He let himself in when he got to the place he’d bought for her and maintained the security on. She immediately rose from the couch and came to him, pressing her well-formed body to his.
He cupped her ass, enjoying the grind of her cunt against his cock, despite the business that’d brought him here. “I’m expecting company.” He didn’t need to say more.
“I’ll wait for you in the bedroom.”
“You do that.”
She sauntered away, hips swaying for his benefit, knowing he watched her. She was a beautiful woman, an accomplished lover who knew what the score was. It made his thoughts stray to Mirela’s mother. He couldn’t guess what’d made her have his kid, then keep quiet about it.
A dark-suited man arrived minutes later, intense, looking exactly like what he was, a Fed, of the Homeland Security variety. He wasn’t alone, though the guy who accompanied him had a whole different vibe. With the muscles and buzz cut he could pass for former military, the flat, hard eyes said Special Forces or mercenary.
Niall felt the first, sharp stab of foreboding, at just how expensive this call was going to be. “Didn’t know you were bringing a friend.”
“This is Desmond.”
Irish. The sharp blade of foreboding sliced deeper into Niall’s gut. He moved to the bar, pouring drinks before they claimed their seats.
The burn of the liquor met the cool of rage and determination. He would do what it took to protect his family. “You wanted the face-to-face.”
“You’ve got a mess that needs cleaning up. We can bring the necessary pressure to bear and you can deliver a personal warning to complement our actions. Unless you’ve left evidence around, then the best we can do is get you out of the country ahead of an arrest.”
“We’re not worried about evidence.” The guns Denis had used were long gone and he’d personally watched as Cathal burned the only evidence that proved they’d known who the guilty were. “What do you want?”
“Desmond, inside your organization, pursuing our interests, starting now.”
Niall glanced at the cold-eyed man who’d accompanied the Homeland Security handler. “Done.”
Derrick was too restless to remain at the shop, though he needed to catch up on his drawing. He’d planned on spending the rest of the day doing just that, but this environment just wasn’t conducive to concentration. Or maybe it was the gnawing suspicion that Emilio hadn’t told him the truth. That he was giving up too easily.
He didn’t want to go home. Home was where his sheets smelled like Quinn. It was gaping emptiness.
And the bong.
Mustn’t forget the bong and the little stash of weed.
Well, he wasn’t throwing it away.
Derrick shuddered at the very thought. Waste not. Want not. He’d ration it out and then when it was gone. No more.
He brushed his hands together for emphasis.
“You okay over there?” Bryce asked. “You’re talking to yourself more than usual.”
“I think better when I verbalize.”
Jamaal laughed. “Maybe he’s falling out of love this time. Rosy glow he’s had going the last couple of days says he’s met someone.”
“Shit,” Bryce muttered. “Be better all-around if he stuck to sex and forgot about relationships.”
“Says the man who likes to see his girlfriends wearing dog collars,” Derrick said. “Probably so the tags identify them, requiring less strain on the brain.”
Jamaal snorted. “He might have you there, Bryce.”
Derrick shrugged into his jacket. “And on that note, I’m gone. Behave yourselves.”
“Stay out of trouble,” Bryce called after him, making him smile. Oh, they had their run-ins, but now that he was on the other side of that disastrous thing with—no, no, no, the man didn’t even deserve to have his name acknowledged—Derrick felt guilty for letting Bryce down.
Well, that Derrick was no more. He brushed his hands together again for emphasis.
The new Derrick could be relied on. He swung a leg over the bike, thinking about Emilio. There was more than one way to get an answer.
His heart fluttered in his chest as he thought about the family albums and photographs on the wall of Emilio’s parents’ house. Did he dare?
Of course he did. Emilio’s mother had always been very nice to him. No sleepovers of course. No public displays of affection. Her acceptance of her son’s sexuality was the
He’d tell her the same thing he’d told Emilio, that this was for a book. He’d ask if she’d seen Marc Ruiz around. And if the answer was yes, he’d find out what Marc was up to, who he hung out with and where he might be found. Simple. And if it gave him a reason to call Quinn…
Devine. Superb.
He pulled the bike out into traffic and gunned it.
Sleepy shouted with glee when the asshole who’d been asking about him crossed turf lines into
Next to him, Puppy turned in his seat, high-fiving Drooler in the back. “He’s ours now.”
Oh yeah. He was theirs.
Sleepy risked getting closer. “Gotta make this quick.” Not everybody on the street could be trusted not to snitch, though they wouldn’t do it openly.
He passed his gun to Puppy. “Soon as he parks the bike, you two get out, convince him to get in the car.”
His hands were sweating against the steering wheel. Everybody knew his car. Couldn’t be helped. He’d told Jacko this was going down. He’d lose respect if he didn’t do it now. Besides, he owed this to Lucky.
The bike slid into a tight spot. He hit the gas, pulling alongside with enough room for his crew to get out.
A punch to the gut bent Derrick over with a cry, muffled by the helmet. Drooler shoved him into the backseat, holding him down with a body slam while Puppy got in the front seat and turned around to help.
Sleepy accelerated, leaving rubber on the road and slamming the doors shut with Derrick fighting in the back and Puppy using the gun to hit whatever he could. Nobody bothered to tell the motherfucker to stop struggling. It wouldn’t matter whether he did or not.
A glance over his shoulder and Sleepy smiled. He knew just where to take this loser, and when they got done, they could leave the body where it dropped.
Eamon fought to remain impassive as he eased the vessel the changeling had stolen into its berth while a couple of slips away, Myk did the same with the boat they’d used in their search. It had to be bad if his second had come personally with the news.
“Tell me,” Eamon said, tossing Rhys the boat line.
“There was an incident at Aesirs.”
“Etain.”
“Yes. She encountered Laura Chevenier and her daughters. By all accounts the woman provoked what happened with mention of Etain’s mother, and hints that she knew where she could be found. It escalated to the point of violence.”
“Etain stripped her mind of the information?”
