I frowned at her. “No. Why would it be about him?”
Contrary to what Da thought, the world didn’t revolve around his heir.
I loved Aidan Jr. but I resented the preferential treatment he got when I was the one doing all the fucking work. Da had never really forgiven me for what the Aryans did to Ma though, and it was a constant uphill struggle with him sometimes.
“Your father might be in denial about how many pills that boy’s popping, but I’m not.” She pursed her lips in disapproval. “We should never have called him Aidan. It was just asking for him to be as stubborn as his da.”
“Not sure addicted and stubborn are synonyms, Ma.”
“Maybe not. He’s got a strength of will that beats even you, Brennan, but he’s letting those pills win. The only reason I haven’t raised the subject with Senior is because I know he’ll push.”
“I’m surprised you don’t think that isn’t what Aidan needs.”
She shook her head. “You have to let them bottom out. I—” It was the faintest of hesitations, but because I knew her so well, I sensed it. “—read it in a book.”
Narrowing my eyes at her, I asked, “You read it in a book? You sure about that?”
She huffed. “I’m not in the habit of lying to you, Brennan.”
“I don’t think you are,” I countered, still squinting at her, but I wafted my hand in a circle in front of her face. “What was that about?”
Her scowl made an appearance, but I was long past the age where that scowl was enough to have my knees knocking with fear. I faced bigger boogeymen every day of the fucking week now. I wished she was the scariest thing I’d seen in my life.
“What was what about?”
“You hesitated.” My voice was flat. “You didn’t read that in a book.”
Her mouth tautened into an irritated pucker. “No, I didn’t,” she conceded.
“And don’t say you saw it on Oprah,” I countered immediately. “No BS, Ma.”
“I spoke to my psychologist about him.”
Her words had my eyes flaring wide. “Are you shitting me? I thought you’d stopped visiting him years ago.” She’d seen Da getting stabbed by a rival and, as he phrased it, had taken a funny turn.
One diagnosis of PTSD later, some prescription meds that Da got on the black market, and no more visits with a practitioner who could spill the family’s secrets.
Or so we’d thought.
Jesus.
“Does Da know about this?”
I saw the anger whisper over her face. Over the years, I’d learned to be wary of that look. Redheads and their tempers—nothing beat it. I almost pitied our money man, Finn, his Aoife because her hair was redder than a rose. I just couldn’t imagine her slapping their son Jacob, not like Ma had slapped us and clipped us about the ears.
I wasn’t saying we didn’t need it, because that would be a lie. We’d been a bunch of five—six after Finn moved in with us—rowdy boys, who knew that we owned Manhattan. That level of power quickly went to a kid’s head, but our folks had been swift to nip any mutiny in the bud.
Nepotism might be a key factor in our world, rebellion when it came to the Irish fighting for their freedom, but within the ranks, obedience was expected.
We’d learned that at a very young age.
“I’m not, as you so eloquently put it, shitting you, Brennan. When have you ever known me to do that?”
She’d kissed the Blarney Stone, and I felt no compunction in telling her that, only, my cellphone buzzed. Which was what saved both our asses.
Hers, because I could tell she didn’t want to talk about having another therapist.
A fucking therapist.
The Alphabets wouldn’t think twice about turning a shrink.
Mine, because it’d been a while since she dragged me from a chair by my ear, and I didn’t feel like a repeat.
When my phone buzzed again, I frowned as I checked my messages.
The first one had my mouth tightening.
Forrest: Coullson is on the move.
Me: Heading to his usual spot?
Forrest: Looks like it.
Me: Keep me in the loop.
Forrest: Today the day?
I shot Ma a look, saw the defiance in her eyes and had to wonder what the fuck she’d said that might be used against us... Now was not the time for family secrets to be spilling out from the core unit of the King and Queen of the Five fucking Points.
Me: Time we broke ranks and started the ball rolling.
Forrest: Gotcha. I’ll be in touch.
Before I could read the second message, Ma’s hand reached for mine.
“It was twenty-five years ago.”
Guilt hit me. Like a fucking sucker punch. I closed my eyes and squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry, Ma. I forgot.” How the fuck had I when it was my living nightmare? Twenty-five years ago she’d been taken hostage.
Because of my fuck-up.
She shook her head. “You don’t need to be sorry. I know the family is piling too much on you.” Our gazes clashed and held as she whispered, “Brennan?”
That her defiance had disappeared, slipping away like sand in my hand, being replaced with a cocktail of guilt and shame, had me frowning with concern. “Yeah, Ma? What is it?”
“Do you ever—” She released a shaky breath. “Do you ever regret what you’ve done?”
I blinked, because I knew she wasn’t talking about the Aryans. About my letting her down.
What I’d done?
I’d killed for the family. Slaughtered for us, truth be told. My hands weren’t just covered in blood, my fucking soul was too. But that was nothing to what I’d be willing to do.
When you were born into the Irish Mob, there was but one route in your life—to follow in your father’s footsteps. To become a soldier for the firm.
I wasn’t like Declan who’d questioned his place in the Points, nor was I like Eoghan who’d tried to live his life in the regular army—not just an illegal one. I knew my place. Had accepted it a long time ago. But regrets?
“Yeah, I have regrets,” I told her softly, frowning when her manicured nails, the clean white tips, dug into my palm.
“When I was a girl, I used to believe that going to church was enough. You did something wrong, you went to confession. That was how it worked. It’s what your father believes.” Her brow puckered. “It’s what I believed but—”
“What have you done wrong, Ma?” Deciding to lighten things a little, my grin made an appearance and it turned rueful. “Apart from give birth to five knuckleheads?”
She’d normally have narrowed her eyes at me, but this time, those bright green orbs were wide with distress, and business aside, concern had me asking, “Is the therapist helping?”
My cellphone buzzed again, and I knew why. This time it’d be another of my buddies on my crew—Bagpipes. That he’d messaged at all was enough for me to know she was on the move. Which meant he’d be awaiting further instruction.
Mouth tightening, I ignored my phone, and gently coaxed, “You don’t need to talk to strangers, Ma. I’m here.”
“I-I can’t get clean, Brennan. I can’t seem to shake it off. Your father made it sound so easy, but sometimes, there’s no going back, is there?”
My brow puckered as I wondered where this was coming from.
She’d seemed all right on Sunday, the last time I’d seen her. A smile on her face, her hair neat and tidy even after cooking for all of us, her trim figure shown off in a blouse and skirt with low kitten heels that made her look ten years younger than her real age. She’d joked and chivvied us like usual, hugging Jacob, trying to get to know Seamus, teasing Inessa and Aoife... normal.
“Sometimes, no, there’s no going back,” I agreed, twisting my hand in hers so I could grip her fingers.
I had no idea what would make her feel dirty outside of what she’d endured during her abduction, but I didn’t think she was going to tell me. Da, on the other hand, she mi
ght. Father Doyle didn’t seem to have done the trick.
“Does Da know what’s on your mind?”
My cell buzzed once more, and her fingers clamped down on mine before she surged to her feet and darted over to the other side of the kitchen.
A kitchen she, with her pearls and chignon and designer dress, didn’t fit in at all. But I knew the homeliness of it comforted her. It reminded me of the one in our second cousin’s cottage back in the Motherland. We’d stayed there only briefly, but Ireland was in my blood as a result.
And not just because of the money we sent back to fund its freedom, either.
“It’s okay, Brennan. You’re busy. You need to deal with business.”
“No, don’t be—” I scowled when my phone started ringing, not just buzzing this time, and I picked it up, snapping, “Bagpipes, can’t you take the fucking hint?”
“She’s going to the stables, Bren. You told me to tell you if she went back there.”
My brows furrowed because I couldn’t fault the fucker for obeying orders.
Did Camille seriously have to go riding right this goddamn second?
“Shit,” I rumbled under my breath. “She got a death wish or something?”
“Or something,” he agreed. “Want me to bring Tinker over? Make sure things are copacetic?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I leaned into my elbow that I stacked on the table. My brain raced as I thought about the best move to make.
Somehow, she maneuvered around Italian territory without getting into too much shit, so if I sent a bunch of Pointers over there to protect her, it might cause raised eyebrows and draw attention to her—the last thing I wanted.
The Famiglia might be fucked now we’d chopped off their Don’s head and had shoved their potential leaders off this mortal coil too, but that didn’t mean two more fucking heads weren’t about to pop up.
Goddamn Hydra.
Pushing a Bratva princess into Italian territory was a disaster waiting to happen. I had no idea why her father let her breach that uncharted border, but until she was mine, I had no rights over her.
A fact that was starting to piss me off.
My jaw worked as I asked, “What car you riding in?”
“The Beemer.”
“The one with the stolen plates?”
“Yeah.”
I dipped my chin. “Okay, follow her, but keep a low profile.”
“Can’t exactly do that when she’s on a fucking horse, Bren. What do you want me to do? Go riding with a bunch of five-year-olds?”
Despite the severity of the situation, my lips twitched at the thought of Bagpipes, so named for the size of his gut and an unfortunate incident on his wedding day with a musician, trying to blend in among a bunch of kids.
“She usually deals with tack, doesn’t she?”
“I don’t fucking know what that is.”
I grunted. “The saddles and shit. Not talking about the state of your apartment, Bagpipes.”
“Kerry-Louise has got great taste. Fuck you, Brennan.”
Grinning again, I cut Ma a look and saw she was standing at the sink, her hands gripping the sides as she stared out of the window and onto the expansive yard. I didn’t think the pool was what had her so engrossed, though.
If anything, she was lost to me.
To the house.
To New fucking York.
What was going on with her?
The question plagued me even as Bagpipes growled, “Brennan? What the fuck do you want me to do?”
“Not get shot,” I said promptly. “She’s been managing to keep her ass in one piece without our interference. Just sit on her car. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere without you there tailing her. Got me?”
“Yeah, I do.” He cleared his throat. “You coming over?”
In the Five Points, family was more than just blood. It came in the shape of a five-pointed star too. Bagpipes and Forrest were a part of my crew, but they were friends as well. Because I’d set them on innocuous jobs they gave me shit about, I’d enlightened them about the status quo.
They thought I was fucking nuts, but who were they to argue?
I answered to three people in this world.
God.
My father.
And Father Doyle.
Two of them, I ignored, but Da? He wasn’t the kind to let anyone ignore him. Not unless you wanted a knife between the legs.
My only saving grace was that Camille was family now, and Da wanted my balls right where they were so I could spawn the next gen of O’Donnellys. A poor fucking bunch of kids who’d take over the helm when we croaked—thirty years earlier than we probably should thanks to the shitty life we led.
Heaving a sigh, I muttered, “I’ll be over if I can make it.”
He grunted. “See you later, then.”
He didn’t tack on, “Dumbass,” but I heard it all the same.
If I hadn’t known something was wrong with Ma, I’d have known it when she didn’t ask me about the phone call... her focus was still on the back yard.
Frowning, I got to my feet and moved away from the scrubbed oak kitchen table, toward the island which I rounded, before I headed to the wide porcelain sink she was gripping like it was a life raft to cling to.
I moved to her side, slung an arm about her shoulder, and pressed my chin to her head. “You can talk to me, Ma.”
She cleared her throat. “I had some good news, by the way. Mary Catherine gave birth to a boy. Isn’t that wonderful? Her mother’s a real piece of work, but she was always such a nice girl—”
“Ma,” I grumbled. “I like Mary Catherine too, but for God’s sake, I ain’t interested in her right now. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Some things a son shouldn’t know about his mother,” was all she said.
“You could kill someone and I wouldn’t give a fuck, Ma,” I argued, my tone waspish with irritation. I felt her shoulders bunch thanks to my hold on her.
“You need to get going, son.”
I did. She wasn’t wrong.
But...
“You seemed fine the other day.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Some days are better than others, aren’t they? You know that as well as I do, son.”
At her words, I just blew out a breath, tilted my head so that my cheek was resting on the crown of hers this time, and I stared out the window too.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
Some days really were better than others, and there was nothing I, or anyone else, could do about it.
Five
Brennan
The ride back to the city was a pain in the ass. A necessary evil since we’d moved the folks upstate for their safety, but a pain nonetheless.
Because Aidan Jr. was a fuckwit and wasn’t pulling his weight, I was the one managing his load as well as my own, and that load wasn’t exactly fucking light. Not in the middle of a war. Not with all this shit going down with the New World Sparrows.
Goddamn Sparrows.
Who named a secret organization after a fucking bird?
A tiny little fucker too.
Not a dirty great eagle or some kind of vulture, but a sparrow?
Shaking my head, I settled into my seat for the annoying, traffic-jammed ride ahead. One hand on the steering wheel, the other leaning on the door of my Mercedes-Maybach GLS600, which was just fresh in and still with that new car smell. Driving down the highway toward home, I tapped a button on my steering wheel which had the music soaring so loud it made my ears ring.
Audioslave.
No better soundtrack to cure me of my fucking mood.
What with the birds, those greasy Italians, and a fiancée who didn’t know I was stalking her ass, who didn't even know she was my fiancée, and Ma who was going all ‘one flew over the cuckoo’s nest’—birds were fucking haunting me at the moment—I needed something to stop my ears from bleeding.
Tension lines bracketed my mouth as I scanned the rear
-view mirror, checking on who was following me. I usually had a Fed tail, but I didn’t mind because we had the Director in our pocket, and I preferred them there. It was easier when they were out in the open, made it simpler to control the fuckers.
Of course, they didn’t mean to be so visible, but the useless pieces of shit needed to go back to Quantico because I could tail someone better in my fucking sleep.
Before I’d climbed into my new SUV, Forrest had confirmed Coullson’s location, which made that my end destination.
Just because I wanted to head to the stables in Forest Park didn’t mean I could.
I had outstanding debts that were racking up, debts that had been as much on my shoulders as whatever sins were weighing down Ma.
Funny how the shit you got up to as a kid could come back and haunt your ass when you least expected it.
The Russians and the Irish had always been enemies.
I’d never thought that would change.
Then, shit had.
The Colombians had tried to gun down the family at Finn’s wedding, and we’d teamed up with the Russians to stamp them out. Ever since, we’d been on a recruitment drive, and with our numbers finally healthy—economic downturns were always great for getting people onto the wrong side of the tracks—we no longer needed our allies as much, but that didn’t mean we weren’t stuck with them now.
Eoghan was married to one of them.
Not just fucking married, either. He loved her. It was clear whenever he looked at Inessa. The possessive stamp on his face, the way his hand rested on her, how he was always turned into her, an arm slung about her shoulders, around her waist...
My baby brother had an issue with sharing and hand-me-downs.
Inessa was his. No one else’s. And whenever he was with the family, he made that clear.
I’d just never thought that Mariska’s daughter would be my sister-in-law.
And I never thought, that last day in our usual room in the Ritz-Carlton, when we’d split up, my body nearly broken from the beating Da had given me when he’d found out who I was screwing, the promise she’d made me give her would come to pass.
As enemies, there wasn’t shit I could do to help.
Filthy Sex: The Five Points’ Mob Collection: Four Page 4