Page 50 of The Boss
“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, someoneprettieras 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.”
