Page 15 of The Warlord

Little John said, “Consider him banned.”

Turning, I saw Shay O’Leary—looking every inch of his six-foot-four frame of sinew and honed muscle—leaning against the wall. The sides of his head were shaved, revealing a new tattoo on the left side of his skull—the Mac Tíre, our clan, was named for. He dipped his bearded chin in acknowledgment before his dark gaze skated back to the main stage.

I wound my way back to the bar and found Finnan waiting. Delux was hanging off him, her arms across his shoulders, while she pressed her tits up against his arm. Finnan’s gaze locked on mine when he saw me, and he shrugged the girl off him. She stumbled back a step then stared—indignant—at Finnan.

“Don’t,” Mary warned from behind the bar. “Walk away, Delux. Now.”

The woman blinked at the Pull, back to Finnan, then wandered off.

“Caolan told me about the missing delivery. Someone got to it before we could.”

I nodded.

“This shite needs to be stopped, Grayson. We’re looking like a bunch of fucking children getting their toys taken off them. I didn’t spend this long building the clan’s reputation for it to be taken away by under-fucking-handed snitches stealing our shit.”

“Understood.”

He placed his glass of whisky down onto the bar with an audiblethunk. “Do you? Because from where I’m fucking standing, you’re doing shit. Get your fucking guys on it, and find out who the rat is!”

“I will,” I swore.

He glared at me for a moment longer, then asked, “How’s my fiancée?” The leer in his voice grated on my nerves. Like the fuck I could talk, though. I’d just let Rhapsody suck my cock while I thought of Sloane.

“The ketamine is almost completely out of her system. She seems fine.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing her.”

Something about the way he said that made me want to stake my claim on the girl, but I kept my trap shut. I had to remind myself—again—that she wasn’t mine. “Where will you take her to dinner tomorrow?”

“The Alehouse. I want the rest of the clan to meet her.” He eyed me. “I need her to be a fucking knock-out. Is she as pretty in real life as she is in photographs?”

A thousand times more. “Aye.”

“Good. I don’t need to be bedding a dog.” Wrapping his fingers around the glass of whisky, he drained the liquid and stood, buttoning his jacket. “You sparring tomorrow?”

My free hand curled into a fist, and I wanted nothing more than to take a swing at Finnan. Sparring was the way to make that happen. “Aye,” I rasped, my tone more severe than I wanted it to be.

He nodded. “Good. I need you to stay with Sloane. Continue guarding her with your life, Grayson.”

I swallowed roughly. Going to the club tonight with Sloane was going to be difficult. “What about you?”

“I have Shay with me.” He stepped around me, then said, “Don’t let that girl out of your sight, Kent. I’ve given up too much to have her.”

SIX

SLOANE

As soon asGrayson had left, I’d given it a minute, then thrown my shoulders back and opened the apartment door. Two men with machine guns were standing guard. One of them turned and looked at me, flashing me a gold-toothed smile. He had tattoos all over his face and, from what I could see, most of his body. I retreated from the door, locked it, then studied my surroundings. The apartment was still as cold as a morgue and just as boring. Falling back onto the training dear-old-dad had given me, I searched the apartment, starting in the kitchen.

Pulling open the peninsular island’s drawers, I was hoping to find a knife, but there were none—not even a butter knife. The cooktop was electric, so no naked flames. Moving into the living room, all the furniture was either too heavy for me to pick up and wield or bolted to the floor. The bathroom mirror—although glass—was safety glass that would only crumble when broken.

When I discovered that all the bedrooms had the same bolted-down furniture, I finally understood. They were keeping weapons away—not so I could use them against someone else, but to use them on me. There were no options here.

Resigned, I pulled open the closet door and found the racks and shelves filled with clothes. Clothes all in my size.

“What fresh hell is this?” I muttered to myself, pushing things aside to get a better look at the clothing. They were all the kinds of things I wore back at home. I let the clothing fall back together, wondering if I’d had someone watching and reporting back on me for a while now, but neither me nor my father and his men had noticed.

In a rush, I went to the white mirrored tallboy and yanked open the top drawer. It was filled with La Perla panties and bras, all with the price tags still on them. The next drawer down contained teddies and camisoles that I guessed were for sleeping.

---