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"We need someone to train them or something. Get their skills up there with the best. Savannah mentioned that her father’s guards are trained by ex-Mossad agents. Maybe we could get them in to cut ours into shape."
Brennan frowned. "More outsiders."
"You want to add that to your to-do list?" I grated out.
"No," he admitted with a grumble.
"Fuckers like Jonesy ain’t got no place on the street," Declan said with a nod. "He couldn’t run around the room without having a heart attack."
"You have a point. So we need to shift the older guys into different positions—"
"Or retire them out," Finn commented.
"Da didn’t like doing that," Declan pointed out.
"Aidan’s doing nothing like Da did," Finn countered with a choked laugh. "He’s already got the men shitting themselves. Maybe they’ll be grateful to be made redundant."
My lips twitched. "I don’t want to weed people out just because they’re old. Old is experience and wisdom. They just need to not be working the streets anymore."
"They’re not desk jockeys," Declan retorted.
"Then they have a choice. Redundancy or helping us where it counts." I hummed under my breath. "Speaking of choices, what’s going on with the families of the traitors?"
Brennan stretched his hands out in front of him, cracking his knuckles as he said, "Priestley and Callum’s kid have moved in with Mark’s wife. Neither of them are going to say anything, not with the money they’re on."
"They been inducted into the Old Wives’ Club yet?" Finn asked.
"Nope. They won’t let them in. Not yet, at any rate. Their men betrayed the Points. You know how they roll. They think they should have keyed us in to what their men were doing."
Declan frowned. "That’s not fair. It’s not like we tell our wives everything."
Well, he was wrong about that, wasn’t he?
Not that I bothered arguing with him.
"Isolating them won’t achieve anything other than allowing more bitterness to fester." I turned to Finn. "You’re charming—"
Conor cackled. "Since when?"
"Fuck off," Finn groused.
Brennan grinned. "Anyone’s the charmer, it’s you, Aidan."
"I’m not charming."
"I think charismatic is the word they used in that ‘bachelor of the year’ article they printed on you last year," Eoghan said with a chuckle.
"Fuck." I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "Brennan, I ain’t got the patience, so you’ll have to do it."
"Me?! Since when was I fucking charming?"
"You’ll just have to learn. Or, I don’t know, get Camille to do it. Hell, get the wives in on it for all I care. We isolate those women, we isolate their families, and it’ll make resentment fester. That’s not what we’re about."
Brennan folded his arms against his chest. "I ain’t getting Camille involved."
"I don’t give a fuck. Just sort it out."
"I was already watching over Priestley and Callum’s kid," he complained. "I don’t need this shit."
