“Do you have clients today?” Conall asked Forrest.
“No, not today. Rourke cancelled them. He didn’t know how long we’d need.” Forrest took a bite of a strawberry, groaning. It melted in his mouth, fresh and succulent enough that juices ran down his chin. Rourke passed him a napkin, and when Forrest turned to thank him, he noticed Rourke’s heated eyes narrowed in on Forrest’s lips.
He smiled and swiped his tongue over his bottom lip. “Mm. So yum.” Forrest tilted his head back and wiped the napkin over his chin and down his neck. “I could suck on this all day.”
A cough that sounded a lot like a laugh came from the other side of the table, but Forrest ignored Conall. He took another bite of the strawberry, and another, moaning louder with each one.
“Have I just stepped into a porno?” Killough asked.
Conall backhanded his arm. “You better not be fantasizing about Forrest and that strawberry.”
Killough grabbed him around the waist, dragging him into his lap. He kissed Conall’s neck, slow and sweet. “Pet, you’re the only one I fantasize about.”
“Good.”
Forrest ignored their antics and how their mouths were suddenly attached. He glanced at Rourke out of the corner of his eyes, hoping for some type of reaction. What he saw felt like a kiss to his balls.
Rourke’s eyes were as dark as night, a mixture of want and need and resistance, and his breaths were quick. His hard cock jammed insistently against his pants zipper, and from what Forrest could see, he packed a punch in those pants. Then again, he’d felt it against his ass last night, and Rourke definitely carried more than just a pistol in there.
“See something you like?” he whispered, low enough that only Rourke could hear him. Killough and Conall were too busy sucking face to care about them anyway. Rourke’s gaze jumped to meet his and he licked his lips. “Forrest….”
“Yes?” Forrest leaned a little closer.
Bang!
The sound reverberated around the dining room, loud enough to nearly deafen Forrest, and with enough force to make the walls shake. He crashed forward, and Rourke grabbed a hold of him, yanking him to his feet and behind Rourke’s back. Killough and Conall were on their feet as well, and like Rourke had done to Forrest, Killough positioned Conall behind himself.
Soldiers stampeded through the doors, automatic rifles in their hands and death in their eyes. They looked like the kind of men that guarded the boundary of the house and they had one task—kill any threats.
“It came from the kitchen. Go!” Killough ordered, and the soldiers moved out.
Three of the men, the same ones who’d protected Conall at the Virtue, took their spots in front of Killough like a wall of muscle. Anything that wanted to get at the boss would have to go through them first.
Forrest clasped at the back of Rourke’s shirt, his heart hammering so hard that he felt it in his throat. Fear, mixed with adrenaline, pumped in his veins, and the images of dead bodies at the Virtue flashed before him. Blood. Brains. Bullets. They were everywhere.
“It’s okay. Stay calm,” Rourke whispered urgently, his shoulders stiff.
“Was that a bomb?” Forrest asked.
“We don’t know yet.”
While Killough took a protective stance in front of Conall, it wasn’t worry or fear in his eyes, rather anger. The man appeared to be ready for a war. Forrest didn’t know how he, and now Conall, could live like this. Conall would never know who wanted to kill him, and every day, he’d have to live with the knowledge that it may be his last, more so than a normal person. The thought made him sad for Killough and Conall.
Men came back out of the kitchen, a man in chef whites clutched between them. Blood and burns marked his arms, and the creamy skin on his face was scorched black instead.
“Gas explosion, boss,” one of the soldiers said. “Few of the serving staff and chefs are injured.”
Killough’s war stance softened and he stood straight. “Get them to the emergency room, immediately. They’ll all be taken care of. Then I want to know how it happened.”
The soldiers bowed their heads. Two chefs and three maids were hurt, but the soldiers brought them out of the kitchen and helped them through the doors. Forrest watched with wide eyes. Even though he knew it was an accident, it didn’t stop the fear pounding at his chest.
“I think we should also leave, boss,” Rourke said, his sympathetic stare on the last woman they carried out—the blonde one who’d smiled at Forrest. She didn’t look as hurt as the others, but her entire body trembled. “We need to get back to the Virtue.”
“Very well. Keep me updated, if you hear anything from Diaz.” Killough looked at Forrest. “If that Adrian kid says anything to you, tell Rourke immediately.”
Forrest swallowed around the lump in his throat, his hands still balled in the back of Rourke’s shirt. He nodded over Rourke’s shoulder. “Yes, sir.”
“Conall, sir, will you be joining us?” Rourke asked.
