saw more than just his pretty face and fortune. Patrick had allowed himself to trust a woman once as a younger lad, but she, like the nuns in the orphanage, had betrayed him and made him suffer emotionally, mentally, and physically. Even as a child, his angelic, boyish features had drawn inappropriate attention from the priests, and he still dealt with the shame and pain of those encounters. If it wasn't for John, Patrick would have died years ago. The Irishman literally owed the Brit his life, and he would spend the rest of his repaying him.
As Patrick pulled his car up to the valet and got out, a smile played on his lips. The world thought they had John and Patrick all figured out, but the two men tightly orchestrated how others perceived them. Although John was the king of the underworld and a ruthless businessman, he was also the most compassionate, selfless man Patrick knew. The elite ton would shit themselves if they knew how much money each man anonymously gave to charity and the less fortunate. Hell, most of the people who worked for Patrick and John were individuals whom the two men had rescued in some way and, because of that, were fiercely loyal. Patrick, himself, was the owner of several schools for abused children called Bellwitch. There, boys and girls under the age of eighteen who had suffered as he and John had, could live and attend school at no cost. Only their immediate inner circle knew the kind of men John and Patrick really were. Yes, they had killed and would do so again, but sometimes that was a necessary evil that came with the territory.
Walking into the restaurant, Patrick's turquoise eyes looked around the empty room until they landed on John sitting in a booth. The Brit appeared to be in deep thought and was on his laptop computer. The billionaire was the only true family that Patrick had now, and that thought had an incredible sadness spreading across his chest. He loved John and knew the other man loved him deeply, but sometimes their relationship was a complicated, codependent one. Both had been horribly abused, and John had saved him from being raped by Father Joseph at the age of four. John had almost paid for it with his own life, and they had taken their revenge on the priests, but neither man really spoke of it, let alone their feelings regarding their past. Patrick wanted to deal with his feelings instead of drinking and fucking whores, but John was always pushing him to just get over it. The Brit, however, never practiced what he preached.
"What's wrong?" John asked in concern as his eyes momentarily met Patrick's. "Are you okay? Has something happened?"
"Nothing's wrong, boyo. I was just deep in thought." Patrick half-smiled. The two men had an uncanny way of communicating without using words. Even miles apart, they knew when the other was hurting. Walking over to the Brit, the Irishman embraced him as he stood up. The billionaire looked like he had not slept in quite a while, and his neatly trimmed beard was in need of a shave. John was always so meticulous about his appearance, so something must be wrong. "Fuck, you look like shit, mate! Why haven't you called me?"
"I've been busy," John replied as he released his brother and sat back down. Taking one last look at the screen of his laptop, the Brit let out a sigh before he closed it. He downed the glass of whiskey that was on the table before pouring himself another. He then motioned for the waiter, who brought him another.
Intercepting the bottle from the waiter, Patrick eyed John a minute as he asked, "How many of these have you had today, Johnny?"
"Not enough," John half-snarled as he downed the second glass of whiskey before he leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his coal-black hair.
"Dammit, boyo!" Patrick exclaimed as he took a seat across from John. "You know I was hoping that once the American left, you would go back to normal, but clearly, I was wrong. According to Duff, when you're not working, you have been on a bender and flogging the asphalt rather dangerously on your motorcycle. What the hell is going on with you, Johnny? She's one damn woman! Fuck another one, and get on with it!"
"It's not like you to be so hypocritical, Pat," John said, his brown eyes darkening slightly. "If