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That angers me most of all. Execution is meant to be the harshest of punishments, reserved for the worst of sins—and the sentence handed down only by an absolute, unanimous vote of the table—brought by one of the other Kings. But instead, they’d voted on a request from fuckingViktor Andreyev,a goddamn Russian. Even worse, they’d let him be the one to carry out the sentence, instead of a King.
I toss back the other shot, chasing it with the beer as I seethe. They’d broken with tradition to rid themselves of my father and his schemes and keep the alliance with the Russians—which I’d never approved of anyway, considering Andreyev’s business dealings—but they want to do the same to Liam for breaking his engagement to Saoirse. An insult to an old and respected family, to be sure, and not a good sign of his commitment to a seat he was never meant to inherit, but hardly the same sin that got my father killed.
It’s not hard to figure out why Graham was so quick to go along with it and suggest me as a replacement, besides the insult to his daughter. It’s obvious that Liam is bucking against the way things have always been done, not giving Graham the power that he craves. He thinks that if he brings me back, I’ll fall in line and go back to the old status quo.
He couldn’t be more fuckin’ wrong,I think grimly to myself, draining my beer and motioning for the bartender to bring me another. If I do go back, it will be with the intent of running thingsmyway, of molding the table to my style of leadership, which by now is a far cry from the man my father tried to force me to be.
I’ve learned just how sweet the taste of freedom is and what it’s like to start building an empire of my own without my father’s interference, and I’m in no hurry to give it up.
“You’re looking a little lonely there.” A soft voice comes from my left, and I turn to see a pretty blonde sliding onto the stool next to me, wearing a spaghetti-strap black dress with a floaty, uneven skirt that shows some of her thighs on both sides and knee-high black boots with a heel. She’s full-hipped and large-breasted, tossing her hair over one shoulder to give me a good view, and what a view it is. I can easily imagine myself bending her over my bed, filling my hands full of that ripe arse while pounding her full of my cock.
“Now, how can a man be lonely when he’s got a fresh beer?” I ask with a grin, thankful for the distraction as the bartender pushes a refill in my direction, raising it a little towards her.
“Does that beer keep you warm at night?” She smiles flirtatiously, turning towards me, and I get an eyeful of her deep, generous cleavage as she does.
Saoirse’s breasts are lovely, but they’re a handful at most. Pert and firm, that’s for sure, but this woman’s are a bounty, nearly overflowing the neckline of her dress. I try to focus on that rather than the memory of Saoirse’s crossed arms pushing her cleavage up in that hotel room while she’d argued with me.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.I feel a throb in my cock just thinking of her. It’s a good thing Graham hadn’t strayed far off and that she’d insisted that she was a virgin, or I’d have had her on that bed with her legs in the air. She’d driven me half-mad with desire only to block me once we’d gotten up to her room, and now I’m as frustrated as a stallion in mating season with no mare nearby to rut.
Except this woman looks like she’d be up for it, and I’m not inclined to refuse her.
“What’s your poison?” she asks cheerfully, gesturing at the empty shot glasses. “Gin? Vodka? Whiskey?”
“Never vodka,” I tell her with a shudder. “But whiskey I’m always down for, or a good gin.”
“I’m a gin girl, myself,” she says with a smile and waves for the bartender. “Two shots of Sapphire, please? One for me and one for the gentleman.”
I laugh, taking another long draught of my beer. “Oh, love, I assure you—I’m hardly a gentleman.”
“All the better, then.” She gives me a conspiratorial wink. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a lady.”
Fuck.It’s all falling into place even more easily than it goes for me most nights. Yet, tonight I’m having trouble summoning the same enthusiasm I normally would, all because of bloody Saoirse and her plots with her father.
This morning, I would have told anyone who asked—not that anyone would have—that I hadn’t given a single thought to Saoirse O’Sullivan in years. But that’s not strictly true. I’d played it cool enough in the hotel, wanting her to think exactly that. The truth is that I’ve thought of her time and again since I left Boston, especially when the longing for home became particularly strong.
She was, after all, the girl who was meant to be my wife once upon a time. Hell, I’d even thought of her when she had shown up in the warehouse, and I hadn’t recognized her, believing instead that she was just a different girl with features that reminded me of Saoirse. I hadn’t felt a deep attraction to her back then in Boston, nothing like I had tonight. But still, she’d been beautiful even then. I’d sometimes wondered what she would have been like as my wife, what life we would have had if things had played out differently—usually after a few drinks on a night that I didn’t go out.
Now, she’s here in the flesh, just a few miles away. All I’d have to do is say yes, board a flight to Boston, and she’d be mine.
Her—and everything she’d held back from me tonight.
The bartender sets the shots of gin in front of us, and the girl gives me a bright smile, holding hers up.
“What should we cheers to, do you think?” she asks, and I do my best to tear myself away from thoughts of Saoirse.
“Your name, first,” I say with a smirk. “Or are you in the habit of picking men up first and telling them your name later?”
“A little mystery adds some spice to the night, don’t you think?” She taps her shot glass to mine, both of us downing it together, and she reaches for her water glass. “It’s Amy,” she says after taking a drink. “Nothing too fancy, I know.”
“A good name.” I take another swig of my beer. “William Davies.”
“Should we shake hands?” She gives me a wink. “I’ve got something else I can shake for you if you want to hit up a club. Or we can just go back to yours if you’d rather, or mine.”
“Back to mine, I think.” I set down bills enough to cover both my drinks and the shots, and Amy pouts.
“Can’t let a lady buy you a drink?”
“You said you were no lady.” I wrap an arm around her waist, squiring her towards the door. “Can you ride?”
