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This is suddenly very reminiscent of that trip Jorge and I took to Payalinda Beach last spring. Naked men, as far as the eye could see. Just not ones you really wanted to look at.
“If these are the men the club is going to be filled with…” My words trail off when my gaze lands on a table of men in the back corner of the room. They seem as out of place as me and Jorge.
Four of them, probably in their mid-thirties to early forties, all bearing similar characteristics.
Defined jawlines, both with and without beards, deep blue eyes, and broad, muscular physiques. Their attire is vastly different from the other patrons; these men are all dressed in expensive suits. Each of them gorgeous enough to cause me to lose my train of thought completely.
But it’s the fifth, storming toward the table with loose, light brown curls falling in his face, that draws my attention the most. His well-fitted suit, perfectly sculpted for his large frame, only accentuates the massive physique beneath it.
He meets my stare, but even as crimson creeps over my cheeks from being caught ogling him, I can’t seem to tear my eyes away. He smirks briefly as he rakes his hand through his hair before turning to the men at the back of the bar.
Fingers clicking in front of my face quickly draw me back to reality. “Earth to Layla,” Jorge snaps them again. “Did you hear a word I just said?”
Nope. Not a single one.
CHAPTER TWO
TRISTAN
Walking into Deartháir, I immediately spot my brothers in our booth at the back. At first glance, Conor and Liam appear to be the most sober of the four—which isn’t saying much. My youngest brother, Finn, however, is as animated as ever and appears to have been matching shots, helping Declan to drown his sorrows tonight.
Drinking at our bar is fine, but they all know how I feel about getting bollocksed in here. And it is quite clear, based on the empty bottles spread across the table, that the four of them have been here for a few hours too long.
Storming through the bar to deal with my brothers, the sparkle of a very out-of-place sequined dress grabs my attention. The allure of the dress pales in comparison to the petite brunette filling it or her chestnut eyes, which are currently running over my body. Any other night, and I’d be stopping to buy her a round.
Despite my haste, I can’t stop the slight smile tugging at the corner of my lips as I watch a pink blush creep over her cheeks. Raking my fingers through my hair, I let out a disappointed sigh as I forgo stopping to approach her.
Not tonight.
As I reach our table, Conor slides out of the booth to allow me to take his seat next to Declan.
“What the fuck are you assholes doing?” I glare between Conor, Liam, and Finn as I make room for myself beside Declan. “You fucking know we don’t get fecked here.”
“We didn’t—” Finn slurs.
“The fuck you didn’t.” I cut him off. “Do none of you know what today is?”
Of course they don’t.
That day didn’t change their lives like it did mine.
Three hundred and sixty-five days ago, I was a pallbearer of the casket carrying Declan’s belated wife, Sarah. We buried my carefree life with her.
While I’d always been involved with our family’s affairs, my involvement was relatively limited to encouraging the people we worked with to do the right thing… or eliminating them when they didn’t.
With Sarah’s passing, as the next eldest, I assumed my brother’s role as the head of our family, giving him the time he needed to mourn the love of his life and learn how to be the father their baby girl, Fiona, was going to need.
Now responsible for all my brothers—both the blood ones at this table and those working for me—my laid-back, playboy lifestyle fell by the wayside. There isn’t time to leisurely fuck your way around the city when you’re forging an empire.
Fuck, maybe I should join Declan in that drink…
“Are you going to fucking raise a glass for her, or what?” Declan slurs as he lifts the bottle of whiskey from the table. Sloppily pouring a shot, he shoves the glass before me.
“Of course.” I squeeze his shoulder with one hand as I grab the shot glass with the other. Raising it in the air, I toast, “To Sarah.”
“To Sarah,” my brothers echo my sentiment as they throw back another shot.
“I fucking miss her, Tris,” Declan mutters as tears well in his eyes.
