Conall Morrissey’s life is pretty bloody easy. He helps his brother take care of the whores at The Exotic Virtue, an exclusive high-end brothel owned by The Killough Company. They might not be earning as much as the other brothels, but if they make ends meet, the Morrisey brothers can get by fine. Until they get a visit from the boss of the mob who owns it, Sloan Killough.

Sloan Killough means business. He’s brash, violent, and tough. He’s the boss for a reason and he doesn’t deal in excuses or exceptions. He visits The Exotic Virtue for a taste of his product, and when he sees Conall, he knows he must have him as his pet. When Sloan demands Conall on his knees, Conall’s horrified. He may be bisexual, but he’s not the guy who takes it. When his brother sells him like one of their whores, Conall has no choice but to submit to their boss if he and his brother wants to live.

Being a whore to a mob boss isn’t what Conall expects. He fights Sloan’s orders at every chance he gets, but the boss seems to enjoy the fights, and has no problem in teaching Conall his place. Conall promises himself he won’t give in, but with each touch and taste, he finds himself addicted to the dark, dangerous man who could rip out his throat the very moment he gets bored of him.

The Boss © M.D. Gregory 2019. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews – without permission in writing from its publishers, M.D. Gregory. Copyright protection extends to all excerpts and previews by this author included in this book.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination, or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. The author is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Authors work their asses off to bring you the stories you enjoy reading. Spread the love, not the files.

Published 2019 M.D. Gregory.

Dedication

To my nan. You taught me to fly when I believed I didn’t have wings.

Chapter One

“Did you fucking hear a word I said?”

Conall shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun and glanced at his brother, who towered over his reclined position. He currently lay on one of the lounges near the pool, shirtless and drying from his recent dip. He grinned, cocking his head.

“You said something about the boss coming. Which whore is he currently coming inside of?”

“Jesus Christ, Conall. Get the fuck up, you lazy bastard.” The angrier Terrance got, the thicker his Irish accent became, the word “fuck” sounding more like “fook.” His brother’s pale face flushed an ugly red, almost as crimson as the hair on his head, and his emerald gaze grew angry.

“Why?” Conall shrugged, dragging his sunglasses down his nose with his forefinger so he could look at his brother over the top of them. “What’s that got to do with me anyway?”

“Are you fucking stupid? When I say boss, I’m not talking about O’Riley. I’m talking about the big boss. Killough.”

The name penetrated Conall’s sun-soaked brain and he shot off the lounge to his feet. “Wait. Sloan Killough? The fucking mob boss?”

“Why do you think I need you off your arse? He’ll be here in the hour.” He grabbed Conall’s towel and threw it at his chest. “Get showered and dressed. Make sure the whores are presentable. He’s coming for one of two reasons—for a hole or our heads.”

“Why the hell would he come for our heads?”

“Because, dumbarse, this establishment hasn’t been making as much money as Hell’s Kitchen. They’ve been makin’ a killin’. Leenock told me how much he’s been earning the boss and it’s nearly triple. We’re in trouble, Conall.”

It was the first time since taking over the whorehouse that Conall saw his brother anxious. Terrance’s cool attitude was what got them the Exotic Virtue in the first place, and working with the mob came with problems, but Terrance handled them while Conall did what he was good at: living in luxury. He hadn’t seen his brother this concerned until now.

“If they had an issue with money, Rafferty would have brought it up before,” Conall said, though his voice wavered with uncertainty.

“Rafferty’s just a pawn. He’s not even a general.” Terrance shook his head, running his hands through his bright hair. “I asked him why the boss was heading here, he didn’t know. Just said he got a call from one of the higher-ups.”

“Then why the fuck are we standing here talking? What do you need me to do?”

“Get dressed. Preferably in a suit, all right? Warn the whores and tell them to get ready. I don’t give a flying fuck if they have a client. We’ll compensate them. I want all the whores in the foyer to greet him. If the boss wants a hole, he gets any choice he desires.” Terrance glared at him. “Don’t be a smartarse to him, all right?”

“Me, a smartarse?” Conall grinned. “When am I ever a smartarse?”

“When are you not?” He waved his hand. “Get.”

Conall slapped his brother on the arm and threw the towel over his shoulder. He sauntered into the building and headed toward his room. The hallways of the Exotic Virtue were long and luxurious, with high ceilings and elegant gold chandeliers that hung from white paneling. The lush carpet floors were a rich red, lined with gold trimmings, and they matched the dark beige walls. It was a home away from home for most of their clients, but for Conall and Terrance, it was their home. Terrance was the provocateur of the brothel, with Conall as his partner in crime. But while they ran it, it belonged to the Killough Company, also known as the Killough mob.

He stopped Alice as she ambled past with a client. With a smile to the older white-haired gentleman beside her—an affluential politician, if he remembered correctly—he tugged the whore closer and whispered in her ear, “If he’s done, send him on his way. We have a high player heading to the Virtue and we need everyone at the entrance to greet him.”

“What about the other clients?” she asked with a roll of her eyes. “Tim pays a lot of money for me and he’s not done. He wants to take a dip in the pool.”

“I wouldn’t give a shit if he was the Pope. Get rid of him. Offer him a free hour next time he comes.” Conall’s lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “No pun intended.”

Alice’s eyes narrowed and she huffed, spinning on her high heels and storming toward her client, who had stopped halfway down the hall. She said something to him, and his narrow face twisted in annoyance. He glanced at Conall, glaring.

Conall knew when he needed to douse a fire, so he smiled charmingly at the politician. The last thing they needed was to be on this man’s bad side. He strode closer, still shirtless and in his swimming trunks, and held out his hand.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Conall Morrissey, co-provocateur of the Exotic Virtue. You don’t need to tell me your name. I’ll call you John.” He let his hand fall when the politician glared at it. “I do apologize for your session with Alice being cut short, but we have a VIP heading our way.”

“And I’m not VIP?” ‘John’ snapped. He wrapped his arm around Alice’s wrist and tugged her closer, hand on her hip. His hold must have been tight, because she flinched.

“You are in your own right.” Conall crossed his arms and nodded to his hand. “Please remove your grip from my property or we’ll remove you from these premises.”

John blinked, his gaze shooting to his own hand, and he released her. He straightened, his lips pursed. His dark gray hair looked slimy with product under the soft lights of the hallway, and he had used so much of it that the acidy scent burned Conall’s nose, even with the distance between them. He wasn’t a handsome man, but a smarmy-looking bug that someone would want to squish beneath their shoe. A lot of politicians like John came in and used their whores.

“Thank you. As I was saying, John, this VIP is the owner of our…business, and he expects every employee to be there. He very rarely visits, and we need our workers to greet him.” Conall smiled politely, fighting back the urge to glare at him. “You will be compensated with an hour free with Alice—”

“Two,” John growled, holding up two bony fingers in Conall’s face. “I want two hours free.”

Conall gritted his teeth but breathed through his nose to force himself to keep a smile. “Don’t push it, John. You forget what sort of information we have on you. Does your wife know you come to the Virtue?”

The color drained from John’s face and his glare deepened.

“A free hour is fine, isn’t it, John? Or should I call you Tim?”

John nodded sharply.

“Good. Well, you know the way to the exit. Make sure you visit Sam on the way out. He’ll make note of your free hour.” Conall held out his hand, but the politician looked at it in disgust then spun on his heel, storming down the hallway. Conall shrugged. “Alice, round up the others, even if you have to walk in on a session. Offer the clients the free time. I need all of you at the entrance immediately. No excuses from anyone, especially not from Forrest. I don’t care what he has to say, he will be there as well.”

“My client won’t come back,” Alice hissed.

Conall sighed. He knew the argument was coming. Alice wouldn’t be herself if she didn’t argue with him. “He’s a man who likes you and what you offer him. He’s obsessed with your cunt. He’ll be back. Get the others. Now.”

She looked like she was about to argue further, but she kept her mouth shut and spun on her ridiculously high heels and stormed down the hallway.

He rolled his eyes and headed to his room. It was on the third floor, which meant he had to take the stairs at the far end of the corridor. The stairs were as glamorous as the rest of the mansion, with intricate patterns carved into the stone handrails. They were wide, the steps made of marble with beautiful patterns poured into them.

When he got to his room, Conall grabbed some clothes out of his wardrobe, laying them on the bed, and went straight to the en suite bathroom. He took off his clothes and stepped into the dual-headed shower. The water was hot on his sore muscles, just the way he liked it. It slid over his shoulders and down his back, warming his sun-flushed skin.

He wrapped his hand around his cock, tugging on it gently at first while tweaking his nipples. He leaned against the shower’s tiled wall, using it as leverage as he jacked off. With closed eyes, he imagined fucking Forrest like he had last night. He’d held the whore down by the back of his neck as he pumped into him, his cock drilling his arsehole until Forrest came, screaming his name.

“Fuck!” Conall threw his head back against the wall, his balls drawn tight to his body. Two more strokes and he came, his seed splattering across the glass that surrounded the shower. His shoulders trembled as the remnants of his release shot through him, making his knees weak. When he’d gained enough strength to stand properly, he grabbed one of the showerheads and aimed it at the streaks of cum, watching it slide down the glass and swirl into the drainpipe.

Conall washed himself quickly before he turned off the water and stepped out. He dried himself and wrapped the towel around his waist, moving back into his room, then paused at the doorway.

Forrest’s long, lean, and very naked body stretched across his bed, his knees wide apart and his bubbly arse exposed to Conall’s hungry gaze. He rested on his belly, his arms folded under his cheek as he peered at Conall seductively.

“Hi.”

Conall swallowed, his cock already twitching beneath his towel. His stare slid over the dip of the whore’s smooth back, over the fleshy arsecheeks, and down his long legs, the same legs that had wrapped around his waist last night.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t Alice tell you to go to the foyer?”

Forrest smirked and slipped off the bed. He glided closer to Conall, laying his palm on Conall’s chest. He slid it over his nipples and along his ribs. “I thought we could have a little fun first. My last client didn’t satisfy me.”

Conall snorted. Most assumed that whores hated sex after having it so frequently, but Forrest was insatiable. He craved it every minute of the day, or at least he wanted Conall’s cock whenever he could have it.

He swiped Forrest’s creeping hand as it headed toward the edge of the towel. “Not today. The big boss is coming.”

“Big boss?” Forrest’s blond eyebrows rose. “Which one?”

“Killough.”

“The mob boss?” He stepped back, arms crossed over his slim chest. “Since when does he visit us?”

“He can visit us whenever the fuck he wants.” Conall adjusted himself through the towel. He was human, after all, and Forrest was one of the hottest whores they had. He was young, tall, and had a body that bent to a client’s will. He had long limbs that seemed to wind around Conall, and his face was as perfect as the rest of him with high cheekbones, fuckable plump lips, and pretty dark forest-green eyes. He could have been a model, but he claimed he loved sex and money too much.

“And what? He’s going to choose a whore?” Forrest huffed. “This is the only free hour I get. I want you to fuck me.”

“Too bad. Get dressed…” Conall raised an eyebrow at Forrest’s bare body. “Unless you think that will win you some favors.”

“Is he hot?” He smirked at Conall and cocked his hip challengingly.

Conall shrugged. Forrest’s mistake was believing that he was something more to him other than a fuck. His body might have been magnificent, but Conall wasn’t seeking anything more. He’d done the relationship thing before and wasn’t looking for another one. They sucked, and not in the way he preferred.

“Get your hot arse downstairs. Now.”

“It’s ass, not arse. I hate it when you say that.”

“Irish,” Conall said, like it explained everything. It did.

Forrest sighed and poked him in the chest. “I bet he’s a better fuck than you anyway.”

“If you win his favor, you might find out. Now get the fuck out.”

Forrest huffed and stalked from the room, his bubbly arse jiggling as he slammed the door behind him. Conall snorted, chuckling as he grabbed the clothes he’d laid out on the opposite side of the bed. He’d quickly come to learn that whores were dramatic. When they started earning cash, they thought they were irreplaceable. What they forgot was there was always another arse out in the streets, and it was fun to remind them how much power he and Terrance had over them.

He dressed in the one suit he owned. It was dark blue, custom made for his dad’s funeral. It was tighter than he remembered, but that could have been because the funeral was three years ago, and Conall had packed on some muscle since then.

He styled his light brown hair, giving it a messy look, and when he was satisfied, he headed downstairs. Terrance was already pacing the foyer, looking elegant in the black suit he kept for occasions like this. Except if he paced like that, he’d end up wearing a hole in his dress shoes.

Conall rolled his eyes when he came to a stop near the line of whores. They ranged in height, weight, and skin and hair colors. The Virtue had something for everyone—whether the clients preferred the same sex or the opposite, they had it all.

“Terrance, you’re ruining the floor,” Conall snapped.

His brother spun on him, eyes narrowed and furious. “Do you remember the last time he visited, brother?”

He shrugged. “He’s never visited.”

“Precisely. There’s a reason he’s coming.” Terrance’s glare moved to the whores. “Impress him. If he wants you to do some weird shit, you do it. We want to keep him happy, do you hear me?”

They nodded obediently, although Alice had some attitude with hers. She could get away with it, though. Conall supposed that’s what happened when you fucked the provocateur. Terrance enjoyed her pussy too much to call her out.

A knock echoed through the foyer and Terrance exhaled deeply. He tugged at the lapels of his suit and shot the gathering another glare, before he opened the door. He did a weird bow as two burly men entered. They reminded Conall of something out of a Men in Black movie, with their pitch-black suits and sunglasses, except they had the size too. They towered over Terrance, which said something because he was six two.

One of the men spoke into something in his hand. “It’s clear. Send the boss in.”

Conall raised his brows and bit his lip to stop himself from saying something smart about a big, tough mob boss needing security. Terrance would kill him.

A group of men moved through the double doorway. They were big too, some more than the others, and had guns strapped to their body under their suits. A few familiar faces appeared, including O’Riley. Conall called him their handler, but O’Riley hated that term, so Conall made sure to call him that whenever he could.

O’Riley was a tall man with a dark bushy beard. He was at least a decade older than Terrance and had the wrinkles around his eyes to prove it. He had a scar that ran around the base of his neck—according to O’Riley, he’d been bombarded by the Italians, and they slit his throat and left him there, expecting he’d bleed out. He didn’t.

Conall didn’t believe the story, but the women ate it up and practically jumped on his cock. Conall didn’t know if they were gullible or wanted a reason to fuck someone in the mob.

Another man walked through the doors, and the room fell to silence. No one had to guess who Killough was. His presence dominated the room, not only because of his handsome face and wide shoulders, but because of the way he stood and stared. He demanded compliance, and anyone who still had their senses would fall on their knees to please him.

He wasn’t what Conall imagined, though. He’d expected an old, fat guy with weathered skin and a strong Irish accent—the kind Conall’s dad had. Sloan Killough definitely wasn’t fat or old. He looked no older than thirty-five, with a square jaw and bright eyes the color of the sea off Hawaii, or at least what Conall imagined it would look like. He had never seen eyes like that before; there wasn’t anything fake about them, they weren’t contacts. Killough was tall, too, probably as tall as his security, and he had a large scar running over his left eye, which ended at the bottom of his cheek, just above his beard growth.

Conall could almost hear the whore’s panties get wet. The wide eyes and sighs certainly weren’t unexpected. Even Forrest licked his lips, eyes darkening with lust as his gaze trailed over the boss’s body.

Conall rolled his eyes. Predictable. But he didn’t blame them, either. His own body took notice, and his stomach made a weird flipping movement he wasn’t used to. He blamed it on being left horny after Forrest’s short visit.

Terrance floundered, nearly tripping over his feet as he shuffled closer, bowing. “Sir! It’s a pleasure to have you here.”

Killough’s eyes swept around the room, running over each of the whores like he was assessing a piece of art. He didn’t bother to give Terrance so much as a nod. It was almost as though Terrance wasn’t there to begin with.

His gaze stopped on Conall, that deep turquoise stare trailing from the top of his head to his feet, causing a tingling sensation under Conall’s skin, and he balled up his fists, ready to put an end to the ridiculous reaction.

“Sir?” Terrance shifted closer, but an arm from one of the guards shot out, stopping him.

Killough glanced at him. “Who are you?” He didn’t have the Irish accent either, which probably meant he was born in America, unlike Terrance and Conall. The difference was that Conall had been raised in New York since he was only a month old, whereas Terrance was seven when they moved, so he still had traces of the accent.

“I’m Terrance Morrissey, sir. The provocateur of the Exotic Virtue.” Terrance bowed again.

Conall wanted to cringe in embarrassment. His brother was coming on too strong, and he could see the backlash brewing because of it. Conall needed to stop this before Terrance made a bigger fool of their establishment.

He stepped forward, earning Killough’s attention again. “Sir, I’m Conall Morrissey, Terrance’s brother.” He bowed, but it was a shallow bend of his back, nothing as dramatic as Terrance’s. “Welcome to the Exotic Virtue. If you’re here to test your product, we’ve made certain that you have a wide range of selection.” He waved toward the whores.

Conall smiled proudly when they lowered their eyelashes, looking at their boss seductively, exactly how they’d been trained to do.

“Whatever you fancy, you can have.”

“Whatever I fancy?” Killough stepped forward and the security guards parted for him. “Did you know the Virtue is making less profit than Hell’s Kitchen?”

Terrance shoved himself between the boss and Conall, palms held up. “I can explain that, sir.”

“Did I ask you to?” His stare narrowed on Terrance, jaw tight in warning. “Move.”

Terrance swallowed and obediently stepped aside, head bowed.

“We are aware of that, sir,” Conall said. He didn’t know shit about the profit because he’d never cared about that aspect of the business. His life involved making sure the whores did what they were told to, and that the clients they did have were happy. Terrance took care of the money.

“How do you explain that?” Killough raised an eyebrow in a way Conall had always wanted to master. It was a mocking quirk that made him feel reprimanded, and he hated being treated like a child.

His arms went from resting at his sides to folded over his chest. “Shit happens.”

Terrance’s eyes widened behind Killough’s back, and he made a throat slicing movement at Conall. Cut it out, his brother’s wild, angry gaze told him.

“Shit happens?” Killough repeated slowly.

The men around him shifted their weight between their feet, some of them stiffening. One or two reached inside their jacket, touching their hidden guns.

Fear lodged in the back of Conall’s throat, but it was too late now. He had to roll with it, get himself out of the trouble his mouth had put him in. That meant keeping cool and calm. He shrugged. “We’ve had a few downfalls over the last few months. Some of our whores overdosed and we’ve lost property we weren’t allowed to replace.”

“Really?” Killough blinked slowly at him and twisted to look over his shoulder. “O’Riley, is this true?”

O’Riley nodded furiously. “We’ve had a few ODs, sir.”

“And why weren’t they replaced?” His deep voice demanded answers.

O’Riley cleared his throat. “We needed to cut costs with the Virtue, sir.”

“On whose orders?”

Sweat beaded on O’Riley’s forehead. He wiped at it nervously and clasped his hands in front of him. “McKinnon’s orders, sir.”

Killough nodded sharply then returned his attention to Conall. His mouth curved into a sinister smile. “I’ll make sure this situation is rectified.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Killough clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Now, I did come here for a taste of my product.”

Conall grinned. Selling the whores was what he excelled in. He strode in front of them, arms held wide. “As I said, we have a wide selection. What’s your taste for the night?”

“Night?” Killough shook his head. “No, I’m thinking long-term, someone to warm my bed every night.”

“Really?” His brows shot up and he glanced at their products. A selfish part of him decided he’d forgo introducing Forrest. His arse belonged to Conall and he wasn’t giving him up long-term. Killough probably wasn’t into men anyway.

Conall strode over to Natalia, a petite blonde Russian with amazing tits and a narrow waist. “This is Natalia, she’s a foreigner, nice tight pussy. The clients love her.”

Natalia’s plump lips curved up and she bowed low, her tits nearly falling out of her dress at the movement. “Sir.”

Killough shook his head. “A male.”

The comment caught Conall by surprise. He’d suggested that Forrest try to win Killough’s favor, but he never actually thought the boss would be into guys. Pausing, he glanced at the boss. “A male?”

“Did I stutter?”

The men behind him laughed, a redhead with brighter hair than Terrance nudging another guy and pointing at Conall.

Conall’s jaw tightened, but he forced the smile back on his lips. He nudged Natalia back into line. “A male it is.” He stepped closer to Angel, one of the whores who’d been at the Virtue the longest. He’d been there when Conall’s dad still ran the place, and Conall suspected he may have even warmed his father’s bed occasionally. He’d been barely eighteen at the time. Conall even suspected he might have been underage. “This is—”

“Enough.” Killough rolled his eyes and stepped closer. He towered over Conall, and his powerful stance left Conall feeling inferior. There was no doubt who had more strength between them. Killough flicked his wrist at Angel. “I’m not interested in him.”

“May I be of service?” Forrest’s lullaby voice made Conall’s back tense. No. Fuck no. He wasn’t giving up the best fuck in the manor.

Killough peered around Conall at him, eyes appreciative. “You’re adorable, but I don’t want a china doll. You wouldn’t be able to handle my cock if you tried.”

“I assure you, sir, I could handle your monster cock just fine. Ask Conall,” Forrest purred.

Conall spun toward him and glared. “Forrest is one of our top earners. Taking him away from the Virtue would be a mistake, sir.”

Killough hummed and turned his back to them. He gripped his hands behind himself, gazing at the other whores in front of him. Conall took the chance to shove a finger in Forrest’s direction, but Forrest, the imp, fluttered his fingers at him in a wave.

“Would you miss me?” he mouthed silently.

Conall clenched his teeth and whispered, “Shut up.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Killough raised his brow at them. Conall hadn’t realized he’d turned back.

Terrance glared at him from his spot near the boss’s men. Conall could already imagine his brother chewing him out over this later.

“No, sir.”

Killough made a noise, lips pursed, as his gaze slid over the length of Conall’s body. “You know what? You’ll do.”

“Excuse me?” Conall gaped at him, shock numbing his limbs. He couldn’t do much else but stare at the boss. “Did you mean Forrest?”

Killough smirked, the upturn at the corner of his lip making lines crease in his cheek. He reached out and ran a palm over Conall’s chest.

Conall dropped his stare to the hand, his heart thumping against his ribs, his lungs paralyzed under the touch, leaving him breathless.

“You can be my pet.”

He shook his head furiously. “I’m not a whore.”

Killough laughed, causing the men behind to mimic him. “You are now. My whore.”

Conall shot a look at Terrance, begging his brother to help him, but Terrance appeared as shocked as he felt. “Sir—”

The boss cupped his jaw, his thumb tracing his cheekbone. “Your profits are a third of Hell’s Kitchen. I could easily overlook that.” His gaze darkened, fury burning in his pretty eyes. His hand dropped to his side. “Or I could find someone to take the blame for it.” As if to make a point, he glanced at Terrance.

Terrance made a strangled noise and smiled. “Conall will be happy to be your pet, sir.”

“What?” Conall glared at the traitor. “Fuck no. I’m not going to bend over and take his cock so you don’t have—”

Terrance rushed over to him and slammed his hand across Conall’s mouth, then laughed nervously. “Please give us a minute, sir.” He dragged Conall out of the foyer and toward the small room he called an office. He shut the door behind them, hard.

Conall swung at him as soon as Terrance turned, his fist smashing into his brother’s cheek. Terrance tumbled back against his desk, his palm pressed against his face where Conall’s fist connected.

“Fuck, Con. What the hell?” He moved his bottom jaw, touching it gingerly with his fingers. “That hurt.”

“You’re selling me off like one of the whores?” Conall shouted, pacing the small room in angry steps. He had his arms folded over his chest, the anger simmering beneath his skin. He wanted to rage, to attack his brother again, but he held himself back. “I run this place with you, I don’t spread my legs!”

“What does it matter?” Terrance leaned against his desk. “You sleep with guys, too.”

“I fuck them, not get fucked by them.” He stalked closer. “I won’t let that fucker near me.”

“He’s our boss. The mob boss.”

“I don’t care if he’s a fucking Irish god. I won’t do it.” Conall dropped his arms, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He didn’t know whether he was more angry or scared. He’d never bottomed, but he’d rather go to hell before he did.

“According to some folks, he is an Irish god in bed.” Terrance smiled, but ducked when Conall raised his fist again. He held up his hands. “Wait. Stop. It won’t be for long.”

Conall snorted. “Not for long still means I have to let him fuck me.”

“Does it matter?”

“Clearly you’ve never fucked a guy, let alone been fucked by one, you tool.”

Terrance sighed, and it made Conall want to slam his fist against his cheek again. “This is for us. If you don’t do this, he’ll cut our throats. He’s not the kind of man you mess with, Conall. We’re not making a huge profit, and he could kill us for it.”

“No, he’d kill you for it,” he sneered.

“Do you think he won’t punish you for denying him? Sloan Killough gets what he wants, and what he wants is your arse.” Terrance shoved himself up and grabbed Conall’s shoulders tightly. He squeezed them. “You need to do this. For us. For your brother. I did things for you, don’t you remember that?”

“Killing Dad is different from being fucked by a mob boss,” Conall muttered angrily.

“Please, Conall. For us.”

He poked Terrance in the chest, eyes narrowed. “If it lasts more than a few weeks, I’m coming back to chop off your dick.”

Terrance laughed and tugged him into a hug, thumping him on the back.

Chapter Two

As soon as Sloan saw him, he knew he had to have him. He didn’t have a particular taste, but Conall’s beauty made him crave the taste of his skin against his tongue. He wanted to own him, drive him to his knees as Sloan fed him his cock. If he had a type, Conall Morrissey would be it.

The whore who offered himself up was pretty, but he wouldn’t be able to handle Sloan. He needed a man who would resist him, make him work for their arsehole. The whore was too pliant. Sloan had men like him before and they bored him.

Daire, his second-in-charge and best friend, sidled up beside him. “What are you doing, Sloan?”

“I’m finding a pet.” Sloan sent him a smirk and stepped along the line of whores. He stopped to touch one of the males, tracing his jaw. It was met with hair spiking at his fingertip. “Shave it.”

The whore’s eyes widened and he nodded furiously. “Yes, sir.”

Sloan rolled his eyes and shifted closer to the whore who’d offered himself up earlier. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

He was pretty, with eyes a lovely shade of green, and full lips that would look good wrapped around a cock. It was obvious why he was a high earner. Any man would be crazy not to use that mouth, and Conall agreed, if their little conversation said anything. The thought of his new pet’s cock being inside this whore made his shoulders tense with a strange niggling of jealousy. Sloan liked to keep his pets to himself.

“Forrest.” The whore smiled sweetly, and it only confirmed Sloan’s suspicions. He wouldn’t handle what Sloan had planned for Conall.

“Hm.” Sloan moved on to the next whore, and the next, and while each one had their good qualities, they were also lacking. He was unimpressed.

“Sir!” The provocateur came bouncing into the room, Sloan’s pet trailing behind him. Sloan had decided from the beginning that the brother was annoying. He was too jovial, uncontrollable, and Sloan wasn’t impressed with him either. He wouldn’t make it high up the chain of command in their mob. “We humbly accept your offer.”

Sloan crooked his finger toward Conall. “Come here.”

Conall sent a glare at his brother and folded his arms over his chest. “Not yet. We need to come up with terms and conditions for this arrangement.”

The brother choked. “We didn’t agree on that,” he whispered to him furiously.

Conall ignored him and moved closer to Sloan. He looked like temptation, just out of reach, and he wanted to lean forward, take his pet and never return. But he knew when to tread carefully. He might be a mob boss, but he understood people; it’s how the position became his, and not his brother’s. If he didn’t want to scare Conall away—and in turn, Sloan would have to kill him—he’d need to take it slow.

Sloan smirked. “A negotiator. I like it. Name your terms.”

Daire rolled his eyes and muttered something Sloan couldn’t hear.

“This is only short-term.”

Sloan laughed. “No. You’ll be my long-term pet.”

Conall’s handsome face flushed, and his heated glare might have scared a weaker man, but Sloan had faced the kinds of enemies Conall would never be able to imagine.

He opened his mouth, but Sloan held up his hand, effectively silencing him. “You will be my long-term pet. I’ll give you one day a week where you can do what you like, but every other day you’re mine. I will do with you what I please. If I want your arse, you’ll bend over and give it to me. If I want you to suck me off, you’ll get on your knees and let me fuck your mouth.” He paused, stepping closer to Conall until he reached him. Sloan stroked his clean-shaven jaw and leaned closer until he was whispering in his ear. “If you can’t agree with this, then I will slit your brother’s throat in front of you, and then I’ll stick my blade in your chest and watch you slowly bleed out.”

Conall’s jaw tightened, his lips twisting as he fought for control. He looked at Sloan, those pretty, defiant eyes furious. “I’m going to make your life hell.”

Sloan laughed, deep and real. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so hard. “I can’t wait.” He moved away and signaled to his security that they were on the move. “Let’s go.”

Conall glanced between his brother and Sloan. “I need to pack.”

“You don’t need your clothes. I’ll buy you some.” Sloan rolled his shoulders and spun on his heel, expecting Conall to follow him. He didn’t.

“I’m not your sugar baby.”

He paused near the door and cocked his head toward Conall. “No, but you’re my pet, and you will follow my orders. Come.”

The twitch in his jaw was a lovely sight. There was something beautiful about taming a wild dog, and that’s what Conall was to him. He’d had pets before, but they never lasted long. They couldn’t handle what Sloan dished out, but he already saw the difference between them and Conall. This man caused Sloan’s loins to stir, and that was without Sloan even seeing him naked.

“Come, pet.” Sloan held out his hand toward him.

The young man exhaled, straightened his back, and peered at the whore he’d fucked before.

The whore smiled sadly, but one look from Sloan and he dropped his eyes. At least he wasn’t stupid.

“I said come.” Sloan’s patience was wearing thin, and he didn’t want to punish his pet on their first day together, but he would if he had to.

Conall cursed and stomped toward him, his scuffed shoes thumping on the ground dramatically. If Sloan wasn’t amused by the action, he might have put his pet over his knee and spanked him. Instead, he spun on his heel and strode out of the manor and toward their sleek black BMWs. His main bodyguard, Henry, waited beside the car, and when Sloan reached him, he opened the back door for him.

Sloan slipped inside and let Henry close the door behind him. Conall paused near the car, but Henry gestured for him to follow him around to the other side. Sloan’s pet trailed behind and fell into the leather seat when Henry opened the door.

He shifted, making the leather squeak beneath him, and crossed his arms over his chest. The dark blue suit looked too small on him, with the material stretching around his upper arms, and Sloan made a mental note to get his tailor to make Conall a couple of new suits. If he wanted his pet to come to business meetings with him, he needed to look respectable.

“Stop fidgeting,” Sloan commanded.

His pet turned his glare on him. “If I want to fucking fidget, I will.”

Sloan rolled his eyes and reached over to the small bar set up between them. He opened a compartment and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. “Don’t curse, either. You can make a point without adding curse words. They make you seem undignified, and as my pet, you will not be crass.”

“What is this? Church?” Conall snatched a tumbler from the bar and held it toward Sloan. “I need a fucking drink.”

Sloan laughed. “No, pet, you don’t get a drink. My pets don’t get rewards for their bad behavior.”

He snorted, but when he realized Sloan was serious, the fury returned to darken his handsome face. “Are you serious? This is fucked.”

Sloan tutted, pouring himself a drink before he returned the cap to the bottle and replaced it in its former spot. He took a sip, savoring the burn down his throat when he swallowed it. “Learn some manners and you’ll be rewarded.”

“I’m not a child,” he hissed.

“No, but you are my pet.” Sloan smirked at him and took another sip. “Mm. That’s nice. I do love the burn of the whiskey.”

Conall muttered something under his breath.

“What was that, pet?”

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.” He dropped his tumbler on the floor beside his feet and slammed his back against the seat.

“What happened to that polite ‘sir’ you were calling me earlier?” Sloan crossed his legs and leaned back against the leather. He touched Conall’s knee, resting his palm against his trousers. Their windows were tinted black, which meant no one could see them from the outside, and there was a privacy screen between them and their driver. Not that Sloan cared about an audience. He lived for adventure.

Conall’s gaze dropped to Sloan’s hand, and he swallowed around his dry throat. “What do you want from me?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I want you.”

“Why?” His hard glare spun on Sloan, and for the first time, he saw the fear. “You could have had any of the whores. They’re trained for this sort of thing. I’m just a businessman, like you.”

“But you’re not like me, are you? I wouldn’t have allowed Hell’s Kitchen to make more profit than my establishment.” Sloan tutted again and removed his hand. He uncrossed his legs and spread his knees. “I want to fuck your mouth.”

“This isn’t Walmart. I’m not open twenty-four hours a day,” he snapped, but there was a flicker in his eyes, a sort of interest as he stared down at Sloan’s crotch.

Sloan laughed harder and unzipped his trousers, pulling out his cock. “You’ll be open when I tell you to be open. Your mouth. My cock. Now. And if you use your teeth, I’ll slit your throat.”

Conall licked his lips, a hunger flashing in his eyes. He leaned forward, then paused and glared again. “You’re an arsehole.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t want to suck it, pet. I see the interest in your eyes.”

“I like cocks,” Conall growled, yet he didn’t look so resistant now as he leaned down and wrapped his long fingers around Sloan’s hard erection. But before he could take Sloan’s cock in his mouth, Sloan grabbed his chin and dragged him up.

“I don’t fuck unwilling men.”

His pet snorted. “Could have fooled me.”

“You’re not unwilling.” Sloan traced Conall’s bottom lip with his thumb. “Tell me how much you want to suck my cock.”

“Fuck you.”

“Didn’t I tell you to watch your language?”

Conall snorted. “Why can you swear?”

“Because I know when it’s appropriate and when it’s not.” Sloan captured Conall’s mouth with his own, devouring and owning it in the way he’d wanted to since he first saw his pet. He tasted as bitter as his attitude, and Sloan wanted more. He wanted his pet begging for his touch, and that meant breaking his wild nature. That’s what he was most excited about.

Conall glared when they broke apart, but his tongue swiped over his lips, as though he were catching Sloan’s lingering taste on them. His hand still touched Sloan’s cock, squeezing it gently.

“Tell me how much you want to suck my cock,” Sloan repeated.

Those dark blue eyes flickered, something akin to a mixture of anger and need burning in them. His jaw tightened, then released, and he exhaled. “I only want to suck it because I don’t want to die.”

Sloan fell back against the leather seat and stretched his arm out over the back of the headrests, behind Conall. He grinned, amusement bubbling inside his chest. “I don’t believe you.” He waved his hand in the direction of his exposed erection. “But put that naughty mouth to use, pet.”

“Stop calling me that,” he grumbled.

“No.” Sloan nodded at his cock. “Now suck.”

Conall made a noise in the back of his throat and shifted forward. He took the tip of Sloan’s cock in his mouth, sucking softly on it. It was a tentative action, like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the hardness in his hand.

Sloan’s eyebrow rose. “Have you sucked a cock before, pet?”

Conall’s mouth popped off him and he turned his face away. “Of course I have.”

Sloan grabbed his chin again and forced him to look his way. Conall’s cheeks were flushed crimson, a beautiful contrast against his tanned skin. “Don’t lie to me. You’ll come to learn quickly that I don’t tolerate liars, Conall.”

He looked at Sloan in surprise, like he was shocked that he’d used his name, but there was also understanding there. He knew by Sloan calling him his name, the boss wasn’t happy. He gnawed on his bottom lip, and he muttered something Sloan couldn’t hear.

“Speak up.”

Conall’s flushed cheeks darkened further and he attempted to knock Sloan’s grip off his chin, but Sloan only tightened his hold.

“What did you say?” Sloan snapped, irritation rising inside of him. There was only so much disobedience he could take in one sitting.

“I said I haven’t sucked a cock before.”

“Really?” A rush of pleasant joy swirled in Sloan’s stomach. The thought that his cock was the first his pet had in his mouth excited him. He ran a hand through Conall’s short brunet hair and tugged at the strands. “What about that pretty whore you’ve been with?”

He ripped himself out of Sloan’s hold. He didn’t answer, but Sloan didn’t expect him to. He’d find out more about Forrest later.

Conall took Sloan’s erection in his mouth again, but this time he took half of the length between his lips, sucking and licking in a way only a novice could. Sloan gave him points for the enthusiasm, though.

The cavern of his mouth was warm and wet, and the suction felt good, even if there wasn’t an expertise in the way he lapped at Sloan. With his fist still wrapped around the base, he had less length to take in his mouth. Sloan wouldn’t accept that.

“Take away your hand. Use it to play with my balls.”

Conall glared at him, but it probably didn’t have the effect he was hoping for, not when he had his mouth full of Sloan’s hard cock. He did as he was instructed, though, and Sloan counted it as a win.

Conall reached inside Sloan’s fly and shifted the material so he could pull out his balls. He palmed them, rolling them in his hand. Sloan threw his head back against the headrest, a groan slipping out.

“I love it when my pet plays with me,” he murmured, appraisal in his voice.

Conall didn’t reply. He continued to suck on Sloan’s erection—only half of it, though, which was disappointing.

Sloan slipped his fingers through his pet’s short hair and gripped it tightly, shoving Conall’s head down further until his entire length was in his mouth. Conall gagged, his hand slapping Sloan’s thigh as he struggled against the hold on his head. Sloan smirked, and when he was satisfied that he’d made a point, let him go.

Conall pulled off him, his chest heaving in coughs, and he swiped at his mouth where spit gathered. “What the fuck, man?”

Sloan’s smirk widened. “When I tell you to suck my cock, I don’t mean half of it.”

He glanced at Sloan, a war raging in that gaze. Anger, pure, hot, and beautiful swirled in those eyes. It made Sloan’s skin buzz with pleasure and his balls draw tighter to his body. So pretty, yet so furious, just how he liked them.

“Try again. This time, suck me off like you’re the one getting the blowjob.”

His pet made a subtle movement of rearranging his own hard cock in his pants before he leaned down and took Sloan again. His hand went straight to his balls, palming them as his mouth sucked Sloan in completely. He gagged every time the tip met the back of his throat, and he still lacked expertise, but the tight suction felt amazing, and Sloan had to commend him on his enthusiasm. For a man who hadn’t wanted to suck his cock, his attempt at pleasing his master impressed Sloan.

Sloan touched the back of Conall’s head, which made him stiffen, but he didn’t stop sucking. “Good boy,” Sloan murmured reassuringly. He petted along Conall’s temple and down his cheek. “Now lick it.”

His cock popped out of Conall’s mouth, then Conall traced a vein and pressed the flat of his tongue over Sloan’s slit, swiping the precum out of it.

Sloan groaned in appreciation and his eyes slipped closed. He leaned back against the seat again, then slid his hand over his chest and tweaked his own nipples through his white dress shirt. The lovely buzz of pleasure swam through him, elevating him into a cloud of bliss. The suction returned to his sensitive organ, and as each second ticked by, his pet grew more confident. He went as far as sucking on Sloan’s balls, popping them into his mouth and lapping at them as though they were a dessert he’d waited weeks to have. Perfect. His pet was as perfect as Sloan expected him to be.

“I want you to swallow my cum.”

He didn’t need to open his eyes to feel that stare on him.

“I don’t swallow guys’ cum.”

Sloan’s chest rumbled in a chuckle. He still didn’t bother to open his eyes. “You’d never sucked a cock, either. Do what I tell you to.”

“I’m not—”

“Pet, don’t displease me.” Sloan breathed in the sweet smell lingering in the back of the car, the mixed scent of sweat and spice tickling his nose.

“You’re an arsehole,” Conall muttered.

Sloan would have laughed again, but his pet’s mouth returned to suck on his cock hard. He felt the familiar pressure of his orgasm building at the base of his spine. His balls drew tighter and his engorged cock jerked. Sloan held himself back from fucking into that succulent mouth. He’d taken pity on his pet and didn’t want to give him more than he could handle.

Sloan’s toes curled in his expensive shoes and his shoulders trembled when the release washed through him. His cock spurted onto Conall’s tongue, cum painting the inside of his mouth. Sloan entwined his fingers in his hair to stop his pet from moving again, but much to his delighted surprise, Conall never tried.

The leather seat squeaked beneath Sloan when he fell back against it, his chest rising and falling in rapid movements from his exploding orgasm.

Conall shifted, his face screwed up and his mouth clearly still full of Sloan’s cum. He swallowed, his nose and mouth scrunched in distaste. “That’s disgusting.”

Sloan raised an eyebrow and let his gaze travel over the muscular body crouched beside him. It landed on Conall’s crotch, where his hard cock no longer bulged in his trousers. He smirked. “I don’t think you entirely agree with that, pet.”

Conall glared. “Fuck you.”

Sloan laughed deeply.

Chapter Three

Fuck. Jesus Christ on a cross. Conall was in deep shit. He knew it, there was nothing he could do to get out of it, and it was all Terrance’s fucking fault. He’d kill his brother and bury his body beside their dad’s. Maybe Killough could join them too.

He sighed and stared out the window of the BMW. They drove through the city carefully, inconspicuously. They’d passed at least ten different cop cars, yet the cops had no idea who sat in the back beside Conall. If they did, they’d have already made it to detective status, maybe even captain. Every cop in the city wanted to nab Sloan Killough, but with no proof of his activities or a link between him and the crime, Killough could walk straight into a station and say hello and there was nothing they could do about it.

Conall shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His dried seed stuck to his pubic hair, a reminder that he hadn’t even touched himself before his cock exploded in his underwear. All because he sucked Killough’s cock and balls. It pissed him off. He didn’t like sucking cock, especially not one that belonged to a smug piece of shit like the man sitting beside him, except apparently his traitorous body disagreed. He had no idea why his mouth getting fucked had made him so horny. He was the top, he took charge. Fuck if he’d become the bitch of the relationship. He wasn’t anyone’s pet.

He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, grimacing. The taste of Killough’s seed lingered there, its bitterness heavy on his tongue. It tasted as bad as he expected it to. He needed to pat Forrest on the back the next time he saw him because he couldn’t imagine swallowing so many different guys’ cum.

The car was stifling, and claustrophobia pressed down on him while he sat there in the back seat with the privacy screen up between them and the driver. The ride was long and tedious, and he felt restless, shifting in the seat uncomfortably. He wanted a hot shower to wash the imaginary grime off his body. His dried seed definitely needed to go because he hated the reminder every time he moved.

“What are you thinking about, pet?” Killough laid a hand on his thigh.

Conall’s eyes narrowed on it, but he resisted the urge to shove it off. “Nothing.”

Killough shook his head and tutted, a noise so similar to one Conall’s mom used to do at him when he was a kid. “So stubborn.”

“Where are we going?”

“To my house in Southampton.” Killough glanced at him and smirked. “We’re nearly there. We have about ten minutes before we arrive.”

“You live in the Hamptons?” He peered back out the window. He’d been so focused on his inner thoughts that he hadn’t realized they’d left the city. “How long have we been traveling for?”

“It takes a couple of hours or so to get there.” Killough nursed another glass of whiskey in his hand, ice clinking in it this time.

Conall didn’t bother asking for one because he already knew the answer he’d get. He couldn’t help but focus on the amber liquid that sloshed from side to side when Killough rocked it, and he swallowed around the dryness in his mouth.

Killough’s eyes dipped to the glass and his smirk transformed into a smile that didn’t really suit him. It was too nice, unlike the sardonic grins he usually had on his face. He held out the glass in Conall’s direction.

Conall hesitated.

“Take it, pet. You deserve it. You impressed me.”

He didn’t argue. He snatched the glass out of Killough’s hand and swallowed it in one swig, the liquid burning its way down his throat and warming his belly. Fuck. That tasted like luxury. He didn’t know what kind of whiskey it was, but he could taste the expensiveness of it in its smoothness.

Killough stroked his thigh. “Like I said, you’ll be rewarded when you deserve it.”

Conall dropped the glass back on the small bar. He didn’t look at Killough, shame curling in his stomach. He’d sucked Killough off, had his cock in his mouth and swallowed his seed. He’d probably take his cock in his arse tonight, too. The thought sent a shiver along his spine, but he didn’t know if it was from excitement or fear.

Killough’s fingers moved to his crotch, and Conall’s breath hitched. He waited, chest still as anticipation hummed inside of him, but nothing came. Then the car’s wheels crunched over gravel, loud in the otherwise quiet interior, and it pulled to a stop. The back door opened suddenly, and that monster of a guard stepped to the side. The weight of Killough’s hand disappeared, and he stepped out, leaving Conall lounging there like a desperate little puppy waiting for an order.

“Come, pet.”

And there was his master’s command. The indignant part of him wanted to tell the bastard to kiss his arse, but he could only push the mob boss’s boundaries so much before his patience snapped.

Conall slid across the seat and out Killough’s side, his boots crunching on the stones of the driveway. He glanced up at the mansion looming over them, and bit down on his bottom lip to stop himself from gasping at the sheer beauty and size of it. The Exotic Virtue’s exquisiteness was nothing compared to Killough’s home. It was two stories of glamorous architecture, with white panels, a peaked roof, individual room balconies, and a brownstone chimney. The lush and bright green yard ran for miles in either direction, with vibrant flowering trees fluttering in the sea breeze. Conall could smell the salt of the ocean in the air, so fresh, and unlike the pollution of New York City.

“How close are we to the beach?”

Killough’s lips curled, a dimple forming in his cheek. Conall hadn’t noticed it before. “Less than a two-minute walk.”

Conall scratched his jaw, a nervous habit he’d had since he was a teen. “I didn’t imagine you to be a guy who likes the beach.”

“I don’t.” Conall felt the heat of Killough’s body when he stepped closer. The electricity of it thrummed over Conall’s skin, his heart drumming against his ribs so loudly that he thought Killough might hear it.

He touched Conall’s elbow and wrapped his fingers around it. Conall was grateful he still wore his suit. He didn’t know how much more skin-to-skin contact he could handle right now.

“But this is the best real estate in America, and I like pretty things.”

Conall curled his hands into fists under that intense stare and raised his chin. “Then you should have chosen Forrest. He’s very pretty when he’s naked in my bed. All pale porcelain skin and long, lean legs.”

He felt Killough’s laughter right down to his bones, and irritation simmered in the pit of his stomach. He hated that the gorgeous bastard thought he was amusing.

“He’s not as pretty as you.” He trailed the back of his finger over Conall’s cheek, leaving behind a burning sensation wherever he touched. “I like a challenge.”

“Everyone says that until they can’t handle the heat.” Conall shifted closer until he felt Sloan’s heavy breath tickling his cheek and nose. “It’s time for you to step out of the kitchen, sir.”

Killough blinked slowly, then threw his head back and laughed even louder. “Oh, pet, you’re so entertaining.” He turned his attention to his guard and waved his hand. The monster bowed his head and strode inside the mansion, the door clicking gently behind him. It left them alone in the driveway. “I would enjoy seeing you in the kitchen, maybe naked, drizzled with chocolate sauce.”

Conall snorted and folded his arms over his chest. “Not going to happen.”

Killough smirked and plucked at the collar of Conall’s shirt. The breeze fluttered around them, catching Killough’s musky scent and driving it closer to Conall, teasing his nose. “We’ll see. Come.”

Conall followed him without hesitation, and any other time he might have scolded himself for it, but he was tired, and all he could think about was a hot shower. Maybe Killough would be nice enough to let him have one.

The double-door entrance to the mansion’s foyer opened, and a butler stepped out and to the side, allowing them to enter.

“Pet, meet Mr. Hopper.” Killough gestured at the tall, elderly man. He wore a black suit, the kind Conall expected a servant to wear, and had impeccable gray hair that he’d combed back from his surprisingly unlined face. His lips twisted unpleasantly, a sneer marring his features as he stared at Conall. “Mr. Hopper is our butler and runs my house twenty-four hours a day. He lets me know when my people put a toe out of line.” Killough’s smirk told Conall that his “people” now included him, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Mr. Hopper gave him a short bow, but there wasn’t anything respectful about it. He didn’t hide the distaste on his face well.

Killough led Conall into a wide entrance hall that made him pause. Between the size and beauty of it, he felt breathless. It had white marble floors, elegant chandeliers that hung from high ceilings, and a white double staircase with intricately designed black rails that led to the second floor.

“Are you impressed, pet?” Killough’s hand touched his shoulder, his breath hot against his ear, and Conall shivered.

He shot him a glare. “I’ve seen bigger.”

Killough’s rich laughter filled the entrance hall. “I doubt that. I pride myself on my size.”

They weren’t talking about the mansion anymore, and as much as he wanted to, Conall couldn’t argue. Killough definitely had a huge cock, the biggest Conall had seen on a guy, and he worked with whores.

A petite woman in a black dress sauntered out from a door to the left. Like Mr. Hopper, she bowed. Unlike the butler, though, she seemed a lot friendlier, and younger, too. She might have been in her midthirties, with her dark hair pulled into a tight bun, and bright brown eyes shining out from skin the color of caramel. She looked like she could have been Mexican. She was definitely a Latina.

She held out her hand to Killough when he approached her, passing him a letter. He didn’t give her a thanks, but she obviously wasn’t waiting for one as she bowed again and left the way she came.

He ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter, his gaze scanning over the writing. From where Conall stood, he could see a messy scrawl that he wouldn’t be able to read, even if he tried. Whatever it said made Killough sigh as he closed it back up and shoved it inside his jacket.

“What’s that?” Conall asked before he could stop himself.

Killough’s smirk sent a shiver down his spine. “That’s none of your business. The more you prove your loyalty to me, the more you’ll learn about how my company runs.”

Conall resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Terrance had always been interested in learning how the Killough Company did things behind closed doors, but it’d never concerned Conall. He had no ambitions to reach higher than the Virtue. He’d seen men reach higher and end up in a grave, and he didn’t have a death wish.

“Come, pet, I’ll show you your room.” Killough began to ascend the left side of the staircase, not looking back to see if Conall was following. With the sharp eyes of Mr. Hopper on him, Conall didn’t have a choice.

The second floor was just as elegant and beautiful as what he’d seen of the first, with royal-blue carpet gracing the floor and expensive paintings hanging on cream walls. The paneling of the ceiling had carvings in it, and the lights were more crystal chandeliers. Killough clearly had a love for them.

He was led to a wide white door with an elaborate gold handle further down a hallway, and Killough opened it, stepping through. Conall trailed after him and bit his lip when he walked into a bedroom that could only be described as fit for a king. He thought he had luxury at the Virtue, but that had nothing on what he was seeing right then.

The room’s color theme was blue, with dark sapphire curtains, lush carpet, and a four-poster king-sized bed. A massive walk-in wardrobe stood open with stacks of male clothing and shoes on display, and a wooden desk and executive-style chair, as well as a top-of-the-line laptop, were nestled in a corner of the room. A door to the right led into a bathroom, and while he couldn’t see inside it from where he stood, he could already imagine how classy and expensive it looked.

The mirror on the ceiling above the bed caught Conall’s attention and he frowned at it.

“Have you ever had a mirror above your bed?” Killough’s smirk irritated him.

“I don’t need one. I know how well I fuck.” He shrugged, but he felt vulnerable under Killough’s scrutiny.

“How well do you get fucked, pet?”

Conall’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t get fucked.”

Killough stepped closer, and Conall forced himself not to suck in a breath of anticipation. His proximity made Conall’s skin tingle, but he blamed the air conditioner for that. Killough touched his chin, his thumb stroking along his jaw. “That’s about to change.”

“Your cock is not going near my hole.”

Killough laughed. “Just like my cock wasn’t going near your mouth. You’re so beautiful, do you know that? Your body was made for me.”

Goose bumps rose on his arms, but he refused to look away or acknowledge the rush of excitement at those words. For a brief moment, he let himself wonder what it would feel like to take Killough inside of him, but he quickly pushed aside the thought. He’d go to hell and back before he let that happen, no matter what Terrance or anyone else said.

“How many pets have you had?”

The question made Killough pause. He pursed his lips, long enough that Conall could see he didn’t like being asked about his previous pets, but the smirk quickly returned. “That doesn’t matter. You’re mine now.”

“I just want to know how long your other pets lasted before you threw them away. I have things to do.” Conall knocked Killough’s hand away from his face and crossed his arms. “If you didn’t notice, I’m one of the people who run the Exotic Virtue.”

“You don’t need to worry about that, I’ve already sent a friend to help your brother.”

A lump of fear formed in Conall’s throat. The sinister words and the way Killough said them made his blood freeze. “Help? If you’re going to hurt my brother—”

“For what?” Killough’s icy blue eyes felt like they were burning a hole through him. They sent a shiver down his spine. “Why would I need to hurt your brother, pet?”

“I don’t know.”

“You have no trust in me, do you?”

“I know the way mobs work,” Conall spat. “I know the way you work. I’ve heard the stories.”

Killough sighed. “I only hurt people who betray me. Has your brother done that?”

“No.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat and straightened, raising his chin. “We’ve been nothing but loyal to you.”

“Then he won’t have a problem.” He shifted closer, his hand touching the side of Conall’s neck. His fingers caressed the skin there, creating electric tingles of pleasure that shot through Conall. What was it about Killough that made his body react like this? “I’ll be keeping you for a long time, pet. You’re what I’ve been searching for.”

“You don’t know me.” Conall raised his chin and stared up at Killough, challenging him.

“No, but I trust my stomach, and it was lust at first sight with you.” Killough leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of Conall’s lips.

Conall stilled, making sure he didn’t react to it. He could have stepped back, maybe even punched him, but he didn’t want to piss off a mob boss, or at least that’s what he told himself. In truth, there was something deliciously sexy about having Killough’s lips touch his skin.

Killough’s mouth moved along his jaw, gentle butterfly kisses eliciting goose bumps along Conall’s skin.

A knock on the door startled Conall and he jumped back, away from Killough. It was the reminder he needed that he still had cum drying in his pants; the pull of it on his thigh hairs hurt like a bitch.

Killough chuckled and ordered whoever was on the other side of the door to come in. The young servant woman from before sauntered in with another bow.

“Excuse my interruption, sir, but you’re needed in your office.”

“What for, Esmerelda?” he asked, not tearing his eyes away from Conall.

“Your nephew has brought a Mr. Jones in.”

“Really?” The sinister smile returned, but this time it was downright terrifying. The evilness in it mixed with pleasure, and Conall had a feeling Killough was going to enjoy whatever he was about to do next. “Tell Fionn I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Yes, sir.” She bowed and closed the door again, leaving them in silence.

“What was that about?” Conall asked again.

“Curious thing, aren’t you? So many questions.” Killough crooked his finger. “Come with me.”

It wasn’t a choice, more like an order, and like a good little pet, Conall followed him out of the room and back into the hallway. He led Conall down the stairs and through a door to the right of staircase. They headed to a room near the back of the mansion, and Killough didn’t bother to knock as he walked in. Not that Conall expected him to—he was the boss, he could do whatever the hell he wanted to.

In the room stood four large men, a couple of them faces Conall remembered from the Virtue. They surrounded another man who slumped on the floor, blood trailing over his cheek and dripping onto the hardwood. He had a cut above his eyebrow, another weeping on his cheek. He didn’t make a noise, but he noticeably stiffened when Killough strode into the room.

“We found him in Burke’s.” Another man stood beside a desk and lush leather chair. He wore a suit, much like the others, but he was different—slim, shorter, and Conall thought he looked a bit like Sloan, with the same dark eyebrows, narrow nose, and sandy-blond hair. Unlike Sloan’s, though, his hair didn’t look bleached. It was natural. This must have been the nephew the maid mentioned.

Killough smirked at the other man. “Good job, Fionn. I’m very proud of you.”

Fionn smiled and his chest puffed up. It made Conall roll his eyes, which earned him a narrowed look from the nephew. His gaze assessed Conall carefully, before he snorted, like he realized who Conall was. Pet.

Killough stepped closer to the man on the ground and crouched. “Hello, Harold.”

The man, Harold, trembled, and he refused to look Killough in the eye. He didn’t look like a Harold. It was such an old-fashioned name and this man didn’t look older than thirty. He reminded Conall of another man he knew who worked for the mob—James, an acquaintance who often brought them supplies, from lube to drugs to sex toys, whatever clients might enjoy. After a while, though, James had disappeared. Not many people stayed in that position long.

This Harold had short brunet hair, long limbs, and a slender physique. He looked sick, though, with sallow skin and gaunt cheeks. If he worked for the mob, Conall had no doubt he was a runner.

Harold finally raised his gaze to Killough’s, fear warring with bravery in his eyes. It wasn’t a surprise the fear was winning. “Mr. Killough.”

“It took us a while to find you.”

Conall couldn’t see Killough’s face from where he stood, but he imagined he smirked wickedly, because Harold swallowed deeply, and his bottom lip shook.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Harold whispered. His voice was barely audible in the otherwise silent room.

Conall could feel the stillness and it was stifling, almost like everyone was waiting for the inevitable. And he had an idea what the inevitable was. He’d heard the stories of Killough’s unforgiving attitude. If someone in his mob failed him, he personally made sure they regretted it.

Conall sucked in a deep breath, his skin prickling in anticipation.

Harold’s face paled more, and he bowed, his chest pressing on the floor in front of Killough. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“For what, Harold?” Killough touched Harold’s head, petting it as though he were nothing more than a dog.

“I never meant to.”

“Say it,” Killough said calmly. His coolness terrified Conall, so he couldn’t imagine how it felt to be Harold.

Fionn shifted closer to Conall, eyebrows raised. “Are you the new pet?” he asked quietly, but he ignored him. He was focused solely on the scene in front of him.

“I betrayed you,” Harold finally whimpered after a moment of silence.

“Look at me.” Killough stood and held out his hand to one of his men. This man was the biggest of all of them and had the widest shoulders Conall had ever seen. He reminded him of a steroid-addicted bull, with the flaring nose and everything. The guard handed Killough a very large and sharp-looking knife. “Look at me, Harold.”

Conall stiffened when Harold raised his eyes again.

Killough spread his legs, planting his shoes against the smooth wooden floorboards. “You betrayed our business to the Italians, Harold.”

Harold shot forward, his hands grappling at Killough’s pant leg, but the guards grabbed him, dragging him backward as he begged for mercy. Conall held his breath, his heart freezing in his chest. While he’d heard the stories, he never imagined seeing this happen in front of his face.

Killough turned the blade, the metal glinting under the light. “I don’t like traitors, you know that.”

“Please. Please. I swear, sir, I’ll never do it again. They had my sister, I didn’t know what else to do.” Harold slapped his hands together in a prayer, but he couldn’t surge forward again because the guards were holding him back.

“Did they let her go?” Killough raised an eyebrow.

Harold nodded furiously. “It was the only way I could save her.”

Killough glanced at Conall, and the iciness in his stare left him breathless and afraid.

One of the guards grabbed a handful of Harold’s hair, dragging his head back.

Then Killough looked back at the man kneeled in front of him. “Don’t worry, Harold, she’ll be joining you.”

Harold didn’t have time to gasp before Killough slashed the knife across his throat. Blood squirted from his neck and splattered across the floorboards, some missing Conall’s foot by inches. He didn’t know how none landed on Killough, but it all seemed to miss him, except his hand, which still held the bloody knife.

They say surprising events happen in slow motion, but it was a lie. It happened so quickly that Conall couldn’t keep up with the scene. One minute, Killough was there slicing the neck of a sickly man, then he was passing the blade to his guard and wiping his hand on a white cloth as he sauntered back toward Conall.

Conall couldn’t tear his eyes away from Harold’s convulsing body, which convulsed on the ground, his last breath leaving his body in a shuddering exhale before he stilled. His blood seeped through the grooves on the floor, and his wide eyes stared at Conall pleadingly until the life left them.

He startled when Killough touched his shoulder, and his shocked stare shot to him.

Killough smirked, the twist of his lips terrifying. The scar over his eye looked more daunting than ever, and Conall’s stomach clenched, tightening until he felt physically sick. His eyes darted from Killough to the crumpled body on the ground.

“That’s what happens when someone betrays me, pet.” Killough squeezed his arm and turned him toward Fionn. “This is my nephew and apprentice, Fionn. Nephew, meet my new pet, Conall.”

Fionn nodded sharply. “A new one already, Sloan?”

Killough laughed, his chest rumbling deep and dark. “Yes, but this is the one I’ve been looking for.”

Fionn’s gaze roamed over him again, the judgement obvious. “He doesn’t look impressive. Is he one of the whores at that whorehouse you visited?”

“No, I’m fucking not,” Conall snapped before he could stop himself. He jerked his arm out of Killough’s hold and took a step back. His heart thumped against his rib cage and each breath he took rattled at his lungs. He could almost taste the coppery blood in the air, and his gut lurched, the urge to empty his stomach making him gag. “I’m not anyone’s whore.”

Fionn’s eyebrows rose together; Conall supposed he couldn’t do the one-eyebrow raise like Killough could. Not many people could. “He needs to learn some manners.”

Conall glared at him. “I’m not anyone’s fucking pet or their slut. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to my room to have a shower. I think I got blood on my expensive shirt.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Spinning on his heel, he stormed out of the room and toward the front foyer. Two men guarded the front doors, and they watched him carefully when he entered. He flipped them the bird before he took the stairs two at a time. By the time he got to his room, the fear had passed, replaced by anger—anger at his brother for putting him in this situation, anger at Killough for being a dirty fucker, and anger at his dad for involving their family in the mob. Maybe it was his grandfather who had. He didn’t even know anymore. They’d been a part of the Irish mob since he was born, so he hated whoever made deals with the devil.

He slammed the door to his room closed, making it shudder on its hinges, and headed to the bathroom. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped inside the glamourous shower that would have made anyone sigh in pleasure. He certainly did, despite the anger still boiling in his gut. The hot spray felt good against his sore muscles as it washed away the dried cum and imaginary grime and blood he’d felt on his skin. He closed his eyes and groaned—Fuck. This is nice. If I wasn’t going to be the boss’s whore, I might be able to enjoy this.

He’d been so enraptured by the water massage that he hadn’t heard the door open. When hands touched his shoulders, his eyes slammed open. He didn’t glance behind him because he knew who it was.

“Shh.” The strong hands massaged down his back, tracing his spine until they reached his arse. Fingers seized flesh there, squeezing, and Conall gasped. It brought him back to reality and he slapped the hands away, spinning on his heel.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he growled.

Killough stood there, naked and wet, with his bleached hair plastered to his forehead. His golden skin looked amazing under the lights of the bathroom. Muscles shifted under the hot spray of water and his cock stood in salute, and if Conall licked his lips, it was only because he wasn’t blind and very much a male himself.

Then Killough wrapped his hand around his own cock and stroked.

Oh fuck.

Chapter Four

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Sloan curled his fingers around his own cock, jerking it lazily. After Conall had stormed off in a typical brat temper tantrum, Fionn had questioned his choices. Sloan had been quick to shut it down. He knew Fionn, and his nephew had a jealous streak in him. While there were no incestuous feelings between them, Fionn craved Sloan’s attention. He wanted Sloan to praise him, and while Sloan did it when he felt like it was justified, he also believed too much commendation resulted in overconfidence. He wouldn’t do that to his favorite nephew.

Sloan loved Conall’s bratty behavior, though. He wanted a pet that behaved badly so he could punish him and bring him back into line. Conall was exactly what he’d been looking for, and he wasn’t going to let him go anytime soon. None of his other pets had the fire his new pet had.

Stripping himself of his clothes, Sloan stepped into the shower without Conall even noticing. That was another thing he’d have to teach his pet. When word got out that he was Sloan’s, Conall would need to be more vigilant. Sloan’s enemies would come for him like they had for Taylor. Sloan hadn’t cared enough for Taylor to send his soldiers after him, but Conall was different already, and he hadn’t had him for more than a day. Anyone who touched his pet without Sloan’s permission would experience a very painful death.

Conall glared at him, and it was the prettiest thing Sloan had ever seen. His resistance was almost as pretty as his appearance. Maybe that’s what made him so attractive in the first place.

“I’m enjoying myself. What are you doing?” Sloan let go of his cock and touched his pet’s hip, stroking the groove of his hipbone. “Enjoying your shower?”

“Get out.” Conall raised his chin, but the desire in his gaze demanded the opposite. He was fighting with himself, and it only made Sloan harder. He wanted Conall to fight his need, wanted to watch the struggle in his eyes.

Sloan leaned closer, and Conall didn’t move away. He pressed his lips against Conall’s, the saltiness of his pet’s mouth hot against his own. He felt Conall’s resistance in every twitch of his muscles, and it drove him forward, slamming Conall against the glass wall of the shower cubicle. Through the foggy screen, he could see the wide mirror on the basin, which in turn showed Conall’s gorgeous arse and delicious back squished against the glass in the most enticing way.

Sloan groaned into Conall’s mouth, licking and nibbling. His pet didn’t react with sounds, but he didn’t need to. Sloan felt the evidence in the hard press of Conall’s cock against his hip.

Sloan broke the kiss, swiping at Conall’s lips with his tongue.

Conall gasped, eyes wide and angry. “Get the fuck off me.”

Sloan laughed deeply and grabbed Conall’s shoulders, roughly shoving him down to his knees. He went without any real resistance, but the fury stayed on his face, as though if he looked at Sloan like that long enough, Sloan would think he didn’t want this. But what Conall didn’t know was that everything in his actions contradicted that thought. He wanted Sloan’s cock in his mouth, and eventually in his arse.

“Suck me off, pet.” Sloan carded his fingers through Conall’s brown locks, grabbing a handful to tug. “Make your master happy.”

“Fuck off.” He opened his mouth, taking in the head of Sloan’s erection, sucking tentatively at first. His eyes slipped closed, but he must have realized what he was doing because they shot open again, and he glared up at Sloan with his cock in his mouth.

“Hold still, pet.” Without warning, Sloan thrust his hips forward, his hard organ driving deeper into Conall’s mouth and to the back of his throat, making his pet gag. His eyes opened wide and he grappled at Sloan’s hips in panic. “Be a good boy, take your boss’s cock.”

Conall gasped around him, his throat working on Sloan’s cock in a way that sent prickles of excitement down Sloan’s spine and straight to his heavy balls.

“Breathe through your nose, pet.” Sloan petted the side of Conall’s face. “Don’t you dare use your teeth. Make your master happy.”

Conall breathed harshly and his nostrils flared. His face flushed, his cheeks looking particularly red against his tanned skin, and the narrowed eyes returned.

“The quicker you get me off, the quicker my cock will leave your mouth,” Sloan purred roguishly.

Determination flashed in those pretty eyes and he gripped at Sloan’s hips tighter, fingernails digging into his skin. He sucked on the hard organ in his mouth with more enthusiasm, his tongue tracing the underside. He groaned around the cock, the vibrations going straight to Sloan’s balls, making them draw closer to his body.

“Open your mouth, let me fuck it,” he ordered.

Conall obediently complied, opening his lips wider and closing his eyes. Sloan gripped his hair harder and started to fuck into his mouth. His cockhead hit the back of Conall’s throat with every thrust, eliciting a pretty gag from his pet. At one point, Sloan pushed as far in as he could, his balls flush against Conall’s chin, and stayed there.

Conall’s throat worked around him, his eyes open again and wide as his face flushed a deeper red. He tapped on Sloan’s hip, but when Sloan didn’t move, the taps became punches until finally Sloan drew back completely, his hard cock slipping out of Conall’s mouth.

Conall breathed harshly, spit dripping from his lips. He glared up at Sloan, swiping his wet hair out of his eyes. “What the fuck? Are you trying to suffocate me?”

“Don’t you like that, pet?” Sloan ran a hand over his head, but it earned him another punch against the thigh.

“If you fucking do that again, your cock is never getting near my mouth again.” Conall shoved himself to his feet.

“What do you think you’re doing? I haven’t come yet, pet.” Sloan gestured to himself. His cock stood at full mast, curved upward and begging for attention. The flushed head had precum building at the slit.

“Too bad.” Conall moved to step out of the shower, but Sloan grabbed him, spinning him around and slamming him against the screen again. This time it was Conall’s chest plastered against the glass. He struggled against Sloan’s hold. “Let me go.”

Sloan pressed his chest against him, cock nudging Conall’s arsecheeks, making his pet stiffen and still. Sloan licked the shell of his ear, the scalding water of the shower pounding on his back. He lowered his voice, his words rough and lustful, “I’m going to make you beg for my cock.”

Conall snorted. “I’ll never beg.”

“Stay there,” Sloan snapped. He slid his hands along Conall’s back and down to his arse again, squeezing. The cheeks were impeccably round and bouncy, and he couldn’t resist sliding to his knees behind Conall. He nudged his legs open and grasped that flesh of his bottom, spreading him.

Conall’s breath hitched and he glanced over his shoulder. “What are you doing?” These words weren’t as harsh as what Sloan was used to from his pet. They were a combination of lust and fear, as though he really wanted Sloan’s tongue against his hole, but he was scared what it could mean.

His hole tightened and released under Sloan’s scrutiny, and Sloan’s lips curved into a smirk. He swiped his tongue over the entrance, earning him a sharp inhale from Conall. The clean taste with a tinge of bitterness hung on Sloan’s tongue and he went in for another swipe. He ate at Conall’s hole like a hungry man, his cheeks squashed between Conall’s arsecheeks, his lips and tongue making work of a hole his cock wanted to be in.

Conall trembled against him, pushing himself onto his toes like he was trying to get away from Sloan’s pleasurable torture, but then he dropped back to the soles of his feet, falling back into the ministration. At one point he reached around to grasp Sloan’s head, shoving him closer, but that hadn’t lasted long before he realized what he was doing, and he snatched his hand back. If Sloan wasn’t so busy working Conall’s arsehole open, he might have laughed.

His cock was rock hard between his legs, but he wasn’t planning on sticking it inside of his pet, not today anyway. He curled his fingers around his organ, tugging on it furiously as he continued to eat at Conall until he heard what he’d been chasing: a whimper so beautiful that Sloan’s cock jerked in his palm.

Conall moaned and stiffened.

Sloan pulled away to spread his arsecheeks again, staring at the flushed hole, as gorgeous as the rest of Conall. The inner cheeks were red now from beard rash, and it was just as sexy. No one else would see Conall like this, Sloan would make sure of it. He’d ruin his pet so he only ever begged for Sloan’s mouth and cock.

Laying a hard slap on one arsecheek, he watched it bounce under the force. It left behind a dark handprint that flushed beautifully against the pale skin.

“Mm. You’re so pretty, pet. Come for me while I eat out your arse.”

If Conall had a retort, he didn’t have a chance to say it before Sloan was licking and mouthing kisses against his hole again. He knew Conall was jerking himself off by the sound of skin slapping skin, and then he stilled, groaning. Globs of cum slid down the glass wall of the shower, quickly washed off by the stream of quickly cooling water that hit the screen above Conall’s head.

Sloan wasn’t far behind him, though. His balls hurt, and they tightened against his body. His cock shuddered against his hand, which he’d returned to it, and cum shot from his slit, hitting the shower floor and swirling into the drain alongside Conall’s cum and the excess water.

Sloan only stopped licking when Conall’s limbs seemed to fold in on themselves and his knees shook. Sloan shot to his feet to grab his pet, holding him upright, and turned him around.

“Did you like that, pet?” Sloan purred, kissing the curve of his neck.

For once, Conall didn’t seem to have a rebellious reply, but he wouldn’t be himself without a narrowed look.

“Come on, let’s get you dried and in bed.”

Sloan made sure to help Conall out of the shower and dry him. If his pet wanted to protest, he didn’t have the energy, because he kept his mouth shut until Sloan had him naked in the bed, the extravagant, fluffy thousand-thread blanket covering him.

“I have business to attend to tonight. When you wake up, go ask the chef for some food. He’ll make you the finest breakfast a pet could ask for. I’ll see you in the morning, pet.” With a gentle kiss on the forehead, Sloan left the room and headed back to his office.

By the time he’d arrived, his soldiers had cleaned up the bloody mess and disposed of the body. Fionn sat on the sofa against the far wall to Sloan’s right, his gaze intent on the papers in front of him. When Sloan entered, he glanced at him, before returning his attention back to his work.

Sloan tsked. “Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you, uncle?” Fionn’s jaw clenched.

He walked over to Fionn and fell into the seat beside him. While the body and blood had gone, the smell of bleach and disinfectant lingered in the room, but it was a scent he’d grown used to ever since taking over as boss for his dad after his death.

“Don’t you like my new pet?”

Fionn’s lips twisted in disgust. “He’s disobedient.”

“I know. It’s so sexy.” Sloan grinned and nudged Fionn’s shoulder with his own. “Wait until you get your own pet.”

“I don’t want one.” His nephew glared at him, so unlike Conall, though. There wasn’t hidden desire behind those narrowed eyes, but rather an annoyance that Sloan would have to watch carefully. While he trusted his nephew, he also knew discontent could quickly turn to betrayal, even among family members.

Sloan crossed his legs and rested his hands in his lap. He’d dressed in something more comfortable for the night, a pair of loose pajama pants and a plain T-shirt, before he came back down again. He could relax with his soldiers guarding his home. He’d made a point of training some of them himself, while others were close friends he grew up with.

“What have you discovered about Mr. Jones and what the Italians know?”

Fionn’s back straightened and he fell into business mode. Sloan had trained him well, too. “They know about our port and how we get our drugs past customs.”

“What’s the damage?”

“Two dead paid-off customs employees.” Fionn passed him some photos, and Sloan stared at them. The man and woman they’d paid off to look the other way each had a bullet hole in their forehead, their brains scattered across the cement.

“How bad is it?” Sloan asked, passing the photos back.

“The DEA suspects drug play. They are swarming like bees on honey.” Fionn’s nose screwed up and he glared at the photos in his hand. “Harry really fucked this up for us.”

“We could twist it to look like the Italians,” Sloan said.

“The Italians knew what they were doing, Sloan. They wanted to destroy our drug trade, and they did it by killing two meaningless associates.”

Sloan slapped Fionn over the back of the head, earning him a “Ow!” in response. “What have I told you about giving up so quickly? If we gave up that easily, the Italians would have won the war years ago.”

“So what do we do? With the DEA hanging around, we can’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll pay the DEA a visit.”

“What?” Fionn’s hazel eyes widened. He had the same eyes as his mother, but he looked like Sloan and his brother in every other way, just younger. Whenever Sloan stared at him, he saw Eoin staring back. God rest his soul. He would have been proud of his eldest.

“You heard me. We’re going to visit the DEA at the port.”

“Sloan, you can’t do anything stupid. If they arrest you—”

“For what?” Sloan smirked. “They have nothing on us, Fionn.”

“Sloan…”

“I’m sure my pet would love to visit where we conduct a huge portion of our business.”

Fionn rolled his eyes. “He better not get you killed.”

Laughter rumbled at Sloan’s chest. “Oh, nephew, you have no idea what my pet’s like. He enjoys the thrill.”

“Mhm.” Fionn obviously didn’t believe him.

Chapter Five

Conall woke up at some ridiculous time of the morning. His stomach had grumbled at him angrily, and he forced himself out of the bed, grabbing a pair of pants from one of the drawers. He didn’t bother with a shirt. He had no idea whose clothes they were, but he didn’t give a damn, either.

He walked out of the room and down the hallway. A maid—not the one from before—met him at the top of the stairs and paused when she saw him. She smiled cheerfully at him, not at all surprised that he was there.

“Good morning, sir. Are you hungry?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Turning, she headed down the stairs, and Conall assumed he had to follow, so he did. She looked a lot younger than Esmerelda and had a thick Irish accent, which probably meant she was born and raised in Ireland. The bun in her blonde hair was something Conall imagined on a forty-year old woman who asked to see the manager at retail stores, but she was so jovial, with a baby face that it looked wrong on her.

He didn’t say anything. Letting her lead him to the left of the stairs, she shooed him into a large dining room with a long table. There had to be at least twenty chairs accompanying it, and the room screamed with the same elegance as the rest of the house. It had large glass chandeliers gracing the high ceiling, and a beautifully crafted fireplace. Cutlery was already laid on the pristine tablecloth, and candles in delicate silver holders sat in the center.

When he headed for the fancy table, the woman nudged him toward another door instead. Inside was another dining room, but it had less elegance and was more…homely. There weren’t chandeliers or exquisite paintings that probably cost a small fortune—it was warmer, with the paint on the walls a soft cream, and the windows large and open, letting the sun filter in from the back of the house. There was a table in here too, but it was round and had only four chairs surrounding it. This room felt more intimate.

“Sit down please, sir. The boss should be with you shortly. He’s an early riser. While you wait, would you like some juice?” She said it all so quickly that it took a moment for Conall’s sleep-addled brain to catch up. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

She left him alone.

He stared out the window and into the backyard. It had to extend for miles, with the lush green lawn bright in the early morning light. There looked to be some sort of garden to the right, with a pathway leading into an opulent copse of trees. He couldn’t see very well from his spot, but he thought he saw apple trees in there.

A throat cleared and Conall whipped around to look at the door. Killough’s nephew stood at the threshold to the room, his dark blond hair wet from a shower, most likely. He had a pair of jeans on, as well as a Henley shirt, and any other time, Conall might have thought he was good-looking. But considering who he was related to, Conall merely narrowed his eyes.

“Good morning.” Fionn nodded his head as he shifted into the room, taking the seat opposite to Conall. “How are you?”

Conall hummed. He wasn’t here to make friends. Killough had only pissed him off further by putting his tongue in his hole. Did it feel good? Sure. It was fucking amazing, and that’s what annoyed him the most. He didn’t want to enjoy himself with the bastard.

“The polite thing to do is answer.” Fionn’s jaw tightened and twitched.

Conall leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I don’t give a fuck what the polite thing to do is. I won’t be here long enough to care.”

“Yes, well, we can only hope.” Fionn’s gaze narrowed on Conall’s elbows. “Every other one of Sloan’s pets had more manners than you.”

“You think I want to be here?” He snorted. “I’m not a dog that Killough can put a collar on. I don’t heel when he asks me to.”

Fionn shook his head. “You’re an idiot. That’s why he likes you so much. You put up a fight. It arouses him.”

Conall’s lips twisted in disgust and he fell back into his seat. “I’m not letting him near me.”

“Really?” Fionn smiled wickedly, and fuck if it didn’t remind Conall of Killough. “According to the soldier guarding your door, you sure were moaning loudly last night in the shower while Sloan was in there with you.”

Conall gnashed his teeth together but forced a smile of his own on his face. “Are you sure it wasn’t your uncle moaning like a bitch?”

“Sloan doesn’t make noises. None of his pets could get him to moan, and I highly doubt you’re the one who’ll do it.”

The maid returned, a pitcher of orange juice with ice clutched in her hands. “Here we are, sirs.” She grabbed one of the glass flutes sitting on the table in front of Fionn, filling it, before doing the same to the other in front of Conall. She also filled a third glass. If she noticed the tension in the room, she didn’t act like it. A grin still spread across her face, her joyous disposition was odd in a mansion full of serious mobsters.

“I’ve received word that the boss is on his way down.” She took a moment to glance at Fionn. A warning, perhaps? “He’ll be here shortly.”

“Thank you, Aideen.” Fionn sent her a dazzling smile.

With a bow, she left again.

Conall grabbed his drink, taking a sip. The freshly squeezed juice teased his taste buds. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d tasted something so fresh. Maybe he never had, because he couldn’t remember ever having juice like this before.

“Was Harold Irish?” Conall asked before he could stop himself. The image of Harold’s terrified face flashed in front of his eyes. He realized he wasn’t upset about it, even though he’d never seen a man die before, but the smell of his blood still lingered in his nose.

“Do you honestly think a man like him would be Irish?” Fionn crossed his legs at his knees and took a sip of his own drink.

“I thought the mob only allows Irish bloodline in it.”

Fionn laughed, but unlike his grin, his laugh sounded different from Killough’s. It was lighter, not as sinister or as deep. “Harold was an associate. He was a runner.”

So Conall was right. “What did he do?”

“That’s something you’ll find out later today.” Killough’s rough voice sent a shiver down Conall’s spine. He didn’t look at him until a hand grasped his shoulder, squeezing it. “We’re visiting the docks.”

“Why?” Conall frowned up at him. Killough looked good this morning. He didn’t have his suit on, instead wearing soft slacks and a short-sleeved black T-shirt. His feet were bare, which was probably why Conall hadn’t heard him come in.

“We have old friends to visit, pet.” Killough grinned and took a seat next to Conall. He picked up the third glass of juice Aideen had poured and took a sip. “Mm. Delicious.”

Fionn cleared his throat. “Are you sure taking him is a good idea? He could be a rat.”

Conall rolled his eyes. “I am right here, you know?”

“Yes, unfortunately you are.” He gave Conall’s upper body a once-over, a flicker of disgust crossing his face.

Killough’s gaze shot to Fionn, and Fionn swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He tilted his head forward slightly, and it appeared to be an apology, because Killough smiled again.

“Harold betrayed us by giving the Italians the location of where our drugs enter the city. He also gave them the names of the customs agents who worked for us, resulting in their deaths. The DEA is now hanging around the port because they believe it’s mob and drug related.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea to tell him that, Sloan?” Fionn asked. He switched a glare to Conall. “He may be your pet, but we don’t know if he’ll betray us.”

Conall dropped his glass on the table and leaned forward. “I’m not an idiot. I helped my brother run one of your whorehouses. If I wanted to rat on you, I would have done it a long time ago.”

Fionn’s brows rose. “Are you one of the brothers that run the Exotic Virtue?”

“Yeah, I am.”

He shook his head. “That explains a lot. Did you know your earnings are considerably a lot less than our other whorehouses? You could be keeping the money.”

Anger swept through him like a river, cold and hot at the same time. “I’m not a fucking idiot, and neither is my brother. Only idiots steal off Killough.”

Killough held up his hand when Fionn opened his mouth again, and Fionn’s jaw clicked closed. He pursed his lips, glared at Conall, and went back to staring at the drink in his hand.

Aideen returned, her black dress fluttering around her knees. She grinned at them, two plates in her hands. She put one in front of Fionn, then Sloan the other, before she left again. Pancakes covered with a drizzle of maple syrup, as well as strawberries and raspberries, filled their plates, with a side of fried egg. The sight of it made Conall’s belly rumble, and he looked at the door that Aideen had disappeared through. Would she bring another for him?

Killough slid his chair away from the table and patted his lap. “Come, pet, we’ll share.”

Conall’s gaze flicked from Killough’s lap to Fionn’s half-smug grin, and while the rebellious side of him wanted to resist, his stomach grumbled hungrily, and he knew he didn’t have a choice. Killough probably planned this.

He pushed out of his chair and squared his shoulders, taking a seat in Killough’s lap. He bit down on his tongue to stop himself from saying anything that would cause him to starve.

Killough’s arms wrapped around him, his fingers stroking along Conall’s thigh. “Have some, pet, and feed me while you’re at it.”

Conall’s spine stiffened, but hunger won the battle over resistance. He grasped the knife and fork, cutting and stabbing some of the delicious-smelling food. Taking a bite, he groaned as the burst of flavors exploded in his mouth. The sugary syrup balanced perfectly with the fluffy pancakes. A raspberry went into his mouth next and elicited another moan. Fuck yes.

Killough stroked his thigh harder. “You’re so pretty when you moan,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice.

Fionn didn’t seem surprised or interested, though. He was too busy eating his own food.

If his mouth wasn’t full, Conall might have told him to shut the fuck up. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

“Give me a bite, pet.”

Conall threw a glare over his shoulder but cut a piece of the pancakes, then held the fork toward Killough. He opened his mouth, taking the bite in and closing his eyes. Humming, he looked at Conall again, and smiled around the food he was chewing.

“Delicious,” he purred. The one word sent a shiver of delight through Conall’s body because he knew Killough wasn’t just talking about the food. Before Conall could pull his hand away, Killough snatched his wrist and brought it closer. He took the fork out of Conall’s hand and sucked his fingers into his mouth, lapping at them like he was chasing the taste of the food.

Fionn had looked up now and rolled his eyes. Killough must have caught it, because he said, “Leave, Fionn.”

“I haven’t finished breakfast yet,” he argued, but one look from Killough had Fionn standing, taking his plate of food with him.

When the door shut behind him, Killough sighed. “He’s still learning.”

Conall snorted. “I don’t care.”

“I’m sure you don’t, pet, but I’d like you and my nephew to get along. You’ll be around each other for a long time.”

“I hope not.”

Killough laughed. “So fiery. I do like it.”

Conall resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. He stole the fork back off Killough and cut off another piece of pancake. He dipped it in some of the syrup that gathered on the plate and shoved it into his mouth. Three pieces later, Killough opened his mouth, and Conall dutifully fed him. When the plate was empty and his stomach full, he went to get off Killough’s lap, but Killough grabbed him around the waist, stopping him.

“I like you in my lap, pet.”

Killough rubbed himself against Conall’s arse, and Conall felt every inch of his long, thick length. The thought of it in his hole made him shudder.

Conall grabbed Killough’s fingers, ripping his arm off from around him so he could stand. He nearly stumbled in his hurry to get up, and Killough laughed at him, which only annoyed him more. He glared. “Your nephew said you get off on me fighting against you. Is that what makes your dick hard? Because I can be really obedient if that means you’ll let me go earlier.”

Killough raised that annoyingly perfect eyebrow. “Fionn has a point, but you’re not here because you’re disobedient—you’re here because you’re beautiful, and you’d be even more stunning with my collar on you.”

Conall reeled back in surprise, eyes widening. “Collar? You actually have a collar? You’re fucking nuts.”

Killough pushed the chair back and stood. He towered over Conall, looking formidable even as he squinted because of the sun shining into his eyes. He’d trimmed his beard this morning, and if Conall had it his way, he’d want it gone completely because the thing had given him an annoying rash between his arsecheeks. The reminder of Killough’s tongue in his hole made his toes curl against the tiles, though. Fuck, it’d been nice. He’d eaten Forrest out before, but he’d never imagined having it done to himself.

“You will wear my collar, Conall, for your own safety more than anything.” He stepped closer, his hand cupping Conall’s jaw and his thumb stroking over his chin.

“Safety?”

“With my collar, my men and enemies know you are mine. If they hurt you, they will come to regret it.” Killough clicked his fingers, and Aideen shot through the doors, her shoes squeaking on the floor. She passed him a deep red collar before she left as quickly as she came, this time not even looking at them. The crimson color of the leather was dark like blood, and it had silver studs around it. A tag hung at the front, and when Killough held it out to Conall for him to look, he noticed the words “Killough’s Pet” engraved on it. “This will be yours, pet. Only yours.”

Conall swallowed, a part deep inside of him excited by the prospect of being owned. How fucked-up was that?

Killough unclasped it and held it open toward him. “Come, pet.”

“Fuck you.” Conall shot backward and spun on his heel, driving forward and out the door. His feet carried him toward the entrance door, but he didn’t get far. The two guards defending it moved in front of him.

“Do you have the boss’s permission to leave?”

Anger swelled in his gut, and Conall gnashed his teeth together so tightly he could hear them grinding. “I’m not your boss’s whore,” he growled.

The door of the grand dining hall opened, and Killough stepped out, a dark look passing across his face. “Come to me, Conall.”

It was the third time he’d heard Killough call him by his name, and a cold feeling swept through him. He didn’t like his given name on Killough’s lips. It almost sounded like a threat.

Conall breathed harshly and anxiety took over, each step toward Killough feeling like his last. Would he have his throat slit like Harold? When he reached him, Conall dropped his gaze to Killough’s feet. He didn’t apologize, because fuck that. If he was going to die, he’d have some dignity left.

Killough grasped his chin tightly, hauling his head up so he looked him in the eyes. “There’s the disobedience of a bad pet, and then there’s rebellion against your boss. You will learn the difference. When I tell you to put on this collar, you will, and if you ever try to leave this mansion without my permission again, I will show you what happens, and you will not like the punishment. Am I clear?”

Conall inhaled deeply and nodded.

“Speak.”

“Yes.” It came out choked. Conall glanced at the men beside the door. One of them had a smug smile on his lips, but he didn’t look at them. “Yes, sir,” he said again, louder.

“Good.” Killough held out the collar again, and Conall shifted closer. He let Killough slip it around his neck, and when he clasped it closed, it felt like a cell door being locked. He was imprisoned and there was nothing he could do. This was all Terrance’s fault. How could Conall have been so stupid to let his brother convince him to do this?

“It’s for your own safety,” Killough whispered gravely. Conall hadn’t seen him so serious since he’d first laid eyes on him.

Conall nodded.

“Come, pet, let’s get dressed.”

An hour or so later, Conall was sitting in the limo next to Killough again. Fionn and another man, probably a bodyguard, sat on the seats opposite. Fionn had a glass of champagne gripped in his hand and took a sip.

“Don’t get drunk, nephew,” Killough warned lowly.

Fionn nodded. “I won’t, uncle.”

The guard sat tall in the seat, his suit tight against his bulging muscles. He stared intently out the window. He looked oddly familiar to Conall, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Do I know you?” he finally asked.

All three men, including the guard, looked at Conall carefully. The guard answered with a small head tilt. “Yes, sir.”

“How?” Conall sat forward. He wore dark jeans and a Henley shirt, similar to the one Fionn had worn this morning, except Conall’s was black. Sneakers covered his feet. Killough had told him not to get used to the clothes, though.

“You’ll be wearing leather pants soon enough, pet.”

The thought had made him shiver again, and fuck if Conall thought he might have been getting a cold or something because how could someone shiver so much? It was annoying as hell.

The guard straightened his shoulders and glanced at Killough, as though seeking permission.

Killough waved his hand, curiosity passing across his face.

“We went to the same high school, sir.”

Recognition dawned on Conall and he clicked his fingers in the guard’s direction. Of course they did. He didn’t know how he could have forgotten this guy. He had shorter pale blond hair these days, unlike the shoulder-length locks he once had. He’d also filled out a lot more, and his face had hardened over the years, unlike the flushed baby cheeks he once had. “You were the school’s quarterback. The girls gushed over you.”

The guard chuckled, before he realized what he was doing and wiped the smile off his face. “Yes, sir.”

“Sorry, I didn’t really like football. I don’t remember your name.”

“Ronan, sir. Ronan O’Keefe.”

“Yes, that’s it. I’m…” Conall trailed off. Ronan probably already knew who he was. The boss’s whore. Pet. Whatever Killough wanted to call it. “Conall. I’m not sure if you remember, but my name is Conall Morrissey.”

Ronan tilted his head forward again. “Yes, sir, I remember. You were the kid who always ended up with detention.”

Conall laughed. It felt good. “Yeah, that was me.”

“Mr. Louis hated you.”

“Oh man, he did. I swear he threw a party after I graduated.”

Ronan pressed his lips together and nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised, sir.”

“Call me Conall.”

Killough chose that moment to interrupt their conversation. “Absolutely not. You will always be sir to my soldiers and acquaintances. You are above them now, pet, and I don’t care if you knew them back in high school.” He glanced at Ronan, who had looked out the window again, his alert stare once more in place.

“I know him, though,” Conall argued.

“I don’t care.” Killough grabbed him around the waist, hauling him onto his lap as though he weighed nothing. Conall’s knees pressed into the leather seat on either side of Killough’s thighs, and Killough’s thumb stroked up his cheekbone again. “You’re mine, pet. Never forget that.”

“How can I?” he grumbled.

Killough’s gaze turned heated and he tugged Conall closer until they were chest to chest. “Do I need to fuck you right here to show Ronan who you belong to?” he whispered darkly.

Conall swallowed and shook his head furiously. “No, sir.”

“Good boy. You will not talk to anyone unless I give you permission to. I will let this one go because you know him, but do not let it happen again. You may ask me if you can speak to someone.”

Something akin to jealousy flashed in Killough’s eyes, and a spark of excitement at the prospect sparked in Conall’s groin. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Killough carded his fingers through Conall’s hair, pausing to tug roughly on some of the longer strands. He hauled Conall into a rough kiss, his lips making their mark against Conall’s. Everything about it screamed possession, from the hard bite on his lower lip to Killough’s tongue swiping against the roof of his mouth. By the time he was done claiming him, Conall’s cheeks were flushed and his cock was on the rise.

Fuck.

“You’re such a good boy,” Killough purred. “My good pet.”

Conall shoved away from him and fell into his own seat again, earning a laugh from Killough. Ronan never tore his stare away from the window, but at some point Fionn had filled his glass higher, and he rolled his eyes, taking bigger gulps of the alcohol. Conall didn’t really blame him. If he had an uncle, he wouldn’t want to see that, either.

The limo turned and soon came to a stop. The door opened on Killough’s side and Killough stepped out first. He buttoned up his charcoal suit then held out his hand to Conall, as though he was some princess. It made the anger simmer in his veins, and Conall ignored him, ducking out of the limo without taking the offered hand.

Killough pressed his lips tightly together, and Conall had a feeling he’d pay for that later. Four or five of Killough’s guards were already waiting for them.

They stood near a pier, a bunch of cop cruisers and unmarked cars parked near the edge of it. Large cargo ships were sitting against each of the boardwalks, and it went on for miles, with containers stacked up high on every part of the port.

“Follow me,” Killough ordered, and Conall didn’t ignore him this time. He followed behind Killough like a good pet as the mob boss strode toward the police cars. He didn’t make it far before a cop stopped him, holding up his hand.

The cop glared at him. “Why are you here, Killough?”

“I was curious.” Killough grinned, wicked and dark. “I’d heard there were two murders at the port.”

“Heard it through the gossips, did you? Or your men?” A mean-looking woman walked through the gathering of cars, heading toward them. She was, Conall imagined, an undercover cop, and definitely someone he thought would take a mob on—but there were some contradictions. She didn’t have her hair pulled into a tight bun like he would expect, but rather it hung in black waves around her face. Hispanic, probably, she was very pretty, with long eyelashes and a tight body covered in jeans, a T-shirt, and a black leather jacket, matching boots on her feet. “Hello, Sloan.”

Killough grinned and held out his hand. “Hello, Detective Diaz. I should have expected you would be here.”

“Expected? I believe you came here looking for me.” She slid her hand in his, her hold lingering a little longer than was necessary. Something hot like jealousy burned inside Conall and he had to push back the urge to slap her hand away. Finally, she took her hand back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I heard there were two murders, and I was astonished.”

“Don’t you want to know who they were?” Detective Diaz raised dark eyebrows.

“Of course.”

“I would tell you, but I think you already know.” She crossed her arms under her pert breasts. Had it been a few days ago, Conall would have wanted to fuck her until she cried out his name, but right now, he wanted nothing more than to headbutt her.

Killough faked a surprised look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, detective.”

“I’m sure you do, but I always enjoy your acts.” She smiled. “One day, I’m going to come down hard on you, and you’ll find yourself in a jail full of men who want to destroy you.” She paused, her gaze turning on Conall. “Is this your new boy? Did you tell him what happened to the last one?”

Killough stepped in Conall’s line of sight, blocking the detective from him. “I’d watch your tongue, detective.”

“Is that a threat, Sloan?”

“No, but I wouldn’t want to have to report you to your superiors for misconduct toward a member of the public.”

Conall couldn’t see Killough’s face now, but he imagined the warning stare on his face, which Conall had seen a lot of. One look quietened a lot of his inferiors, but Detective Diaz obviously wasn’t one of them. She shifted closer until she was way too close to Killough. His guards moved in, their hands hovering near their hips. The cops behind Diaz did the same thing.

Diaz inhaled sharply. “I smell fear, Killough. That’s why you’ve resorted to threatening. Is this where you tell me to take care of my family? Because guess what, I don’t have any. You can’t threaten me with people that don’t exist.”

“Everyone cares about someone, detective,” Killough whispered back harshly.

“Not me.” She peered around him at Conall, her lips twisted meanly. “You should ask your master about his previous pet and how he ended up gutted in the Hudson River.” With that, she moved backward. “Get out of here, Sloan. We’re not gonna tell you what we know. I love seeing you sweat it.”

“Mhm. We’ll see each other again, detective.” It was a promise that made Conall shiver with fear. He wouldn’t want to be the detective in that moment.

“I’m looking forward to it.” She spun on her heels, giving Killough a two-finger wave, but her second finger was bent slightly so it looked like she was flipping him the bird. She whispered to the cops still standing guard, and they took a few steps forward, the warning clear. Leave.

Killough turned toward Conall. A vein in his forehead had popped, irritation flashing across his face. “Come.”

Conall didn’t know if he was talking to him or Fionn, but they both followed him back to the limo. Killough let them get in first before he closed the door behind himself. He gnashed his teeth together and leaned toward Fionn. “I want her head on my desk.”

“It’s not that easy, you know that, Sloan. They will know it was us.”

“I don’t care. She’s a fucking thorn in my side.”

“She’s a thorn in everyone’s side. She has influence all over America. It’s not just us she’s going after. She’s hitting the motorcycle clubs too.” Fionn pursed his lips in thought. “If that’s what you want, I’ll do it, but we need to be subtle about it, maybe make it look like it was the Italians. What about Ardan? He could do it.”

“Ardan’s on another hit. He’s taking out Harold’s sister.”

“What?” Conall’s head whipped toward Killough. “I thought you were messing with Harold before you killed him. You’ve punished him with death, why do you need to kill his sister too?”

Killough exhaled, squeezing the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Because, pet, we have to make an example of him. I don’t care if his sister knew about it or not, we need to show others the consequences of betrayal.”

“That’s bullshit,” Conall snapped.

“I’d watch your mouth if I was you,” Fionn said, his voice low and filled with warning. “Otherwise you might be next on the list.”

Killough surged forward so quickly that Conall didn’t know what was happening until Killough’s fist was curled around the lapels of Fionn’s suit, his other hand squeezing at his nephew’s chin. “If you ever threaten my pet again, it’ll be your grave we’ll dig next. Your attitude is pissing me off, Fionn.”

“You’ve only known him for a day,” Fionn said through the tight grip on his jaw. He cringed when Killough tightened his hold.

“He’s still my pet, and I expect you to respect him. Am I clear?”

The apple in Fionn’s throat bobbed and he nodded as much as he could. “Yes, boss.”

“Apologize.”

“I’m sorry.”

Killough grinned cruelly. “Not to me.” He released his hold and gestured at Conall. “To my pet.”

Fionn’s gaze shifted to Conall and his lips twitched. He obviously would rather do anything else but apologize. “I’m sorry for my rude behavior, Conall.”

Conall didn’t know what else to do but nod.

Killough fell back against the seat, while Fionn knocked on the privacy glass behind him, signaling the driver to start heading back. He dragged Conall closer until he was half sitting on Killough’s lap. Leaning in, his breath tickled Conall’s ear. “I adore you very much already, pet, but if you ever argue with my decisions, I will not hesitate to slit your throat.”

Conall swallowed around the fear that lodged itself in his throat. “Yes, sir.”

Chapter Six

When they arrived back at the mansion, Sloan told Conall to go to his room. His pet opened his mouth, but then nodded and did as he was told. He was quieter than usual, and if Sloan was honest, he felt bad for scaring his pet. He hadn’t actually planned on hurting Conall, but his anger had gotten the better of him and he’d taken it out on his pet too. His nephew knew not to threaten what belonged to Sloan, yet he’d taken a step out of line.

Fionn trailed behind him as Sloan strode to his office. When Fionn had moved inside, Sloan slammed the door shut, making his nephew jump.

“I’m sorry,” Fionn muttered, swallowing.

“Sit.” Sloan waved at the chair in front of his desk and moved to his own leather one. He fell into it, crossing his legs and entwining his fingers over his lap. Looking at Fionn carefully, he sighed. “You know the rules. You shouldn’t have threatened him.”

Fionn sat down tentatively, fear flashing in his eyes. “I know, I’m sorry. There’s something about this one. He’s frustrating.”

“I think he’s beautiful,” Sloan admitted, smirking. “And he’s mine. That means I won’t tolerate any disrespect toward him.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Good. I believe you’ve learned your lesson. Don’t let it happen again.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. “Now, what are we going to do about Detective Diaz?”

“You said Ardan was on a hit. Could we call him back? We can still get rid of Harold’s sister, but this is more important, don’t you think?”

Sloan nodded. It was more important, but killing Harold’s sister to send a message was also vital. He needed to show his men that betrayal wasn’t accepted. Ardan was their best assassin. Quiet, as though he wasn’t even there to begin with. “It won’t take him long to kill the sister. She’s not trained. Send a message to him that he’s needed for another hit, so he needs to finish up with what he’s doing.”

“I can do that.” Fionn was already on his phone, tapping. “When do you want him back by?”

“The end of the week. We need to get on top of this ASAP.” Sloan stroked his chin, humming. “In the meantime, we’ll need to do damage control.”

“Want me to find out which Italians killed our guys?” Fionn sat forward in his chair, eagerness in his face. He was so young, innocent, but he was good at his job. It’s why Sloan chose him as the apprentice.

“No need. I’ve seen that handiwork before. They sent Mancini to do the job. He’s mostly killer-for-hire, but a lot of his jobs are paid directly by Toscani.”

Fionn squinted at him. “The bastard son of Folliero?”

“Exactly. He wants to make his way up the ranks. What’s the best way of doing that?”

“Taking out his father’s rivals.”

Sloan smiled proudly. “Correct, boyo.”

“So what are we gonna do?”

He played with one of the gold rings on his fingers. His father had given it to him before he died, with a promise that Sloan would take care of the family business. “Finding Mancini would be suicide unless you’re someone like Ardan. I’ve tried to recruit him before, but he’s loyal to his blood. We’ll leave him alone for now. We want Toscani. He’s an eejit, who’s getting too big for his boots.”

“Ardan’s only one man, Sloan. He can’t do everything,” Fionn said carefully.

“Right you are. So we send in the cavalry.”

Fionn’s eyes widened and he shot forward in his seat, hands clasping the edge of Sloan’s desk. “You’re talking about a full-blown war with the Italians.”

“We’re already at war with them.” Sloan shrugged.

“Not with Folliero.”

“His son killed our men, Fionn. I’m not about to let him get away with that. I don’t take prisoners,” he growled angrily.

“He doesn’t claim him, though. Toscani is nothing more than a resulting child of an affair to some loose bitch. Folliero would be the first to tell you that.”

“Why are you defending the Italians?” Sloan raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not. I don’t give a fuck about them. I’m worried about our men. If we go to war with him, we’re risking a lot of people.”

“So be it. Our men are loyal, even if it means their death.” Sloan stood and rolled his shoulders. He slid off his suit jacket, laying it over the back of his chair. “We can discuss it with our men tomorrow evening. Can you arrange a meeting?”

Fionn’s head bobbed obediently. If he wasn’t a Killough, he might have made a lovely pet for someone. “Yeah, I can do that. I think Donal’s out of town, but we can either update him later or have him on video link during the meeting.”

“Good, make it happen.” He took two steps toward the door and paused. “I’m spending the night with my pet. Do not disturb me, are we clear?”

“Yes, boss.”

Sloan left through the door and headed up the stairs. His soldiers guarding the doors purposely didn’t look at him. It was their job to be invisible. He’d stationed one outside of Conall’s door, just in case he decided he wanted to go for a walk.

“You can leave,” Sloan told the soldier before he entered his pet’s bedroom. The enticing scent of lavender flirted with his nose. Incense, he realized. His pet lay in the middle of the wide king-sized bed, almost naked except for a loose pair of green-checked pajama pants. Interestingly, he still had the collar around his neck and not thrown on the floor like Sloan expected it to be. He had a book in his hands, a twist of distaste on those pretty cocksucking lips. “Not a fan of Jane Austen?”

“Why do you have it? You don’t seem like the Jane Austen type.”

“I’m not.” Sloan smiled, gentle and kind. He couldn’t look away from the sight in front of him. His pet truly was alluring, begging him to come closer without doing a thing. “It belonged to my pet before you. He liked reading.”

Conall raised his eyes, his lips twisting into a sneer. “What are you gawking at?”

“Your prettiness.” Sloan’s smile curved into a smirk and he shifted closer. He climbed onto the bed, expecting his pet to move away. He was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t. Sloan sat on his arse and touched Conall’s hip, caressing the groove there. “You are the prettiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Conall snorted. “I’m sure your former pets would disagree.”

Sloan knew that look in his eyes. He wanted to ask a question but was too afraid to. “You can ask me anything.”

“What happened to your last pet? The one that was gutted and left in the Hudson River.”

Sloan expected the question to come up eventually, and he silently cursed that detective. He’d make her regret ever opening her mouth. “Taylor was taken from me by Russians as revenge. They tortured him and raped him before I could reach them, then threw him in the river.”

Conall paled. “What happened to the Russians?”

Sloan smiled gently. “I cut off their cocks and fed it to them.”

His eyes widened, then surprisingly, his lips curled in amusement. As quickly as it came, it disappeared again, as though he realized what he was doing. “If the Russians take me, I’ll come back and haunt your arse.”

“Oh, pet, I’d never let them take you.” He stroked up Conall’s stomach and over his nipples, pausing to pinch at one of them. It earned him a quiet gasp. “You’re the perfect pet, the one I’ve been looking for from the start.”

Conall glared. “I’m sure you tell all your pets that. Listen”—he slapped Sloan’s hand away—“I’ll let you fuck me, use me however you please, but don’t try telling me all that mushy shit. I’m not one of those sods craving someone to love them. Got it?”

Sloan’s brow rose and he tilted his head. “I don’t tell you it to make you bend over for me, pet. I tell you because it’s true.”

“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “Do you want to fuck me tonight?”

“I was hoping to, yes.” Sloan touched his stomach again, running his thumb along the treasure trail that disappeared into his waistband. “I want to feel your hole grip my cock while I fuck into you.”

Conall licked his lips, desire flashing in his eyes. His gaze flicked down to Sloan’s crotch, where his cock had already started to fatten in his suit pants. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” Even though the words sounded careless, they dripped with yearning. He wanted this as much as Sloan. “How do we do this?”

Sloan chuckled. “This isn’t something we plan out, pet. Lay back, let me take care of you.”

He dipped his fingers into Conall’s waistband, teasing the skin under it with a scrape of his nails. It provoked a tremble in Conall’s body, which urged Sloan on. He stood from the bed, unbuttoning his shirt and untucking it from his own waistband. His pet watched him the entire time, eyes wide and throat working.

He slipped the shirt off his shoulders and unbuckled his belt. His pants slid to the floor, onto the lush carpet, and he stepped out of them, leaving him in a pair of tight blue underwear that cupped his half-hard cock like a lover’s caress.

Sitting back on the bed, he leaned over Conall and kissed him softly. It was a fleeting meeting of lips, but when he pulled away, Conall came with him, almost asking for more until he remembered his act and sat back against the pillows, glaring.

“You’re so beautiful, pet,” Sloan whispered, pecking him on the lips again. “I could eat you all up.”

“How about you get this over with.” Conall dropped the book he’d been holding the entire time and went to turn, probably to lie on his stomach, but Sloan grasped his shoulders to stop him.

“I want to see your face.” He petted down Conall’s face and along his jawline. “It’s so pretty.”

Conall’s tongue swiped over his bottom lip and he nodded. He hesitated, then cupped Sloan’s cock through his underwear. His fingers worked him, rubbing and stroking, and every touch was slowly killing Sloan. He loved his pet’s ministrations, tentative, as though it was his first time with a man. Sloan supposed it was, in a way. Conall hadn’t taken a cock in his arse before, and Sloan doubted he’d jerked many men, even if he did fuck them.

“Do you want to take my cock in your mouth, pet? I do enjoy these pretty lips.” He grabbed Conall’s chin, stroking his thumb over his bottom lip. “And you’re so eager to please me.”

He opened his mouth, to argue most likely, but Sloan shoved his fingers inside, fucking the warm, wet cavern with his thick digits. He pulled them in and out as though it were his cock, and surprisingly, Conall sucked on them eagerly, like he was either trying to impress Sloan or he genuinely enjoyed the feeling of something in his mouth.

“Such a good boy.” Sloan popped his fingers out and ran them down Conall’s cheek again. “Did you want something bigger in your mouth?”

If Conall glared any harder, Sloan might have believed he’d burst into flames, but that was all part of his pet’s appeal. He pretended to be so angry when, in truth, he enjoyed the attention and touches as much as Sloan’s other pets did. The difference was that Conall had more fire in him, and that would help him survive in Sloan’s world.

Conall didn’t answer but shuffled around on the bed until he was lying on his stomach in front of Sloan. He grabbed the waistband of Sloan’s underwear, no finesse in the way he shoved them down and around Sloan’s knees.

Sloan fell back on his arse, sliding his underwear off the rest of the way, and threw them off the bed. Conall was on him faster than a whore on money, hand curled around his hard cock, tongue darting out to taste his slit. His glare never vanished, but for someone who hadn’t tasted cock before, he was more eager than Sloan’s three past pets combined.

It started tentative, a lick and a small suck to his head, then he took more in, his mouth sucking Sloan deeper with more suction. His cheeks hollowed, his spare hand disappearing under his bent body, probably to his own cock, and as much as Sloan wanted to see it, his attention was caught on Conall’s lips around his hard flesh.

Conall groaned, the sound vibrating against Sloan’s skin, and his tongue worked the underside of his cock. He took as much in as he could, and when Sloan felt himself touch his throat, Conall gagged, pulling back. A string of saliva followed when he popped Sloan’s cock out completely, gasping for air.

“Is that all you can do, pet?” Sloan’s lips twisted, smirking.

Conall’s eyes burned with enough intensity to make a weaker man falter, but it only hardened Sloan’s cock further. He wanted nothing more than to sink it into his pet’s body, feel his arse suck him in and bring him home.

Conall’s gaze narrowed. He spat into his palm and returned it to the base of Sloan’s cock, squeezing, before his put his mouth to work again. He wasn’t an expert, not like men Sloan had had before, but his eagerness and desire made up for it. There was no competing against his new pet because he was the most beautiful man Sloan had ever laid eyes on. Soon enough, Conall would be his completely, and he’d be the most obedient pet Sloan ever had.

Conall’s hand moved to the base, jerking it off while he eagerly sucked and licked. His lips looked pretty around Sloan’s cock, but nothing was more beautiful than the sound of his pet gagging every time Sloan fucked into his mouth and hit the back of his throat. He wanted Conall to choke on his cock, and it was his mission to breed Conall’s mouth again one day, but right now, he wanted his arse.

Sloan nudged his shoulder. “Come, pet, I want to fuck your hole.”

But Conall gripped onto his cock like he’d die if he let go. His mouth sucked harder, hand jerking faster. Sloan carded his fingers through the short dark hair and smirked.

“Are you trying to get me off, pet?” He hooked his finger under Conall’s chin, his cock popping out of his mouth, and raised his head. “It won’t work. Even if I come in your pretty mouth, I still plan on coming in your arse tonight.”

Conall stared fiercely, his jaw clenched tight. He bared his teeth like a savage animal. “Then hurry up and get it over with. I don’t have all night.”

“Oh, but we do, pet.” Sloan leaned down, his mouth sliding against Conall’s, tasting himself on his lips. “We have all night, and I plan to take it slow as I claim you as mine.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but he didn’t expect one, either. Conall was a talker, wild and mouthy, but he wanted this as much as Sloan did. Kissing along Conall’s jaw, Sloan flipped him over to his back and took the time to worship his skin. He slid his lips down his neck—past his bright red collar that adorned it—and chest, tracing his sharp collarbone with his tongue. Everything about his pet called to him, from his taste to the sweet smell of masculine sweat that clung to Conall’s skin. He was slim, but he had sinewy muscles that shifted and twitched under each caress of Sloan’s fingers.

“Are you going to make love to me?” Conall sneered.

Sloan chuckled, low and deep in his chest, and glanced up at him. “I can’t decide if I prefer it when you speak or when I fill your mouth with my cock.”

Conall rolled his eyes. “How about you just do what you say you’re going to?”

Sloan brought his hand down on Conall’s thigh, hard and rough enough to make his pet’s mouth open in a gasp, his wet lips shining under the light. “Shh, pet, let your master take care of you.”

Sloan didn’t miss the way Conall’s hard cock jerked, and he smirked. Focusing back on Conall’s chest, he peaked his nipples between his fingers, tweaking them until they were erect, then bending down to lick them. He paid attention to the right one for a few moments, before he moved to the left. Conall’s back arched against him, leaning up as though asking for more, without actually uttering a word. As much as his pet didn’t want to admit he wanted this, his body told Sloan the truth.

Licking down his stomach, he ignored Conall’s neglected cock by kissing the inside of his thighs all the way to his knees. It earned him an annoyed growl.

“The least you can do is suck my cock,” Conall said.

Sloan laughed and sat back on his knees. “No, pet, that’s not how this works. You don’t get to decide what happens. Lift your knees.”

Conall’s throat worked in a swallow, but he did as he was told. Grabbing his knees, he pulled them against his chest, exposing his beautiful arsehole to Sloan’s greedy gaze. Yes. That’s what he’d been waiting to see. He’d spent the last twenty-four hours imagining what it’d be like to fill Conall up, split him wide until he felt every inch of his cock spearing into his virgin hole.

If his pet was scared about what was going to happen, he didn’t show it. His jaw tightened, mouth pursed with a determination that made Sloan’s loins hot with pleasure.

“Look at you, pet, all eager and ready to take me inside you.” He leaned over Conall, settling between his legs to lay a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Can you see yourself?”

Sloan glanced up at the mirror on the ceiling. He’d noticed from the start that Conall had deliberately avoided looking up there, but as Conall’s eyes slid up, something new and exciting entered them, a raw pleasure and hunger that made Sloan’s balls heavier than they’d felt in a long time. His pet liked seeing them like this, naked as the day they were born, Sloan’s body nestled between Conall’s legs.

“Beautiful, aren’t we?” He kissed his neck once more, just above his collar, before he shoved himself to his knees again.

Sloan shuffled off the bed and opened a drawer in the bedside table, grabbing an unopened bottle of lube—except it wasn’t as unopened as it had been a day ago, when he’d sent Fionn to buy it. He’d expected to find a new pet at the Virtue, he just never anticipated someone like Conall. He raised his eyebrows at his pet.

Conall’s cheeks flushed and he glared. “If I want to jerk off, it’s none of your business.”

He still hadn’t dropped his knees, even after the indignant show of a fight. He wanted this as much as Sloan did.

“Mm. I’d like to see that one day, pet. Your hand wrapped around your cock, your fingers in your arse while you jerk off with me watching.” Sloan closed his eyes briefly as he imagined it, and a blast of pleasure exploded inside him. It was all he could do not to jerk himself off to the image right then and there, maybe over Conall’s tanned stomach.

Shaking himself out of his fantasy, he opened his eyes and grinned at Conall’s flushed skin. It wasn’t just his face any longer. The redness had spread to his neck and down his chest.

Sloan hummed in pride and positioned himself back on the bed. He dropped the lube beside himself and touched Conall’s thighs again, rubbing them sensually. “Tell me what you want.”

“Go to hell,” he growled in answer.

Sloan only smiled. “Tell me what you want, pet, and I will give it to you.”

“A million dollars.”

“Done.”

Conall’s eyes widened. “You’re joking. Fuck, you have to be joking.”

Sloan cocked his head. “I wouldn’t joke about those sorts of things, pet. If you want a million dollars, I’ll give it to you, but as I said before, rewards come with good behavior. So tell me what you want.”

Conall’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, and he glanced away for a short second, before he looked at Sloan again. The blacks of his eyes seemed darker than ever, his irises blown in a way that made him look high on pleasure. “I want you to fuck me.”

Sloan inhaled deeply and grinned wider. “It would be my honor, pet, to fuck you so good that you’ll never want for any other cock.”

Something in Conall’s eyes told him that’s exactly what he desired.

Grabbing the lube, Sloan unclicked the lid and squeezed a generous amount on his fingers. He coated them before pressing three to Conall’s entrance immediately. Even though this was his pet’s first time, he wasn’t going to go easy on him. He wanted a pet who could take the heat, and Conall was the kind of man who would happily take whatever Sloan threw at him.

Conall hissed when Sloan’s fingers entered him, the stretch no doubt an intense burn. The resistance and his pet’s responses against Sloan’s intrusion told him that Conall hadn’t lied, he was indeed most likely a virgin, and a thrill of excitement shot through him. It wasn’t that he doubted his pet, but seeing how tight his arse was made Sloan happy.

Eventually his hole gave way, letting Sloan take charge and fuck into it with his wide fingers. Conall hissed and groaned the further he got in, and the mixture of pain and pleasure sounds was music to Sloan’s ears. That’s what he’d always aimed for: a combination of both to bring his lover off.

Conall’s toes curled and his back arched, his pretty mouth open as he panted. “Fuck. Shit.”

Sloan grinned in triumph. The beautiful reactions worked on his own body, his hard cock jerking at every whimper Conall let slip. “Are you ready for my cock?”

“Fuck off,” he hissed without looking at him.

Sloan chuckled and pulled his fingers out. Slathering his cock with lube, he threw it to the side and covered his pet’s body with his own. He kissed Conall, slow and sweet, while he lined himself up to the hole that would bring him warmth and pleasure beyond anything he could imagine. His pets all had a warm hole, of course, but Conall was different—he’d brought out an emotional reaction in ways Sloan’s other pets hadn’t. He excited him.

He shoved inside without warning, and Conall’s hole fought against his intrusion. The tightness surrounded him, pushed at him, and Conall panted against his mouth, a whimper of pain pressed against his lips.

“Fuck,” he huffed out, but he didn’t resist when Sloan slid further inside until his balls settled against Conall’s arse. It felt right to be there—perfect—and the hot suction tightened against his most sensitive organ. It took all Sloan’s willpower not to come in Conall right then and there, and he stilled to gather the last remnants of his control.

Conall wrapped his arms around Sloan’s shoulders and his legs curled around his waist, digging his heels into the base of his spine. He groaned, burying his face into Sloan’s neck, near his jaw. “Fuck.”

Sloan agreed. Everything about his pet set him alight, his nerves buzzing under his skin as the ecstasy elicited goose bumps. “Tell me what you want, pet,” he whispered hotly in Conall’s ear.

Conall breathed out, his breaths coming out as pants. “Move. Fucking move.”

Sloan might have reprimanded him on the language, but he couldn’t when he was flying high in lust and passion. Instead, he did as Conall wanted. His pace started slowly, with shallow fucks into Conall’s arse, but they quickly became deeper and longer thrusts that made his balls slap hard against his pet’s skin. Their base was brutal, their fucking animalistic and wild.

Conall grappled at his lips as though trying to suck Sloan’s soul out through his mouth, his fingernails biting into Sloan’s back as he whimpered and groaned and begged. He never expected his pet to fall into it so fast, but apparently a cock was all Conall needed before he became a begging mess.

Sloan’s balls drew tighter, and he reached between them, clasping Conall’s cock for the first time. It was thick, large, although not as long as his, and impressive enough that he could see why the whore had been interested in it. Jerking it off in time with his thrusts, soon Conall was squeezing around him, his whimpering becoming more erratic and louder until cum shot from his slit, covering their stomachs.

Sloan wasn’t far behind him. His balls were heavier than ever, and Conall’s tightness brought him to seeing stars behind his closed eyelids. When he came, it was fast and deep, his cum marking Conall on the inside. He couldn’t remember the last time he came as much as he had just then, and fuck, it felt good.

Conall’s chest heaved in short breaths, his shoulders trembling. It made Sloan smile, and he glanced up at the mirror. They looked a mess, but a sated mess nonetheless.

“Was that good for you, pet?”

Conall grunted in answer, and Sloan laughed. He’d take that as a yes.

The next night, Sloan left Conall on the bed, sated and sleeping from exhaustion after another session of Sloan fucking his mouth and then his arse. He didn’t think his pet could be any more beautiful, but he’d been proven wrong. Conall was even more gorgeous postcoital. With a soft caress to his pet’s face, Sloan stood and went for a quick shower. He exited the room in just a towel and clicked his fingers. Two of his soldiers rushed up the stairs like two dogs listening for their master’s signal. In truth, that’s what Sloan was: their master.

“Keep an eye on my pet. He doesn’t leave the room.”

His soldiers nodded, and without a word took guard either side of the door. They were massive, in both height and width, and even a muscular man like Sloan wouldn’t have a chance against them in a physical fight. He only wanted the best taking care of what belonged to him, after all.

Sloan sauntered down the hallway and to his room. One of the finest suits he owned had already been laid out on the bed for him, and it made him smile. Each staff member had been chosen for a reason and were excellent at their job.

By the time he reached his boardroom, his lieutenants and generals were already sitting in their assigned seats. They were chatting quietly, but the moment Sloan entered, silence descended on the room. Fionn rose from his seat beside Sloan’s and bowed his head slightly.

“They’re all here, except Donal.”

Sloan nodded sharply and stared out at his men. In the room were the most important men of his business. Over the years, he’d handpicked them to help him lead. He trusted most of them with his life, others with his company.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

They answered in a mimicked tone and rose, each bowing slightly to show respect to Sloan.

He smirked and sidled up to his own chair. With a wave of his hand, they took their seats again. The chairs were positioned in an awkward circle, with Sloan’s being the biggest and in the center. Unlike the others, it was black leather, with a vintage deep-tufted appearance. It had belonged to Sloan’s father before him.

Sloan took a seat and sighed, letting himself relax into the soft cushions. “As you can respect, we have some…trouble on our hands, in the form of a detective and an Italian. I’m sure my nephew has filled you in with it.”

He peered around the room. Five men other than he and Fionn sat in the room. To his direct right was his underboss, the man who the company fell to if anything happened to Sloan and Fionn, and his best friend since they were kids. Daire Reardon. Beside him lounged Brendan Curran, lieutenant of his companies, and Jamie Shannon, lieutenant of his illegal operations. To his left sat Fionn, and then his chief advisor, Lorcan Lee. The seat missing a person beside Lorcan was meant for Donal McMahon, the lieutenant of his army. Standing in the corner was Ardan, his most trusted assassin.

Brendan cleared his throat, earning their attention. “I am well aware of Detective Diaz’s interference, boss, and I’m working on getting rid of her for good.”

“We have to be delicate about this situation. If we react in a sloppy manner, we could bring down our entire company,” Fionn said.

The other men hummed their agreement.

“With all due respect, Fionn, I’ve dealt with detectives like Diaz before. They are power-hungry and think they can get commendation by taking down big companies like ours,” Brendan replied.

“As that may be, Fionn is right.” Sloan stared at Brendan carefully. “If you had this handled, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place. Do tell me, how did you let a rat tell the Italians where to find one of our locations?”

Brendan visibly swallowed. “It was a mistake, boss.”

“A mistake that cost me a couple of million dollars and two customs officers we could bribe.” Sloan’s lips thinned, his fingers curling over the edge of the arms of his chair. “Tell me how you plan on fixing that mistake, Brendan.”

“I helped Fionn to find you Harold.” He raised his chin. “I fixed that mistake, boss.”

“You should have noticed something was off about him a long time ago,” Sloan said, his voice low and dangerous. “I expect you and Jamie to work together and find these rats and step on them, not let them scamper off into the sewers where they can run their mouth off.”

Both Brendan and Jamie ducked their head toward him.

“We truly apologize, boss.” This came from Jamie, his Irish brogue stronger than the others. Unlike the rest of them, who grew up in New York, Jamie was raised in Northern Ireland until he’d come to the US when he was sixteen and joined their company. He had his ankles crossed, his expensive suit pulling over bulging muscles. He was the biggest out of all of them, but he’d been an enforcer for Sloan’s father before Sloan stepped up as mob boss. “It won’t happen again.”

“Make sure it doesn’t. The only thing that’s saving you is that this is your first mistake.” Sloan leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together in front of him. He stared around at his men. “But it’s a mistake that has to be fixed. Detective Diaz has finally stepped over the line. She’s threatened my business and my new pet, something I won’t tolerate. That’s why Ardan is here a lot earlier than expected.”

A wave of relief seemed to wash through the room, and it made Sloan grin. He’d seen it before, the tenseness as they waited to find out why their assassin was here. Most were afraid they’d pushed Sloan too far and finally fallen off the tightrope they balanced on. But Sloan was a fair man. If they stayed loyal to him and did as they were asked, most lived another day.

“We have two targets in mind. Both the detective and Toscani, the bastard son of Folliero.”

“Is he the one who did this?” Daire frowned, his thick blond eyebrows furrowing together.

“Mostly,” Fionn answered. “We believe Mancini completed the hit.”

Ardan snorted from his corner. He stepped forward, out of shadows so the light could shine on his short, dark locks. “Mancini is a rat himself. He betrayed Folliero’s brother, the man he swore to protect, for a bit of cash. He has no integrity.”

The vile anger entwined in Ardan’s words made Sloan raise an eyebrow. His assassin was composed, quiet, and Sloan hadn’t seen that kind of fury from him before.

“For a man who has no integrity, he didn’t take my money.”

Ardan glanced at him, lips twisted in disgust. “I promise you, boss, that’s not about integrity or loyalty. Mancini is many things, but he’s not stupid. He knows you’re not someone to piss off.”

“It doesn’t matter about Mancini.” Fionn interrupted Sloan and Ardan’s silent stare-off. “Our main target in the Italians is Toscani. We need to take him out for good.”

“But that would risk a war with Folliero.” This came from Lorcan. “Are we willing to do that?”

“For our company? Yes.” Sloan stood and rolled his shoulders. “I won’t have some bastard kid who thinks he’s top shit come into my world and take my drugs and kill my customs officers. The Italians have learned what they can and can’t do, but it’s about time this little prick learns that lesson as well.”

“Give me the word, boss, and I’ll take him out, make him sing for his mumma before he pisses his pants,” Ardan whispered, something akin to glee crossing his face.

Sloan laughed. “Soon enough.”

“We are risking outright war by taking Toscani out. We don’t know how Folliero will react to his son’s death,” Fionn said.

“Which is why you’re here.” Sloan continued, “Are you willing to go to war with me?”

The unanimous “yes, boss” made Sloan’s lips twist in wicked pleasure.

“Good. Let’s rain hell on the Italians.”

Chapter Seven

Conall woke to two guards at his door, like usual. It had begun a few weeks back. They would never let him pass without Sloan’s orders, no matter how much he cursed at them and called them names. Either they were used to it, or Sloan terrified them enough that they’d put up with being called all the names under the sun. Conall knew it was the latter, and he didn’t blame them.

He spent the next few hours in the room, reading and watching the massive TV until finally the door opened and Killough entered. He had on a pair of casual jeans and a T-shirt, as well as a loose jacket, something different than what Conall was used to seeing him in. It suited him, though, and Conall liked seeing the hard outline of his pecs straining against the tight blue material. The color of it matched his eyes, even though the shirt was dark and his eyes were light, which was odd.

“Did you try to get out again, pet?” Killough smirked at him, his handsome, scarred face mocking Conall. It was all he could do not to punch the smug look off it.

“You can’t keep me locked in this room forever,” Conall muttered from his spot on the bed. He pushed himself off it and stretched, the top half of his body naked while the bottom half was covered with a pair of loose trousers. He’d already been for a scalding-hot shower since he’d woken.

“You’re right. Come, put your collar on and I’ll take you for a walk on the beach.”

Conall eyed him carefully. “Is this a joke?”

Killough raised that annoying eyebrow. “Why would it be?”

“Because you’re a sadistic arsehole.”

He tutted in disappointment. “Don’t break my heart, pet. I’d never be a sadistic arsehole to you. I treasure you.”

Conall snorted, but he wasn’t about to lose the chance to feel sand between his toes or smell the fresh, salty air. He grabbed his shirt and threw it on. Before he could grab the collar, though, Killough already had it in his hands.

“Turn around.” The heated velvet of his voice slid down Conall’s back like warm liquid and caused a tremor to escape before he could stop it. With a glare, he turned his back on Killough and let him place the collar around his neck and secure it. “I have a new collar coming for you. It’s special.”

“Oh yeah? How?” Conall tugged at it. He hated shit around his neck, which was why he never wore necklaces of any kind, unlike his brother. Facing Killough, he folded his arms over his chest.

“It’ll have a fingerprint scanner. I’ll be the only one who can undo it. It’ll also have a tracker, so I know where you are at all times.”

Conall rolled his eyes. “Possessive, huh?”

Killough stroked down his cheekbone and along his jaw with the tip of his forefinger. “It’s not about possession, it’s about protection. I have plenty of enemies, and I want to protect you at all costs.”

“Don’t want me to end up gutted in the Hudson?”

He got the reaction he was looking for. Killough flinched. It was quick, as though it never really happened, but Conall saw it. “I’d prefer to keep you whole, yes.”

“For such a powerful man, the Russians managed to get something over you.” Conall knew he was pushing his luck with Killough. He could see the twinges of annoyance that passed over his face, the way his lips twitched, or his eyes squinted.

“The Russians ended up regretting it, and I don’t believe they’ll be doing it again.”

“If that was the case, I wouldn’t have a collar around my neck.”

Killough cocked his head, lips pressed together tightly. “Indeed. I can’t trust my enemies not to be fools, pet. They all wish to disarm me, and if they notice how important you are to me, you’ll be their main target.”

Conall shrugged. “Whatever. Are we going?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Shoving past Killough, he stormed out of the room, giving the guards a glare as he strode past them. One of the bastards smirked at him, and if Conall had been in a nastier mood, he might have feigned being upset to Killough just to see what he’d do to him.

Killough was hot on his heels, his long legs keeping in stride with Conall’s shorter ones. His T-shirt strained around his chest, and Conall’s gaze strayed to it before he tore his eyes away again. He wasn’t going to do that. He couldn’t. Killough wanted his submission, and the moment he gave in was when he truly lost the battle for dominance.

He tore through the front door, Killough keeping pace with him. “I thought you didn’t like the beach.”

Killough’s lips curled into a small smile and he breathed in deeply, his head tilted back as they moved toward a narrow thoroughfare surrounded by brush. It was a sand pathway, and while Conall hadn’t spent much time at the beach—his experience consisted of one trip when he was ten—he knew enough to pause and take off his sneakers.

Much to his surprise, Killough did the same, and Conall couldn’t help but take a moment to stare at his feet. What did a mob boss’s feet look like? It wasn’t a question that many people thought about, and Conall hadn’t until now. Disappointingly, Killough’s feet looked like everyone else’s. He had long, thin toes and had to be at least a size twelve, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Do you have a foot fetish, pet?” The teasing tone in Killough’s voice snapped Conall out of his dazed stare. He glared at him.

“Ew. No.” He shuddered for good measure. He hated feet. They were the ugliest part of the body, and he didn’t even like his own, let alone a lover’s. “If that’s your thing, you’re not coming anywhere near my feet.”

Killough laughed. “It’s not. I prefer other body parts to fetishize.”

“Good to know.” Conall rolled his eyes and started down the sandy path. He didn’t have to look behind him to know Killough was hot on his heels, he could almost sense his presence, like an impending force of nature that left Conall breathless.

The wind whipped around them, the frigid air soaking into his skin and reaching for his bones. He didn’t think about a jacket, but he’d rarely been outside since he got there. He’d forgotten that coolness of the air, especially around a beach. Even with the sun hanging halfway in the sky, on the course of going down, the warmth from the rays was tamped out quickly.

Conall shivered before he could stop himself, then froze in surprise when a jacket fell over his shoulders. He turned narrowed eyes on Killough. “That’s a cliché move, just so you know.”

Killough’s shit-eating grin was infuriating. “Will it get me into your pants tonight?”

He snorted. “No. You’ve already been into my pants more than once. That’s enough.”

Killough sidled closer, his bulky mass large beside Conall’s much slimmer body. His strength felt suffocating, like Conall had breathed in toxic air and his lungs were shriveling up. Or maybe it was the attraction that assaulted him and made him vault forward, as far away from Killough he could get. The strong masculine scent of the mob boss was too much.

“You seemed to enjoy yourself a lot over the last few weeks, pet.”

“You wish, buddy.” Conall chanced a glance behind him, hoping he wasn’t flushing, although he had a feeling he failed, if how hot his cheeks felt said anything. “I’ve had better cocks than yours.”

“You’ve never had another cock in your arse, sweetheart.” The wind fluttered his bleached hair, causing some of it to flick into his eyes. He swept it aside. “And you’ll never have another cock but mine in there again.”

Conall swallowed. If someone had asked him a few weeks ago if he thought he’d enjoy a cock in his arse, he would have laughed at them, before telling them to go to hell. But the truth was, he did like Killough fucking him, and that just rubbed at him in all the wrong ways. He hated how much he enjoyed it, and how soon he wanted it to happen again. Fuck!

Conall walked halfway down the beach and stared out at the water. The ocean sloshed against the shore, the waves sporting white caps crashing against it angrily. It was loud, but also calming, as though it were his anger that washed back out to sea with the retreating water. The seagulls squalled, one close enough to startle him, and he glanced up at the sky toward the bird that flapped its wings not too far away from him. It hovered, as though waiting for Conall to throw it some food.

“How private is this beach?” He slipped his arms into the jacket and snuggled into it, ignore the strong smell of Killough and his aftershave clinging to the material. He certainly wasn’t going to bring it to his nose and smell it.

“Private. Only the houses along the shoreline can access it.” He pointed to the hill the sand led up to, and the mansions that lined the beach with towering beauty. It was poignant to see the difference between the beach and the houses; natural beauty and manmade beauty, different in so many ways, yet they complemented each other, too.

“How many people do you see down here?” Conall stepped closer to the water until the creeping waves met his feet. The water was ice cold and a shudder shot down his spine.

“I don’t know, pet. I don’t come down here.”

“You were serious when you said that?” He turned wide eyes on Killough. “You have a gorgeous beach at your disposal, and you don’t visit it?”

“I don’t have time. I’m a busy man.”

“What about your other pets? Did they come down here?”

Killough smirked. “They preferred to please me. One had an affinity to sucking my cock under my desk while I did work.” He stepped closer until their chests were nearly touching and stroked a thumb over Conall’s cheekbone. “Would you do that for me, pet?”

Conall’s lips twisted, a prickling of annoyance stinging in his gut. “You mention your former pets a lot.”

“Does that anger you?” His dark eyebrows rose. “All you have to do is tell me.”

He snorted and shoved at Killough’s chest. A quick movement over the mob boss’s shoulder caught his eye—one of the guards was standing on the hill, clearly keeping an eye on them. Did he think Conall was going to hurt Killough, or were there other threats he was watching out for? Probably both. He wouldn’t be surprised if there were more guards hanging around, either.

“I don’t give a fuck about your former pets because I don’t give a fuck about you. I’m just here because my brother asked me to be.”

“Really?”

Conall wanted to punch the smug smile off his handsome face.

“Why would your brother ask you to be my pet? What does he have to hide?”

The question left him floundering. Shit. There was nothing to hide, because Killough already knew about their dismal profits, yet he realized how suspicious it sounded. He needed to fix this quickly.

“Because you’re our boss and he worships you. Maybe he should be the one sucking your cock,” he muttered, turning away from him.

Arms slipped around his waist, dragging him closer until his back pressed against Killough’s chest. The heady scent of masculinity invaded his nose and made his skin prickle with goose bumps. Memories of the first couple of nights Killough fucked him teased his mind—the way Killough manhandled him, nearly bending him in two as his cock jackhammered into Conall’s hole. He’d fucked him that same way often since the first time. Conall shivered, his cock twitching in his pants. Fuck. He didn’t want to get hard right now.

Conall didn’t push away from Killough, though. He let him drag him nearer until they couldn’t get any closer. Killough’s hot breath fluttered against his ear, making his toes curl against the cool grains of sand beneath them.

“You smell so good,” Killough whispered, kissing the shell of his ear, before he moved to his cheek. “You’re so beautiful, pet. Perfect. Mine.”

Conall’s eyes slipped closed on their own accord and he turned in Killough’s arms. He opened them again to stare into the icy blue depths of Killough’s. It wasn’t natural for someone’s eyes to be that shade of blue, except for Killough, though, because of course he had the most beautiful eyes Conall had ever seen, even with the scar that ran over the left side of his face.

Conall touched the scar, tracing it from above Killough’s eye to his cheek with his index finger. “How did this happen?”

Killough cocked his head, obviously surprised by the question. “I was sixteen and the Italians grabbed me as revenge on my father. They tortured me.”

He swallowed around the thickness in his throat. “Do you have a lot of trouble with the Italians?”

Killough grabbed Conall’s hand, placing it on his chest with his own palm covering the back of Conall’s hand. “Not as much as we used to. My father went to war with them and came up with an agreement to stop the bloodshed.”

“Are they breaking the agreement by taking out your drugs and customs officers?”

“Yes, but right now we don’t know if Toscani is working for his father or on his own.”

“But you’re willing to go back to war over it?” Conall asked.

Killough brought Conall’s hand to his mouth, kissing the heel of his palm. His lips were cold from the cool wind. “If we let an obvious show of disrespect go, all of our enemies will think they can walk over us.”

“Is that why you killed Harold’s sister? To make an example out of an innocent woman?”

“I didn’t think you’d be the type to care, pet.”

“If someone deserves it, kill them however you like, but this woman was innocent. She didn’t know what her brother was doing.” He didn’t know where the passion for it came from. He wasn’t the type of person to care about a stranger like this, but he felt like he had a hold over Killough, which was stupid because he was his pet, someone who had a collar around his neck and came when Killough called.

“Didn’t she? Then why did she accept the money that her brother received from the Italians for his information?”

Conall gaped at him. “What?”

“You’re pretty, pet, but don’t sit on your high horse and pretend you know everything about our business. Harold took money from the Italians for our secrets and gave it to his sister to hide for him. She knew he was betraying his heritage with that money. They never took her as prisoner.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” That changed everything. He glanced out toward the ocean, suddenly feeling like the massive idiot he was.

Killough’s fingers touched his chin, guiding Conall’s face to look at him again. “Even if she hadn’t, I would have killed her. I expect loyalty from my men. They signed up for that the moment they joined my company. If they can’t keep to that promise, then they will accept the consequences, which includes the hurt that’ll come to the people they love the most. Would you ever betray me, pet?”

He shook his head fast because he wasn’t always a fool, and he actually wanted to survive this shitshow. “No. Never.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not an idiot.”

Killough leaned closer, his breath hot against Conall’s lips. “Exactly. You came here to protect your brother. You know that if you ever betrayed me, your brother would suffer the consequences. That’s what my men must understand. Harold and his sister suffered the consequences of his actions and are an example of what happens when you betray me.”

“Was the kill worth it?”

Killough peered at him carefully, lips pressed in a thin line. It was the answer Conall needed. She’d been dealt with, just like her brother had, or maybe worse. Now he knew she hid the money, he didn’t know if he felt as bad for her as he had before. Did that make him a bad person? Well, he hadn’t ever been a good person to begin with. He’d heard the stories of how Killough killed people.

“I’m very proud of you,” Killough said, startling Conall into looking at him directly in the eyes.

“I haven’t done anything,” he argued meekly, yet there was a minuscule part of him that wanted to puff out his chest and wag his imaginary tail like he really was a dog.

“You’ve done well, pet. You’re not foolish enough to reject my touch, and you are very obedient, even if you like the game of rebelling.” Killough smiled at him, and Conall’s breath caught in his chest. Was this the first time he’d seen a real smile from the mob boss? “I want to reward you. Tell me how.”

“My brother.” It fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. “I’d like to talk to my brother and friends.”

Killough’s thumb stroked over his cheek, along his jaw, and stopped over Conall’s pulse point. He pressed it lightly, making Conall swallow deeply. Not in fear, but at the thrill of excitement that shot through him. “I won’t let you talk to that whore that shared your bed, pet, but you can call your brother.”

“That’s fine. I can handle that.”

“Good. Come.”

Killough left Conall in his room with a cell phone. He stared at it, suddenly unsure what to do. It was a Samsung Note, which was a surprise because he imagined Killough to be an iPhone sort of guy. It felt heavy in his hands, the weight of what he was about to do heavy on his heart. Terrance would be excited to hear from him, to know he hadn’t gotten himself killed, but something ached inside him, the reminder that he wouldn’t be able to go home to his brother. Who knew what kind of damage Terrance was doing to the Virtue without him there. They were partners.

He typed in Terrance’s number and brought the phone to his ear. Two shrills of the ringing sound felt like forever.

“Who’s this?”

Conall snorted. “That’s not how you answer the phone. I could have been a potential client.”

“You wouldn’t be calling me on this phone if you were.” Terrance paused, and Conall could almost see his brain processing who was on the other end. “Shit. What are you doing calling me? Does the boss know?”

“Of course he knows, I’m not an idiot. He gave me permission to call you.” He rolled his eyes even though Terrance couldn’t see it.

“Good. I don’t want him slitting our throats because you wanted to talk to me.”

“You’re not that important to me.” Conall glanced around his room. The curtains had been thrown open and he could see out into the massive back lawn of the mansion. The bright green grass extended out for miles, so far that he couldn’t see the end to it. To the left was a wide pool, and to the right looked to be a garden of some type, with an outside table and chairs in the center of trees and flowers blooming in the warmth of spring.

“Where are you?” Terrance’s voice sounded small, something Conall wasn’t used to hearing.

“At his mansion in the Hamptons.”

“Shit. Is it nice?”

Conall shoved himself off the bed and walked closer to the wide window. He stared out to the garden. “It’s fucking gorgeous.”

“You lucky bastard.”

“Lucky?” His fist curled beside his hip. It was Terrance’s fault he was in this predicament to begin with. “I take Killough’s nine-inch cock into my arse. Do you know what a nine-inch, hard-as-fuck cock feels like in your arse while he’s pounding you, Terrance? No, you don’t, so shut the hell up.”

He was met with silence for a short moment. He didn’t think Terrance was going to answer, but then the idiot opened his big mouth like he usually did. “Killough’s cock is nine inches?” He whistled. “I thought he’d be big.”

“Did you want to come here and be his pet and find out firsthand? Because that’s what you signed me up for.”

Terrance made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a chortled laugh. Conall vowed to kill him when he saw him next. “He wanted you. I would have taken one for the team if he’d chosen me.”

“You’re a fucking liar. You wouldn’t know what to do with a cock in your arse.”

“Yeah, well, unlike you, I don’t fancy men.”

Conall closed his eyes, inwardly praying for strength. He was definitely going to kill him. “I liked fucking guys, not being fucked.”

“You’re still there, so it couldn’t have been too bad.”

“My arse always feels like it’s on fire,” he said nonchalantly.

“But do you enjoy it?”

Conall gritted his teeth. There was no way in hell he’d admit to Terrance that yes, he did enjoy Killough’s cock in his arse, and the way Killough held him down, drilling into his hole and hitting the most sensitive part of his body. “How’s the Virtue?”

“Hah. We’re doing amazing. Our profits have doubled since Tormey started staying here. He gave me some tips on how to bring in more regulars.”

“What?” A sharp sting of annoyance shot through him. “What did he do?”

“It was more than just one thing. He implemented a well-thought-out plan. We’ve raised our prices, too. The whores received some training of their own on how to conduct themselves. It’s been brilliant.”

“Oh.” A stupid part of him thought Terrance would beg him to come back, that he’d be lost without his partnership, but that had been flushed down the toilet in 3.2 seconds. Fuck. That only made him angrier at Killough for taking him away from his home and business.

“I think Forrest is smitten with him.”

“What do you mean?” Conall’s fist curled tighter against his side, and his other hand gripped the phone against his ear until his bones creaked, hoping he’d heard wrong.

“He’s got a crush on him. Tormey says jump, Forrest asks how high.”

“Good for him.” He sounded more bitter than he’d meant to.

“Are you jealous?”

“Fuck no.” He was, but not in the way Terrance thought. Forrest had been spectacular in bed, but Conall had never been in love with him. He was jealous of how easily he’d been replaced, as though he’d meant nothing to the people in the hotel. Did they even realize he was gone?

“Sounds like you are.” Terrance’s voice had become increasingly annoying, and even though Conall had been excited to talk to his brother, he was suddenly regretting ever picking up the phone.

“You can think whatever the hell you want. I just called to tell you you’re a prick for making me Killough’s toy.”

His brother cleared his throat. “Listen, Killough would have killed us. It was the only way to save our arse.”

As much as Conall hated to admit it, Terrance had a point. Killough would have killed them, and not in the most pleasant way, either. Just thinking about what he did to Harold made Conall cringe.

“Is it that bad?” Terrance asked.

Conall glanced out the window again, sighting some guards who had moved around the backyard, no doubt surveying it for possible threats. They stopped beside the garden, walking in opposite directions. If Conall could say anything about Killough’s home, it was that he couldn’t be in a safer place.

“No.” He sighed. “It’s not bad.”

“Is he treating you well when he’s not fucking you?”

Conall snorted. “Yeah, I suppose. I wear a collar.”

“Why the hell do you wear one of those? I know he calls you pet, but you’re not a dog.” Terrance sounded as confused and annoyed as Conall felt when Killough put it on him.

“Killough says it keeps me safe. Something about people knowing I belong to him.” Conall turned on his heel and headed back to the bed. He fell onto it, lying on his back and staring up at the mirror. His reflection stared back, the deep red collar around his neck mocking him. “Have you heard what happened to his other pets?”

“I didn’t even know he had other pets before you.”

“Yeah.” He touched the collar, heavy and dominating on his neck. He’d grown used to it, and most days he forgot it was there. “Apparently one of them ended up gutted in the Hudson.”

“Jesus. How did that happen?”

“Russians.”

Terrance made a sound. “Of course it was the Russians. They’re idiots for messing with the boss. At least the Italians aren’t fools.”

Conall was almost tempted to tell his brother about what the Italians had done but decided against it. He didn’t know how Killough would react to him telling Terrance private information. Mobs worked with trust, and if Terrance or someone else started doubting Killough’s strength, they’d end up buried somewhere no one could find them. Conall wouldn’t let that happen to Terrance.

The door slid open and Conall glanced toward it. He expected it to be Killough, to hurry him up, but it wasn’t him. It was Ronan.

Conall’s eyes widened, but Ronan merely smiled at him. He was dressed in his usual suit, but unlike last time he’d seen him, he sported a nasty bruise on his right cheek. The skin had turned a purplish-blue, darkening just below his eye.

“I have to go, Terrance.”

“Will you call me again?” His voice lowered, the uncertainty working its way into his usual confident tone.

Conall grinned. “You do miss me.”

“Of course I do, you twat. You’re my little brother.”

He pressed his lips together, his stomach flipping with love for his brother. “I’ll call you. Who knows? Maybe Killough will let me visit.”

“I’d like that. Let’s talk later.”

“See ya.” Conall ended the call and shoved himself off the bed. He shifted closer to Ronan, raising his hand to the bruise, but didn’t touch it. “Shit. What happened to you?”

“The Italians.” The corner of his pink lips twisted in a half smile. “They didn’t like us questioning their integrity.”

Conall let his hand drop. “Did you find out anything?”

Ronan hesitated and glanced at the door. Conall followed his gaze, but he’d shut it firmly behind him after he’d entered. “Nothing worthwhile. If Folliero knows about his son’s activities, he’s a damn good liar.”

That wouldn’t have surprised Conall. He hadn’t met Folliero before, but he’d heard stories about the mob boss. He was much older than Killough, but he was a strong son of a bitch. The only reason he’d made an agreement with Killough’s father was to save his men, otherwise he would have taken whatever torture Killough’s father inflicted him with. As it was, Folliero was left scarred beyond imagination. The Italian mob boss didn’t seem like an idiot, though. He wouldn’t risk war with the Killough Company again.

“He’s not an idiot like the Russians.”

Ronan didn’t look like he believed him. He shrugged and glanced at the door again. “The boss doesn’t know I’m here. I just came to chat.”

Conall raised his brows. “About what?”

Ronan exhaled and ran a hand through his light hair. The bruise looked stark against his pale skin and even paler hair. “Being here is a risk to your life, Conall. You heard what the Russians did to Taylor.”

“Taylor? Is that the pet they gutted?”

He nodded. “He’s not the only one who’s been hurt. He also had one named Adrian. He disappeared. I don’t know what happened to him, but Killough kept his composure, like he didn’t care that his pet went missing without a trace. Sometimes I wonder…”

“If he did it.”

Ronan paled, which Conall thought would have been impossible with how light Ronan’s skin already was. “I don’t think he would have. The boss chose people he liked as his pets, but Adrian wasn’t his most favorite.” He laid his hand on Conall’s arm. “I just want you to be careful.”

Conall smiled and touched his hand. “I’m fine. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can. You may not really remember me from high school, but I remember you. You were always able to take care of yourself.” His voice lowered and Conall had a feeling there was more to the story than he knew. How well had Ronan known him back then?

A throat cleared and Ronan froze, his eyes widening. His hand whipped away from Conall and he stumbled around, glancing at the door. Conall looked there too, his heart stopping in his chest. Killough stood at the threshold to the room, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His icy blue eyes were narrowed on them, his jaw tight and his fingers twitching, as though he really wanted to reach for his gun.

Conall swallowed, fear lodged in his throat.

“Why are you in my pet’s room, Ronan?” Killough took two steps into the room, and two guards followed him, their gazes hard and glued on Ronan. They knew their target, and if Conall didn’t intervene, Ronan would be dead in the next few minutes.

“I asked him to come here,” Conall said quickly.

Killough snorted, his stare softening when it turned on him. “You’re many things, pet, but you’re a horrible liar. Why are you defending my soldier?”

“Because he’s an old friend. Aren’t we allowed to catch up?” Conall moved forward and stepped in front of Killough. He rested his palms on his chest and pushed himself up on his toes, tipping his head up. “Kiss me?”

Pride flashed in Killough’s eyes, like he knew exactly what Conall was doing, but he didn’t comment. He leaned down, his lips pressing against Conall’s in a rough kiss that made Conall’s toes curl in his sneakers. Killough dominated him, his tongue shoving inside his mouth and claiming him in a way no other man had before. He enjoyed every second of it, their audience nothing but a blur in the background.

Conall grappled at the front of Killough’s T-shirt, gripping onto it as hard as he could when Killough’s hands grasped his arse, dragging him closer. Blood rushed south, straight to his cock, and there was no way in hell Conall could deny that Killough had ripped a reaction out of him he hadn’t felt before. It felt raw and new, and it scared the living daylights out of him.

He groaned into Killough’s mouth, his hands slipping up his chest and wrapping around his neck. Killough’s masculine scent flirted with his nose, the smell of salt and sea, similar to the beach, teasing his senses. He wanted like he’d never wanted before. Fuck. He wanted so badly it hurt. His chest pulled tightly, and his stomach twisted in knots. This was not how it was supposed to work, and it irritated him.

Finally, Conall gathered enough strength to shove away from Killough with a glare. It earned him a smug grin from the other man. Killough’s eyes slid to Ronan.

“If you ever come into my pet’s room without my permission, I will cut off your cock and hang it on my pet’s door as a warning. Am I clear?”

Conall glanced at Ronan from the corner of his eyes. Ronan nodded furiously before bowing his head. “Yes, boss. I truly apologize. I wanted—”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses. I will not accept them. Get out.”

Ronan didn’t look at Conall again before he practically ran out of the room. Conall didn’t blame him. He wasn’t the one in the firing line, yet he’d been terrified for Ronan.

Killough hooked his finger under Conall’s chin, dragging it so Conall stared up at him. “Pet, I trust you, but if you ever let one of my soldiers in your room like that, I will make you watch as I cut them to pieces, am I clear?”

He swallowed deeply and nodded. “I’m sorry. We were only catching up.”

“I don’t care what your excuse is. It won’t happen again if you want your friends to live.”

“Yes, sir.”

Killough stroked his chin and jaw. “You’re so beautiful, pet. I don’t think you realize what a temptation you are.” He kissed the corner of Conall’s mouth, making Conall close his eyes instinctively. “Say my name.”

“Killough.” It slipped out so easily, as though his tongue had betrayed him to please the man in front of him.

“No, pet. My given name. I want you to call me by my real name.” He said it so gently that Conall couldn’t help but open his eyes again and stare at Killough. The anger in his eyes had disappeared, leaving a cold blueness Conall hadn’t seen in his gaze yet.

Conall glanced at Killough’s lips and then back to his eyes. He hesitated for barely a second. “Sloan.”

Killough—Sloan’s—mouth curled into a smile. “I want you to call me that from now on, pet. Not Killough, not boss, not sir. I want you to call me Sloan when we’re around our own mob.”

“And when we’re around strangers and other mobs?” Conall stepped closer again and breathed in Sloan’s scent deeply. He smelled so fucking good, and it terrified Conall. He needed to remind himself that he hated Killough. Not Sloan. He was Killough.

“It’s sir.” Sloan grabbed him around the waist, hauling him the distance Conall kept between them, until their chests touched. “I’m going to own you fully, pet. You’ll never crave another man’s touch.”

Sloan kissed him hard.

Conall hadn’t craved another man since he’d met Sloan, but he wasn’t going to tell him that. No way in hell. He’d struggle for as long as he could, except when Sloan kissed him like this.

Chapter Eight

The thought of Ronan in his pet’s room still irked Sloan two days later. His guards knew Sloan’s rules, and that room was out of bounds. Ronan knew that, yet he’d still gone there to talk to Conall. Or more. Sloan still didn’t know. What had Ronan’s intentions been? The only thing that stopped Sloan from cutting off his cock like he promised was Conall. His pet clearly cared for his former buddy. At least that’s what they claimed they were, but Conall hadn’t even known Ronan’s name when he first saw him. That made Sloan even more suspicious of Ronan’s motives.

“What are you thinking about?” Fionn frowned at him. He stood in front of Sloan’s desk, his posture straight and his hands clasped behind his back like the perfect apprentice he was.

“My pet.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Fionn rolled his eyes. “The generals are waiting in the meeting room.”

“Hm.” Sloan’s lips tilted into a smirk. “Bring my pet to the meeting, and find Ronan too. I want him guarding.”

“Ronan?” Fionn’s frown deepened, lines crinkling his forehead. “Why him?”

“Just do what I say, nephew.” Sloan stood gracefully from his office chair and slid out of the room. He headed to the meeting room, where his generals were already waiting. They stood as soon as he entered, but with one wave of his hand, they retook their seats.

Sloan sat down in his own, his knees crossed and his hands resting in his lap. “Our meeting will start very soon. We’re just waiting on a couple of people.”

The generals nodded. They weren’t stupid enough to argue.

Daire leaned over toward Sloan. “Where’s Fionn?”

“Retrieving something for me.” Sloan raised an eyebrow at him. “Would you miss him if he wasn’t here?”

Daire’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully and he shook his head. Daire thought he was being inconspicuous, but Sloan saw everything, and he didn’t give a damn that Daire was fucking Fionn. They were adults, and if it didn’t affect their company, they could do what they wanted. While Sloan had promised his brother he’d take care of Fionn, that didn’t include stopping Fionn from fucking who he wanted.

He could see what Fionn’s interest in Daire was, though. Sloan’s underboss was handsome in a traditional sort of way. He had dark hair the color of tar they’d hidden bodies in, and warm honey eyes. With a strong jaw, a narrow nose, and full lips, Daire had men and women scrambling to catch his attention. He’d never been interested in other people, though, not until Fionn joined their mob as Sloan’s apprentice. Sloan had seen the curiosity in Daire’s eyes immediately, like the first spark of a forest fire. Now it was a full blaze and hungry.

The door opened and Ronan slipped in. He glanced at Sloan briefly, concern in his eyes as he slid to the back of the room where a guard always stood during a meeting, just in case a general went crazy and aimed for Sloan’s neck.

None of the generals seemed to notice the change of guard, though. Usually it was the same soldier every time, but the change from Henry went ignored by everyone, except for Daire. He stared at Ronan carefully, but didn’t say anything. His intelligence was one of the reasons he was Sloan’s second-in-command.

Daire merely nodded at Ronan, and Sloan answered it with a smirk.

The second time the door opened, Fionn and Conall entered. This time the room quietened, the generals scrutinizing Sloan’s pet carefully. It was the first time some of them had seen Conall. If his pet was fazed by the looks, he didn’t show it. He kept his back straight and his jaw hard as he strolled in after Fionn.

While Fionn took his seat, Conall stood beside Sloan awkwardly.

“Men, I’d like you to meet Conall Morrissey, my new pet.” Sloan touched his arm, sliding his fingers along the smooth skin until he entwined their fingers.

The men mumbled their hellos, but some were less enthusiastic than others. Sloan knew perfectly well which of them didn’t approve of Sloan having a male partner, but he’d never cared before. They followed him because he was the strongest, and if they began questioning him, they’d end up buried with the other bodies. They knew that, which is why they kept their mouths shut.

Sloan patted his knee. “Sit on my lap, pet.”

Conall’s façade dropped enough that his eyes widened. He glanced around at the generals, pausing at Ronan at the back of the room, before he leaned close enough to whisper, “Are you fucking joking?”

“You don’t want to sit on my lap?” Sloan said, loud enough for his men to hear. “Then sit on your knees in front of me and suck my cock.”

Conall made a sound in the back of his throat, then with another glance to the men in the room, he shifted forward. He fell to his knees in front of Sloan, gaze narrowed in a fierce glare that promised Sloan he’d regret this later. Sloan looked forward to whatever punishment Conall planned on giving him.

“What is the meaning of this meeting, boss?” Donal asked in his thick Irish brogue. He was finally back from abroad and looked tired, with black circles under his eyes. He was one of the generals Sloan trusted with his life. Donal had been Sloan’s father’s best friend when he’d been alive.

“We’ll start when my pet sucks my cock,” Sloan said, raising his eyebrow down at Conall.

Conall folded his legs under himself and glared. He leaned forward, his shaky hands making hard work of the zipper on Sloan’s trousers. The sound of it was loud in the otherwise quiet room. Everyone’s gazes were on them, watching with interest to see what Conall would do. Sloan had done this to his other pets and each one had shied away, begged Sloan to not make them do it in front of an audience. Conall wasn’t a coward, though.

He pulled Sloan’s hard cock through the gap and leaned forward, taking it into his mouth. The warm, wet suction felt good against Sloan’s sensitive organ, and Conall didn’t leave him wanting. He worked it like it was his own, using his tongue to lick, suck, and trace the erection like a professional. For someone who’d only recently started sucking cock, he had skills. He still had things to learn, but Sloan would be more than happy to teach him.

Daire rolled his eyes at Sloan, making him smirk. Fionn, on the other hand, stared at Conall in disgust, his lips twisted and gaze hot with anger. Sloan made a point of looking at Ronan, but he was pointedly staring at the floor.

“Pet, come sit on my cock.”

Conall stopped sucking and looked up at him, his wide-eyed stare asking Sloan if he was insane.

“I want to fuck you before my meeting.” Sloan smirked.

“Couldn’t you have done that before you came here, boss? I have things to do.” Donal snorted in amusement anyway.

“No.” Sloan left it at that. He didn’t owe any of them an explanation, and they knew that.

Conall hesitated, but he shoved himself to his feet. The cool air hit Sloan’s cock, but his hardness didn’t dwindle. It couldn’t when Conall was pushing his pants and underwear down his legs.

His cheeks flushed a pretty red, but the determination in his gaze was more vibrant than the blushing. Conall wanted to make a point, and Sloan appreciated the effort. He knew there’d been something special about his pet the moment he saw him. His fierceness defined him and everything he did, and Sloan wanted to own that.

Conall slid his knees on either side of Sloan’s thighs, his fiery glare blazing hot in those beautiful dark eyes. “You got lube? I’m not letting you rip me up,” he whispered vehemently.

Sloan held out his hand to Fionn. Even though his nephew’s annoyed look didn’t disappear, he handed Sloan a bottle of lube he’d brought with him. Fionn knew Sloan well by now, and there was only one reason he’d bring his pet to a meeting like this when he hadn’t proven his loyalty yet.

Sloan passed it to Conall. “Do what you will, pet.”

Conall swallowed, the apple in his throat bobbing. In front of Sloan’s men, he prepared himself, wet fingers entering his own arsehole and opening himself until he decided he was ready to take Sloan’s cock. Once he’d covered Sloan’s erection with lube, Conall threw the bottle at Fionn. Fionn hadn’t been ready for it and it hit him in the cheek, making him splutter in surprise. The other men, including Daire, chuckled. But it was only Daire who received a glare from Fionn.

“What’s the purpose of this little display?” Conall whispered, jaw still tight and cheeks splattered with a flush of embarrassment.

“Ownership,” Sloan simply said. He didn’t need to say anything more. Realization dawned in Conall’s eyes, and instead of the anger Sloan expected, he was met with fervent lust. “You belong to me, pet. Remember that.”

“I don’t belong to anyone.” Even as he said it, he gripped Sloan’s shoulder with one hand, while he clasped Sloan’s cock with the other, leading it to his hole. The first push into Conall’s arse was difficult, with the tight ring of muscle trying to shove him out again, but the head thrust past it, earning a gasp from his pet.

Conall’s tightness sucked him in as though Sloan belonged there. Conall’s virgin arse had belonged to him from the very start, and Sloan had claimed it, just like he’d claimed his pet. Now each time he pushed into Conall, he knew he’d be the only man who would be inside him, and that excited him.

Conall whimpered low in his throat, quiet enough that only Sloan would hear him.

“So perfect, pet.” Sloan stroked Conall’s cheek. “So beautiful. Mine.”

After a bit of wiggling, Sloan was fully seated inside of Conall, his balls pressed against his pet’s arse. The tightness felt amazing around the most sensitive part of him, in ways his other pets hadn’t. Sloan wasn’t the kind of man to compare his pets, but it was hard not to with Conall. He was by far Sloan’s most favorite, and he’d protect him at all costs.

Conall curled his fingers around Sloan’s other shoulder so both his hands had a grip on him. He used it as leverage to push himself up until only the head of Sloan’s cock was inside him, before he slammed back down again. Conall glanced over his shoulder to look at their audience, but Sloan grabbed his chin so he could only stare at him.

“Focus on me now, pet. You’re mine and I only want your eyes on me when I’m fucking you.”

Conall gritted his teeth but didn’t glance away again. He fucked himself on Sloan’s cock, his arse sucking Sloan in like it was his home. The tightness of his hole squeezed around him, gripping at him firmly.

Cupping Conall’s cheek, he dragged him into a deep toe-curling kiss. He craved Conall’s taste. Over the short time he’d had his pet, he’d quickly become addicted. There was something magnetic about the way Conall looked at him, with a mixture of pure hatred and lust. They warred with each other, and Sloan never knew which one he was going to get.

Today, it was the lust and desire, a deep-seated passion that begged Sloan to dominate him, and that’s exactly what he’d do.

Sloan grabbed his hips, his fingers digging into Conall’s hipbones as he took control of his pet’s pace. The deep crimson collar looked stark against his tanned skin, an erotic reminder that Conall belonged to him, and that made his cock twitch inside him.

Sloan dragged Conall closer until they were connected at the chest. He almost wished they were naked because their shirts stopped any skin contact. Conall wrapped his arms around Sloan’s shoulders while Sloan’s entwined around his waist. He fucked into Conall with a forceful pace, his cock driving deep and hard into his hole with every thrust. He didn’t give his pet a break or a chance to catch up—his orgasm was already building in his balls and he wanted to empty himself inside the warmth that made him crazy.

Conall didn’t ask for him to slow down, though. His eager gasps and moans were sweet sounds to Sloan’s ears, and it drove him into his hole harder and faster, until Conall tensed, grabbing his cock and pumping it furiously. He buried his face in Sloan’s neck, his groans louder than before as he came, strings of cum covering his own T-shirt. Some of it landed on Sloan’s suit too.

Sloan wasn’t far behind him. Goose bumps rose on his skin, the hairs on his arms standing up at the electric feeling of his orgasm ripping through him. His balls drew closer to his body, and he stilled with a grunt of pleasure as Conall’s hole milked him. Cum spurted from his slit, filling his pet nice and full.

He fell back against the chair, his chest heaving at the combination of pleasure and exhaustion that ripped through his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed sex so much.

“Are you done?” Conall snapped quietly.

“With you? Never, pet.” Sloan grinned at him.

His cock slid out of Conall as he stood, giving Sloan’s men a very clear view of Conall’s red and inflamed arsehole. He snatched up his pants, not bothering with his underwear.

“Aren’t you going to clean up your mess?” He gestured to the cum Conall had left on his suit.

“Where’s a cloth?” Conall asked.

Sloan clucked his tongue and shook his head. “With your tongue, pet.”

Conall glanced at the men in the room, pausing to stare at Fionn in particular. Sloan didn’t have to look at his nephew to know the face he was currently giving his pet. Whatever he struggled with inwardly was pushed aside because he puffed out his chest and fell on his knees in front of Sloan again. He licked at Sloan’s jacket, gathering the cum with the tip of his tongue before swallowing it. When he cleaned it up, he stood again, taking a step back.

Sloan’s lips curled gently as he tucked himself back in and zipped up his pants, careful to avoid any skin. “Thank you, pet. I do enjoy filling you.”

Conall stumbled further away with a glare and tugged up his jeans. He flipped Sloan off and stormed out of the room.

Donal snorted with laughter. “You have a feisty pet, Sloan. Better be careful, he might bite.”

Sloan’s stare slid to his old friend and he laughed. “I do enjoy his bites, especially when he’s angry.” He looked at Ronan. The soldier still had his head down and had yet to glance up at him. He obviously didn’t want to, and Sloan didn’t blame him. Sloan’s message was simple: stay away from my pet.

“Now you’re done making a point, boss, can we get back to work?” Lorcan asked with a roll of his eyes. He leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, appearing displeased by the entire situation. Sloan’s father had asked Sloan to make Lorcan his chief advisor while he’d been on his death bed, and Sloan had done it out of respect for his dad, but he never did like Lorcan. He was the son of one of his father’s enforcers and mistress. Of course, Lorcan had no idea that Niall Killough fucked his mother. For all Sloan knew, Lorcan could have been his half-brother.

Donal ignored Lorcan. “Your pet’s a fine thing.”

“Yes, he is, but I only choose the best,” Sloan said. “But now I’ve proved my point, as Lorcan says, we do need to get down to the business at hand.”

“The Italian or the detective?” Jamie asked.

“Both. Have we heard anything about the Italian bastard?” Sloan raised his eyebrows at Ardan in the corner. He’d been quiet during the entire meeting, and only now took a step out of the shadows. His sudden appearance made Jamie jump.

“Shit, man. Don’t do that to me,” Jamie muttered, grabbing his chest.

Ardan’s mouth twisted in a half-amused smile. “You should be paying more attention. That’s where most of you fail. Not one of you except Sloan knew I was there, not even your soldier.” He waved an uninterested hand at Ronan, whose eyes widened.

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t—”

“He was too embarrassed by mine and my pet’s display,” Sloan interrupted.

It earned him a chuckle from Ardan. “Embarrassed or jealous?”

Everyone’s eyes turned on Ronan. Much to Sloan’s surprise, he didn’t back away from the looks. Instead he straightened his back.

“I gave the boss the privacy he deserves.”

“The boss doesn’t need privacy when you’re protecting him, Ronan.” Ardan shifted closer. Even though he was shorter than Ronan, he rivaled the other soldier through another type of power. Ardan’s gaze was vicious at the best of times, and he’d felled bigger men into pissing their pants by his calm yet deadly stare. “Do you understand?”

Ronan nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Ardan seemed happy with the answer because he turned back to Sloan and the generals. “I’ve made contact with Mancini, but he’s a snake in the grass. You grab a hold of him, and he slithers right out of your hands.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the best?” Lorcan sneered. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. His smugness rubbed Sloan the wrong way, and the relaxation he’d felt from his recent orgasm dulled enough that he felt the slithers of irritation under his skin.

“I am the best,” Ardan said calmly. He didn’t need to raise his voice to make a point. “Unlike you, I do my job.”

Lorcan shot to his feet, taking two steps toward the assassin before he realized what he was doing. He paused before he reached Ardan. “If you did your job, we’d have an Italian to torture.”

Ardan smiled, small and deadly. “I do have an Italian, just not the one we want right now.”

“Really?” Sloan stood and buttoned up his suit, which had come loose with Conall grasping at his shirt. “Bring him to me.”

Ardan bowed his head in answer. With a glance of warning to Lorcan, he left the room with quiet footsteps.

Sloan used his absence as the opportunity to turn to Lorcan. “I’d be very careful with your words if I was you. Ardan is not as forgiving as he seems.”

“He wouldn’t touch me…sir.” He added the sir as an afterthought.

Sloan smiled, but he made sure there wasn’t anything kind in it. Lorcan knew he’d never liked him, and he knew Niall was the reason he was in that position. They’d never been friends, and Ardan was right—Lorcan didn’t do his job. He happily took the money and power but gave nothing in return. Sloan hated the promises he made to his father.

“If you piss him off, I will give the permission he needs.” Sloan said it low enough that only Lorcan could hear him. “Don’t push either of us to that point.”

The door shoved open and an Italian tripped through it. He stumbled until he fell on his knees in front of Sloan. He kept his head down, gaze on the floor in front of him, muttering something in Italian. Sloan knew bits of the language, but not enough to understand what he was saying.

Ardan followed him through, taking off his jacket as he entered. He handed it to Donal on the way past, before he began rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt.

Sloan held up his hand, stopping him in the process. “This one’s mine.”

The assassin bowed his head in acknowledgement and backed away again. Sloan unbuttoned his suit jacket and slid it off his shoulders. Fionn didn’t ask, he merely stepped forward to take it off him. He followed Ardan’s previous movement and rolled up his sleeves. Bloodstains weren’t the easiest to get out of white.

“What’s your name?” Sloan stepped closer to the Italian until his shoes nearly touched his knees.

The man kept his head down, not bothering to answer him. It earned him a hard kick in the stomach. He gasped, his arm curling around his middle as he rocked forward, his other hand flat against the ground.

“I asked you a question. What’s your name?” Sloan held out his hand, and Ardan gave him a knife sharp enough to slice through meat without a struggle. Ardan always made sure his tools were in top shape.

The Italian finally glanced at him, his brown eyes watery. His bottom lip shook, no doubt from the pain of the kick. The top of his forehead was already bloody, probably from where Ardan had knocked him out and threw him into the trunk of his Mercedes. He had the typical features of an Italian—dark midnight hair and olive skin, with a wide nose and full lips. His skin wasn’t marred, aside from his forehead, which told Sloan he either didn’t get his hands dirty or he was above the soldier paygrade.

“What’s your name? Don’t make me repeat myself again.” Sloan made a gesture of turning the knife in his hand, the blade glinting off the lights in the room.

“Leo Roma.”

Sloan nodded. “Do you work for Toscani, Leo?”

He shook his head sharply.

Sloan sighed and aimed his boot at Leo’s face. His jaw cracked from the hard kick delivered, and he screamed, falling onto his back. His yells of pain filled the room, his shaking hands reaching for his chin but not touching it, like he was too afraid of the pain.

“You broke my jaw,” he whimpered.

“If that was the case, you wouldn’t be talking. Maybe I should try harder.” Sloan stepped over him and grasped his hair, tugging him until he was sitting on his arse. “Don’t make me use the knife, Leo. I asked you a question.”

Leo sniveled, his hands balled into fists. The shaking had extended to his entire body. “I swear. I didn’t know what he was going to do.”

“So you do work for Toscani.”

Leo shook his head again, but when Sloan went to kick him again, he held up his palms. “Please. Please. I don’t.”

“Folliero?” Sloan asked.

He nodded, tears of cowardice rolling down his cheeks. “It wasn’t him who stole your drugs.”

“Who did?”

“Toscani.”

“You just said you don’t work for Toscani.” Sloan sighed. He hated when people talked in circles. He was a busy man and didn’t have time for these sorts of games. He’d rather be in bed with his pet, getting his cock sucked, even though the last orgasm left his cock fatigued.

“I don’t. The boss realized his son was up to something. He sent me to figure out what. He was scared Marco was doing something to destroy the peace between our mobs.”

“And he was right.”

“I swear, the boss is fixing this. He’s handling his son.” The pleading whine to his voice made Sloan cringe.

“Doesn’t look like he’s doing much fixing to me, Leo.” Sloan crouched in front of him, pressing the knife to Leo’s throat. The Italian froze, his eyes widening. “If you’re really Folliero’s spy, he should be ashamed of you. You cry like a little bitch.”

“I’ve heard stories about you. I’m not an idiot to think you wouldn’t kill me unless I told you the truth.”

“True.” Sloan smirked and patted him on the cheek, earning a whimper of pain. “Sorry about kicking you. You know how this business goes.”

Leo breathed in sharply in relief. “Yes, I know.”

“Go back and tell your boss that if he doesn’t find his bastard son first, we’ll cut him into pieces and send them in the mail. Am I clear?”

He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Ardan, see Mr. Roma leaves in a blindfold and dump him in the city.”

Ardan tipped his head. “Yes, boss.” He grabbed Leo by the arm, dragging him to his feet. He held out a blindfold, dark eyebrows raised. “You know how it works.” Even though Leo was shaking even worse than before, he didn’t argue. He turned his back on Ardan, who covered the top half of his face with a thick blindfold. “You’re lucky I did this in the first place, otherwise we’d have to kill you anyway.”

Sloan laughed at Leo’s sharp gasp. What a pity. He was craving some blood on his hands today.

Chapter Nine

Conall glared at Sloan. The bastard knew exactly what he’d done, and he sat there as though he hadn’t just fucked Conall in front of his men like it’d meant nothing. Conall had seen his fair share of public display. Hell, he and Terrance had thrown parties in the Virtue that had whores fucking each other to win their clients’ business, but Conall had the right to know what was going to happen before it happened, damn it.

“Are you really that angry at me, pet?”

He wasn’t, not as much as he should have been, because that twisted part of him liked being the center of attention, but he wasn’t going to tell Sloan that. “Yes. What the fuck was that?”

Sloan peered up at him from the paperwork he was reading. They were sitting in his office a few hours later, Conall lounging in the two-seater couch positioned against the wall. Sloan sat in his office chair behind his desk, looking very comfortable for a man being glared at. Fionn had disappeared as soon as he delivered Conall here, as though Conall really was a pet.

The thought made him tug at the damn collar around his neck. Fuck this man and his weird fetishes.

“That was me showing my ownership.” Sloan laid the paperwork on the desk and leaned back in his chair, legs crossed at the knees and smirk planted firmly in place. “Did you feel owned, pet?”

Owned? Yes, he did feel owned, in ways he didn’t like. He hadn’t been so hard in his life.

Conall shot to his feet and stalked toward Sloan. Even though there were guards outside, there wasn’t one in the room because Sloan had sent them out, as though Conall wasn’t dangerous to him. Slamming his hands on the desk, Conall leaned over it, jaw twitching in anger. It wasn’t anger at Sloan, though, but at himself for liking all of this more than he should have. He’d be damned if he gave in that easily.

“You don’t own me, Killough.”

“I thought I told you to call me Sloan,” he said calmly. Fuck, anyone would think the mob boss didn’t have an angry man standing over him, towering over his seated position threateningly.

“Do you ever actually listen to me?” Conall bit out, hands curling into fists. “I’m a human being. You can’t own me.”

Sloan’s smirk was infuriating. He touched Conall’s hand with his own, straightening his fingers and bringing them to his mouth. He kissed each fingertip. “I already own you, pet. You’re mine.”

Conall swallowed, watching Sloan kiss each of his fingers, not quite sure what to make of it. Was this guy really a mob boss? He certainly didn’t fucking act like one. He ripped his hand away from Sloan, shifting backward so he couldn’t touch him. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

Sloan merely played with the cuffs of his suit, apparently not deterred by the sharp retreat from Conall. “You’ll come to accept the truth eventually, pet.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, I fuck you,” Sloan said, the smirk bigger than ever. Prick.

“Why can’t I do you?” Conall folded his arms over his chest. “Don’t want a cock in your arse?”

Sloan blinked at him. “I have a present for you.”

“Why do you get to choose what you hear and what you don’t?” he muttered to himself, refusing to glare at Sloan again. That wasn’t helping at all. “What is it? If it’s another public display, you can go fuck yourself.”

Sloan let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “What have I told you about your manners, pet?”

“I’m not going to stop saying fuck.”

“Then I suppose you don’t want to visit your brother, either.”

Conall’s mouth snapped closed. He cleared his throat, the onslaught of excitement knotting in his belly. How long had he been with Sloan now? Not long, but it felt like forever.

Sloan smoothly stood from his chair and made his way around the desk. He held out his hand, and Conall bit his lip, taking it and letting Sloan drag him against his chest. Sloan’s hard muscles shifted under his suit, but even with layers of clothing between them, Conall could feel every line and crevice of his chest and hips.

“Tell me how much you want to visit your brother, pet,” Sloan whispered into his ear, low and hot.

Conall sighed into Sloan’s shoulder, his teeth grinding to stop himself from saying something he’d regret. This was the time for him to swallow his pride, not give the boss attitude. “I want it a lot.”

“But how much?” Sloan stroked his hair away from his forehead, his blue eyes cold and knowing.

“I’ll do anything,” Conall mumbled.

“I didn’t quite hear you, pet.” The smug grin was begging to be smacked off his face.

Conall sighed. “You heard what I said.”

Sloan raised his eyebrows. “No, I don’t think I did.”

“Are you fuc—” He stopped himself abruptly. Sloan’s hand moved to Conall’s arm, caressing down his short sleeve and onto his bare arm. He was waiting for Conall to mess it up, but Conall wasn’t going to let that happen. He needed to see his brother. “I said that I’ll do anything.” It came out louder this time.

“Good.” Sloan stepped back. “I’ll keep that in mind. Grab your jacket, we’re going for a drive.” He didn’t say another word as he turned his back on Conall, gathering the papers on his desk. When Conall didn’t move, he glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. “Do you want to go to the whorehouse or not?”

Conall’s body jolted into action. He shot through the office door and up the stairs. The guards’ gazes followed him, but they didn’t move from their spot. He nearly ran into Esmerelda on the way through, but he didn’t bother to apologize. She barely looked at him because as far as the help was concerned, Conall wasn’t to be approached. Apparently pets were meant to be invisible, at least to most of them. Aideen was an exception. Whenever she saw him, she wouldn’t shut up until she got a glare from Mr. Hopper.

Conall shoved open his door, pausing at the threshold. Fionn stood beside his open drawers, riffling through the clothes that weren’t really his, but the moment the door opened, he stepped back, jaw as hard as granite.

“Can I help you with something?” Conall sneered, shifting further in the room. “Does your uncle know you’re going through my stuff?”

Fionn snorted, carding his fingers through his short, light brown hair. “It’s not your belongings, though, is it?”

“As far as Sloan is concerned, it is.”

“Sloan now, huh? What happened to calling him Killough?” Fionn’s smirk reminded him of Sloan. The family resemblance was prominent, when Fionn wasn’t acting like a dog trying to please his master.

Conall stalked closer and stopped beside him. He crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing Fionn carefully. Conall wasn’t an idiot and knew he had to tread carefully. This was a game Fionn had played a lot longer than him, and he knew how Sloan—Killough—worked. If he pushed Fionn too hard, he’d be the one with the slit throat bleeding all over the freshly polished floor.

“What are you looking for?” Conall glanced at the drawers. The clothes in there belonged to the last pet, or the pet before that, he didn’t know which one. They were a size too small and clung to him in an uncomfortable way. But they were clean and better than wearing the same thing day after day. “If I was hiding something, it wouldn’t be in the clothes drawers. That’s a little obvious.”

“And where would you hide it, whore?” Fionn bared his straight white teeth at him, as though he actually was trying to be a guard dog. Maybe he should be the one with the collar on.

Conall smiled, wide and sinister, and leaned closer. “What would be the fun in telling you that?”

Fionn gritted his teeth but forced his own smile across his thin lips. “I know you’re not as truthful as Sloan thinks you are. You’re hiding something, and when I find out, I’ll deliver you to the Russians myself, maybe even watch as they cut you into pieces.”

“Are you into that sort of kinky stuff?”

Fionn bumped his shoulder as he shoved past him, slamming the door behind him in the process. It left Conall in the quiet room, staring at the mess Fionn had left behind. What was he looking for? Conall didn’t have a clue. Sloan had come into his house and taken him from his home. He didn’t have time to steal anything away before he’d been swept into a new life—a life he never asked for. Fionn didn’t seem to understand that. He acted like anyone would wish to be in Conall’s position.

Shaking his head, he grabbed his jacket and slid it on, heading back out the door and down the grand stairs. Sloan was waiting for him beside the oak doors, Mr. Hopper hovering by his side. They were whispering something to each other, and finally Sloan nodded.

Conall stopped in front of him. “Ready.”

“I can see that.” Sloan’s gaze slid slowly over his body, making Conall shiver under the lustful stare.

Fionn exited from the dining room door, his own jacket on and a backpack strapped over his back. It made Conall sneer. He was truly hoping the idiot wouldn’t be coming with them.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Sloan asked, aiming the question at his nephew.

Fionn’s stride faltered and his forehead crinkled in a frown. “To the Exotic Virtue, with you. I wish to make notes on how to better their performance.”

Sloan snorted and shot a look at Mr. Hopper. “Rourke Tormey is doing that job, he doesn’t need your help.”

“But Sloan—”

“What I want to know is why you were in my pet’s room, going through his belongings?” His words were as sharp as glass, and if they had been a physical thing, Fionn would have cuts across his face.

Fionn winced as though he’d actually been hit by them. “Sloan—”

“I asked you a question. I don’t want excuses; I want a direct answer.” He looked powerful, towering over Fionn like the mob boss he was. An unexpected spark of heat spread through Conall, a pleasure that seemed to ripple through his veins and give him goose bumps, and it took all his willpower not to start popping wood right there in the hallway. What the fuck?

Conall took a step away from Sloan, but he hadn’t noticed. His stare drilled into Fionn, scaring his nephew into swallowing nervously.

“I don’t trust him,” Fionn said, his voice on the verge of trembling.

Sloan’s stare hardened. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do—”

“Then tell me why you went through my pet’s room, the same pet that I chose for myself.”

Fionn’s chin dropped, his head bowed in respect. “I’m sorry, Sloan. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Sloan snorted. “No, you shouldn’t have.” He waved his hand and two guards shot forward, each grabbing one of Fionn’s arms. His eyes widened, and his stare searched Sloan’s face desperately.

“Sloan, what’s happening?”

“I’ve let you get away with too much. You may be my nephew, but you are still my subject. It’s time you learn some of the same consequences any other one of my soldiers would receive.”

“Sloan, please!” Fionn struggled against the guards’ hold. “This is ridiculous. I’m your nephew, your apprentice.”

Sloan smiled. “Even nephews and apprentices have lessons to learn.”

Conall knew when to step in. He held up his hands toward Sloan. “It’s fine, I don’t mind. I’m not mad.”

Sloan tsked at him, stare sliding to Fionn with displeasure clouding it. “You might not be, but I am. I won’t be made a fool of, especially not from the man I’m teaching to take my position one day.”

With a wave of his hand, the guards dragged Fionn out of the room. Much to Conall’s surprise, though, there wasn’t any more screaming or begging. Instead, he looked resolved, like he was about to accept whatever punishment Sloan had ordered on him.

Conall glared at him. “Was that necessary?”

Sloan shifted closer and caressed his cheek, a long stroke of his thumb up his cheekbone. “Pet, you will learn that even blood do not escape the consequences of their actions. I may be his uncle, but I am mob boss first, and Fionn will come to understand that. I’ve been very forgiving of his actions in the past, but that time has long passed now.”

Conall didn’t understand it, but for once, he didn’t argue.

“Come, let’s go.”

He let Sloan lead him out to the car, where Henry was already waiting. He opened the back door for them, and Sloan slid in first. Much to Conall’s surprise, he kept the door open for him, and Conall nodded sharply as a thank-you as he followed Sloan in. He had already moved to the other side of the seat, giving Conall room to get in.

“Drink?” Sloan didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed two tumblers, filling them up with vodka this time, and passed one to Conall.

He stared at the clear liquid, thinking about what had just happened. As much as he didn’t like Fionn, he didn’t want to see anything happen to him, either, because God knew what Sloan’s men would do to him.

Sloan snorted. “They’re not going to leave scars,” he said, as though he knew exactly what Conall was thinking. Conall supposed he wasn’t being coy about it with the way he stared at the alcohol in the glass.

Shrugging, he said, “I don’t care.”

Sloan smirked at him but didn’t say a word. He settled into the seat, crossing his knees, and took a sip out of his tumbler. Conall commended him on not grimacing, but he was probably used to it. Conall, on the other hand, chose to drink his vodka with something else, like Coca Cola. He enjoyed a red fire engine—vodka, red cordial, and lemonade—on particular nights.

“Are you going to drink it or not, pet?” Sloan raised the one fucking eyebrow at him in judgement.

He glared at him and swallowed the small amount in one gulp, cringing at the liquid as it slid down his throat.

It made Sloan laugh and he curled his arm around Conall’s waist, dragging him closer. “Always so unruly.”

Conall rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Don’t challenge me.”

“When did I challenge you, hm?”

“Just then. You acted like I couldn’t drink it.”

Sloan’s laugh only deepened. “I did not. I asked you if you were drinking it. It wasn’t a challenge.”

Conall didn’t believe him. If he snuggled into Sloan, he wouldn’t admit it, but he was warm, and outside had become increasingly cold overnight—colder than usual anyway. The spring air had lowered in temperature and even a jacket couldn’t save him from the wind that seemed to reach for his bones. Even though the driver had the heater on, Conall wasn’t going to say no to the extra body heat.

Sloan smelled nice anyway, with the musky scent of his cologne teasing Conall’s nose and making his skin prickle. When had he become so addicted to his scent? Who fucking knew, and it frightened him. He couldn’t and wouldn’t like anything about Sloan—maybe his cock, because it was a nice cock, and maybe Conall liked being fucked more than he knew…

“Turn on some music, Henry,” Sloan said, after he’d hit a button on a console near his window.

“Yes, sir” was the static response, before old forties-style music played through the speakers.

Conall closed his eyes. He’d never listened to this kind of music much, but it was calming, and after a crazy month, he needed to feel something other than anxiety and fear, because all the hard parts were over with. The boss had fucked him more times than he could count, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he now belonged to him. He truly was Sloan Killough’s pet.

It took them nearly two hours to get to the city and finally reach their destination. Apparently they weren’t heading to the Exotic Virtue first because Sloan wanted to check in on his other establishments, too. The first being the whorehouse in Hell’s Kitchen. Conall had spent his life pretending it didn’t exist, mostly because Leenock and Terrance had always bumped heads and competed over who was the best, but now he was here, standing in front of its dank entrance in an otherwise ugly neighborhood, he couldn’t deny it any longer.

The Leisure Train existed.

Another man met them at the entrance and Sloan gestured to him. “Pet, I’d like you to meet Brendan Curran, my lieutenant of my companies. You’ve never met before because he has men working beneath him, but Brendan runs all the businesses which belong to our family.”

Brendan was a shorter man with vibrant ginger hair and a beard to match. He reminded Conall a bit of Terrance, except he had a petulant frown on his face that looked permanent. He wore an expensive tailored suit, but Conall had learned to accept that with the higher-ups of the Killough Company now. They were businessmen, as Terrance would probably tell him while he talked about them in awe like they were rock stars rather than mobsters.

Brendan nodded at him. “What shall I call you?”

Sloan answered for him. “You may call him sir.”

One of his eyes twitched, but Brendan nodded. He didn’t say anything else as he shifted out of Sloan and Conall’s way. Sloan led him into the whorehouse. Even though it looked shabby on the outside, it was luxury as soon as they entered.

With high ceilings similar to the Virtue, it was the epitome of extravagance with beautifully designed architecture that made anyone feel rich and special by being in its halls. The walls were a rich, dark wood, decorated with oil paintings that Conall suspected an art collector would orgasm over, and wide stairs similar to the Killough mansion. Polished wooden floors with intricate designs and brand-new rugs of royal blue that accentuated the posh feeling confirmed it truly was designed for the elite. From the outside, no one would suspect the elegance that hid on the inside.

“Boss!” Leenock’s thick, annoying Irish accent bounced off the walls as he came skidding down the stairs, his velvet green vest over a white dress shirt a tad too overdramatic for Conall’s tastes. That’s what Terrance hated about him—Leenock thought he was higher in ranking than he really was, as though he was born into privilege, rather than the slums of New York City with a poor father who put himself in debt with the mob. His mother whored herself to the soldiers to win Sloan’s father’s favor, and it had worked.

Leenock paused in surprise when he saw Conall, and his black-rimmed eyes narrowed. “Morrissey.”

“Leenock.” Conall grinned at him, but it fell away when Leenock’s gaze moved to the collar on his neck. He’d grown so used to the weight of it, he forgot it was there. Leenock’s smile made Conall’s stomach drop because now the bastard knew exactly what he was—Sloan’s whore.

Leenock didn’t push his luck, though. He was an arse kisser, so his attention returned to Sloan, and he stared at him as though he’d be more than happy to get on his knees and suck Sloan’s cock himself. “Welcome to your establishment, sir. I’ve taken care of it to the best of my ability.”

Sloan’s smile was as fake as the tits on the woman who sauntered down the stairs. She reminded Conall of Alice, except everything about her shouted plastic surgery, from her plump cherry lips to her slim nose. There were a lot of things he could complain about when it came to Alice, but at least everything about her was real, and not designed for a man’s obvious pleasure. She wasn’t a whore, that much was clear by the way she snuggled up to Leenock’s behind, which told Conall she was the new wife he’d heard about.

“Ah, sir, I’d like you to meet Tina, my wife.”

“What’s this, your fourth one?” Conall asked before he could stop himself. He didn’t get the reprimand he expected, though. Instead, Sloan laughed.

Leenock glared at him and looked like he wanted to say something from the way his gaze dropped to Conall’s collar again, but he wasn’t an idiot, much to Conall’s disappointment. He wanted to see Sloan take Leenock down a few pegs.

“My fifth,” Leenock said, a smarmy smile directed at Conall. He patted Tina’s thin arm. “It took me four other women to find me the perfect one.”

“Pretty sure you said the same thing to me and Terrance about your third one—and the fourth. I can’t even remember their names.” Conall crossed his arms over his chest.

He felt the heavy gazes of Sloan’s men on him, particularly Brendan’s, but he wasn’t sure if they were waiting for Sloan to reprimand him or if they were surprised by what kind of mouth he had on him.

Leenock’s smile slipped off his face. “How is the Exotic Virtue, Conall? I heard your profits are…dismal.”

Conall resisted the urge to glare at him. Leenock wanted a reaction and he wasn’t going to give it to him.

“I think that’s quite enough,” Sloan said, earning both their attentions. “Do you have issues I should know about, Tad?”

Leenock flashed his teeth at Sloan in a smile. “None. The Leisure Train is as perfect as usual, sir. Our profits are skyrocketing, and we have…the leverage of politicians, actors, and even the local police captain.”

Sloan raised an eyebrow. “Captain?”

Leenock nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir. Captain John Donnock.”

Something akin to pride lit up in Sloan’s gaze, and Conall swallowed the snort that threatened to surface.

Sloan stepped forward, laying his hand on Leenock’s shoulder. “How much leverage are we talking?”

“Well…his wife is the daughter of the New York City mayor, and the captain screws a barely legal young man that he dresses up in diapers and asks to be called daddy.”

Even Conall knew that was like finding gold in a town like this, and Sloan’s smile was like a man who’d just found that treasure. “So a lot of leverage, then. Good. Do you have photos?”

Leenock nodded furiously. “I always make sure to take photos of the high rollers, sir, and our cameras are fully functional in the rooms.”

“You have cameras in your rooms?” Conall asked, disbelief washing through him. “We never had cameras. O’Riley said we couldn’t afford it.” He sounded more bitter than what he’d meant to.

Sloan hummed, completely ignoring Conall’s outburst. “We have issues with a certain detective. She’s in the DEA. Do you think he’d pull her off the case?”

Leenock’s eyes flickered from Sloan to Conall and back again, and he clapped his hands together in delight. “Absolutely, boss.”

“Make it happen,” Sloan demanded shortly. “I want Detective Diaz off the port case.”

Leenock puffed out his chest and was on his phone in seconds, talking furiously into it. Sloan turned to Conall and stroked his cheekbone, eyelashes lowered and tongue swiping over his bottom lip.

“No need to be jealous, pet.”

“Jealous? Of him? Fuck off.” Conall batted away the hand with a glare. “Why the fuck does the Leisure Train get cameras, but we don’t? We got politicians too, you know.”

Sloan chuckled and leaned closer, his breath hot against Conall’s lips, like maybe he was going to lean in and kiss him, but he didn’t. He hovered close but didn’t touch Conall. “The Virtue is no longer your concern.”

Conall’s glare deepened and his hands twitched at his sides. What would happen if he shoved Sloan away in front of his men? Probably nothing nice, and Conall wanted to keep his hands on his wrists. “It belongs to me and my brother.” He realized what he’d said as soon as it left his mouth. He quickly tried to retreat, but he knew it was already too late. “I mean—”

Sloan’s face darkened, his jaw hardening, and he grabbed Conall around the throat. It wasn’t a tight hold, but his fingers pressed down on Conall’s windpipe in warning, leaving him gasping for breath but not choking him. There wasn’t any intention to strangle him. “All these whorehouses belong to me, pet,” he whispered, low enough that only Conall could hear him. “You may have helped Terrance run the Virtue, but don’t forget who it really belongs to.”

Conall gasped for air. “It’s yours,” he mumbled breathlessly.

“It’s mine.” Sloan released his hold, and Conall sucked in air desperately. He touched his throat and looked at Sloan carefully. “I’m sorry I had to do that to you, pet.”

Conall merely muttered, “It’s okay,” because there was nothing else he could do. He knew he’d said the wrong thing. But Sloan smiled sadly at him and hooked a finger under his chin, raising it. He kissed him gently, and it almost felt like an apology. It was a reminder that no matter how sweet Sloan seemed to him, he was still a dangerous mob boss and could slit Conall’s throat whenever he grew bored of him.

Brendan called for Sloan, and he left Conall standing there, feeling awkward and a little annoyed at the thought of Sloan growing bored with him. He put his life on the line for this, and he wasn’t going to let the stupid bastard grow bored, even if he had to wear a stupid collar and give his arse to Sloan.

Conall sighed and leaned against one of the fancy pillars in the foyer. He tugged at the collar, because as much as he’d grown used to it, there were times when it pulled at the skin of his neck and reminded him it was there.

“So you’re the boss’s new pet?” Leenock strode out of an arched doorway, his lips pursed in thought as he approached Conall. He paused in front of him, his hands tucked into the pockets of his expensive pants. Conall wouldn’t exactly call it a question even though Leenock made it sound like one.

Conall crossed his arms and gave Leenock a once-over. He didn’t know when the feud between him and Terrance started, but it’d always been a thing, even when they were kids and Conall’s father owned the Virtue. Leenock’s mother visited it to offer her services when money got low for her, and sometimes Leenock came with her. Conall didn’t remember a time when they were friends, because they hated each other when Conall’s father threw them together to play with toys as well.

He touched his collar, as though Leenock couldn’t already see it—a vibrant red against his neck. He didn’t bother to stand from leaning on the pillar. “Why’s it any of your business?”

“It’s not,” Leenock said, but the annoyance that passed across his face said otherwise. He had a narrow face with high cheekbones and a short, bulged nose. He wasn’t traditionally handsome, but there was something unique about him.

“Just say it,” Conall sneered. “Make a joke.”

He shook his head and ran a hand through his long brunet hair, which he usually had hidden beneath an emerald fedora. “Listen, I may have a thing with your brother, but I ain’t got anything against you.” Glancing around the hallway, he stepped closer. Most of Sloan’s guards had followed him, save a few who stood near the doors. Conall wasn’t foolish enough to believe they weren’t keeping an eye on him. They were his guards as much as they were Sloan’s. “I knew Taylor, the pet before you. He was one of my whores.”

Conall’s stomach tightened and he swallowed around a thickness that grew around his throat. There was that name again. Taylor. It was almost as though people worshipped him. “The one that was gutted by the Russians?”

Leenock nodded. “He worshipped the boss and the ground he walked on. He’d have done anything for him, but the boss didn’t care for him as much.”

“And?” His eyes narrowed. “Why are you telling me this? Do you think I’d care about this Taylor?”

Leenock squinted at him and exhaled quietly. “No, but he was a good boy. Young. He had his whole life ahead of him and he died the most painful way. All’s I’m sayin’ is to be careful. I might not like Terrance, but you’re not a bad person.” He stepped away then, and his mask of concern disappeared, leaving the overly cheery smile on his thin lips again.

A guard stepped closer and Leenock winked at him. “Care for some fun while you’re here, Lenard?”

The guard gave him a look of disbelief.

“Fine, I’ll step away from our master’s pet.” Leenock clapped his hands together again and sauntered off, no doubt to go find Sloan and Brendan and kiss some more arse.

Conall glanced at the guard—Lenard—but he’d already turned his back to him and walked over to his former position. It didn’t matter anyway because a few minutes later, Sloan strode back through one of the doors and curled his arm around Conall’s waist, guiding him out of the Leisure Train.

“Are we done here?” he asked.

Sloan hummed in answer. “We have a few more whorehouses to visit before we get to the Virtue.”

Conall didn’t argue. As long as they got him home for a few hours, he was willing to do anything, and he was curious about the other whorehouses. He’d heard about them from Terrance—who ran them, what kind of profits they pulled in, and what kind of whores they had—but he’d never visited them before.

For the most part, Terrance had been right about the whorehouses. The Liberated Genie was a brothel disguised as a hotel and had the fanciest whores, or escorts, as they called themselves. It was for the real high rollers who felt like they’d dirty themselves by going into Hell’s Kitchen. It was run by a Ukrainian by the name of Bohdan, and Sloan had nothing but praises to sing about him. Apparently he found him as a college dropout, but Bohdan was one of the smartest men Sloan had met. Conall didn’t see what was so spectacular about him, but he admired the Genie. It was fancier than the Leisure Train and the Exotic Virtue combined.

After that, they visited three other brothels located around New York City, until finally—finally—they reached the Virtue. Conall couldn’t get out of the car fast enough, happily ignoring Sloan’s laughter as he nearly tripped out the door.

“Quite all right, sir?” Henry asked as he righted him on his feet.

Conall nodded sharply. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He let go of Conall and moved back with a tilt of his head.

“Are you okay, pet?” Sloan reached for him as he stepped out of the back seat and onto the sidewalk beside Conall. A grin played on his lips, and for a moment, Conall couldn’t look away from the genuineness of it. He was a handsome man, but a real smile made him breathtaking.

“Fine.” Conall cleared his throat and shifted away from Sloan’s searching hand. Fuck that. He had to remember who they were—Sloan, mob boss, Conall, pet—and that just annoyed him. He was going to walk into his home as nothing more than a dog with a collar who followed Sloan around obediently. Everyone would be there to see it. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all…

It was too late.

Sloan grasped his elbow and led him toward the large steel doors that the elegance hid behind. The outside of the Virtue was nothing more than a brownstone building that camouflaged well with the rest of the apartment buildings around it. It had cracks in the bricks and an overgrown vine running along the closed windows, but while it looked small on the outside, it was huge on the inside, expanding into multiple buildings beside the one where the entrance was located. The Killough Company had always been about disguise, and it worked because it kept the cops away.

Sloan rapped his knuckles on the door, and it opened, a wide suit-clad man standing on the other side. He had probably cased the place for threats before they got there.

Conall went to step through the door first, but Sloan’s hold on his elbow tightened. He frowned at Sloan. “What?”

“Let me go first, pet.”

“Why?” He glanced between Sloan and the door. “It’s only the Virtue.”

“Correct, but you are my pet now and you’re a target. My weakness.” He said it as though it explained everything. It didn’t.

“And it’s the Virtue,” Conall repeated.

Sloan let out a frustrated sigh. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking everyone in there is your friend. They may have been once, but you’re in a position of power now, and that changes people’s view of you. It makes them dangerous.” He laid kisses along Conall’s cheek and up his temple, his lips warm and welcoming. They tempted Conall to turn his head and capture Sloan’s mouth against his own, but fuck that. He wouldn’t let that feeling win. “Don’t underestimate your friends’ intentions, pet. Some will quickly choose to slit your throat while you sleep.”

“Been betrayed by many friends?” he asked, not quite sure if he wanted to know. What would it be like to be betrayed by people you trusted?

Sloan pointed at the scar across his eye. “Remember how I told you the Italians kidnapped me and tortured me to get a reaction from my father? They weren’t supposed to know where I was, but one of my best friends told them for money.” His hand dropped, taking a hold of Conall’s elbow again.

“What happened to him?”

Sloan’s smirk told him he probably didn’t want to know.

“Don’t answer that,” Conall said quickly.

“Wasn’t planning to. Sometimes the imagination is more fun, pet.” Sloan turned toward the door and straightened his back. His tailored suit fitted him perfectly, like his clothes always did, and it pulled around his shoulders, showing off the muscles that shifted with his movements. He entered the doorway, and Conall strode in behind him, not wanting to wait a second later.

What greeted him was a line a whores, much like the first time Sloan had visited. They all had their heads bowed, eyes to the ground submissively. To the left of them stood Terrance, his face placid and his stare strong. He didn’t come rushing over to Sloan like the first time, instead he stayed still, silent, as though someone had taught him how to be a well-trained dog rather than an unruly one. He had his crimson hair combed back and gelled, and the gray suit he wore looked brand-name and sleek, much nicer than anything he’d owned before.

Beside him stood another man Conall hadn’t met. This must have been the Tormey guy Terrance had mentioned. He was definitely someone Conall could imagine running a brothel, with the way he dressed and looked. He had the handsome appearance Conall expected a model to have, with a sharp, square jaw and strong brow, dark hair, and a beard the color of coal, as well as watchful amber eyes.

Sloan strode straight to him, and Tormey bowed shallowly before he held out his hand to him. “Welcome, boss.”

Sloan grabbed his hand and shook it. “Rourke. How are things going?”

“As well as they can be, boss. We’re raising the profits and creating order in the Exotic Virtue.”

“You say that as if we didn’t have order,” Conall snapped before he could stop himself. Something stirred in his stomach, a bitter acid that made anger boil his blood. He and Terrance had done a damn good job, they didn’t need someone to come along and change things.

Tormey’s sharp gaze turned to him, and he slanted his head toward Conall in acknowledgement. “You must be Conall. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“From Forrest?” Conall grinned, his own stare flicking to the blond standing beside Terrance. It seemed weird that even Forrest hadn’t moved an inch. Usually he was the disobedient one who liked showing off his beauty with a wink or a lick of his lips.

Tormey’s jaw tightened, but his lips curved into a small smile. Sloan, on the other hand, appeared displeased. His mouth pursed in a thin line, his eyes narrowing in warning.

“From your brother,” Tormey said.

“You’ll have to forgive my pet, I’m still training him.”

Conall snorted. The rebellious part of him rose again, niggling at him to show his brother and his whores that he wasn’t a dog who barked at his master’s order. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re trying to.”

Sloan chuckled, but the roughness of it was a warning. The corded muscles of his back stiffened as he turned away to look at Tormey again.

The only thing that shut Conall up was the pleading stare that Terrance shot him.

“Pet, come here.” Sloan didn’t look at him, but he didn’t need to. The edge of caution in his voice sent Conall moving forward until he was a step behind Sloan. Sloan grasped him around the waist with one arm, hauling him against his side. “Introduce yourself. Nicely.”

Conall bit back the sarcasm threatening to surface. He forced a smile. “Conall Morrissey.”

Tormey nodded. “Pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Rourke Tormey.”

“Rourke has been taking care of the Virtue. The least you can do is say thank you,” Sloan whispered hotly into his ear, sending a tremor down his spine.

Conall might have glared, if Sloan’s hold hadn’t tightened until it hurt. He swallowed down the words he wanted to say. “Thank you for taking care of this establishment.”

Tormey’s knowing stare annoyed the fuck out of him. The guy knew exactly what was happening, and he was probably amused at how easily Conall folded under some persuasion from Sloan. It was a game of wits and cunningness, and Conall was losing.

“It’s my pleasure, sir. It’s been an honor.” He looked at Forrest then, and Conall immediately noticed the way the whore smiled without taking his eyes off the ground. So they were fucking. They couldn’t have been more obvious if they had a sign plastered on their forehead.

“Show me what you’ve done, Rourke,” Sloan said, releasing his hold on Conall. “You can stay here if you’d like, pet.”

“I will,” Conall said.

Tormey gestured toward the side door, and together they walked out of the foyer. Half the guards followed them, the other half hung around, watching Conall carefully. Clearly they were his guards, which was both ridiculous and exciting. As much as he hated the thought of being watched, he also felt important. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like that.

The moment Sloan exited the room, Terrance strode toward him, a large grin slashing across his face as he dove at Conall. He wrapped strong arms around him and squeezed tightly, lifting him up in the air, laughing.

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and Terrance quickly dropped him as fast as he’d lifted him. That didn’t seem to deter him from patting Conall hard enough on the shoulder that he nearly buckled under it.

“Welcome home, shithead.”

Conall snorted. He wouldn’t exactly call this place his home anymore. He was a visitor. “Thanks.”

The whores seemed to relax, chatting between themselves, but Forrest practically skipped toward them. “How’s life as the master’s pet?” he teased as soon as reached Conall’s side.

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me? You’re obviously fucking Tormey,” Conall snapped, nastier than he meant to. He wasn’t jealous of their activities, but rather that some nobody had come in and taken over his life.

Forrest’s smile fell off his face and he frowned. “I’m not,” he protested weakly, too weakly.

Conall rolled his eyes. “Didn’t take either of you long to replace me.”

Terrance folded his arms over his chest, the suit pulling at his shoulders at the movement. “Don’t act like a jealous brat.”

“I’m not jealous.” He glared at him, jaw tight.

“Bullshit. Tormey only came to help.”

Conall snorted again, but this time it was louder, eliciting intrigued looks from the whores. “Is that what you’re telling yourself? You were a failure, Terrance. He’s here to fix your mistakes. It was either that or Killough would cut your head off your shoulders. The only thing that saved you was me giving up my arse like one of them.” He waved his hand toward their interested crowd.

Terrance grabbed a fistful of Conall’s shirt, dragging him closer, but he stopped immediately when three large guards shot forward, their hands already reaching into the jacket of their suits. Henry was one of them, and his glare would have made any man nearly piss his pants.

“Take your hands off the boss’s pet, Mr. Morrissey,” Henry growled, low and full of caution.

Terrance released him and took a step back. “My apologies. As you gentlemen can probably respect, Conall is my little brother, and I’m not used to him being…well, I’m not used to him belonging to the boss.”

Conall swallowed. Terrance had always grabbed him by the collar when he was angry, but he’d never hit him. The guards didn’t know that, though. “It’s fine.” He raised a hand toward them. “He’s my big brother.”

“That doesn’t matter, sir,” Henry shifted closer until his massive back half hid Conall from Terrance. “You are the boss’s pet now. Any threat against your life will not be tolerated.”

Conall sighed. “It’s over,” he said, taking a step around Henry. “I was being an arse anyway.”

“Yeah, you were.” Terrance sent him a narrowed stare. “But you’ve always been an arse.”

That made him laugh. “Fuck you.”

“Nope, from what I’ve heard, it’s fuck you.”

Conall might have punched Terrance in the face if he didn’t think the guards would get involved. Instead, he hugged his brother tightly, slapping him on the back. “Missed you.”

“Yeah, you too.” Terrance suspiciously cleared his throat and shoved Conall away playfully. “If I hug you too long, people will think I’m gay.”

Conall rolled his eyes. “Doubt that. You fuck too many pussies.”

Terrance chuckled.

Finally, Conall gathered the courage to turn to Forrest. He hadn’t moved from his spot, but he was smiling, which was always a good sign. While they had been fucking before all of this happened, in some weird way, they were also friends. It was good to see Forrest’s handsome face again.

“Are you done throwing a temper tantrum?” Forrest teased. “Maybe the boss needs to take you over his knee and give you a spanking.”

“He might like that,” Terrance threw in.

Conall flipped Forrest the bird, before turning it on Terrance, making them laugh.

“How is it getting fucked by Sloan Killough anyway?” Forrest whispered, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Conall didn’t offer him an answer, instead he gestured to the hallway.

“Show me what Tormey’s done.”

Chapter Ten

What Tormey had done was pretty damn amazing, if Conall was being honest. He’d changed things that Conall never would have thought about. He brought in rules and regulations that whores had to abide by, as well as contacting some people he knew, promoting the Virtue as the place to go for a warm bed and tight arse or pussy for the high-end players. What surprised Conall the most was how much control he had over the staff. They practically bent over backward to please him, which made Conall wonder what he’d done to instill the loyalty.

Whatever it was, Terrance and Forrest weren’t letting him in on the secret.

“You worry about pleasing Killough, we’ll work on the Virtue,” Terrance said with a shake of his head after Conall asked.

“Fuck that, tell me.” He glared at Terrance, poking him in the chest. They’d moved to one of the long corridors, but the guards weren’t far behind them, hovering near the door to the foyer. They watched Terrance carefully, as though he’d decide to attack Conall again.

“Nope.” Terrance held his hands behind his back, standing tall. “We can’t talk business with you.”

“Said who?” Conall gritted his teeth. If Killough or Tormey told Terrance not to talk to him about the Virtue, he’d cut off their balls. He didn’t give a damn if it put him in the grave.

Terrance opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of sharp gunshots sliced through the silence of the brothel. Acting on instinct, Conall ducked and scampered into the nearest doorway, which happened to lead to Terrance’s office. His heart raced in his chest, strong beats that almost rattled his ribs as adrenaline spiked his blood pressure.

Terrance and Forrest rushed in after him, and he slammed the door shut, drowning out loud screams.

“What the fuck?” Terrance hissed. He stood too close to the door, and Conall grabbed his arm, dragging him away from it. “Who would be stupid enough to shoot up a brothel belonging to the Killough Company?”

“Who the fuck cares about that? Where’s the guns?” Conall snapped.

It earned him a glare from Terrance. “Where do you think they are? In the armory. I don’t carry.”

He resisted the urge to snort because he’d always told Terrance what an idiot he was for not having a gun on him. They were a brothel, which meant they were going to have trouble eventually.

Another round of shots forced Conall to dive behind Terrance’s desk where Forrest was already hiding. He grabbed his brother, dragging him under it as well so the three of them were pressed tightly against one another. They didn’t have a gun to defend themselves, so it was safer to hide.

Round after round, automatic bullets vibrated the walls around them. Conall could feel each gunshot in his bones, like fingernails on a chalkboard. The screams drowned into each other, making who they belonged to indecipherable.

“Should we go out there?” Terrance stared at Conall with wide eyes. “We need to help them.”

“Help them with what?” he hissed in response, glaring. “We don’t have any weapons because you’re the idiot who doesn’t carry one on you.”

The doorknob twisted and Conall pressed his finger over his mouth, gesturing for Forrest and Terrance to shut the fuck up. Heavy footsteps filled the silence of the room and Conall held his breath.

“I smell a coward,” a thick Italian voice said, because of course it was a fucking Italian. It would have been either them or the Russians. “Come out, little mousey.”

Conall glanced at Forrest. His eyes were wide, his shoulder trembling, and his throat worked around a swallow. He was a whore, he wasn’t used to this kind of fear. Neither was Conall, but something urged him to protect his brother and Forrest.

He fiddled with his collar, taking it off and throwing it to Forrest before he shoved himself to his feet and met the stare of the smirking Italian. “I’m not a fucking coward.”

The other man raised his dark eyebrows and laughed. “Who are you?” He had an automatic rifle clutched in his hands, probably an AR-15 or M-16, not that Conall knew much about guns. He’d never needed to carry a gun—that’s why the Virtue had hired guards, to protect them from imbecile clients. Except this guy wasn’t a client behaving badly.

“I’m Conall Morrissey, provocateur here at the Exotic Virtue. Why are you attacking my establishment?” He crossed his arms over his chest. Even though he attempted to look confident, he felt anything but. The hair on his arms rose, fear clenching at his stomach. He wasn’t going to show this arsehole how scared he felt, though. If it was his time, he’d go with his pride intact.

“Well, then, Mr. Morrissey, any last words before I put a bullet in your head?” He stepped closer, the gun raised and aimed right at Conall’s chest.

Conall lifted his chin, jaw tight. He spread his arms, daring the Italian to make a move. “Do it. Shoot an unarmed man. Who’s the coward then?”

The other man hesitated, his thick brows fusing together in thought. Conall had never had much experience dealing with the Italian mob, but if they were anything like the Irish, being called a coward was the worst insult.

The Italian dropped his gun’s aim and stepped closer. He was taller than Conall, standing at least a few inches higher. Unlike Sloan’s guards and their immaculate suits, this mobster wore long pants, a tight muscle tee, and a leather jacket—all black. He gave Conall an assessing look, lips pressed in a tight line. “I heard the provocateur was a redhead. You’re not a redhead.”

Conall snorted in a mocking chuckle. “Aren’t you a genius. A-plus for your intelligence.”

The backhanded slap to his face came hard and fast and he stumbled into the desk, catching himself on it with his palms. Fuck, that hurt.

“You need to remember who has the gun, Morrissey,” the Italian said, laughing darkly.

Conall sent him a glare and straightened, jaw ticking as he fought for control. “An imbecile?”

This time he was expecting the slap, and he dodged it, which only pissed off the mobster with a gun. Probably not Conall’s smartest movement. He pointed the gun at him, baring his teeth in a way that made him resemble a wild animal. If it had been any other circumstance, Conall might have thought the guy was good-looking, but he didn’t get off on the threat of death.

“You have a smart mouth on you, don’t you?”

Conall chuckled and touched the corner of his mouth with his tongue. The tangy taste of blood met it and he grimaced. The bastard was going to regret that. He’d make sure of it. “You’re not the first one to tell me that.”

The Italian shifted closer, the gun held securely between them. “I don’t like brats, though I heard your boss does. Heard he was keeping your brother as a pet.”

Conall leaned back against the desk and folded his arms over his chest. He grinned. He imagined he looked brutal with a bloody mouth and already bruising cheek. Or maybe he looked like a badarse. “You heard wrong.”

“Our boss doesn’t lie.” He stepped closer and Conall braced himself for whatever physical pain the Italian was going to lay on him. Nothing came. Instead he touched Conall’s cheek with his index finger, tracing it along his jaw and down his neck, pausing at where Conall’s collar had been minutes before. “The provocateur of the Exotic Virtue is a redhead named Terrance Morrissey.” His grin might have been terrifying if Conall hadn’t spent a month with Sloan. “You’re the whore brother.”

Conall’s stomach roiled with fear, but he didn’t show it. He smiled wickedly. “I might be, but if I am, would you take the risk of hurting me? Sloan Killough is not weak. Do you really want to risk your life by making him angry?”

Hesitation flickered over the Italian’s face.

Conall took advantage of it. He touched the top of the gun, shoving the nozzle away so it wasn’t pointed in his direction. “Walk away now while you can.”

“I agree with my pet.” Sloan’s rough, deep voice broke the quietness in the room, ripping both the Italian’s and Conall’s attention to the door where he stood. He had blood splattered across his face, stark against his tanned skin and blue eyes. A handgun clutched in his palm and pressed against his thigh, he looked like death personified in his black suit, and there was something attractive about the power and dominance in the way he stood.

Conall’s blood turned hot, and a rush of pleasure he’d never felt before swelled in the pit of his stomach. Had Sloan always been this gorgeous?

The Italian started to raise his gun, but Sloan’s head twitched in a half shake, making him drop it again.

“Are you brave enough to raise that gun?” Sloan growled, shifting further into the room. He looked like a predator stalking his prey, but not in the way Conall felt when Sloan stared at him. His gaze said he wanted to rip the Italian apart.

The Italian was clearly a fool, though, because he did raise his gun. Sloan was quicker, and one shot straight to the middle of the forehead had the Italian dropping to the ground in front of Conall in a crumpled heap, blood oozing from the hole in his head.

Conall snatched the rifle out of his still warm hands. “Took you long enough,” he grumbled.

Sloan raised an eyebrow, a grin curving his gorgeous lips. “Were you waiting for me, pet?” He moved close to Conall, cupping his cheek. Conall leaned into his touch unconsciously. “We were taking care of the rest of them.”

It took a moment for Conall to realize the rest of the brothel was quiet. He’d been so focused on the Italian in front of him, he hadn’t noticed.

Terrance and Forrest moved out from behind the desk, their movements hesitant.

“How much blood do we need to clean up?” Terrance asked, straightening his suit.

Sloan’s sharp eyes turned on him. “You’re lucky you don’t have to clean up your own,” he said calmly, but there was an underlying meanness behind his words. Conall didn’t have to guess what he’d meant because Sloan stalked past him until he was nearly chest to chest with Terrance. “You let my pet face off an Italian with a gun. Tell me, Terrance, why shouldn’t I slit your throat for being a coward? I have no tolerance for weaklings in my company.”

Conall shot forward, shoving himself between Terrance and Sloan. He touched Sloan’s chest comfortingly. “Hey, it’s okay. I chose to face the guy.”

Sloan’s face softened when he looked at him. “I know, pet, but that’s unacceptable. You are mine, and that means my men”—his focus switched to Terrance–“all my men, must protect you at all costs.”

A strange sense of excitement tingled at the tips of his fingers, and he closed the hand not holding the gun into a fist to stop himself from reaching for Sloan. “I can protect myself,” he said, but it had less spite than he’d meant.

Sloan made a noise of amusement and touched Conall’s neck. “I never doubted you could, pet, but you don’t need to when you’re under my protection. Where’s your collar?”

Forrest held up the collar that Conall hadn’t seen him holding. “It’s here.”

Sloan took it from him. “Turn around, pet.”

Conall did as he was ordered, turning his back on Sloan so the mob boss could slip the collar around his neck. He hadn’t realized how bare his skin felt until the comfortable weight returned. Something like peace washed through him, making his limbs relax. The blood pumping adrenaline through his body drained from him. He was safe now.

Sloan turned him around again and smiled down at him. “There. Much better.”

“Which Italians were they?” Conall asked, glancing at the body at his feet. This one got off lucky. He imagined what Sloan would do to the men who had been left alive.

“Not Folliero’s.” Sloan crouched, digging into the leather jacket of the very dead man. He pulled out his wallet and opened it, flicking through the cards until he came to his driver’s license. “Hm. Not a familiar name, but Folliero’s man already promised Folliero wasn’t a part of this.”

“And you believe him?” Conall pressed a palm to his cheek and cringed. It wasn’t as painful as the time he shattered his arm after he fell out of a tree, but it still hurt like a bitch. He had a feeling it’d only get worse over the next few days.

“Folliero isn’t a fool. He made a deal with my father that he’ll keep. He lost too many good men before, and it nearly had him killed by his own mob. He’s not going to do anything that puts his position in jeopardy.” Sloan rose again and reached out to Conall, his thumb stroking over Conall’s bruised cheek. “They’ll regret doing this to you, pet. I promise you that.”

Conall had no doubt that Sloan was telling him the truth, and he looked forward to it. “Maybe I could help with making them regret it?”

Sloan’s grin was wicked as his soul. “That would be lovely, pet.”

The door opened and an unfamiliar man walked through, making Conall stiffen. He didn’t look like one of the Italian mobsters, but sometimes it was hard to tell. He held the rifle tighter in his hands, but one eye-crinkling smile from Sloan and Conall loosened his hold.

Sloan glanced at the man and guided Conall to him with one hand on his lower back. “Pet, I’d like you to meet George, an old acquaintance of mine.”

“By acquaintance, he means he tortured me until I was bleeding and broken and then decided he liked my loyalty and kept me as a friend.” George snorted, but bowed his head at Conall. He was an older man with dark gray hair and a clean-shaven face. Surprisingly, he wasn’t dressed in a suit, but rather a black turtleneck and dark blue jeans, with loafers on his feet. Hadn’t these mob men heard of color?

“Tortured? What did you do to deserve it?” Conall asked. It earned him laughter from both George and Sloan.

“He had information I wanted. Come, pet, let’s get you to somewhere safe.” Sloan applied pressure to the touch on his back, but Conall planted his feet to stop them from moving.

“What about the Virtue? How bad is it?”

Sloan squinted at him, like he was judging whether to be honest or not. “It needs work, but nothing we can’t fix.”

“Who’s dead?”

“About ten whores,” he said nonchalantly. “They can be replaced.”

Conall supposed they could. There was always some money-hungry, homeless sluts on the street who would spread their legs for a warm bed and food. That wasn’t the point, though. “If word gets out about this—”

“It won’t,” Sloan cut him off. “I assure you, pet, Rourke will handle the situation. The Virtue’s clients will not hear about this.”

“What about the clients that were here?” Conall folded his arms over his chest. “We’ll need to do damage control.”

He stared at him for a short moment, and then he smiled again. It was one of those real smiles that made Conall’s gut clench and his heart swell. “Pet, you are a very clever man, but you are no longer part of the Virtue. Let Rourke handle the business.”

Conall glanced at Terrance. His brother gave him a wobbly thumbs-up, but he looked as unsure as Conall felt.

“Let’s go home, pet.” It was no longer a suggestion, but an order.

Conall let Sloan lead him out of the office and down the hallway. Bodies littered the floor, a mixture of whores, Italians, and some Irish. He walked past a bloody Nike shoe that had been dyed blue, and Conall knew exactly who it belonged to. Clue. That’s what he liked to be called, but Conall didn’t know his real name. He never cared before because the whores were only there for one thing: to make them money.

Not far away from the shoe lay Clue’s body, twisted at an awkward angle with his face covered in blood. His mouth was parted, as though he was screaming before he was gunned down.

Conall straightened his back, ignoring the sick feeling that filled him, and looked down the hallway. If he didn’t see the body, it wasn’t there. He had a feeling he’d have nightmares about it for months to come because he’d never had a real conversation with Clue. The guy wasn’t a high earner, barely making half of what Forrest made. He was still a person, though—a quiet, shy man who had a sweet smile, probably no older than twenty. Did he have a family out there, wondering where he was?

“It’s best not to think about it,” Sloan whispered in his ear, his breath hot and teasing the shell. Had Conall said something aloud? “I can tell what you’re thinking. The guilt is written on your face. Don’t show it, pet. It’s a weakness.”

“I don’t know anything about him. I don’t even know where he came from.” Conall raised his chin as they entered the foyer, but Sloan dragged them to a stop. He held on to Conall’s shoulders and turned Conall to face him.

“And now you never will. It’ll do you no good to think about the past. It’s done.” Sloan stroked a thumb over the bruise again.

“Is that how you think when it comes to your other pets?” Suddenly Conall felt bitter as the realization dawned on him. If that Italian would have killed him, Sloan would have forgotten about him in minutes and found himself someone knew, someone prettier as a pet.

Sloan’s eyes darkened. “I know you don’t believe me, but I did care about them. They were all an important part of my life, but they never fitted beside me like you do.”

“Why? How am I different?” Conall should have taken a step back, but he shifted closer instead, as though he was a moth drawn to Sloan’s fire.

“Your spirit.” Sloan pressed his forehead against Conall’s. “You have the spirit of someone who belongs at my side.”

Conall breathed him in, the musky scent of Sloan’s sweat and cologne, mixed with the bitter smell of blood that covered the floors and walls. The blood on Sloan’s face was beginning to dry, and while it was disgusting, it also suited him. It was a reminder that he was a powerful mob boss who’d taken down enemies who threatened his livelihood.

Someone groaned beside their feet. Conall glanced down at an Italian, who had his arm curled around his stomach. He stared up at them, his hand reaching up as though begging, but Sloan pulled out his gun and shot the Italian in the head so fast that it made Conall jump in surprise. The man slumped against the ground again, the hole in his forehead still smoking.

“I need a bath,” Sloan said easily, as though he hadn’t just shot another man in the head, ending his short life.

Conall glanced from the Italian to Sloan, and then smiled. “Me too.”

Chapter Eleven

Sloan’s nerves were still buzzing rapidly under his skin, the adrenaline of fresh kills making his blood hot. The moment the shooting had begun, he acted on impulse. His only thought was getting to his pet and protecting him. He took down at least dozen men before he heard Conall’s voice in the office. Relief had taken over him once he heard that deep lull of Conall’s baritone, but that didn’t stop the need for revenge. There was no doubt in his mind that this was Toscani’s doing—he wanted to send a message to Sloan, and Sloan had got it, loud and clear. But he was also going to give the brat a message of his own.

Sloan’s phone buzzed and he glanced at it: Mess in the process of being cleaned. Used a favor with the local authorities. No cops.

He smiled at it. He hadn’t made a mistake putting Rourke in charge of the Exotic Virtue. No one had believed Rourke was the right person, but he’d shown potential that Sloan trusted. As a result, he got a loyal, intelligent, and charming soldier in return.

“What’s that?” Conall asked from against Sloan’s shoulder. They were cuddled up in the back of the limo. While his pet had resisted the hug at first, he quickly fell into it, fatigue obviously weighing down his body. He could barely keep his eyes open.

“Rourke. The cleanup has begun.”

“How will they dispose of the bodies?” Conall yawned and closed his eyes briefly, but quickly opened them again. He was trying hard not to fall asleep.

“I can’t tell you all my secrets,” Sloan teased, kissing Conall’s forehead.

“Will you tell me eventually? I’d like to know the way your business runs.” His pet stared up at him with a curiosity that made Sloan happy. All his other pets had never wanted to know anything about the mob, they were only there to live in luxury. This curiosity and cleverness were what intrigued Sloan about Conall to begin with.

“I will tell you whatever you want to know, pet.”

The limo pulled up in front of their mansion and the door opened. With a final kiss on the cheek, Sloan stepped out first then held out his hand. Conall, surprisingly, took it and slid out next. He paused when he saw Dylan, their new driver.

“Where’s Henry?”

Sloan sighed and raised Conall’s hand, which he still held. He kissed the backside of it before turning it over to kiss his palm. “He was caught in the crossfire, pet.”

Conall’s eyes widened. “He’s dead?”

“Unfortunately. His loyalty won’t be forgotten.”

He swallowed deeply and looked at Dylan again. “Oh.”

“Come, pet. We are both tired and need a hot bath. Maybe we could take a bubble bath together?”

Conall’s mouth opened like he was about to argue, but he clicked it shut again. He nodded, his eyes dropping to the ground. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

Sloan wasn’t sure if he liked this submissive side of Conall. Either his pet was closing up on him, or he was accepting Sloan’s control, and both notions were as terrifying as each other. He liked Conall’s fire and never wanted to see it diminished.

They strode toward the house, and the doors opened, Mr. Hopper shifting out of their way as they entered. He bowed at Sloan and leaned in closer.

“Sir, Mr. Folliero is here. He’s in your office,” he whispered quietly in Sloan’s ear.

“Really?” Sloan raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Folliero has some balls.”

Mr. Hopper’s mouth twitched, like he was trying to hide a smile, but the old man never smiled. He’d always been serious, even when Sloan was a kid. Once upon a time, Sloan had been afraid of him, but as he got older, he realized that loyalty like Mr. Hopper’s couldn’t be bought. The man would die for the Killoughs.

“Mr. Hopper, please get a maid to take my pet upstairs. Have a warm bubble bath drawn for him,” Sloan ordered.

“No!” Conall suddenly looked very awake, his back straightening and jaw tight. “I’m coming with you to talk to him.”

“Pet—”

“His son came into my home and killed my people. I want to be there when you talk to him.” He crossed his arms, stance wide and leaving no room for argument. There it was, that fire Sloan had been afraid he’d lost. It made him smile.

“Mr. Hopper, make sure that bubble bath is ready for after we’re done.”

Mr. Hopper bowed low and strode off, his tailcoat fluttering behind him as he headed toward the stairs. Sloan gestured for Conall to follow him, and they walked to the back of the house toward the same office where Conall had seen him slit Harold’s throat. Folliero was waiting for Sloan patiently, lounging in the comfortable two-seater against the wall. His legitimate son was sitting beside him, back straight and face alert. Separately, one might not have guessed they were father and son, but sitting beside each other, they looked identical, from their sharp, handsome faces to their wide shoulders.

The moment Sloan walked through the door, Folliero and his son stood, their guards right beside them. Sloan’s own soldiers surrounded him on either side, their hands close to their guns in case they needed to protect their boss.

“Mr. Killough,” Folliero greeted, palms clasped in front of him. Nothing about his posture shouted disrespect—quite the opposite. Most older bosses Sloan encountered had treated him with revulsion, as though his age made him weak, but Folliero was something unique. He was a smart man who knew when he was faced with someone more powerful. He’d always known when to back down, even when it came to Sloan’s father.

“Mr. Folliero. I’m surprised you had the courage to come here after what your bastard did.” Sloan waved his hand at his soldiers. Folliero and his son weren’t foolish enough to attack him in his own home.

He walked further in the room, Conall a few steps behind him. His pet’s anger was palpable, his dark blue—nearly black—eyes full of the fire that made Sloan want to bend him over his desk and fuck into him in front of their audience.

Sloan sat in his chair behind his desk and waved for Conall to sit on his lap. His pet followed his orders without argument, leaning into Sloan so his back lay against Sloan’s chest. Sloan curled his arms around him and kissed his cheek.

If Folliero was embarrassed or uncomfortable with the display, he didn’t show it. His face remained placid, calm even. He moved closer and took a seat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. Crossing his legs, he leaned back into it like someone visiting an old friend. “My bastard is not following my orders.”

“So I heard from one of your men.” Sloan smiled, his fingers dipping beneath Conall’s shirt and tickling the soft skin of his belly. “Why are you here?”

“To reiterate that he acts on his own. I won’t have my company compromised by a spoiled little brat who wanted more power than he was allowed to have.” Folliero gestured to his son. “Elio has worked too hard as my heir for a bastard brother to ruin it for him.”

“How do you plan on fixing this little problem, then? You heard that he came into my brothel and killed my whores and men, didn’t you?”

Folliero nodded. “We will find him and bring you his head, Sloan.”

Sloan laughed. “No, you won’t. If you find him first, Lorenzo, you’ll bring him to me so I can slice his head off his shoulders, but only after I cut every piece of his flesh and take every finger off his hand. He won’t escape pain through a quick death, am I clear?”

The Italian boss bowed his head in acknowledgement. “If that’s what you want. How can I make up for what he’s done? I have money.” With another wave of his hand, one of his soldiers shifted forward with a suitcase. He threw it open on the desk in front of Sloan, flashing them a case full of hundred-dollar bills. “That’s a hundred thousand there.”

Conall leaned forward, taking a pile of cash into his hands, flicking through it with his thumb.

“What do you think, pet?” Sloan didn’t miss the way Elio looked at Conall with hot curiosity. If Sloan were a more jealous man, he might have cut out Elio’s eyes, but he knew how gorgeous his pet was. Any man would have to be blind not to see Conall’s natural beauty.

Conall glanced at him, gaze hot with desire. “A hundred thousand doesn’t satisfy me. We deserve at least five.”

“Five hundred?” Folliero’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Please, Toscani’s actions are not ours—”

“But he’s a result of your cock, isn’t he?” Conall snapped at him, successfully shutting up the other mob boss. “You put your hard-on inside of a nobody and left your seed soaking inside her. He’s still your son. I think if you want to show us your commitment and loyalty to the Killoughs, we deserve five.”

Pride swelled in Sloan’s chest and he laughed genuinely. His pet truly belonged at his side. “My pet is a savvy businessman, isn’t he?”

Folliero’s skin looked paler than usual, but he nodded, mouth twisted unpleasantly. “You have found yourself an extraordinary pet.”

“Maybe I should find myself one,” Elio said from his spot standing beside his father.

Sloan glanced at him and ran his gaze down his body. Elio was a handsome man, with the typical Italian dark looks that a lot of people got hot over. It didn’t push Sloan’s buttons, but he could see why it did for others. His olive skin, wide nose, dark hair, and plump lips might have led him to modeling if he didn’t want to take over the family business.

“You should,” Sloan finally said, dragging Conall back against him. He carded his fingers through his short hair. “There’s nothing more beautiful than a fiery man resisting submission while you stick your cock in him.”

Elio grinned at him. “And where would I find such a man?”

Sloan raised an eyebrow at him. His company and men were more tolerable to homosexuality because Sloan grew up proud of who he was. His father never discounted him in the running of the business because of where he liked sticking his cock. When he became boss after his father’s death, Sloan made sure everyone who did have a problem with it ended up in the bottom of the ocean near the docks. The ones left were either gay, tolerable, allies, or very secretive in their views and weren’t dumb enough to say anything aloud.

The Italian mob, however, weren’t as open. While Sloan hadn’t heard anything about Folliero personally, he’d heard of a few men who ended up on the wrong side of a gun or bat because they were caught with other men. Then there were the soldiers who didn’t agree with being friendly with Sloan because of his sexual tastes. The fact that Elio was so open about his interest intrigued him.

“I can give you a few places to visit. It’ll cost you for the information and my permission to choose one.” Sloan stroked Conall’s arm and brought his palm to his mouth, laying a gentle kiss on it.

“I’d happily pay for it,” Elio answered, his hungry gaze roaming over Conall.

Sloan smirked. “Down, boy. This one is mine.”

Folliero nudged his son and rose. He straightened his Armani suit and buttoned it up. “We will be happy to send over another four this afternoon.”

“The Italians that shot up our brothel didn’t wear suits. Didn’t you at least teach your son class?” Conall asked, surprising all three men, even Sloan.

Folliero squinted at him in thought. “He grew up in the slums with his mother. He only found out about me when he was sixteen. His style has not been influenced by me, I assure you, sir.”

Conall snorted but didn’t say anything else. Sloan patted him on the thigh, urging him to get up. When he did, Sloan made his way around the desk and held out his hand. Folliero shook it.

“I trust your loyalty, Lorenzo, but don’t make the mistake of thinking we’re friends. If you do something stupid like warn your bastard that we’re coming for him, or kill him before I do, I will punish you instead.”

Folliero smiled widely. “I wouldn’t expect any less from Niall Killough’s son.”

“Good. You can see yourself out.”

With a bow of his head, Folliero and Elio exited the office, their soldiers at their heels. Sloan’s men followed them out, just to make sure they left the mansion completely. It left them on their own.

Sloan turned to his pet, cupping his cheek and dragging him into a deep soul-sucking kiss that left Sloan craving more. Everything about his pet left him wanting in ways he hadn’t felt before. There was something satisfying about consuming his pet in every way Conall would, and wouldn’t, let him. He wanted to fuck his hole and mouth with both his tongue and his cock, claiming Conall as his, every night if he could.

“You did so well, pet,” Sloan purred against Conall’s delicious mouth. “Let me treat you.”

Conall’s breathing deepened and he licked his lips. “Please.”

“Come with me.” Sloan slipped his fingers through Conall’s and led his pet out of the office. They headed up the elegant stairs and toward Sloan’s bedroom rather than Conall’s. Like he’d instructed, the tub in the connecting bathroom was filled with a hot bubble bath. Steam floated through the air, fogging up the his-and-her mirrors above the basins.

“Take your clothes off.” Sloan was already slipping his suit jacket off his shoulders, before unbuttoning his shirt. Conall didn’t need telling twice. He ripped off his shirt carelessly, the buttons bouncing on the floor tiles, before working on his long pants and wriggling out of them, leaving him in his tight red-checkered underwear.

Sloan was slower in taking off his clothes, but he enjoyed the way Conall’s eyes ate him up like he was a dessert to be devoured. Each day that passed, his pet openly showed his enjoyment of Sloan’s body a little more. The growth was beautiful to watch, and he wanted to see more. He wanted his pet to beg him for it without being asked. As fun as it was to see Conall pretend he didn’t like it, those types of games got boring quickly.

Sloan unbuttoned his dress pants and hooked his thumbs in the waistband, smirking at the way Conall licked his lips. His hard cock pressed insistently against his underwear, showing Sloan just how much his pet liked the show. “Are you getting into the bath, pet?”

Conall snapped out of his daze and rolled his eyes. His underwear came off next, his erection springing out when he shoved them off and kicked them to the side. Sloan shoved his pants down his legs and stepped out of them, reaching for Conall. His pet shifted closer, bare and flawless in his naked glory, and Sloan unclipped the collar from around his neck, throwing it onto the bathroom’s vanity.

They stepped into the bath together, the warm water soaking their bodies as they took a seat in the deep-set tub. Sloan took the position behind, his back pressed against the curved porcelain, with Conall between his legs. He cuddled his pet closer, inhaling the fresh smell of lilac that filled the room. Between the heat against his muscles and the scent caressing his nose, serenity washed over him and he relaxed.

Conall rested his head against Sloan’s shoulder and exhaled, eyes slipping closed. “That’s nice.”

“Good for the sore muscles.” Sloan kissed him beside his ear and then again on the cheek. “I don’t know what I enjoy more. The bubble bath or your naked body against me.”

“Can’t you enjoy both?” Conall raised his chin, seeking Sloan’s lips, and Sloan didn’t argue. He cupped his pet’s jaw and slanted his mouth over Conall’s, kissing him deeply. He tasted like strawberries, sweet and delicious and addictive.

“What’s this for? I’ve never seen you so pliant,” Sloan teased.

“Maybe I’m just thanking you for saving my arse.”

“I think of your arse as my property. Of course I’m going to save it.”

Conall grunted in disbelief. “Typical.”

Sloan laughed.

They sat in the bath for half an hour, swapping between enjoying the taste of each other’s lips to relishing in the soothing feeling being in the warm water gave them. When it got cold, Sloan helped Conall out and they walked back to the bedroom, both still gloriously naked.

Sloan took a moment to appreciate the way Conall’s arsecheeks bounced with each step, and he couldn’t help reaching out to give one of them a good squeeze, which earned him a roll of Conall’s eyes.

“I have something for you, pet.” Sloan headed to his walk-in wardrobe and grabbed a box he’d hidden inside. When he came back out, Conall was lying on the bed, his lean, muscular body stretched out and exposed for Sloan’s greedy gaze to devour. “You’re such a tease.”

Conall turned on his side, his cheek resting on his palm, and grinned wickedly. “Why don’t you do something about it?”

“Oh I will, pet, but first I want to give you this.” Sloan opened the box, which looked similar to one that necklaces came in from Tiffany’s. It had the same velvet royal-blue coloring, too, except it wasn’t a necklace inside. Instead, a bright red collar sat displayed.

Conall frowned at it and shoved up so he sat on his arse. “Another collar?”

“This is the one I told you about, with the fingerprint scanner and tracker.” Sloan took it out of the box and handed it to his pet so he could get a better look. Intrigue passed over Conall’s face as he examined it. “It’s high tech, and if someone is brave—or stupid—enough to take you from me, I’ll find you quickly.”

His pet pursed his lips, unimpressed. “Did it cost you a fortune?”

“Yes. You only get the best.”

Conall smirked at him, and it reminded him of his own smirk. “Good. It better be. I don’t want some cheap shit.”

Sloan chuckled and traced a thumb over Conall’s cheekbone. “What have I done to you?”

“Maybe I know my worth now.” He reached up to clip the collar around his neck by himself, which stunned Sloan enough to make his eyes widen. “And while you’re pampering me, you owe me a date. I’m not just your whore.”

“Really?” Sloan couldn’t stop the grin if he tried. Something thrilling sparked inside him, and the excitement was new and felt wonderful.

“Yep. If I’m going to spread my legs, the least you could do is feed me.” Conall shrugged as though it was no big deal, but Sloan noticed the uncertainty behind his eyes. He wanted Sloan to take him out.

“Pet, I would take you to the moon if you asked me to,” Sloan whispered furiously, seizing Conall by the waist and dragging him flush against his body.

“Let’s just start with somewhere that has food, huh?” Conall rubbed up against Sloan, their heated skin touching. “Actually, let’s start with something simpler.” Then he smashed his demanding lips against Sloan’s.

Sloan was only a man, so he couldn’t say no to what Conall asked, not with a kiss like that.

“Aren’t we taking the limo?” Conall asked, as Sloan led him out to the garage a week later. It sat at the back of the mansion, and Conall had yet to see Sloan’s range of cars. They’d only ever taken the limo to places.

The sun peeked over the tall mansions for the final time today, and without its heat, the chilly wind battered at them with a coolness Sloan wasn’t used to for this time of year. He’d never been a fan of the cold, especially when he was taking his pet on a nice date. Luckily he hadn’t chosen dinner on the beach.

“We’re taking the Lamborghini tonight.”

“Wait, you have a Lamborghini?” Conall’s eyes bugged and he walked faster to keep up with Sloan’s long strides. He didn’t wear a suit tonight, but a navy dress shirt that matched his eyes and a pair of fashionable jeans and sneakers. He’d also had a haircut, which left his brunet strands short and stylish.

Sloan chose to wear a suit, like usual, but went with something different than what Conall normally saw him in. Instead of a black suit and waistcoat, he chose a navy pin-striped jacket and pants, paired with brown leather shoes. Sloan’s father taught him many things, and being stylish was one of the lessons he enjoyed learning. As a mob boss, he always had to look professional and sharp, enough to make people half jealous and half terrified of him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a Lamborghini?” Excitement danced in his pet’s eyes and he bounced on the balls of his feet. “Can I drive?”

Sloan looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Do you think I’d let you drive my Lamborghini?”

Some of his excitement dissolved and his shoulders slumped. “No, I suppose not.”

Sloan laughed and dragged Conall against him. He kissed his cheek, then his warm, delicious lips. “I’ll let you have a drive after our date.”

Conall’s eyes lit up and he pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “I’m not promising you anything, but that answer may get you a blowjob.”

It was funny how accustomed Conall had become to giving blowjobs. Sloan still remembered the very first one like it had been yesterday. “Really?” He patted his arse and grinned wickedly. “How about you give me one while I’m driving you to our date, pet?”

“Don’t get too cocky.” Conall snorted.

Sloan leaned closer when they reached the garage doors, and whispered hotly into the shell of Conall’s ear, “Ah, but I’m very cocky, pet.”

Conall wriggled in his hold, but Sloan didn’t miss the way his breathing deepened, his cheeks darkening to crimson under the dying light of the sun. “Show me this car.”

Sloan laughed at the obvious distraction technique then moved over to the keypad. He typed in the passcode before laying his hand on the palmprint scanner, Conall scrutinizing him carefully the entire time.

“Are you the only one who can get in?” he asked after the scanner beeped at Sloan.

The doors shifted and began to open. “Me and the men who clean and take care of my collection.”

“Your collection?” Conall’s eyes widened when the doors had come to a stop, the lights of the garage illuminating the large area that protected his cars. They ranged in size, shape, and model, and Sloan had acquired all the exotic and homegrown beauties he’d fantasized about owning as a child. His royal-purple Lamborghini was his favorite, of course, but he wasn’t the type of guy to be picky when it came to expensive cars.

“Holy fucking Christ, I think I just came in my pants,” Conall whispered, mouth parted. “How have you not told me about this yet?”

Sloan rested his hand on Conall’s lower back, guiding him into the garage. His pet almost looked afraid, as though he’d damage the cars just by stepping closer to them. “You never asked.”

“I didn’t know I needed to ask what kind of cars you had.”

“Now you know, and what’s mine is yours, pet.”

It took a few seconds for the words to penetrate into Conall’s mind because it took that long for his gaze to whip toward Sloan. “What?”

Sloan shifted into his personal space and curled his arms around him. He tugged him closer so their bodies were pressed against each other, and breathed in the citrus scent of his pet’s aftershave. Woodsy and musky. Beautiful.

“That’s the benefit of being my pet. What’s mine is yours. As long as you get my permission to leave first, you can drive these cars whenever you want.”

Conall grasped his upper arms, squeezing tightly. He stared up at Sloan with a sense of wonder that Sloan hadn’t seen on his face before. He decided he wanted to see it more often. As much as he loved the rebel in Conall, he also wanted to see the compliance and excitement every so often.

“You’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re mine now, and I plan to take care of you for a very long time. That means making you happy, pet.”

“Well…” Conall’s eyes drifted to the Mustang on the right—as red as the collar on his neck—sleek and glinting under the lights of the garage. “I’ve always wanted to drive one of those.”

Sloan laughed. “We’ll take it for a drive tomorrow. We need to go, or we’ll be late for our dinner reservations.”

“Where are we going?”

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out, pet.”

Conall’s mouth twisted unhappily, but he followed Sloan toward the car without any more arguments. He paused beside the passenger door, his fingers reaching for it, but he snapped his hand back, as though it’d bite if he touched it. “Is this real or am I in a dream?”

Sloan stopped beside him and grabbed the door handle, opening it and pulling the door upward. “It’s as real as you want it to be.”

Conall glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Maybe being your pet won’t be so bad…”

Sloan laughed deeply. “Don’t pretend you don’t like my cock inside you.” He wrapped his arm around Conall’s waist, pressing his chest against his back. “Mm, you smell nice. I could eat you all up.”

Conall smirked at him and grabbed Sloan’s hand, putting it on his hard cock his jeans were currently constraining. “Why don’t you, then? Your face, my arse.”

Sloan’s eyes widened. It was the first time Conall offered a rimjob on his own free will. Sloan squeezed Conall’s erection. “Mm. If you’re a good boy, I might just do that for you, pet.”

“What does being a good pet involve?” His arse shoved back against Sloan’s own hardening erection.

“Not teasing his master before his master takes him out to dinner is a good start,” Sloan whispered into his ear.

Conall snorted. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Sloan laughed and urged Conall into the Lamborghini. He closed the door behind him, taking notice of the way his pet drew his knees closer to his body, like he was afraid they would hit the console. Exotic cars like this one didn’t have much room in them, but Sloan wasn’t such a control freak that he’d be upset if Conall accidently hit it. He loved his cars, but he also had the money to splurge.

Sloan slipped behind the wheel and rolled his shoulders. “Ready, pet?”

Conall glanced at him and nodded. “Show me what this bad boy can do.”

“It’ll be my pleasure.” He started it up, listening to the smooth roar of the engine. He felt it right down to his bones, making a shiver run down his spine.

Conall stroked the dashboard like a lover would, his fingers caressing across the glove compartment. “She’s so beautiful.”

“I had no idea you loved cars, pet.” Sloan put his foot on the accelerator, revving the engine to get the right amount of rumble from it. When he was satisfied, he put it into Drive and headed out of the garage and onto the driveway that followed his backyard.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“But I want to know.”

“Do you?” Conall frowned at him. “You chose me because I gave you attitude.”

Sloan hummed. “It’s true, but I went with my gut, and I knew you were something special.”

“What about your other pets? You haven’t told me about them yet.” He fell back into the leather seat, arms crossed. “I want to know what made you choose them.”

“They were gorgeous.” Sloan gripped the steering wheel tightly, turning a corner sharply and stepping down on the pedal. It felt like they were gliding on air. “I saw them and wanted them because of their looks, but they never had what it took to be my pet.”

“What does it take to be your pet, Sloan?” he asked.

“Passion. Fire. Good looks. Balls.” Sloan glanced at him. “And a nice arse. You have all of those things.”

Conall’s eyes met his with a sharp stare. “What happens when you get tired of me? Will you kill me or let me go?”

Sloan released the wheel with one of his hands and stroked his pet’s hair. The uncertainty in his eyes was adorable. “I will never get tired of you. Trust me. You’re perfect.”

“But if you do—”

“I won’t.” His gaze dipped to Conall’s pants. “Although I’m still planning on getting you into those leather pants.”

Conall snorted, but it sounded more like a laugh. “Tell me about the others, then. Why weren’t they perfect for you?”

“You’re very curious tonight, pet.”

He shrugged. “If I’m the pet you’ve been looking for, I deserve to know about the others and why they weren’t. How many have you had?”

“Four.” Sloan ran his fingers over Conall’s cheek and along his jawbone, before he returned it to the steering wheel. The Lamborghini had too much power, and Sloan wouldn’t risk his pet’s life by getting distracted by him. “The first was Abe. I didn’t know what to make of him. He was very different from you.”

“How?” Conall shifted in the seat so he was half turned toward him.

“He was all tattoos and piercings. His mother was part of the Harlot Queens motorcycle club up in New Gothenburg. His father was Irish, and they had a one-night stand, which resulted in Abe. He came to New York looking for his dad.”

“His dad was part of the mob?”

Sloan nodded. “Very low status, though. He was a drug dealer. Ran some heroin across the city to the addicts. Got us some fast money.”

“What happened to him?”

“His dad stole from us. Abe helped him.”

Conall cringed. “Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed. Abe got the easy end of the deal. A bullet in the head. His dad was gutted like a fish.”

“Your dad did it, then?”

Sloan laughed. “No. I did.”

They whizzed past some more houses, and when Sloan got the car on the freeway, he put the pedal to the metal, opening her up to show her full potential. Conall’s attention didn’t divert from Sloan, though.

“What about the second one?”

“Adrian. He lasted a couple of months. Not long.”

“I feel like I’m trying to squeeze water out of a rock here. Why didn’t he last long?” Conall asked.

“I will always dote on my pet, give him what he desires, but he must always remember who the boss is.”

“You.”

Sloan squeezed Conall’s thigh. “Adrian forgot that after a few months. He thought that because I gave him what he wanted, he could have more. Control over me.”

Conall made a noise. “That was a stupid mistake. How did he want control over you?”

“He tried to make decisions about my company. He thought he could fuck me.”

His pet slapped a hand over his mouth and chuckled. “He wanted to fuck you? As in literally put his cock in you?”

“That’s what fuck me means, pet.” Sloan smirked at him. “I do the fucking in this relationship.”

Conall shrugged. “No skin off my back.”

“Are you telling me that you enjoy my cock?”

His pet flipped him his middle finger. “I’m not saying a word.”

Sloan shook his head, the laughter rumbling in his chest. “I don’t know where Adrian is. I sent him off on a boat to Mexico.” He didn’t give a damn about him, either. Adrian had been a pain in his arse, just not the kind that Adrian had wanted. The last he’d heard, Adrian had found himself a drug boss who also had a thing for young men with pretty blond ringlets. “My third was Patience.”

“Patience? That was his name?” Conall threw his head back and fell into a fit of chuckles. He curled his arms around his stomach and doubled over. “That’s a horrible name.”

“His name might have been Patience, but he certainly wasn’t patient.”

“Was that his problem?” Conall asked after he’d calmed down enough to wipe the tears from his eyes.

“Yes. He was nothing more than a spoiled brat. His father was an old business partner of my dad’s. Patience was…well, he was from a rich family, and he acted like it. He wanted my attention every minute of the day, and when he didn’t get it, he…quite literally threw a tantrum. Went so far as to fall on the floor and kick his legs.”

Conall groaned, touching his face with his palm. “So he didn’t know the difference between a pet and a child, huh?”

Sloan grabbed Conall’s thigh, squeezing it when he had to slow down again as they came into a populated area. The houses in this suburb were small, and so clustered together that their windows were only about five inches away from each other, giving the residents no privacy unless they had curtains.

Conall frowned out of the car window when Sloan slowed down to an almost crawl and pulled into a parking spot in front of a small pale yellow house with peeling paint and overgrown weeds in the garden. It looked abandoned because it clearly was.

“Where are we?”

Sloan leaned back into his seat and pointed at the house. “That’s where we used to live when I was first born.”

Conall shuffled forward, staring past Sloan at the old bricked home and the small yard. He frowned, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I thought you grew up with the mob.”

“I did, but Dad never took control of the mob until I was about six. My grandpa wanted to make an example of us, to show his only son what it was like growing up in the slums without money like he did before he created the Killough Company.” What his grandpa didn’t expect was for their family to grow closer—so much closer that they all agreed it was time to take their abusive grandpa out. At six, Sloan lured the old man to their house while Niall put a bullet in the back of his head.

“Did you learn anything?” Conall’s gaze focused on Sloan and he leaned closer, almost like he was thinking about comforting Sloan but decided against it.

Sloan smiled at him. “I learned that sometimes family need to be taken out too.”

His pet’s own smile surprised him. “I hear that.”

“Your father?” Sloan pulled the Lamborghini back onto the road, heading in the direction of the city. He took it easy, because as much as he wanted to make her fly, cops like Diaz were out to get him, and he didn’t want to ruin their date night with a trip to the precinct.

Drops of rain started to splatter on the windshield, and he flipped on the wipers.

“Yeah. He liked to knock Terrance and I around.” Conall shrugged. “Terrance finished him.”

“Good for him. Remind me to shake your brother’s hand when I see him again.”

The closer they got to the city, the harder the rain fell, until he had the wipers on full power. It didn’t matter, because a few more corner turns had them arriving at their destination. He parked in his designated spot near the back. His soldiers were already waiting there for them, and they opened the doors for both him and Conall.

Conall frowned at him over the car’s low roof, then glanced toward the building they were parked behind. “Is this it?”

The back of the building wasn’t anything amazing, but it was too dark here to see the beauty the restaurant had to offer. Sloan grinned at him. “No, pet, this is the secure car park. Come.” He slid his hand into Conall’s warm palm, interlinking their fingers, and guided him toward the back door where another of his soldiers was already waiting. The solider opened the door for them and bowed slightly when they entered. The hallway led them past the kitchen, the smell of rich flavor-infused food teasing his nose as he steered Conall further in.

Finally, Sloan pushed at a door that opened onto the main dining floor. One of the well-dressed waiters was already waiting for them, and he bowed low, gesturing toward the side of the room. Conall, like the good pet he was, didn’t ask where they were going when Sloan led him past the glamorous tables with lit scented candles and a bottle of wine in a steel bucket in the center of each one.

Another waiter—with blond messy curls that reminded Sloan of Taylor—opened the door for them, and they stepped onto an almost deserted patio beside the Hudson River. It was closed in with floor-to-ceiling windows, but there was only one table in the large, spacious area. The enclosure offered protection from the cool wind, but still gave them a view of the moonlight glinting across the water.

Unlike the tables inside, this one didn’t have candles because the scent always made Sloan’s nose itch. Instead, elegant lights hung from the ceiling, lighting up the area with a soft romantic glow that’d make even the nonromantic coo, or at least Sloan thought so.

The table itself was set up with a white silk cloth, a small jar of fragrant red roses in the center.

He peered around at Conall. “What do you think, pet?”

Conall shifted until he stood beside Sloan, soaking in his surroundings. He looked at the table, set up elegantly, to the three waiters lined up at the side of the room, ready to please them in any way possible. Then he smiled in a way that made Sloan’s stomach tighten. If he’d been a weaker man, he might have even popped wood because that’s just how sexy his pet was.

“I think I’m starving.” Conall threw him a smirk over his shoulder as he strode forward, dislodging their linked hands so he could collapse into the chair. “What kind of alcohol do they have?”

Sloan snorted with laughter. Conall wouldn’t be his pet if he showed appreciation so publicly. With a click of Sloan’s fingers, one of the waiters shot forward, offering Conall their range of alcohol in a menu. It didn’t shock Sloan when Conall chose whiskey—“The finest stuff you have.”

“And for you, sir?” The waiter stared at him from below black eyelashes, the curve of his lips almost sinful as he leaned closer than was necessary to get Sloan’s order. He touched Sloan’s arm, his fingers dancing over the suit sleeve.

Sloan didn’t miss the way Conall’s eyes narrowed, or how his jaw tightened, and Sloan enjoyed the reaction more than he expected. There was something thrilling about seeing the jealousy burn in his pet’s gaze. Had it been any of his former pets, he might have playfully flirted with the waiter, but Conall was someone special, with a stubborn streak, and he didn’t want to stupidly push his pet away.

Sloan brushed the waiter’s hand away from him. “This suit is expensive. Don’t touch it.”

The waiter drew back like he’d been burned. He bowed his head.

“I’ll have a bottle of Penfolds Grange—the usual one.”

The young man nodded and headed off, but not before Conall snatched his arm, dragging him to his height. He whispered something to the waiter, making his face pale. He quickly nodded at Conall then scampered off like a kicked dog.

“Pleasant conversation?” Sloan folded his arms and smirked.

Conall merely shrugged, but the twist of his lips told Sloan all that he needed to know. His pet was staking his claim.

“What’s a Penfold Grange?”

“Penfolds.” Sloan leaned back in his chair, getting comfortable, and took a moment to study his pet. The collar moved every time Conall swallowed, and it looked beautiful against his slim, pale neck. His casual, stylish clothes suited him more than a suit did, and Sloan made a note to send Conall out to buy more clothes like these ones. “It’s an expensive wine created with Shiraz grapes. They have a 2013 bottle here.”

“How much does that set you back?” Conall picked up his fork, twirling it between his fingers. But his stare stayed on Sloan, as though lapping up every word he had to say.

“About nine hundred.” Sloan shrugged. “Not the most expensive, but I like it.”

Conall laughed. “Are you trying to impress me with your money? First you show off your car collection, and then you take me here—” He dropped the fork to gesture around the patio “—and buy an expensive bottle of wine while we sit beside the Hudson River.”

Sloan raised an eyebrow. “Are you impressed, pet?”

Conall’s tongue swiped over his pink lips. “Maybe.”

“How impressed would you say you are?”

He shrugged, but it had a tightness about it. “Impressed enough that you might get more than a blowjob tonight.”

“How about you give me one now while we wait, pet?” Sloan glanced down at his crotch and back at Conall, brows raised and grin wicked. He half expected Conall to refuse, so when he slid to his knees and crawled under the table, Sloan’s back stiffened in surprise. The tablecloth near his knees shifted and Conall’s head popped out from under it, a smirk playing on those delectable lips.

“Guess I might owe you for saving my life and shit.” His hands slid along Sloan’s thighs and to his zipper, tugging it down teasingly.

The two waiters in the corner stood tall, and while it appeared their eyes were pointed straight ahead, there were a few wandering gazes until they realized what they were doing and snapped their attention in front of them again.

Conall pulled Sloan’s cock out of his zipper and licked one long swipe from the base to the tip. It sent a zing of pleasure through Sloan, landing straight in his balls. It only took a few careful licks and sucks before he was hard as a rock, Conall’s mouth making work of his erection like he was an expert. How had his beautiful, stubborn pet come from a cocksucking virgin to cum-draining professional in a matter of months?

His hand working with his mouth, his fist tightening around the base of Sloan’s cock for added pressure, and as much as Sloan enjoyed the feeling of it, he preferred to hear his pet gag on it.

“Take me all in your mouth, pet.” Sloan slid his fingers through Conall’s short hair, scratching his scalp with his nails. “Let me fuck that pretty mouth until you’re choking on me.”

Conall removed his hold and clasped his hands behind his back. The sight alone made Sloan’s cock jerk, but that was nothing compared to the way Conall sucked him entirely in until his throat was convulsing around the head of his erection. When Sloan shoved a little deeper, Conall’s reflexes reacted and he gagged, just the way Sloan loved hearing.

Conall let the cock slip out of his mouth and inhaled, before he was back into action. He sucked and licked, moving from the hard cock to Sloan’s balls, paying equal attention. Sloan didn’t know who was enjoying it more: him or his pet.

Sloan’s balls drew closer to his body, his cock swelling. He groaned, head thrown back and fingers gripped in Conall’s hair just as the waiter walked back in with the bottle of wine. Cum shot from his cock, painting his pet’s mouth with string after string of his orgasm until his body went limp and his balls were empty.

The waiter paused in surprise and gasped.

And Conall, the cheeky little devil he was, tucked Sloan’s cock away and stood, turning to stare at the waiter while he wiped at the corner of his mouth. “I got my appetizer.” He grinned wickedly and walked around to his side of the table, his own hard cock trapped in the confines of his pants as he fell into his chair. Sloan nodded at Conall’s crotch, but his pet shrugged. “You can eat my arse for dessert.”

The waiter made a noise, but moved again, setting the wine and an optional bucket of ice on the table. “I’ll be right back with your whiskey, sir.” He was halfway to the door when he said it, and Conall chuckled.

“Think he’s a virgin?”

“Maybe. Not everyone is like you, pet. They’re not willing to get on their knees in public and suck their master’s cock.” Sloan grabbed the wine and unscrewed the cork, making it pop. The wine spilled out, but by that time he already had it pouring into the wineglass that sat on the table. “That’s why you’re special.”

He passed the glass to Conall, but his pet frowned at it. “I’m getting my whiskey.”

“Taste it. It’s sublime.” Sloan poured his own glass and set the bottle into the ice, taking a satisfying sip of the smooth alcohol.

“I’m not much of a wine drinker.” His pet took a sip anyway, and grimaced, setting the glass back on the table. “And that’s why I hate wine.”

Sloan laughed gently. “You’re not as refined as you pretend, pet.”

He snorted. “I never pretended to be refined. I hadn’t worn a suit since Dad’s funeral. Only reason I did was because you were coming to the Virtue and Terrance was having a mini heart attack.”

“You look gorgeous in a suit.”

“But I look better naked.” Conall grinned.

The waiter had returned, and he gave Conall his glass of whiskey before scampering back to the others. Conall swallowed the liquid in one swallow, groaning. “God, that’s good.”

“Tell me about your father. You said he knocked you and your brother around. Where was your mother?”

Conall raised his empty glass at the waiters, and one of them—not the one who’d flirted with Sloan—came over to take it, then left to get him another one. “She abandoned us when I was three. He beat her too, and she couldn’t handle it anymore.” He shrugged. “Last I heard, she was selling her body down in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“You never went looking for her?” Sloan couldn’t tear his gaze away from him. Even as he spoke about his past, he acted like he was talking about the weather. His voice hadn’t changed, and disinterest flittered over his face, like he’d accepted his history.

“Why should I? The bitch left Terrance and me behind to take the beatings instead. She doesn’t deserve our help.” Conall leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “She could be on her back with a needle sticking out of her arm, and I could walk past her and still wouldn’t help her.”

“Hm.” Sloan smiled. “Would you like me to find her so you can kill her yourself, pet?”

Conall chuckled. “I should be surprised that you offered to find my mum so I can kill her, but I’m not.”

“Is that a yes?”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t want to kill her. I just never want to see her again.” The waitress returned with another whiskey, as well as menus that she passed to them. Conall drank this one slower than the last. He took a sip as he opened the menu, then nearly choked on the liquid in his mouth. Eyes widening, he spluttered, “Fuck, this place is expensive!”

Sloan grinned in amusement. “I wouldn’t take you to anything less, pet.”

“I honestly wouldn’t mind a good bar meal. Heard there’s an Irish pub around here somewhere.” Conall focused on the menu, but he continued their conversation. “What about your family?”

Sloan already knew what he wanted to order so didn’t bother picking the menu up. He was a man of habit when it came to food. “There’s only me and Fionn now. Mum died a few years before my dad. She had breast cancer. I had a brother, Fionn’s father. He was shot in the chest when Fionn was only four.”

Conall’s gaze swung toward him, eyes narrowed. “The Italians?”

“No, a Mexican drug lord who wanted to make a business for himself in New York City.” Sloan tightened his hold around his glass. “You make a lot of enemies in this type of business, pet.”

His pet stared at him carefully, the tumbler of whiskey held so tightly in his hand that his fingers were turning white. “Aren’t you worried they’ll get you?”

“If I worry about that, pet, I’d never run this company right.” Sloan smirked. “Why? Are you worried about me?”

Conall grunted. “No. Don’t be stupid.”

Sloan laughed quietly and pointed at the menu Conall had dropped back on the table. “Have you decided what you wanted?”

“Yeah. The Australian salmon. I’ve never had salmon before.”

“It’s delicious. Some of the best fish come from Australia.”

“What are you going to get?” Conall finished off his whiskey. When the waitress came to collect it, he waved his hand at her, signaling he didn’t want more. She took it away anyway.

“I usually get the lobster frittata. It has Sevruga caviar, which makes the dish perfect as far as I’m concerned.” Sloan poured himself another glass of wine and offered the bottle to Conall, but his pet refused with a shake of his head.

“I’m going to pretend that I know what that is, and no, I don’t really care. If it tastes nice, I don’t care if it costs me ten bucks.” He shrugged. “There’s a bar down the street from the Virtue that has the best chicken parmigiana I’ve ever had.”

“Really? So this isn’t impressing you?” Sloan gestured around the beautifully decorated patio. Someone had finally put on some gentle love songs, too.

“I don’t care for the expensive food.” He smirked. “But I kind of love your cars.”

Sloan’s brows rose and his lips curved in a half grin. “I said you could drive them, didn’t I?”

“When?”

The eagerness in his pet’s eyes made excitement race through Sloan. His other pets had been interested in his pride and joys, and the more he got to know Conall, the more he realized he’d found his perfect boy.

“Tomorrow,” Sloan promised. “Now let’s get some food.”

Conall accepted it with a nod. They ordered—Conall with his salmon and Sloan his lobster frittata—and the waiters and waitress left the area, leaving them alone. Even though Sloan’s soldiers stood guard outside, within hearing distance in case something went wrong, they finally had the peace and quiet Sloan wanted from the beginning. He reached across the table and entwined their fingers. Bringing Conall’s hand to his mouth, he laid a tender kiss on it.

“I meant what I said before, pet. Anything you want, anything you desire, it’s yours. Tell me.”

Conall stared at their hands, his blue gaze almost thoughtful, before it shifted to Sloan’s face. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“I want to know about Taylor. You told me about the others, but you didn’t talk about him.” Conall’s fingers tightened in Sloan’s. “Did you love him?”

“Love is such a nonsense word.” Sloan sighed. “People say they love each other all the time, but when it comes time to show it, they run like the cowards they are. Love is a word and nothing more, pet.”

“For someone who doesn’t believe in love, you try to be sickeningly romantic.” Conall gestured around them with the hand Sloan didn’t have hold of. “The music, the location. I don’t know why you’re trying so hard, you’ve already fucked me.”

“The only thing that’s hard is me, pet. Otherwise, this is me enjoying fine dining while I spoil someone I care about,” Sloan snapped, harsher than he’d meant to.

Conall’s dark eyebrows rose in surprise. “I’m not Patience. I don’t need to be spoiled, that’s all I’m saying. It doesn’t matter anyway. I just wanted to know if Taylor was any different from the others.”

Sloan pursed his lips. “No, he wasn’t. Taylor was no more special to me than any of my other pets. He was the more tolerable one of them, but he didn’t spark my interest like I thought he would. He was stunning, beautiful, and even gave me a hard-on, but I grew bored of him quickly.”

Conall stayed silent for a second, and Sloan didn’t think he’d say anything, until he opened his mouth again. “Did you let him get taken?”

Sloan’s eyes narrowed, anger stirring low in his gut. His hold on Conall’s hand tightened so much that his pet hissed. “What kind of question is that? I’ve never been cruel to my pets unless they betrayed me. Taylor was boring, placid, but he never did anything to warrant me letting him be taken and tortured.” When Conall grimaced in pain, Sloan finally released his hand and shifted away, insulted in a way he hadn’t ever been before. “If you must know, Taylor was clothes shopping when he was kidnapped. My men were watching him, but they were attacked, and Taylor was taken. He had a collar like yours, but he never had a tracker in it. By the time I found him, it was too late. But I’ve told you before, I made the men who took him regret it.”

A flash of guilt passed over Conall’s face and his lips twisted. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you.”

“You did mean it, pet, you just realized how wrong you were in doing it.” Sloan rested his chin on his hands. “I pride myself on honesty, Conall.”

His pet startled at his given name.

“I am not a good man. I have blood on my hands, lots of it, and I do not regret the men and women I’ve killed to keep my company safe and thriving. But I’ve never hurt my pets unless they deserved it. If you ask me something, I will answer you truthfully.”

Conall lowered his gaze, but when he raised it again, he stood from his chair and walked around to Sloan’s side of the table. To Sloan’s mild surprise, he slipped onto his lap, knees resting either side of Sloan’s thighs. His arse pressed flush against Sloan’s crotch, his comfortable weight making Sloan’s cock twitch with interest.

Sloan curled his arms around his pet’s waist, dragging him closer until their chests were flush against each other. “What’s this?”

“I might be apologizing.” Conall sent him a crooked smile. “Might be.”

“Really?” Sloan inhaled the masculine scent, the wisps of spice that made him want to bury his face in his pet’s neck. “You? Genuinely apologize? I want to hear this.”

He rubbed his arse against Sloan’s rapidly hardening cock, and it rose so quickly that it was if his pet hadn’t given him a blowjob only fifteen minutes earlier. What was it about Conall that had Sloan’s body reacting this way? He’d had some of the most beautiful men in his bed, Taylor included, but none had kept his interest piqued like this stubborn, rebellious man. Sloan continually wanted more from him, even in ways he shouldn’t.

Conall mouthed Sloan’s jaw and down his neck, his tongue darting out to trace the veins along the long column of flesh. He shifted the collar of Sloan’s dress shirt out of the way, and to Sloan’s surprise, he nibbled on the skin there until it would surely bruise.

Thrills of pleasure shot through Sloan, heading south and straight to his balls, making them grow heavier by the second. His pet worked him like he was a professional from the Virtue. How much had Conall learned from the people who worked for them? Maybe the blond-haired beauty had taught him a few things. The thought made his gut twist with jealousy. His pet liked that whore, which meant Sloan couldn’t kill him, much to his disappointment.

Sloan grabbed Conall’s arse, squeezing it. “Mm. You’re such a tease, pet.”

“Don’t tell a soul my secret,” Conall whispered in his ear, his breath tickling.

“Never. You’re my tease now. No one will ever know about your talent.”

Conall rolled his hips, his confined cock rubbing up against Sloan’s. “Maybe I’m coming to like that idea.”

“You just like my cars.”

He rolled his eyes at Sloan. “They’re an added bonus. I might like your cock too, but if you think I’ll admit it to anyone, you have another thing coming. I have a reputation to keep.”

Sloan slid his hand under Conall’s shirt and up his back, caressing the warm skin as he went. “And what kind of reputation is that?”

Conall leaned closer, lips inches away from Sloan’s as they curved into a sly grin. “That I’m resisting you.”

Sloan laughed deeply. “You don’t have to pretend, pet. Everyone knows how much you want my cock.” He squeezed his arse again for good measure. “But I like it when you pretend.”

“Yeah?” Conall’s grin widened.

“Yes.”

“So what happens when I say fuck again? Are you going to spank me?”

Sloan raised an eyebrow. “Do you actually want me to, pet?”

Conall’s eyes darkened, and it was the answer Sloan needed. Excitement stirred inside him at the thought of putting his pet over his knee and spanking those arsecheeks until they were blushing under his palm.

“Swear again and I might just do that.”

Conall’s tongue swiped his bottom lip, gaze running along Sloan’s body and stopping at where their hard bulges pressed against each other. He leaned closer, the scent of his cologne teasing Sloan’s nose. “Fuck you.”

“Oh no, pet, I’m going to fuck you.” Sloan grabbed Conall’s upper arms in a strong grip. His plan was to crush his lips against his pet’s, fuck his mouth before putting him over his lap right then and there so he could spank him, but a crash outside and the sound of gunshots stopped him in his tracks. He moved on instinct, shoving Conall to the floor and toward the table. “Get under the table, now!”

Conall’s eyes widened, but he did as he was ordered, scampering under the tablecloth to hide. Sloan stood and held his hand out to one of the soldiers, who came rushing toward him. The solider thrust a gun at him, and Sloan loaded it immediately.

“Sloan, what are you doing?” Conall peeked out from under the tablecloth, worry flashing across his handsome face. “Are you coming under here?”

Sloan smiled at him. “No, pet, I don’t hide.” Conall looked like he was ready to climb out from where he hid, but one fierce shake of Sloan’s head and Conall stopped. “But you do. You’re precious to me and they know that, so I need you to stay where you are and not make a sound, no matter what you think you hear. Am I clear?” He made sure to use his mob boss voice, the one that usually had his soldiers shaking in their boots.

“Fuck that. I’ll shoot these motherfuckers with you,” Conall hissed, eyes narrowed. When he began to crawl out again, Sloan crouched in front of him and seized his shoulder.

“You will listen to my orders this time, Conall. This isn’t just about you anymore. If you leave from under that table, you risk my company, my life, and the lives of your friends and family.” Sloan added pressure to his hold. “Get under that table and stay there. I will not have you arguing with me this time. This is an order from your boss.”

Conall opened his mouth, but then snapped it closed. He glared, but finally crawled backward until he was under the tablecloth again.

Sloan nodded at his soldier, and they trained their guns at the door, waiting. It didn’t take long. The doors burst open in an explosion of flying bullets. Sloan felt one whiz past his ear, but he ducked behind a cart the waiters used to take away dirty dishes. Most of the shots were aimed at his soldier, and soon he was falling to his knees, his body jerking with every bullet that met his chest. He dropped to the ground, dark blood pooling around his body.

Sloan growled. A commotion began just outside the door, signaling the arrival of the rest of his soldiers, and he used the distraction to peer around the cart, letting off a shot that hit one of the bastards in the head. He collapsed to the ground.

One of the Italians came at him, but someone—Ronan, Sloan realized—got him in the back with a shot from his handgun, making him flop to the ground with a groan. He grappled at the wooden deck, dragging himself toward Sloan.

Sloan stood from where he crouched, his footsteps heavy and seemingly loud in the already boisterous commotion. He stopped in front of him and aimed the gun at the middle of his forehead, ignoring the pleading gaze before he pulled the trigger. The Italian’s head flung backward, brain matter splattering on the ground.

Ronan came running toward him, tackling Sloan around the middle. They crashed to the ground and another bullet barely missed his head. “Are you okay, sir?”

Ronan’s weight lifted and his stare roamed around the deck, as though searching for someone. Sloan knew who.

Sloan pursed his lips. “My pet’s under the table. Protect him at all costs.”

His soldier didn’t argue. One curt nod and he was off, sliding on his knees near the table and missing a bullet aimed at him by inches. He loaded his handgun and pointed it around the table. Sloan took cover behind the cart again, mimicking Ronan’s actions, and they both used their cover to shoot at the Italians.

The deck became a mess of bodies and injured men. Sloan could barely hear his own shouted commands over the screams of pain and firing guns. Someone had an automatic rifle, and Sloan fucking hoped it was one of his men.

Another one of his men came rushing over to him, taking the spot beside Sloan. It only took five minutes before a shot met his forehead and he ricocheted backward onto the ground. It was quickly becoming clear that they didn’t have enough firepower, and the Italians’ element of surprise had a bigger effect than what Sloan was expecting. Hell, even he didn’t think Toscani had big enough balls to attack again so soon. Underestimating the bastard wasn’t a mistake Sloan would make again. He’d come down on him with the firepower of hell after tonight.

Sloan’s attention was so focused on the scene in front of him that he didn’t notice someone behind him until it was too late. The shadow looming against the metal cart had him spinning around, but he didn’t have enough time to land a bullet in the fucker before something hard—a baseball bat—met his cheek, causing his body to fly backward into the cart. It tumbled and crashed, glass and china shattering against the hard deck. Another hit landed on his forehead and his vision blurred and he blacked out.

In his moment of wavering unconsciousness, he heard wailing sirens, orders being shouted, more firing guns, and a rush of footsteps meeting the hardwood floors. By the time he came back to an awareness of his surroundings, two of his men were holding him, his arms slung over their shoulders as they half carried him toward the door. They didn’t get far.

Detective Diaz stepped into the room, her gaze taking in the scene before it landed on Sloan. A triumphant smirk slid over her lips. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Sloan Killough. Why am I not surprised that you were involved in a shootout in New York City?”

Sloan’s fists curled and he inhaled deeply, centering himself. His head stung, blood sliding down his face, leaving behind a sticky feeling. Even though he could focus on her, his world still felt like it was tilting. “Detective. We were just leaving.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Sloan. This is an active crime scene now, and you’re a witness,” she snarled, shifting closer.

One of Sloan’s men tensed, half stepping in front of him. “Detective, move back.”

“It’s all right.” Sloan unfolded his arms from their necks, earning concerned looks from them both, and met the detective face-to-face. “Remember what happened the last time you got in my way, Diaz? I had you removed from a case. But if you push me, I’ll make sure you’re removed from the police force completely, or worse.”

“You think your threats work?” Her eyes lit up in an anger he hadn’t seen in them before, and he counted it as a victory. He’d finally hit her where it hurt. “Trust me, it’s my goal to have that slimeball of a captain removed from office for being a rat.”

Sloan forced a smile on his face even though every movement hurt. A throbbing headache made it hard to focus, and he nearly stumbled forward at another sudden world-tilt but managed to catch himself. “Until that happens, I own you.” He looked at his men. “Get my pet. We’re leaving.”

The men glanced at each other and alarm bells sounded in Sloan’s head, right next to the pounding.

“Where’s my pet?” he asked forcefully.

The one on the right swallowed visibly. “They took him, sir.”

Detective Diaz tutted, grinning. “Looks like you lost your little lamb, Sloan. I’m sure the Italians will have fun slaughtering him.”

He gritted his teeth, worry seizing his heart, making his blood go cold in his veins. Had taking his pet been their plan from the start? He was going to find them and grind their bones to dust. He was going to bathe in the blood he drained from their bodies. Clearly they hadn’t heard about what he’d done to the Russians, but they were about to. Nobody took what belonged to him, especially not his favorite pet.

Sloan straightened as best as he could with the amount of pain he was in and strode past Detective Diaz. He expected, maybe even hoped, that she’d try to stop him, but she knew she’d lost another round. Not even the cops who walked past him attempted to stop him. They all knew who he was.

More of his men were waiting outside, including Fionn. His nephew sighed in relief when he saw Sloan and hurried forward, grabbing Sloan’s elbow and leading him to the car.

“I’m so glad to see you’re okay, uncle. I’ve called the doctor. He’s going to meet us at the house. We have our men scouring the area, too. I’ve yet to call Ardan, but that’s—”

“Enough.” Sloan shook off Fionn’s hold and ignored the hurt look he gave him. He slid into the back seat of the limo when one of his men opened the door, and Fionn followed, getting in the opposite side. “They took my pet and I want their heads. Ardan doesn’t get this pleasure, I do.”

“You’re worried about your toy?” Fionn’s words were careful, gentle, but still held a resentment that Sloan thought had been beaten out of him. “Uncle, we have more important things to worry about. What if they hit our cash houses next? Or attempt to take down our drug runs again? Toscani is smart, I’ll give him that. He’s trying to bring our company to its knees.”

Sloan pressed back into the seat and touched his temple where his skin was broken. Blood seeped out, and he could already feel the bruising. “Right now, I want my pet back. Toscani took him because he knew what he means to me.” He gritted his teeth, raw anger making his skin hot. “I want my pet’s collar tracked. We’re taking him back tonight. Get all the men together, even the associates like George.”

“Sloan—”

One sharp look and Fionn’s jaw snapped closed. He nodded, his phone already in his hands.

Sloan closed his eyes and shivered. This wasn’t the worst pain he’d been through, but it was high on the charts. Agony or not, though, he wouldn’t rest until he had his pet back in his arms, no matter how long it took him. And once he’d made sure Conall was okay, then he’d torture the motherfuckers until they begged for death.

Chapter Twelve

Conall groaned, head bowed and jaw hurting like a bitch. His forehead throbbed. He’d seen them hit Sloan, and on instinct he’d slipped out from under the table and ran at them, ignoring Ronan’s angry yell. It earned him a bat to the head and a sea of blackness.

The blood dripped down his face from the cut on his forehead and he could taste it in the corner of his mouth. His hands were tied above his head and he was hanging from some type of beam in a large warehouse. Everything hurt from being stretched.

He was shirtless, his skin bare to the chilly wind that whipped through the open and sparse room. At least they had the decency to leave his pants on, but his shoes had disappeared as well.

He blinked through the blood that stung his eyes and looked at the men in front of him. They were sitting at a round table, playing a game of cards, glasses of alcohol—probably whiskey from the looks of it—in front of them. Conall didn’t have to guess who they were, it was obvious by their outfits. They were speaking a different language, too, and Conall had listened just enough in his language class at school to recognize the Italian.

He did hear a bit of English, though. It sounded like, “Who the hell gives their whore a collar with a fingerprint scanner anyway?”

“Hey!” Conall snapped. “What the fuck is this?”

The men looked at him. One of them was obviously the leader, because his mouth upturned into a smug smile and he threw down his cards on the table. He stood, walking toward Conall with a lopsided gait. “Well, well, well, look who decided to wake up.”

Conall sneered at him. “Who the hell are you?”

The Italian bopped him on the nose with his forefinger. “That’s none of your business, whore.”

“What the fuck did you call me?” Conall struggled against his restraints, but the rope chafed at his wrists. “Say that to my face when I’m not tied up, you little bitch.”

He laughed and glanced at his friends, then turned back quickly, his fist meeting Conall’s cheek hard enough that Conall swore he heard bones crack. His head whipped to the side, blood spilling from his mouth when he accidently chomped down on the inside of his cheek.

“I thought you’d be used to being tied up. Aren’t you Killough’s pet?” the man whispered mockingly into Conall’s ear, touching the collar on his neck. His breath smelled of alcohol and it made Conall shudder.

Conall’s cheek throbbed, his bones ached, and his world spun. Blood pooled in his mouth, coating his tongue with the coppery liquid that made him want to vomit. His stomach churned, but he wouldn’t give these arseholes the satisfaction of vomiting. Gathering as much of the blood as he could on his tongue, he spat it at the Italian. Some of it landed on his cheek, while most of it got the front of his white shirt.

The Italian growled, swiping it off his face and staring at it on his fingers. His glare turned on Conall and he raised his fist. Conall clenched his eyes closed, waiting for another blow, but a groan next to him interrupted them.

Conall hadn’t even realized someone was hanging beside him until he looked.

Ronan.

Ronan was hanging in the same fashion as Conall, with his shirt and shoes gone and his hands tied above his head. His head was bowed, blond hair stained red and clinging to his face.

“Well, if it isn’t the other sleeping beauty.” The Italian swaggered to stand in front of Ronan. “The hero. Trying to protect the doggie.”

Ronan raised his dazed stare. “Fuck off.”

The Italian snorted. “Wow. What kind of men is Killough training? No manners at all.”

Ronan attempted to snort, but it sounded strained, as though he was still waking up from his unconscious state. “Fuck off, please. Is that better for you?”

Conall chuckled. “Sloan likes us using our manners, Ronan.”

They both broke into laughter. The Italian glared and landed a punch into Ronan’s stomach, making the soldier gasp and groan.

“Oi, leave him alone,” Conall snapped. “It’s me you want, right? That’s why I’m here? Because I belong to Sloan.”

The other men at the table went back to their game of cards, clearly not interested in what was happening to their prisoners. The Italian, now standing back in front of Conall, pulled a gun from a holster under his jacket. It was silver and glinted under the bright hanging lights of the warehouse. If it’d been months ago, before Conall met Sloan, he might have been afraid of the way the Italian pointed it at his forehead, but he’d seen too much death and blood over the last few months. He wasn’t afraid anymore. A part of him expected to die, like Sloan’s other pets.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you,” his captor hissed, pressing the muzzle of the gun harder against Conall’s forehead.

Conall smirked. “Can’t think of one. I’d love to see what Sloan would do to you if you kill me. It’ll make my ghost very happy. I can already imagine how he’ll torture you, though. He’ll probably start with cutting off your cock. I’ve heard he loves cutting off the cocks of men who hurt his pets. Do you like yours attached?”

The Italian hesitated, the gun wavering, before he gained his senses again. He shoved the muzzle harder against Conall’s forehead. “Don’t push your luck, whore.”

Conall rolled his eyes. “I’m getting really sick and tired of being called a whore. I was never a whore, I’m a pet.”

He frowned. “There’s no difference.”

“Actually, there is. Whores are sex workers. They fuck their clients for money. The workers at the Virtue are whores,” Conall said.

“And a pet?”

“A pet has sex, sure, but I also keep Sloan company. I get to drive his cars and live in his mansion.”

“And a whore can’t do that?” The pressure of the gun released slightly.

Conall took his chance. He landed his foot right in his captor’s crotch. The Italian let out an agonized howl and fell to his knees, the gun clattering to the floor as he keeled over while grabbing his crown jewels, as though holding them would somehow make them feel better.

The other men in the room shot to their feet, guns in hand as they headed toward Conall and their leader, eyebrows furrowed with sympathy once they worked out what’d happened.

Conall smirked at them. “Who’s next?”

One of them hit the butt of his gun against Conall’s head, successfully breaking the skin and making blood spurt from the wound. Agony throbbed at his forehead, and he groaned at the sudden onslaught of pain, but his glare on them didn’t falter. He kicked at the one who hit him, but the man grabbed his foot, twisting his ankle until Conall heard the snap of bone. He couldn’t hold back a scream.

Ronan struggled against his bonds. “Hey, don’t touch him! I’ll fucking kill you.”

The men laughed, but they didn’t turn away from Conall. Another took the chance to sucker punch him in the chest, and Conall let out a choked breath, his heart stopping for a scary moment. His lungs tightened, and he thought this was the end because he couldn’t suck in any air—he wasn’t breathing—but then his lungs released and managed to work again.

His ears buzzed and the world tilted, his vision blurring. Fuck. That hurt.

“Don’t do this!” Ronan yelled. “You want a punching bag? You have one. Me. If you hurt him before you contact our boss, you’ll never get what you want.”

The Italian who Conall had kneed gave himself a final soothing rub, before he straightened, or tried to. His knees were still slightly bent, his hand still cupping his cock as though he was afraid it’d be a target again. His jaw tightened and he pointed at Ronan. “We will get what we want because this is our orders. We’re going to make your boss hurt by making his pet hurt.”

As if to prove a point, he tugged a flip knife out of a pocket in his pants.

Conall’s arms trembled from where he hung, and he pursed his lips to keep himself steady. His entire body hurt but he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of begging. He’d never fucking beg. He would take whatever torture they’d inflict on him.

The Italian stepped forward, his pale lips twisted in pleasure. “I’m going to make you hurt for that.”

Conall snorted. “You were always going to, I just wanted to make sure I got my own shots in. How is your cock feeling right about now?” His gaze dropped to the Italian’s crotch. “I wouldn’t come too close if I was you. I still have an uninjured foot.”

“We can fix that,” he hissed angrily. He nodded at one of his bigger buddies, a bulky bastard with a big beard and a mean look in his eye. Conall held his breath, but as the monster stepped toward him, the warehouse doors opened, making everyone pause.

Conall didn’t know the newcomer, but clearly the Italians did because they scampered away from him and made a path for the stranger. He reminded Conall of Folliero and Elio, and it didn’t take much deducing to realize who this was—Toscani, the bastard son behind all of this.

Toscani was almost a clone of his father, with the same deep olive skin and dark locks of hair. He had the same nose and jaw, and the only difference Conall could see was the sharp blue eyes, the complete opposite of Folliero and Elio’s warm brown.

“So we’ve finally caught Killough’s pet. Good job, men.” Toscani’s smile sent chilling shivers down Conall’s spine. Sloan wasn’t the nicest person, but Toscani was downright terrifying. The ill intentions were clear in his gaze as he dragged it along Conall’s body with interest. “I always wanted to see what Killough liked in you. So far, I’m impressed. You’re beautiful.”

The tips of his fingers dragged down Conall’s chest, sending a tremble of disgust through Conall. He glared, and went to kick out with his good foot, but Toscani seized his ankle before he could.

Toscani tutted at him, his grin widening. “Naughty boy. Do I have to break this ankle, too?”

Had he been watching them the entire time? Conall sneered at him. “Do it. I don’t care. Sloan will be coming for you. I can’t wait for him to get here.”

Toscani’s confidence didn’t dwindle; if anything, his smile grew bigger, and it was distressing to be near. He walked and talked with a calmness that frightened Conall down to his bones, and it made him wonder if Toscani had done something so Sloan couldn’t find them.

“Give me the knife.” Toscani held his hand out and the other man passed it to him. He held it in his palm, as though weighing it, his thumb caressing the blade. “You have such beautiful skin, Conall, I can see why you’ve become Killough’s favorite. You’re very pretty.”

“I’m not pretty. Pretty is what you call a woman.” He curled his hands into fists and wiggled his wrists, but the ropes were tied too tightly, and he didn’t have a chance of loosening them. His skin burned from where the rope rubbed up against it, and his body’s humming throbs of pain reminded him of the injuries he’d already sustained. He didn’t need to piss them off more, but if they were going to do it anyway, he’d prefer to give it back to them.

Toscani laughed deeply and stepped closer, reaching out to touch Conall’s chest. Conall tried to wiggle away from his fingers, but he couldn’t get far enough to avoid him.

“Don’t touch him,” Ronan snapped.

Toscani rolled his eyes. “Shut the help up.”

The monster of a man stormed around them and aimed his fist into Ronan’s jaw. Ronan’s head jerked back with the force of the punch, and Conall cringed at the sound of crunching bones. Then the monster forced a cloth into Ronan’s mouth to keep him quiet.

“Let’s try that again,” Toscani whispered gently, as though talking to a child. “Are you going to cooperate?”

Conall’s lips curled into a gentle smile. “Go fuck yourself.”

Toscani’s disturbing laughter made Conall’s body go cold all over. “No, I’m going to fuck you.”

His eyes widened, and more than fear filled him. He expected to be tortured, his skin cut and bruised, but he never actually thought about rape. “If your cock comes anywhere near me, I’ll bite it off.”

Toscani tutted again, and Conall decided it was the most annoying sound in the world. “Can’t do that if it’s in your ass, pretty.”

He clenched his teeth, anger licking at his insides. He’d die before he let that bastard near his arse. Sloan was different, he’d interested Conall from the start, but this guy was nothing more than a sneaky rat that needed to be stomped on.

“But first, I want to see how much you bleed.”

Conall struggled against his bonds, but it was no use. Toscani was too close, his spicy cologne too strong, and there wasn’t a damn thing Conall could do to escape him or the blade pressed against his chest. The first slice was shallow enough that only a small bit of blood welled at the wound, but deep enough to earn a hiss from Conall.

“I love hearing my victims scream,” Toscani said, his New York accent coming out as a drawl. “Can you scream for me, pretty?”

“I’ll never scream for you,” Conall hissed in response.

“We’ll see about that.”

The next cut was deeper, and a gasp escaped from between Conall’s lips before he could stop it. The blade carved across his right pectoral muscle, above the other shallower cut. But he didn’t scream. He wouldn’t scream.

Toscani stared at the blade, glinting except for where Conall’s blood coated it. “Your blood is as beautiful as the rest of you.”

Conall laughed abruptly. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“That’s what my mother said before I carved her into pieces.” He looked at Conall with those cold eyes, and Conall felt the stare right to his bones. “I sent her limbs to my father one box at a time. He still doesn’t know it was me.” He slid his fingers over Conall’s cheek and down his neck, pausing at the collar. He traced it, as though it was the most intriguing thing he’d ever seen. “What would Killough do if I send your limbs to him?”

“He’d find another pet.” Conall shook his head, jaw tight and lips pressed together tightly. “I’m not special to him.”

“Hm, I’ve been watching Sloan Killough for a long time. Trust me, you’re special. Well, you were.” His gaze glinted with a kind of maliciousness Conall hadn’t seen before, and a protectiveness rose inside him. He had to protect his boss at all costs. It was hard enough seeing Sloan being smashed across the head, he wasn’t going to let this bastard in front of him win.

“I met your brother and father the other day. Nice guys.” Conall forced a smile onto his face. “I’d have no problem fucking Elio. He’s hot and he’s the actual heir to the Folliero mob. He comes with power, unlike a bastard son like you.”

The smug grin slipped off Toscani’s mouth and something sinister passed over his face. He stepped so close that Conall could feel his breath against his cheek. He leaned in to whisper in Conall’s ear. “I’m going to fuck you raw. You’re going to feel every inch of my cock and I’m going to tear you until you bleed.”

Conall swallowed around the anxiety building in his throat. He raised his chin. “You don’t have a big enough cock for that.”

Toscani bared his teeth at Conall and slammed the knife’s blade into his shoulder. Conall couldn’t hold back his scream this time, and he hated that he gave the bastard the satisfaction, but when Toscani twisted the knife, Conall’s entire body spasmed in agony until darkness flashed in front of his eyes and the world disappeared into blackness.

Chapter Thirteen

“How far away are we?” Sloan demanded, loading his automatic rifle with bullets. He sat in the back of the BMW that Byrnes was driving, Fionn in the seat next to him and George in the front. They were getting their own weapons ready.

“Above five minutes, sir,” Byrnes answered. He didn’t usually drive, but Dylan wasn’t a fighter and they were going to war with Toscani.

“Not soon enough, go faster.” He set the rifle on the seat next to him and grabbed his knife, shoving it into the pouch connected to the belt of his black jeans. He added another, smaller, knife to the secret compartment in the heel of his shoe. He’d cleaned up his head wound earlier, and while it still stung like a bitch, it wasn’t as bad as it looked. Nothing a few stitches couldn’t fix.

“Yes, boss.”

Five minutes was too long, and Byrnes couldn’t go any faster because he was already going as fast as the BMW would allow them to in a crowded city like New York.

Fionn grasped his shoulder and squeezed it. “He’ll be okay, Sloan.”

He’d better be, because Sloan was already imagining all the horrible things he would do to the men who took his pet, but if they’d physically touched him, their punishment would go from bad to worse.

Byrne pulled the car over into an abandoned parking lot near the warehouse they’d taken his pet to. Sloan had to admit, it was smart bringing Conall to the same place they’d killed the customs agents. There were still enough police around to be suspicious, which meant they had to be careful. They couldn’t afford a shootout. There were only so many times a police captain with a secret could help them.

Sloan slipped out of his car with his rifle, then turned to his men who’d exited the cars that had followed them. “I want this done quietly. Take them out without them knowing you’re even there. There’s too many cops around.”

His soldiers nodded.

“If my pet has been harmed, I want men alive, as many as you can get so I can give them my own form of torture.”

Smug smiles met his words.

“Bring me my pet.”

The soldiers fanned out, listening to the quiet directions of George, who Sloan had put in charge. The man may have been old, but he’d done his fair share of sneaking into the enemy’s territory, and Sloan needed a professional on the job, seeing as he had Ardan on another mission.

Fionn stepped closer to him. He wore all black, including a beanie and gloves he’d slipped on in the car. “Want me to keep an eye on them?”

“No. I’m going in too.”

Fionn shook his head. “That’s too dangerous, we need you out of the firing line, Sloan.”

“I’m not a coward,” Sloan growled. “And that’s my pet in there.”

Without waiting for more arguments, Sloan stormed toward the building, purpose in his every step. He knew what he had to do, and he didn’t give a fuck if his life was in danger. His pet came first.

The warehouse was a double-story building near the Hudson River, not far from where he and Conall had been attacked. Toscani had balls, Sloan had to give him that, but what he didn’t factor in was how well Sloan knew the area. He grew up in New York City, and his father did a lot of business deals near the Hudson and warehouses in this area. He knew how they were designed and the best way to penetrate them.

Most of these warehouses had been used by mobs at least once, and this heap of red-painted wood they called a building had seen its day as a place for money laundering with the Russians, which worked in Sloan’s favor. The Russians were sneaky bastards who liked to make tunnels to escape. All Sloan had to do was find the outside entrance.

It didn’t take him long. It was buried in grass about twenty feet away, with dirt half covering it. If anyone had been taking a walk around here, they wouldn’t have given it a second glance.

Fionn was right behind him, watching him work at brushing away the dirt and grass until the entrance was clear.

“Russians?” Fionn asked.

Sloan grunted. “Russians.”

“Why didn’t we get the boys to go through here?”

“We need them as a distraction. George knows what to do.” Sloan tugged open the wobbly door buried in the ground and it nearly fell off its hinges. It looked like it hadn’t been opened in a few years at least. There were stairs right beneath it, and Sloan didn’t give Fionn a chance to say anything before he descended them and pulled out a flashlight he’d brought along.

The narrow passageway was only big enough to walk in a single line. He didn’t have to wait for Fionn, because he knew he’d be right behind him. Moving further into the darkness, he avoided some hanging vines and weaved past spiderwebs. Fionn cursed behind him, muttering about spiders being useless creatures. It nearly made Sloan laugh.

The uneven ground nearly caught Sloan tripping a few times, but he managed to keep himself on his feet. When they made it to the end, Sloan pressed his finger to his lips, warning Fionn to be quiet. He ascended the small ladder the Russians had left behind and pressed his arm against the wooden door that would lead them into the warehouse. He listened for voices but heard nothing.

Cracking it open, Sloan peered out of the small slit he’d made. He couldn’t see anyone. He shoved it open and slowly laid it on the ground, before he slid into the tiny room that looked like it might have been an office once upon a time. Everything was covered in a layer of dust now, though, with cobwebs filling every corner of the room. The desk had a sheet thrown over it, and the chair behind it looked old enough that if someone sat in it, it’d break under their weight. There was barely any decoration to the room, with only one painting of an old man smiling. He wasn’t anyone recognizable.

Fionn followed Sloan out of the passageway and frowned around the room. “Now what?” he whispered.

“Now we get my pet back.” Sloan shifted to the only door in the room and twisted the knob as slowly and quietly as he could. He opened it slightly, looking out into the larger room. What he saw made his blood hot with anger. His pet, as well as Ronan, were hanging from ropes attached to the beams of the room, their bodies stretched and bleeding with wounds. His pet looked worse than Ronan, but as Sloan listened carefully, he could tell why. Conall’s snippy responses made Sloan smile. Torture hadn’t changed his boy.

Sloan wasn’t close enough to hear what Toscani was saying, but when Conall spat at him, the back of Toscani’s hand met his cheek.

Fionn grasped Sloan’s arm when Sloan rocked forward. “Not yet, uncle.”

Fuck. Fionn was right. Not yet. He needed to wait for his soldiers to get into position. He didn’t have to wait long. One of the Italians near the front door was surprised when a rag full of chloroform covered his face. He struggled silently, before his eyes closed and he fell into unconsciousness. Sloan’s solider dragged him out of the room before the other Italians noticed.

Sloan watched as his men slid through the front door, moving as silent as mice on a mission. Even with their size, they’d been taught to walk as though they were the weight of a feather.

By the time the seven Italians realized what was happening, it was too late. Sloan’s men had already taken out their scouts outside, and it was now seven against thirty. The Italians pulled out their guns, but the soldiers were ready with their silenced handguns. Two went down without their hands touching their own weapons, and another two were grabbed around the neck, strangled until they lost consciousness.

Toscani reared back in shock, then had his own gun in his palm, pointing it straight at Conall’s head. “Don’t move or I’ll kill your boss’s slut.”

Sloan’s men stopped, taking slow, measured steps toward Toscani.

“I said stop!” Toscani’s voice was laced with madness, bordering on hysterical. He never would have made a good mob boss, whose job it was to remain calm and steady.

Sloan decided he was bored with this game. Spying a pitchfork leaning against the wall of the warehouse, he slid along the length of it to grab it. Fionn followed him, back pressed against the rotting wood.

Sloan held up his hand, gesturing for Fionn to stay there, and crept forward. He turned the pitchfork so he was holding the end with the spikes. Toscani was focused on Sloan’s men, so he didn’t see him coming until Sloan had slammed the wood across his head.

Toscani dropped his gun and fell to his side. Sloan’s men moved into action, two of them dropping on top of the Italian, using their weight to keep him still. With all the Italians restrained, Sloan turned to Conall, who glared at him.

“What took you so long, sir?” he muttered.

Sloan paused, taking in the sight of his pet. Blood covered the side of his face, some of his chest sliced and bleeding. He had a knife sticking out of his right shoulder, and his breath was labored in short, pain-filled pants.

Rage like Sloan hadn’t felt before surged through him and he clicked his fingers. “Get them down. Now.” He didn’t wait to see if his men would follow his orders because he knew they would. He headed to Toscani, who had blood pouring from his mouth. Clearly one of Sloan’s soldiers had aimed a well-deserved punch to his face.

“How did you find us?” Toscani hissed, spitting some of the blood on the ground beside him.

“His collar.” Sloan made a gesture, telling his soldiers to lift Toscani to his feet. He waited until they’d done it before his fist landed on Toscani’s cheek, making the Italian fly straight back to the ground. “Get him up.”

Sloan stood there for five minutes, punching Toscani, until his fists were sore and the Italian’s face was covered in blood. Toscani cried out with every hit, and it was only when Conall called Sloan’s name that he stopped.

Toscani laughed, but it shook. “This isn’t over, Killough.”

“Oh, it’s over.” Sloan glanced at the men holding him. “Take him to our special place. Take them all.”

His men dragged Toscani and the rest of the Italians away.

Sloan spun on his heel, striding back to Conall, only stopping when he had his pet in his arms, shaking like a leaf in the wind. “Pet, I found you.”

Conall’s deep breathing had subsided, his trembling slowly disappearing. The distinct smell of blood, his pet’s blood, made Sloan sick to his stomach. He’d told Conall this wouldn’t happen, yet it had. His pet had been taken from him, again.

“It’s all right.” Conall glanced up at him, his beautiful dark eyes hazy with pain. “I handled it.”

Sloan’s gaze slid down Conall’s body, taking in the damage. He still wore his jeans, untouched by the look of them, but his chest and stomach were riddled with injuries. The knife had been taken out of his shoulder, a pressure bandage and some tape applied to it, but the blood continued to soak through. His skin was dirty, marred with grime, and his face had dark bruises forming on his beautiful tanned skin. His ankle was twisted at an awkward angle, bones clearly broken.

Cold fury danced in the pit of Sloan’s stomach. He was going to torture that bastard Toscani until he begged for death.

“Can we go home now?” Conall whispered, earning Sloan’s attention again.

“Of course, pet.” Sloan curled his arm around Conall’s back gently, supporting his weight so he didn’t have to put pressure on his broken ankle. They were on their way toward the front entrance when it happened, so quickly that Sloan didn’t have time to act. The doorway had been clear, safety and home a few steps away, and then there was another man there, a handgun in his hands and anger twisting his face. He raised the gun toward them, and Sloan went for his own, but it would have been too late by the time he reached it.

“Watch out!” George jumped in front of them, his body taking the bullet aimed at Conall’s head. He fell to the ground with a groan, and by the time the Italian in the doorway could take another shot, Sloan’s men had shot him down, multiple bullets firing into him until he was nothing more than a very dead body strewn awkwardly on the wooden floor, blood gushing from his riddled corpse.

Conall’s breath had quickened, and he muttered, “Fuck. Is he okay?”

Byrnes leaned over George and pressed a pressure bandage to the wound. George groaned, cursed, and mumbled something about stupid Italians, which made Sloan smile.

“He’s fine, pet.”

“You owe me for that, boss.” George sat up and glanced down at his shoulder where the bullet hit. The blood was invisible against his black turtleneck. “That hurts like a bitch.”

Sloan bowed his head slightly. “Thank you, George. Bring him with us. We’ll have the doctor meet us at the house.”

Byrnes nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Sloan led Conall to the car and helped him get into the back. He took the other side, and once he was securely beside his pet, he gently pulled him closer and wrapped his arms around him, looking for any sign of heightened pain or discomfort. It was torture to see his pet hurting, but the doctor would take that away soon enough. “I’m so sorry, pet. I promised you this wouldn’t happen.”

Conall buried his face into Sloan’s chest, then punched him in the stomach, but it wasn’t hard enough to hurt. “You’re a fucker.”

“I know, pet.”

“I was taken and tortured.”

Sloan’s heart ached. “I know.”

“You’re lucky you have an amazing cock, otherwise I’d go back to the brothel.”

Sloan frowned down at him, and he earned a bloody smile in return.

“I can handle some torture. I kind of expected it to happen eventually, and it’s not your fault that there’s fucking idiots in this world who think it’s wise to take you on.” He rested his cheek on Sloan’s shoulder. “You better hurt them until they scream for their mother.”

Sloan smirked. “You have my word, pet.”

“Good. I would kiss you, but I have blood in my mouth.”

Sloan leaned down to kiss him anyway. The bitter tang of Conall’s blood filled his own mouth, but Sloan didn’t care. All he cared about was the man he held securely in his arms.

When they got home, the doctor was already waiting. He muttered about Italians and knives and other things, but Sloan didn’t listen. Their doctor worked on Conall first, and Sloan didn’t leave his side as his wounds were cleaned and the deeper ones stitched. The doctor wanted Conall to go to the hospital to have his leg set, but his pet refused, so the doc had no choice but to take him to his own home, where he’d created a makeshift hospital with equipment Sloan bought him for situations like this. His nurse wife helped, as well as another doctor Sloan paid on the side. This doctor’s excuse was that med school wasn’t cheap and Sloan couldn’t argue with that.

Once they were done and his pet was stable, they returned home and Sloan helped Conall shower to wash off the rest of the blood, before he got him into comfortable clothing.

He led his pet to the bed, taking extra care to make sure Conall never put pressure on his broken ankle.

“Are you going to stay with me?” Conall whispered.

Sloan kissed him on the mouth gently. “I’m not going anywhere until you fall asleep, pet.”

“Good. Come here.” Conall held out his hand, and like a man deeply in love, Sloan complied. He slipped onto the mattress beside him and snugged against the slender body of his pet. “If you blame this on yourself, I’ll cut off your balls.”

Sloan laughed. “You need my balls, pet.”

“Maybe, but I’ll still cut one of them off.”

He ran a palm over his pet’s stomach, pausing to trail his finger over one of the many bandages the doctor had stuck on his chest. “You’ll have scars, like me.”

“A true mob boss’s pet.” Conall chuckled. “Just don’t tell Terrance. He might come storming in here demanding I come home.”

“I think your brother has more to worry about right now. They’re in the process of rebuilding the Virtue.”

Conall sighed. “What are we going to do about the cops? They would be heading to that warehouse, and I don’t want Diaz to come looking for you.”

Sloan smiled and cupped his pet’s jaw softly, slanting his mouth over Conall’s in a sweet kiss that made his own toes curl. “Don’t worry about that, pet. If the cops go there, they won’t find a thing. I have some contacts who are cleaning up the mess. As for Diaz, she’ll stop sniffing around our arse for a little while. She’ll be back, but we have a break from her right now.”

“Good, because I need a holiday. I’m thinking about Florida. What do you say? Me, you, one of your beautiful cars. Road trip full of car sex.”

Sloan’s eyebrow rose in surprise and he stared at Conall. “I actually like the sound of that, pet.”

“I’m driving.”

Sloan laughed harder. “Of course, pet.”

Chapter Fourteen

One month later

Sloan sat in the chair behind his desk with Conall in his lap. His pet had mostly healed over the last month, and while some of the scars would disappear over time, he’d have the others for the rest of his life. Not that he seemed to care. He told Sloan they matched now, and instead of those couples who wore matching clothes, they sported matching scars. It had made Sloan laugh.

Folliero, Elio, and some of their men sat in front of them, faces stoic. They all knew why they were here; the rumors had circulated in the underworld of New York’s criminals.

“Is he dead?” Folliero had either arm on the sides of the wide wingback chair he sat in, and even though he looked calm, the stiffness in his body said otherwise. Black rings of exhaustion marred under his eyes.

“Yes.” Sloan waved his hand and Byrnes came closer, passing Folliero an ice cooler. The Italian opened it and inhaled deeply. It made Sloan smile. He’d had fun getting to the point of putting Toscani’s head in there. He’d even taken his eyes before he let him die. Conall had insisted on watching it all, and Sloan was more than happy to let him.

“Did he suffer?” Folliero’s tired gaze focused on Sloan.

Sloan smirked. “Yes.”

The other man nodded. “Very well.”

“You should know that it was him who sent his mother’s limbs to you,” Conall said. He rested further into Sloan, his back pressed against Sloan’s chest. “He never respected you.”

“Many people don’t anymore.” Folliero sighed and rested the cooler next to his chair. “That’s why I’ve made the decision to step down as boss in our company. Elio is taking over my position. and I thought it best if you’re the first to know, Sloan.”

Sloan inclined his head. “Thank you, I appreciate you coming to tell us.”

Folliero pursed his lips. “I’d appreciate if the peace between our companies continues. My bastard son’s actions were not ours.”

Sloan ran his hand over his pet’s thigh, idly stroking him. Conall’s arse was right on top of his cock, and the little minx made a point of shifting as though uncomfortable. He knew exactly what he was doing, though. Sloan’s cock twitched, a buzz of need working its way through his body. “It’ll continue as long as Elio sticks to our agreement.”

“Always.” Elio’s eyes focused on Sloan’s hand and what he was doing to Conall’s thigh. “I have the deepest respect for you, Mr. Killough.”

“Good. As long as you don’t do anything stupid, our peace continues.”

“And my other son’s actions?” Folliero asked. He sat forward and took the glass of whiskey Sloan had poured him earlier from the desk.

“Forgotten. We’ve had our revenge, haven’t we, pet?” Sloan kissed Conall’s cheek, reveling in the warmth of his body.

Conall’s fingers caressed the red collar on his neck, and he smiled so sweetly that it looked odd on his sinfully gorgeous face. “Yes, we did. He screamed for mercy, but Sloan doesn’t know anyone by that name.”

The words were almost chilling in the quiet room, and pride swelled in Sloan’s chest when Folliero turned wide eyes on Conall.

The Italian obviously didn’t know what to say.

Elio smiled, though. “I look forward to creating an even deeper connection between our companies.”

“Really?” Sloan cocked his head. “I’m intrigued, but right now I’m also very hard, and I want to fuck my pet over this desk. So if you don’t mind.” He gestured to the door.

Folliero stood immediately, clearing his throat, but Elio took a little longer, intrigue in his stare. Sloan didn’t move until Byrnes had directed them out the door of Sloan’s office.

“That was very rude,” Conall teased, throwing Sloan a wicked glance over his shoulder. He shifted his arse again, dragging it right over Sloan’s hardening cock.

“I don’t care.” Sloan seized his hips and threw Conall against the desk. His pet caught himself and turned, sitting on the sturdy piece of wood that Sloan had handcrafted.

“Hm, you know what I want?” Conall’s tongue swiped over his lips, eyes darkening with lust. “I want your mouth on my cock.”

Sloan stopped, his hands on Conall’s thighs and his head tilted in surprise. “You want me to give you a blowjob?”

Conall shrugged. “Sure, why not? I’m not gonna ask to fuck you, but I wouldn’t mind a blowjob sometimes. I haven’t had one since I became your pet.”

Sloan frowned. He’d never sucked a cock before. He was the kind of man who dominated, and while the thought should have annoyed him, he decided for Conall, he’d do anything. He didn’t answer his pet, instead he grabbed the zip of his jeans and tugged it down, before undoing the button.

Conall watched him, swallowing deeply, making his Adam’s apple bob.

Sloan pulled out his pet’s hard cock, already leaking at the tip and ready for Sloan’s mouth. “Go easy on me, pet, it’s my first time.” He winked at Conall before he took him into his mouth.

He didn’t know what to expect, but the taste of his pet’s cock wasn’t it. It wasn’t bitter like he imagined, but he wasn’t sweet, either. Conall’s cock felt heavy on his tongue, his skin salty. Sloan couldn’t decide if he liked it or not, but this wasn’t about him tonight. His pet deserved a treat after all the torture—quite literally—he’d gone through.

So Sloan worked Conall in a way Sloan usually liked himself. He sucked on the head, took half the cock in his mouth, before pulling back to tease the slit with the tip of his tongue.

Conall groaned above him, the sound so saccharine that it went straight to Sloan’s balls, making them heavy in his pants. He wanted nothing more than to throw Conall over the desk and fuck into him until he screamed for mercy, but he needed to take his time, give his pet as much enjoyment as he could.

Conall spread his legs, one shoe pressed against the arm of Sloan’s chair, his heavy moonboot on the other. “Oh. Fuck yeah. Right there.”

Sloan would have smirked if his mouth wasn’t so full of cock.

“Deeper. Take it deeper.”

Sloan tried, he did, but he nearly choked, then his gag reflex kicked in, causing him to have a coughing fit.

Conall laughed loudly, falling back onto the desk on his elbows. “Now you know how it feels, sir.”

Sloan growled and stood, knocking Conall’s feet off the chair. He grabbed his pet by the hips and spun him around. With his pet’s chest against the desk and his pretty arse in the air, Sloan ripped down Conall’s jeans then undid his own pants.

“Shut up and take my cock, pet.” Sloan threw open a drawer, grabbed the lube, and oiled his hard organ before he aligned himself to the tight little hole begging to be taken. He shoved inside, not giving Conall the preparation he didn’t really need anymore.

His pet whimpered and clawed the desk. “Oh fuck yes. Fuck. You’re so fucking big.”

“Can you feel every inch of me stretching you, pet?” Sloan pressed his chest against Conall’s back, kissed his ear and breathed him in. His spicy scent only made Sloan harder, and the addictive taste of his skin tempted Sloan to do all the naughtiest things to his pet. “Do you feel me marking you as mine?”

Conall dropped his forehead on the desk, his fingers curling around the edge. His cock was trapped between his body and the wood, but Sloan didn’t let up on the pressure of his weight. His pet wouldn’t be allowed to touch himself until Sloan gave him permission to.

“Tell me you’re mine, pet.”

“Yours,” Conall whimpered, his shoulders shaking.

“My what?” Sloan dragged himself out, then thrust in again to make a point, his balls slapping against Conall’s skin.

Conall let out a shout of pleasure, and he panted against one of his hands. “Your pet. Your whore. I’m whatever you want me to be. Yours.”

“Good boy.” Sloan kissed his cheek and licked up his jaw. He grasped Conall’s chin, jerking his head to the side so he could consume his mouth until Conall was nothing more than a whining mess, and then he grabbed Conall’s hips and began to thrust into him with a brutal pace.

His cock speared Conall open, and Conall took him with eagerness. He was noisier than ever, groaning and begging in a way that Sloan had once dreamed of. How had he gotten this stubborn man to make such wonderful noises?

It didn’t matter, because he knew Conall was meant to be his pet the moment he laid eyes on him. He’d been willing from the start, no matter what resistant façade he’d masked himself with.

Now his pet was a writhing mess, pleading with “fuck yes” and “please, sir, more,” and it only made Sloan’s cock harder. Pleasure spit through him, alongside something else, something more dangerous. It was a skip of his heart, a clench of his chest, and a swirl of his gut, and it definitely wasn’t lust or need or desire.

Love.

But Sloan wouldn’t tell his pet yet. Their adventure had only just begun, and he wanted to see where their journey led them.

Conall’s cries rose in volume. “Please, sir. Master. Let me come. Please.”

Sloan gripped his hips harder, fingernails biting into the vulnerable flesh. He was so close that he could feel his orgasm teetering on the edge, in his balls, but he wanted his pet to come first.

Curling an arm around Conall’s chest, he dragged him up and fell into the chair, Conall sitting on his cock. “Come, pet.”

Conall clasped his cock, jerking it off furiously as Sloan continued to pump up into him. His arsehole tightened and Conall’s entire body trembled. Spurts of cum shot out of Conall’s cock and into the air, some landing on Sloan’s desk, but mostly he got himself and the floor.

Sloan wasn’t far behind him. His veins zinged with need and his balls drew closer until his orgasm ripped through him. His cock shuddered inside of Conall, filling his pet with his seed.

Conall groaned and fell back against his chest. “Wow. That was fucking amazing.”

“What have I told you about swearing, pet?” Sloan stroked his arm and along his neck, laying a kiss to his shoulder.

Conall threw him a grin over his shoulder. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Spank you,” Sloan said without missing a beat.

Conall stood, Sloan’s half-limp cock sliding out of his body, and he turned to him. “Promises, promises.” Then he licked his lips, gaze hungry. “How about we wash up, sir? You can eat out your cum from my arse. Or shall I?” Conall reached behind himself, two fingers penetrating his own hole. He pulled them out, some of Sloan’s cum coating them as he put them in his mouth and sucked. He moaned. “Yum.”

Sloan smirked, his cock twitching threateningly. “You’re going to be the death of me, pet.”

“Mm, but what a nice death it’d be.” Conall took hold of the arms of the chair and leaned closer to Sloan. “So, who’re we going to torture next?”

He raised his brow in surprise. “Got a taste of it, did you, pet?”

“Maybe.” Conall laid a gentle kiss against Sloan’s throat and fondled one of his nipples, flicking and teasing the nub. “Or maybe I like seeing you be a powerful mob boss. It gives me a stiffy.”

His pet was definitely going to put him in an early grave.

“Oh, pet, that can be arranged. There’s lots of people we need to teach lessons to. Starting with whoever betrayed us to Toscani. He might not have given up his contact’s name, but we’ll find the rat.”

Conall chewed on his bottom lip, fingers moving dangerously close to Sloan’s cock. “I can’t wait. When do we begin?”

“Now, pet. Right now.”

If you enjoyed Sloan and Conall, they will make another appearance in The King’s Killer, a motorcycle romance by M.D. Gregory and Ki Brightly. Coming soon!

The King’s Killer © Ki Brightly and M.D. Gregory 2019 

A PA Walking the Line Between Good and Evil 

Physician’s assistant by day, doctor to the Kings of Men MC by night. Grant Arthur’s life is tough to balance, but he does what he can to help his brother, Aaron “King” Arthur, the president of the motorcycle club. Trapped as an outsider to the club by his brother for safety, Grant prefers the quiet life, until the Kings visit him in the middle of the night with an injured member. With them is Kai Woodrow, rugged and dangerous, who Grant can’t tear his gaze from. 

A Killer Who Gave Away His Heart 

Reaper kills for a living. He’s the man King calls when he needs to send a gruesome message. Unfortunately, Reaper’s also human, and has all the needs of a man. He’s been in love with Grant since they shared a foster home as teens, but he knows how protective King is. Reaper could never betray his president and friend, even if Grant’s the only one who sees him as Kai.  He settles with quietly stalking Grant, until one night they bring him an injured club member. 

One Wild Night 

When Grant is nearly hurt, Kai can’t resist living in the moment, even if it’s bound to get him killed by King—or someone worse. The world doesn’t stop turning because he finally kissed Grant, and with any illegal motorcycle club, trouble comes along for the ride. When Grant’s kidnapped, Kai would move heaven and hell to find him, and destroy the people who took him. 