“Let’s see what karma does when I get you on my cock later tonight and fuck into you so deeply you’ll forget your name,” Rourke snapped, before he could stop himself. He glanced at the guards in the front of the car. They’d been taught to keep their ears and mouths shut, but that didn’t mean Rourke felt comfortable saying sexual things in front of them.
The newbie squirmed in his seat, though, and he turned his head. When he saw Rourke watching him, he glanced away quickly.
Forrest popped his lips obnoxiously. “I can’t wait.”
The car pulled into the winding driveway that belonged to the Tormey mansion. The guard stopped in front of the doors, and Rourke thanked them as he exited the car and opened the door for Forrest.
Forrest slid out and stared up at the home, whistling in surprise. “Killough must appreciate what you’ve done for him.”
“My father earned this before he turned into a snake.” The thought of his father left acid on his tongue. “It’s not as big as the generals’ homes, or Sloan’s.”
The big oak doors opened, and Orla came rushing out, her dress fluttering around her knees as she screamed out Rourke’s name in excitement. Rourke met her in a hug, twirling her around before setting her back on her feet. He kissed her cheek. At sixteen, Orla had the beauty and figure of someone much older. Her straight, jet black hair and big blue eyes made her look like their mom in every way. At such a young age, she owned the smarts to be a doctor, and that’d been her plans from the start.
She slapped him on the arm. “Where have you been, you jerk? I haven’t seen you in months. Mom said you were busy with work.”
“I have been. Things happened, and I’m the boss now.” Rourke gestured to Forrest. “I want you to meet someone. This is Forrest Brassard, my—”
“Is he your boyfriend?” Orla cut in, shoving Rourke out of the way to get to Forrest. She threw herself at him in a hug, and Forrest caught her, eyes wide in surprise. “Oh my god, you’re the cutest!”
Forrest laughed, nervousness obvious in it. “Uh, thank you?”
She shifted away and stared at him from head to toe. “Are you gay or bi? If you’re bi, you could just leave my brother and date me instead. You’re cute enough.”
“Orla,” Rourke warned, tugging her back. “Leave him alone. He’s not my boyfriend, he’s a friend I asked to come have dinner with us. At least show your manners, or Mom will have your bum.”
Orla scoffed. “Whatever. If you’re not boyfriends, you’re definitely fucking.”
“Orla, language,” Rourke hissed, just as the door opened again and Mom popped her head out.
“What’s happening here? You two, get your hides in here right now.” She pointed at them with a long pink fingernail and left again.
Rourke smiled at Forrest and his obvious unease, and he curled his fingers around his wrist. “She doesn’t bite.”
“Bullshit. She’ll chew your ear off,” Orla laughed, ignoring Rourke’s heated glare as she bounced up the stone stairs and into the house.
Rourke shook his head. “She’s a brat. Don’t listen to her. Come on.” He slid his hand down Forrest’s wrist and entwined their fingers, tugging Forrest toward the door gently.
While someone could consider it a mansion, it was on the smaller side of what others classed as one. Made of limestone, the home resembled the glamor and appeal of a two story castle design, with a high peaked roof and tall, single-hung windows. The flower gardens were in full glory, and they were his mom’s pride and joy. She spent hours nourishing her rose beds until the blooms were bright with color.
Inside, the home was just as beautiful, with white marble floors, cream walls, and a ninety-degree staircase that led to the bedrooms. The walls were lined with paintings from some of the most famous artists in the world. Rourke’s father had been a collector before his demise, and instead of selling them off like Rourke had demanded, Mom chose to keep them where they were.
Forrest’s eyes widened in wonder and he peered around. “It’s amazing.”
“Nothing like Sloan’s,” Rourke said as a matter of fact.
“No, but it’s different. Killough’s is more modern—it shouts money and power. This is warm and inviting.” Forrest’s smile made Rourke heart race too fast for his liking. “I love it.”
Rourke cleared his throat. “Thank you. Come on, we better not keep Mom waiting.”
He guided Forrest into the dining room. The table fit six people instead of the ten that Sloan set up at his, which made sense because they didn’t have meetings like the boss did. Mom laid it out like she usually did for a Friday night dinner, with candles and a floral cloth draped over the rectangular wood. She’d used her fine china that she only pulled out of the cupboard for special occasions. They must have thought Forrest really was his boyfriend.
When Rourke came out as a teenager, Mom had been distraught. She didn’t care that Sloan liked guys, but this was her own son. She’d prayed for Rourke, as though she could actually pray his gay away, and when she figured out it wouldn’t work, she begged him to go get help. Rourke rejected her pleas, and it wasn’t until his useless father betrayed the Killoughs that Mom saw Rourke was more of a man than Patrick Tormey. Rourke saved all their asses, and she owed him a life debt, one she repaid by coming to terms with his sexuality.
Now she advised him to get on Grindr, or tried to set him up with the nice boy down the street. Little did she know, that nice boy down the street couldn’t handle what Rourke had to offer.
“What do you think?” Mom wandered out of the kitchen and waved at the dinner set up.
“It’s gorgeous, Mrs. Tormey,” Forrest answered before Rourke could. “I’ve never seen such beautiful dinnerware. Where did you get the dishes?”
