“I’ll be seeing all of you then. Feel free to give a donation to charity in lew of a wedding gift. My wife has particular tastes and won’t be impressed by any of the bullshit you would gift her, so give it to some baby animals or some shit and do something good for once in yer miserable lives.”
I whistled sharply for Brutus who was somewhat distracted by the arm he was savaging but he looked up at my command, barking aggressively before taking off after me as I stalked towards the door.
I didn’t run. Didn’t even hurry myself particularly, giving any of them the chance to take a pot shot at my back if they had the balls for it, but none of them did and in the wake of the carnage I’d inflicted upon all of them, I strode from the room.
“You will live to regret this, Niall O’Brien!” Anastasia’s words reached me just as the door swung closed at my back. “No one treats me like this! No one!”
I snorted in dismissal before heading back outside to my truck where Brooklyn and Jack were already sitting in the passenger seat while the big fella aimed a shotgun towards the doors in anticipation of anyone following me.
I dropped into the driver’s seat and looked at the two of them as Brooklyn arched her spine and whooped in victory, tipping her head right back so that she would have fallen had Jack’s hand not been firm around her spine where she straddled him.
I caught her chin in my grip and made her look at me as I stole a moment of true freedom in her eyes then kissed her hard, letting her feel my passion for her in the press of my mouth on hers.
“You done good, Jack,” I said as I pulled back, turning her to look at him next. “Maybe good enough to earn yourself a kiss too?”
I gave Brooklyn a questioning look and she bit her lip as she nodded, her hips grinding over Jack’s lap and making me all kinds of jealous.
I watched her as she leaned in, my hand still clasping her jaw as she moved forward and parted her lips in anticipation of the kiss she was offering.
For a moment he held himself exactly where he was, his eyes drinking her in before slipping to meet mine, and I smiled as I saw the question in his grey gaze.
“You want me to give you the order?” I guessed and he nodded, though the hunger in his eyes as he looked to her again said he was damn close to taking what he wanted either way. “Then do it, lad. Make her moan for us.”
Tension filled the car as we all waited for him to do it, my heart pounding restlessly as a mixture of jealousy and lust built within me as the seconds ticked by, filling with heat and a promise which made all kinds of fucked-up sense.
Jack shifted forward just as the front door banged open at the top of the steps, and I cursed as I was forced to hit the gas, accelerating away before a Russian or a sibling or someone equally annoying could come after us.
I sped down the gravel drive, the wheels kicking up small stones and flinging them in every direction before I steered us out onto the road and whooped with triumph.
“We should celebrate!” Brooklyn cried. “I want to go somewhere fancy. As fancy as a peacock in a bowtie.”
“Fancy it is, then,” I agreed, heading out of the private estate where my family all resided and driving fast towards the centre of the city where all the best places to eat and drink were.
Jack kept hold of Brooklyn as we drove, his big hands stroking soft lines against her back while she wriggled and moaned in his lap, no doubt turning him on even more than she was me, and I had to slap myself around the face as we parked up just to make myself concentrate.
“This fancy enough?” I asked, jerking my chin at the exclusive bar where a line extended down the sidewalk and everyone looked fucking rich.
“Oooh, yes,” Brooklyn cooed, clapping her hands and I nodded, getting out of the truck and rounding it to open the door so that she could follow.
I took her hand, pulling her out of Jack’s lap, and he was hot on her heels as he got out too.
Brutus was crashed out in the bed of the truck, gravy still speckled around his chops and his belly full of stolen steak, so he just ignored us as we headed towards the entrance to the bar.
The man on the door knew my face and he said nothing as we strode past the line, leaving us to our own devices as we walked into the dimly lit space where soft music was playing and people dressed in designer clothes sat around poncy little tables.
I took Brooklyn’s hand in mine and strode straight to the bar, pulling out a stool which some fucker in a suit was sitting on and flashing him a threatening grin when he whipped around to protest. He soon scampered away and I lifted Brooklyn onto it, placing her down and kissing her again, my heart racing as the reality of what we’d just done set in. I’d finally told my pa to get fucked, and the adrenaline coursing through my limbs was desperate for an outlet to celebrate the fact.
I barked an order at the bartender who hurriedly poured a few glasses of top shelf scotch for us, and Jack snatched the bottle from his hand before he could retreat.
I waved off his protests, making no complaints as Jack drank from the neck of the bottle, leaving me and Brooklyn to knock our glasses against each other’s and sink our liquor.
Brooklyn instantly started heaving and spluttering, cursing loudly and drawing attention from all around us as I laughed at her, and she fought to catch her breath from the burn of the scotch on the way down.
“That’s it, girl, cough it all up,” I said, slapping her back firmly as she clung to my arm and swore at me.
What’s Love Got To Do With It by Tina Turner came on over the speakers and Brooklyn perked right up.
"Oh, this is the song from the Sexy Dancing film," she gasped, forgetting the fact that she’d been near death from that drink thirty seconds ago.
"What?" I asked.
"You know with Patrick Gravy and the baby crying in the corner."
"Dirty Dancing?" I asked with a frown.
"No. Sexy Dancing. I always wanted to do that in-the-air thing."
“Dirty,” I growled.
“Sexy,” she snarled back.
“Dirty.”
“Sexy.”
“Dirty.”
“Sexy.”
“Sexy,” Jack agreed and I narrowed my gaze on his expressionless face because he fucking knew it was Dirty and he was just being a cunt.
Brooklyn gave me the murder eyes and I threw my hands into the air in exasperation.
"Gah! This isn't even that song," I pointed out. “And you're getting, like, every detail wrong."
"One of us is,” she muttered, exchanging a look with Jack which suggested I was the idiot here. “Are you going to do the dance thing with me, Hellfire? I wanna fly up above all these people and make them jealous of my moves. Be my Patrick Gravy and I'll be your baby. Please."
“We're in a bar, not a club,” I laughed, my gaze running over her hungrily.
"Err, I think these people came here for a show, Hellfire. Are we putting one on or not?"
I glanced around at the fancy tables filled with even fancier people who were all paying little to no attention to the music that was playing softly over the speakers. None of whom were so much as shimmying in their chairs. This wasn’t a place where people came to dance. Then again, I’d never much cared for what was supposed to happen and where.