Page 96 of Ruthless Dream

Nat hums under her breath. “I feel like you’re about to experience a good time in your life. I’m excited for you.”

CHAPTER 24

Ciaran

“Do you like it?” Seamus asks me as we stand at the railing of a rooftop bar.

We landed in Las Vegas yesterday. Nothing like ending the year by drowning your sorrows in gambling and liquor. Likewise, there’s no better party to start off the new year.

Dermot and Byron have been told on numerous occasions to be on their best behavior. I’ve got a sinking suspicion they’re already at the strip club. When we eventually go home to Dublin, I don’t doubt this will be their favorite story—their time in Las Vegas.

Cormac went to dinner with some associates. He didn’t extend an invitation, but I don’t feel left out. I haven’t spent any downtime with my favorite cousin in a while.

“It’s bright,” I tell him, my gaze scanning the Strip.

I catalogue the details, comparing them to the Hollywood movies I’ve seen of the place.

We’re staying at Knight. The place is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I don’t think I’d have ever been able to imagine the resort. It’s got multiple towers and casinos whirling at all times. Restaurants, shopping, and entertainment.

It’s run by the Knight family. Two sets of cousins, all four raised as brothers.

Icarus Knight shook my hand earlier and asked if I wanted to see a show at their venue. Pop music isn’t my thing, but I am interested in the fights they put on. But I told him I wouldn’t have time.

The blond-haired Icarus had sat back on his heels, snaking his hands in his pockets, his eyebrows lifting. “Oh, work trip?” he’d mused with a tiny smile as he glanced over my shoulder. Dermot and Byron were already chatting up a redhead. We hadn’t even made it out of the lobby.

That’s how I knew we were pulling off something great. Icarus Knight showing up in the lobby to greet us in his palace.

I’d caught Cormac’s eye, and I knew he was thinking the same thing. Never again would we think of ourselves as small-timers from Dublin.

“It’s colder than I thought it’d be,” Seamus says, his eyes squinting in the wind. We’re on one of the rooftop bars, where it’s quieter than the nightclub we passed by.

“Would you move here?” Seamus asks, his gaze still on the horizon.

“To the desert?”

We flew into a private airfield, but the differences in landscape were immediate. We’re a long way from the Emerald Isle, and New York City is a concrete jungle. Nevada is rocky terrain with sparse vegetation.

“I wonder what it’s really like to live here?” A thoughtful expression has morphed his usual smile into something serious. “You know, not just come for a visit.”

“They probably say the same thing about Dublin,” I point out, having done my fair share of dodging groups of tourists.

“Do you like New York?” Seamus asks. He’s got a Guinness in his hand but hardly drinks.

“Yeah.” There’s a reason people are intoxicated by the place. “You?”

“Yes and no,” he admits. “I think it might be different if we made Cask into our local.”

My hands tighten around my beer. “Really?”

Cask is unofficially the hive of the Irish Mafia. To the uninitiated, it’s a quaint Irish pub in Hell’s Kitchen. I know Da spends most of his time there. In fact, I think he might have a flat above it.

I’m surprised by this admission. Seamus has never found himself out of place. He could go into any pub and be all right.

“Why?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

He smiles slightly, like he understands my confusion. Or he’s known me so long he knows it’s dangerous to mention anything that can relate back to my father. “That’s who we should be wining and dining, right? The Irish.”

“We are Irish.”