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“You getting in or what?” Declan calls from the driver’s seat. “I’ve got about three hours to get home before Fiona wakes up and wonders why I’m not there for breakfast.”
“We wouldn’t want you to miss out on pancakes.” I smirk as Conor climbs out of the passenger’s seat and into the backseat to make room for me.
“Fucking smart ass.” Declan rolls his eyes as I climb into the SUV. “Apparently, a little pussy puts you in a better mood.”
I chuckle before retorting, “You should probably try it.”
My comment is only half in jest. Declan hasn’t fucked a woman in well over a year. He’d easily be more tolerable if his cock finally touched something other than his hand.
Peering into the back seat, I catch my first real glimpse of Finn. His eye is swollen—and will likely be bruised by morning—his lower lip is cracked and bloody, and there are faint remnants of blood around his still-flaring nostrils. Even getting the fucking snot kicked out of him, he's riled up and ready to go back in swinging.
“Going to war with the Bratva was not part of the plan, Finnigan.” I tut at him.
“Mine neither,” he spits. “I just wanted a lap dance, or ten, from this tight little brunette with a great fucking rack. Maybe a little extra time in VIP.”
“A million fucking women in New York.” Declan shakes his head. “And you have to want the Bratva’s accountant’s girl?”
Finn merely shrugs his shoulders. If it didn’t put our entire fucking operation—and all of us—in jeopardy, I wouldn’t give a fuck. But the Bratva. They’re as fucking ruthless as we are. If not, more so.
“What’s the plan?” Liam pipes up from the far rear of the SUV.
“They’re about to learn you don’t fuck with the Evans brothers.” Finn aggressively cracks his knuckles as we turn onto the block for the gentlemen’s club.
Declan pulls to a stop a few feet from the velvet-roped entrance, and I can sense all eyes on me as I turn to face the four of them. “What the fuck are you lot staring at? You fucking heard Finn.”
Finnigan hops from the SUV first, with a baseball bat firmly in his grip, as the rest of us quickly clammer out behind him. Swinging the bat as he walks, he cracks the bouncer alongside the head before he even realizes what is happening.
“Not so fucking tough now, are you?” Finn sneers as the bouncer falls to his knees.
Declan grabs the unconscious oaf by the back of his shirt and drags him into the club with us. All eyes turn in our direction as Declan tosses the bouncer to the sticky black laminate floor. Stepping over his body, Finn drags the bat along the floor as he makes his way to the bar, his eyes glimmering at the thought of shattering the bottles lining the shelves along the wall.
A few men dressed in gaudy silk shirts, their hands and necks well-inked with symbols of the Bratva, climb from the red velvet chairs lining the stage. They rush toward us and are immediately intercepted by Liam and Conor with a barrage of flying fists. Within a matter of seconds, all of us are cracking our knuckles as we break noses and swell eyes with every swing.
“Which of you assholes had a problem with my brother?” I shout over the music, still playing even though all of the strippers have stopped dancing. A few heads turn toward a stuffy-looking, middle-aged man dressed in a polo shirt and wrinkled trousers.
The fucker might as well be wearing a pocket protector.
His eyes grow wide as I stalk toward him, and I seethe, “Because now you have a problem with me and my brothers.”
“You look scared without your mean, gun-toting friends to look after you,” Liam taunts the accountant as I drag him from the clearly-stained velvet seat at the edge of the stage.
“You fuck with one Evans; you fuck with us all.” I slam my fist into his pudgy gut, causing him to double over and suck in air violently. Standing over him, I snarl, “I don’t care who the fuck you are or who you’re affiliated with.”
Finn rushes behind him as he begins to stand and clips his knees with the bat. He squeals like a bitch as he crumples from the pain. His body has barely hit the floor when Finn swings the bat again. It connects with his chest; the audible crunch of his ribs breaking is nearly drowned out by the thump of the base in a nearby speaker.
After dropping the bat, Finn climbs over his body and drives his fists into the accountant’s face until he is bloodied beyond recognition. When he finally stops, the Russian is gurgling blood as it continues to stream from his nose and mouth. Finn leans close and whispers, “I’m going to let you live. Only because I want you to spend the next few weeks in fucking agony, all while knowing that I kicked your fucking ass and then went home and fucked your girl.”
He turns toward the stage as he stands and winks at a petite brunette wearing nothing but a sparkling hot pink thong and matching stilettos. “Isn’t that right, baby?”
A flirtatious smile spread across her face as he reaches for her. Wrapping his hand around her thighs, Finn tosses her bare ass over his shoulder, causing her to let out a little squeal as he carries her from the bar.
Jesus Christ.
Bending down, I grab Finn’s bat from beside the accountant. I carry it on my shoulder through the strip club, not moving it until I reach the bouncer, still nursing his wound from the floor. He startles as I lift the bat from my shoulder and ready my stance, fully expecting it to meet the other side of this face. Placing the barrel under his chin, I tip his face up to mine and growl, “We’re fucking square. You roughed up my brother; I roughed up your friend. If your boss has a problem, tell him to take it up with me.”
By the time I reach the SUV, Finn has the brunette stripper on the back seat, his hand between her thighs and tongue well down her throat. As the rest of them climb in, he drags her onto his lap and pulls her back to his chest. He grips her knees and spreads her legs over his thighs as he kisses her neck.
“You still want that dance.” Her tone is light and sultry as she grinds her hips on his lap.
