his palm.
“Enough, Lorcan. You’ve been embarrassed by a whore already, don’t make it worse.”
Lorcan looked like he wanted to glare at the boss, but he bowed his head in acknowledgment instead.
Killough waved them farther into the room and took a seat in the only available chair left. Conall sat on one of his legs, nestling his back up to Killough’s chest nice and tightly. Forrest didn’t blame him. If he had a man to snuggle, he’d take every available chance he got.
Rourke guided Forrest to the outside of the circle, where they could see everyone without having to twist and turn.
“Introduce yourselves,” Killough said roughly.
The man on his right began. “My name is Daire Reardon, underboss and second in command of the Killough Company.” A handsome man with black hair as dark as night and light brown eyes, his face and jaw were sculpted by God.
They went around the circle, noting their names. They were all lieutenants of some kind, which Forrest didn’t understand. Rourke called them generals before. Lorcan Lee, the smart ass, as Forrest now called him, was the chief advisor. Forrest didn’t imagine Killough listened to Lorcan’s advice, though, so he wondered how that worked.
“As I’ve told you already, gentlemen, we’re here to talk about Detective Diaz,” Killough said, earning the attention of the men in the room.
“I thought we’d handled her.” This came from one of the other men. Forrest thought he’d introduced himself as Jamie, the lieutenant of illegal operations. Drugs. Firearms. All that jazz. Other than Rourke, he’d been the most gorgeous lieutenant with dreamy dark eyes and a mess of black curls. His smile would make even the toughest man weak at the knees and Forrest almost offered him a freebie at the Virtue.
As though Rourke read his mind, his stormy stare turned to Forrest and narrowed.
Forrest flicked his head and grinned.
“The thing about Diaz is that you can cut her off at the ankles and she’ll still walk around on them.” Killough rubbed his chin and curled his arm around Conall’s waist, dragging him closer. “Her captain doesn’t have the balls to contain her.”
“Then we should just kill her.” Lorcan sneered.
