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“No? You single?” His eyebrows shoot up, and Ronan tenses beside him. “Good-looking woman like you don’t have a man? Come on, honey, don’t bullshit me, I bet you got these Irish lads eating out of the palm of your fucking pussy.”
I grimace. Gregory has a way with words. “I’m just working with them, that’s all.”
“Why don’t we leave the girl alone and discuss business?” Ronan says, and his tone’s hard and his eyes are dangerous. He’swearing a smile, but that’s clearly a costume—I know him well enough to see the rage bubbling under his surface.
Which begs the question, why would he care if Gregory acts like his usual disgusting self with me?
It’s not like Ronan paid me much attention on the drive over. He’s making it clear that we’re associates, not friends, which is for the best.
Gregory’s a dumb asshole and he doesn’t notice how angry Ronan is, but he listens and the two of them stand in the center of a tense and bored-looking circle of armed gangsters. I lurk on the edges with Niall, listening as Ronan questions Gregory about the meth trade and who’s running what into the city.
It doesn’t take long before Gregory knows who we’re looking for. “You’re in luck, as it happens. The group you’re looking for goes by the name Bullethole Boys.”
“Seriously?” Ronan asks. His trademark smirk returns. “Bullethole Boys?”
“I know, sounds gay as fuck, but that’s them.” Gregory laughs loudly at his homophobic joke and I just cringe. Ronan doesn’t seem amused. “As it turns out, we’re in the process of negotiating a little alliance. Seems we might be patching them over in the near future.”
“Which means you’ll have access to some important information about our friend Rocco.” Ronan glances at me, and I’m not sure I like where this is going. “We could work together, if you’re interested.”
“You building a score?” Gregory crosses his big arms. “I wasn’t in the market for work, but you’re reliable, I’ll give you that. What’s the deal?”
Ronan opens his mouth, but I step forward. I can’t help myself. The thought of sharing this job with Gregory and his group of racist morons is a little too much for me. “Hold on a second,” I say, staring at Ronan. “Can I talk to you first?”
Ronan glares at me and I can feel the vibe shift slightly. All eyes turn in my direction, and I know I just made an enormous mistake. Ronan’s the boss in this situation, and speaking out of turn just made him look weak, assuming he doesn’t do anything to put me back in my place. I grimace, not sure what to expect, when Gregory laughs loudly.
“What the fuck is this? Is the bitch running the show or some shit, Ronan?” He throws back his head. “I get it, she’s a sexy little piece of ass, but shut her the fuck up so we can talk.”
Ronan’s jaw flexes. A part of me thinks he’s going to turn on me, but instead, he steps closer to Gregory.
“Valentina is my partner,” he says very softly. The menace in his tone is shocking. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Ronan sound like that before, and a shiver runs down my spine. Niall moves closer, subtly reaching his hand to the hip where he keeps his gun.
“So the fuck what? The men are talking, Ronan, unless you gave up your balls to that bitch? It was bad enough dealing with her when I worked with Marco, but you better not be just as bad as that pussy.”
“I’m going to ask you one more time. Watch your mouth.”
Gregory’s amusement begins to fade. “You’re fucking serious.”
“I don’t let anyone disrespect my business partners.”
“You’re going to challenge me over some fucking pair of tits?”
“Apologize and we’ll move on.”
“Suck my dick, Irish fuck.” Gregory’s smile is all menace now. The men behind him are shifting their weight, and Ronan’s soldiers are doing the same. The moment hangs in the air, and in only a few seconds, this is going to break down into violence. If that happens, I doubt very many men are going to walk away from this place alive.
All because Ronan wouldn’t let Gregory disrespect me.
“All right, boys, let’s not start measuring dicks on my account, okay?” I say loudly into the tension. “I’m very impressed, but can we stick to business?”
“Apologize,” Ronan snarls.
“Fuck yourself with my knife,” Gregory snarls back.
“All right, you fat fuck. No guns. Got me?”
“I got you.” Gregory’s grin is vicious. “Hear that, boys? No guns.”
There’s general laughter, but at least their hands move away from their belts.
