Page 4 of The Housebreaker's Assistant
Penny pivoted to lean back against the wall, raking Greer’s body with open lust. The man might have been ten years older than him or more, but Penny had always felt they were the same in all the ways that counted.
“Some other time, then,” he said, biting his full, swollen lip.
“Most definitely,” Greer said.
He touched his hat with a mock formal half-bow, then turned to saunter off.
Penny watched him go, heart hammering and erection taking its sweet time to go down. What he wouldn’t give to have a night alone with Greer O’Toole?
He’d give just as much to have Greer teach him everything he knew about the gentle art of housebreaking, too. Picking pockets was lucrative when you were as good at it as Penny was, but the true treasures of London rested safely within grand houses.
Once Greer was out of sight, Penny pushed away from the wall, turning toward Spitalfields so he could see how Richie was getting on with his errand. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the vesta case as he did.
He stopped as soon as he had it in his hand under the light of a streetlamp. It wasn’t the same case he’d seen Greer take out before. This one was slightly bigger, and it wasn’t silver. It was merely wood painted silver.
Curious, Penny opened it and shook its contents into his hand. A folded piece of paper and half a piece of chocolate fell into his palm. Snorting, he opened the paper to find a note that said, “Sweets for my sweet.”
“Bastard,” Penny chuckled, shaking his head.
He popped the chocolate into his mouth and continued on, insides buzzing and giddy. Greer was toying with him now, but someday, he would be the one playing the tune for his dark Irishman to dance to.
Chapter Two
Greer still felt the burn of Penny’s lips on his own as he waved down a hack in Whitechapel to take him across the city to Tyburnia. He grinned as he thought about his wicked little red-headed friend and everything he’d witnessed the man do that night.
Percival “Penny” Frey. The young man had caught Greer’s attention more than a year ago, when he’d passed through Whitechapel to accept a housebreaking job for one of the more prominent gang leaders in the area. He’d first spotted Penny’s red hair as he’d walked past the alley where the young man had been earning his daily bread. It had been bright and disheveled as he’d bobbed on the customer who had his head thrown back in ecstasy.
The sight had made Greer jealous, which was not a sensation he was used to at all. He’d stopped in his tracks to watch, arousal pulsing through him. The red hair had reminded Greer of home. The saucy look Penny had sent him, as if he would be next, as he sucked the gentleman off had reminded him that it’d been weeks since he’d been able to empty his balls with anyone other than his own hand.
He wanted Penny. He had from the start. But Greer had not reached the pinnacles of his underground world by giving in to his wants and desires. Quite the opposite. He prided himself on his discipline and his personal integrity.
That and the fact that throwing his lot in with another soul, no matter how appealing, had always ended in disaster for him.
Greer worked alone.
He didn’t need anyone. He was a master of his art in his own right. Relying on other people, even fetching young gingers, would only make him vulnerable.
And if there was one thing Greer would never be again, it was vulnerable.
The hack stopped outside of the plain brick façade of The Zagreus Den. It dipped and swayed as the driver hopped down, but Greer had already opened the door and stepped onto the street by the time the driver reached him.
“This is where you want to be?” the driver asked, eyeing the ostensibly dark and dozy front of The Zagreus Den dubiously.
“Yes,” Greer said, fishing in his pocket for payment. “Why would I want to be anywhere else?”
“Only, it looks abandoned,” the driver said.
Greer chuckled. Not so much because of what the driver had said but because the decoy vesta case he’d planted in his pocket for Penny to take was missing. Bloody brilliant. He hadn’t even felt Penny take it, although he’d known the man would.
Greer pulled a shilling from the hidden pocket within his external pocket and handed it over to the driver. “I would worry about yourself before worrying about me,” he said with a wink.
The driver seemed pleased with his payment and tipped the brim of his hat. “If you’d like, sir,” he said, then scrambled back up to his seat.
Greer waited for the driver to be on his way, walking down the length of the street as if the place he needed to be was aroundthe corner. As soon as he was certain the driver didn’t care what happened to him, he turned around and walked back to the plain black door of The Zagreus Den.
Caius answered the door as soon as Greer knocked, proving that even though it was past midnight, the Den was busy.
“Good evening, Mr. O’Toole, the mild-mannered, middle-aged man greeted him with a smile, offering to take his hat. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”
