Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
“Fuckin’ hell,” the lad muttered to himself as she walked away.
“What’s that, Ronan?” Niall teased, also having apparently noticed his little brother’s interest.
“Girls got tits on her like a Glasgow farm lass,” he replied.
“What would you know about a feckin’ Glasgow girl? We left Ireland when you were four. Only tits you’d ever seen before we got here was your ma’s,” Olcan added.
“Boke,” Ronan replied, making a gagging noise. “There’s the internet, you old bastards. Us young lads can look at all the Glasgow milk jugs all we want.”
“Look is all you can do, boy,” Niall laughed.
“Fuck you,” Ronan told him with a smile.
“I think you should give ‘er a go,” Fergus encouraged him.
“Yeah?”
“Sure. If we were still in Ireland, you’d have been with a lot more women by now. It’ll save you some calluses on your hands to get laid proper like.”
“You really are a bag of dicks,” he said, addressing them all with a dismissive hand.
“Aye, but I mean it. Ask her out. See if she wants a ride.”
“How many of you have already had your limp noodles between her thighs?”
“Not me, but then I never have a limp noodle. My noodle is titanium when there’s minge to be had,” Fergus replied, joined by the other two.
It might even be true that none of them had ever touched the server. It was for Fergus, but he couldn’t speak for the other two. They didn’t spend a lot of time talking about their conquests and rarely knew who one another fucked unless they just happened to run across one of them when an overnight romp met an early morning visit. None of them had any serious relationships. It was risky to involve women in their line of work, especially human women. There were a few bear shifters in these parts or some other shifters, for that matter, but most of them weren’t the sort you’d want to get tied up with.
“Aye. I’ll see you feckers tomorrow then,” Ronan replied, finishing off his second beer and standing up to approach the server.
“Speaking of pussy. I could use some myself, and it seems pretty dead in here to me. You wanna come down to The Factory with me? It’s always ripe for the picking down there, and we can hit up a few of the regulars about our problem,” Niall suggested.
“I’m in,” Olcan replied, quickly joined by Fergus.
The Factory was just what it sounded like: an old industrial building where people had once built shoes. Now, it was a popular dance club and an easy place to pick up women who couldn’t get enough of men that looked like the McNally clan.
Word got around about their prowess in bed, too, and everyone was eager to ride whichever one they could land for a night. They made their way toward the door, catching Ronan’s eye as he leaned against the bar, laughing with the server. She’d somehow managed to unbutton her shirt a bit more, showing off more than an ample amount of a couple of globes that begged for circumvention.
Fergus winked at him and exited. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t leave him alone, but things had been quiet lately. That was changing rapidly, though, so this might be his last night to hang out and have a good time without his older brothers at his back. For now, he could go fuck away the night and get some sleep before they got down to business tomorrow. Fergus was eager to do the same as he followed his brothers out.
The walk to The Factory was a good mile through some sketchy neighborhoods, but these were their streets, and no one in their right mind would cross them. That was a lesson someone out there apparently hadn’t learned, but they would. They would learn it the hard way.
CHAPTER TWO
Eimear
Eimear stood on the small platform and twisted back and forth, looking at herself in the mirror. It was a close fit, though it would still need a few alterations. She turned toward her sister, Bronagh, and spread her hands outward.
“Well, what do you think? Is this it?”
“I don’t know. You’re the bride. Is it?”
“I think so,” she said, turning back toward the mirror. “Yeah. I think it is.”
“Thank God. I’m not sure I could look at many more dresses without them all just morphing into some sort of nightmare bridezilla monster that attacks me and strangles me with the lace sleeves.”
“Funny,” she laughed.
“So, this is the one then?” the saleswoman asked, looking a little nervous.
“Yes. Do you do the alterations in-house?”
“Yes, ma’am. We can get your measurements while you are here or make an appointment at your convenience. Some brides prefer to wait until it’s close to their wedding date, in case of changes that might take place.”
“She means in case you get knocked up or eat too many wedding cake samples,” Bronagh teased.