Jack O’Leary, offering up his own money? When there’s nothing to worry about? Now I know it’s a shitshow on a slide to Hell, and Jack is lying to me like a toad.
And I need to know why.
My plan was to give him until the weekend to get it all straightened out. That’s off the cards as of now.
He says, “Leave it with me, Liam. It’s all going to be fine.”
Behind Jack, the girl moves around the room. I’m distracted watching her. The glimpse of her creamy breasts and the swish of the dress over her rolling ass give me thoughts and feelings like I haven’t had in a long, long time.
My mental image of my Maria shakes her head and narrows her eyes with a sinful tut. Ah, my evil Jimminy Cricket.
I’ve tuned out Jack O’Leary. I’ve no patience for bullshit. I cut straight across his yammer and tell him, “Be fucking straight with me, Jack.” He’s quiet. “Do not attempt to fuck me about.”
“I’ll get it sorted.”
When I lift the phone, Jack’s face drains pale. I must be letting some of my feelings show. That’s not like me. But it’s not why I picked up the phone. I had to get a better look at that girl. As she leaves the room, the sway of her ass stands me hard and full.
I’m thinking of her and all that goes on under that silky material. She’s way, way too young for me. My cock doesn’t care. He’s long and hard and proud.
When the door closes, she’s gone. I hang up without looking at Jack’s face.
Ten minutes later, with an old, familiar tingle of guilt, I’m still thinking about her. The images in my head haven’t gotten any more respectable. I’m imagining secret tastes and scents. Opening forbidden places. Probing.
Clara brings me a fresh jug of iced water. Her shirt is open one button deeper than it was. She she leans across the table as she pours whiskey to refresh my glass.
“Liam, you could have any woman in Vegas.” Her soft, full breasts rise and a smoky look gleams in her eye as she wets her lips. “Any woman would give a month’s salary just to try and make you happy.” Her head tilts to one side. “You know that. Right?”
She’s a big, full-figured woman. Just my type. I won’t lie. If she weren’t on the staff, I would be more than tempted.
My eyelids droop. I grin and raise an eyebrow, “A whole month, you say?”
She pouts. “Salary. Not tips.” She wets her lip. “Salaries here are bullshit.”
“You probably shouldn’t talk to your boss like that.”
She puts a finger to her lip. “Do you think he would spank me?”
“He’d have to fire you first.”
Her head shakes. “Shame.”
“It is, Clara. I couldn’t afford to lose you behind the bar.”
The flirting is a spark in the day.
She’s a great girl, with tits you could smother yourself in, and an ass to make you roar. You’d sing and shout when she crushed you between her thighs. But I’m old enough to know, if I can resist, then I should. And I will.
It’s better for us both.
She’d make any young hound happy, all the way up to life-threatening peaks. Probably as many times as he could survive.
“You’re a miracle of a girl, Clara. Any man could die happy in your arms.”
She pouts again. “That didn’t sound like an offer of a raise.” Her eyes glow with the double entendre.
I do have a huge raise of my own going on. But it’s the girl in the background at the O’Leary house that I’m thinking about.
I leave Clara an even bigger tip than usual and I tell her to keep the bottle behind the bar with my name on it.
Her eyes pop and she says, “Can I take a sip?”
Chapter Two
Liam
I spin the Bentley Continental GT convertible up the ramp from the Kingpin parking level. Swaggering across the Vegas night traffic, I get John, my eldest, on the phone.
“I’m going away for a few days. Call the airport. Get the plane fueled and ready.”
“The Gulfstream or the big one?”
“The Gulfstream. I’m in a hurry.”
“Sure, Dad. Shall I call out the flight crew, or do you want to brief them?”
“No, no need. I’ll drive. And I’ll take Gavin.”
I call Gavin and tell him to meet me at the hangar. Gavin can copilot. He was in service with me. Any situations I get into, he’s the man I want by me.
Then I call Finn Connolly in Boston and tell him what I need.
A steady female voice requests my flight plan through the hiss and crackle in the headset. In the glow of the cockpit lights and dials, the ritual of preflight checks, the chatter and clicks are all music to me.
My time in the navy gave me the bug. I miss the white-knuckle rides. A catapult off a pitching carrier deck, in a heavy ocean swell. The stomach-dropping lurch as the jet kicks off the end and up, into the storm.