98. EPILOGUE
Ithrust balls deep into my wife, her wet cunt drenching the sheets we’re tangled in.
“Oh God,” she whispers.
“You can be loud, sparkles.” I lift her leg to get even deeper. “We’re on this plane alone.”
Like I promised the last time we were on Kieran’s jet, I wouldn’t fuck her with an audience.
It’s just the two of us headed back to Las Vegas.
I hated all the flying I’d had to do over the last couple of months, because I’d been alone. Now I have the love of my life with me. Forever.
The first trip back, I brought her to a chapel and married her. I couldn’t bear my woman, carrying my wee-one, and not wearing my ring one more day. I refused to call her my girlfriend. The power of the words my wife tasted too sweet on my tongue to delay the savory threat it holds to anyone messing with her.
And oh, she fought me on the quickie wedding, my hellcat. In the end, I promised if she agreed to marry me now, we’d have a big party in a couple of months. This way, she can wear her dream wedding gown from Kleinfeld’s and ogle me in an obscenely expensive suit.
But last week, in regular clothes, and in front of Elvis, Jillian cried during her vows. I cried, too. Her friend Trista showed up with a sign that read:
Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. J. Goode!
“Does this mean you’ve officially forgiven me for hacking your app, Mrs. O’Rourke?” I asked Jillian.
“Yes, Johnny.” A name she loves to tease me with.
The ring on my finger felt odd at first, since I’d never worn one. Not even my prestigious Harvard Law class ring.
My signet ring sits in a box, buried somewhere among my belongings.
But this ring means everything.
“I had to have you,” Jillian groans, digging her cherry-red nails into my back. “This pregnancy is making me insane.”
“My cock makes you insane.” One taste of me and she couldn’t get enough.
And I’ll never get enough of her. We’re rarely not fucking.
I drive deep inside her again until she’s squealing my name, and I make her come.
“Christ, sparkles. You’re gonna kill me.” I unload into her and kiss her sweaty forehead.
“Well, we know you can kill for me,” she jokes.
“For you. Always.” I roll over but pull her against my chest, getting my breathing back.
“Have you ever had sex with anyone on this plane?” She tugs at my nipple, forcing my eyes on her.
“No, sparkles.” I peck her nose before sweeping my tongue down her neck. Stopping at her breasts, which I briefly lick, I smile against her soft belly. There, I plant a kiss to my future wee-one. “I hope you’re a boy in there.”
Our family’s got three girls with one on the way, and two boys.
“Damn right,” Jillian says with a smile, knowing it’s basically a pissing contest now between my brothers. “We’ve got to even things out.”
“That’s why I love you, you get me. You get us, my family.”
As we’re lying together, a text comes in from Lachlan.
Lachlan: Trace and Rhys Quinlan have swept the villa. All clear. Decide how much you want them around when you’re there.
Me: Aye, thank you.
Despite the promises from Nico Scava, we’re not taking chances. If anything, the visibility of our bodyguards shows him we’re always protected.
The plane hits some turbulence, knocking me out of my thoughts. Spooning Jillian from behind, I hold her hand, the gold of my wedding ring clicking against hers.
She tapped our rings together the first time in the elevator after our ceremony. “You and me, forever.”
I find myself often reaching out to connect our ringed fingers, to tap mine against hers, almost like a nervous tick. It’s just to remind myself, she’s right here with me. I haven’t lost her.
Jillian stretches and reaches for her phone after a few buzzes. “Mom says there’re several offers on her house.”
Elena is moving to Astoria, into a house I bought for her. I couldn’t expect Jillian to only have my family around. And with my ma in Ireland, Elena spoils me. I’m her only son-in-law. I come first. And I fucking love that.
She healed from her hip surgery and walks around better than new, according to her doctors.
We’re shopping for a house, too. Or Jillian is. I don’t care where we live. I only care about the bedroom. I’d already bought a new mattress for the loft and love sleeping in our bed every night, one that I’ve only ever shared with my wife.
After two-hours in the air, on a flight that included an extraordinary amount of sex—in addition to two blow jobs, scorching hot anal sex in the bathroom of all places, because when my sparkles wants my dick in her ass, I don’t ask questions—the plane is on approach to Reid. To me it will forever be McCarran.
“I always get breathless when we land,” Jillian says. “Look at those mountains.”
“They are magnificent.” I grab her boobs.
“Not my tits.” She elbows me.
We land, and Trace Quinlan, Griffin and Shane’s cousin, originally from Waterford, greets us in the terminal and leads us to the Wagoneer I bought to keep here.
Jillian rests her head against my shoulder on the drive to the villa.
Holding her hand, I brush her fingers. “You need a new gel manicure, sparkles.”
I work for my brothers, but Jillian owns me. I manage every facet of her personal care.
We arrive at the Charter Hotel, and I stop at the concierge to set up grocery service for the week. Jillian is learning to cook and loves the huge kitchen in the villa. I’ll eat anything she makes. Over the past few weeks, I’ve swallowed some unholy shit with a smile, despite the challenges to my gastric system.
“Welcome back, Mr. O’Rourke.” The concierge manager offers me a smile.
I hand over my credit card for the grocery service. After the manager swipes my card several times and nervously checks his computer screen, I grow impatient.
“Problem?” I ask, a twinge of anger in my tone.
“Can I get another credit card, Mr. O’Rourke?” He hands back the failed card. “There’s a glitch in our system.”
Cautiously, I take out my wallet, annoyed that the internet disruption from Christmas week is lingering and making me look like a piece of shit who doesn’t pay his bills. All the family’s credit cards have no spending limit. One of the paralegals pays all my bills, but I approve everything personally.
The concierge takes my Amex and after swiping it, he swallows roughly. “Sir. I’m sorry, your card was declined.”
Anger floods my veins. “That’s impossible. Run it again.”
“Here, use mine.” Jillian hands over her Visa, a credit card I’ve not linked to our accounts because she wants to maintain some independence.
“That one worked.” Relief washes over the concierge manager’s face.
I’d heard the global disruption was targeted and we got hit. Balor and his team worked around the clock to secure our firewalls, but O’Rourke credit cards were rendered useless for a time and clearly some are still on life support.
I don’t mind my wife paying for me, but I need to get new cards. This shit is embarrassing.
Head held high, we head for the elevator that opens right to the villa.
Jillian yelps, and my eyes find a man in a suit looking out one of the windows in the living room. Wide shoulders, finely cut suit, close-crop hair. I’ve seen enough stone-faced men in my life and this one screams: Hitman.
“Jillian, that’s just Trace’s brother Rhys.”
A little whimper escapes her next, and I turn to see her jaw dropped at the Quinlan cousins. They’re formidable fuckers. Shane Quinlan returned to our lives after working with his twin sister for a few years in a Manhattan hotel, but now, he’ll be leaving us.
Griffin has some kind of deal going down in Manhattan.
For the first time in a decade, there won’t be a Quinlan working for us. And it looks like more Quinlans are pouring into New York to help with his ‘project.’ We just don’t know what the hell it is.
Trace’s cell rings, he answers it. “Alo. Aye, Balor.” His eyes find mine, blinking. “Uh huh. Uh huh.”
Jillian heads to the bedroom but stops walking when she hears the concern in Trace’s voice.
Balor’s been in Australia for almost two weeks. I vaguely remember hearing that he was flying back today. He wanted Kieran’s plane, but it’s too long of a flight for us to be without a private jet. We’ve learned a lesson last month how valuable it is.
With five of us married now, and wives who like to travel, it looks like it’s time to get a second one.
“I’ll see you in about an hour,” Trace says and then puts his phone away. “Eoghan, Balor has arranged for me to take the plane to Los Angeles.”
“Los Angeles?” I ask.
“He’s there on a layover. Wants the plane to get back to Astoria.”
Jillian and I are here for a few days, so we don’t need it. Shrugging, I say, “Go ahead.”
All it means is I’ll have one bodyguard, not two. I can protect my wife all by myself, but appearances are more important than my pride.
“Is Balor all right?” Jillian steps in Trace’s path.
His back goes ramrod straight. “He is. He…asked me not to say why he needs me.”
My jaw ticks, and I call Balor immediately myself. “Mate, what’s up?”
“Nothing,” he says out of breath. “I’m sorry to pull Trace from you, but I can’t wait for my layover flight. I need to get home immediately.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Don’t worry about it. See you back in Astoria.” He ends the call.
“Trace, get to the airport,” I tell him.
“Rhys, I’ll see you at Griffin’s meeting in a few days,” Trace salutes to his brother.
“Aye,” Rhys answers, all brusque and mysterious.
Trace leaves and I shake my head, unable to let this go.
“Jillian, get my laptop, please.” I point to my duffle.
She takes it out and signs me into the villa’s Wi-Fi. “Here.”
I log into Balor’s bank accounts and his credit cards that I manage. I spy on him this way.
“What are you looking for?” Jillian gets a glass of water and sits next to me on the white plush leather sectional.
“Something that will tell me why Balor needs the plane and a bodyguard. He could have just asked for the plane.” Something’s off, and it has the hair on the back of my neck standing up.
His credit card shows the hotel bill he paid in Sydney. Sure, his cards work. I don’t blink an eye at the obscene amount he spent.
It’s the other hotel charge that raises my suspicion.
Pending: JW Marriot
We’re all spoiled and savor the finer things. But Balor had a five-hour layover, time he could have spent in the Executive Lounge. Balor is a workaholic. I’m shocked he’d waste valuable time to work by leaving the airport in the first place.
Something made him want to check into that expensive hotel during his layover.
Or someone… My cheek ticks.
A devilish guffaw rumbles in my chest. I hop over to the screen of his recent debit card purchases. My jaw drops at the size of one cash advance.
$20,000.00.
“Balor, Balor, Balor,” I say, shaking my head.
“What?” Jillian rests her chin on my shoulder.
I turn to kiss her before I answer, “Balor’s got certain…tastes.”
“In women?”
“Aye.”
Her long fingers stretch out pointing at the screen. “A woman who costs twenty-grand?”
I bite my lower lip, not wanting to advertise that my brother’s got a thing for high-price escorts.
At twenty-grand, that’s the highest I’ve ever seen him pay. Dangerous men own women who cost that much.
The bodyguard… The heat.
I can only imagine what kind of trouble this twenty-grand woman has gotten Balor into.