“No, that was Patrick.” He pursed his lips. “Patrick was the wild card, Frank was strong and steady.”
“He’s dead too?”
Brennan pursed his lips. “Yeah. They both died when they were real young.”
“Do you have any cousins?”
“Only two. Do you?”
“Unfortunately, a few. I don’t want anything to do with them though. They’re from Father’s side of the family and just as bad as him. Mama had two brothers but they died when they were children.” My lips twitched as something occurred to me. “I think our children will have a lot of cousins.”
He snickered. “I think so too.”
“Well, there’s already Shay,” I pointed out softly.
“Jake as well.” He cracked his knuckles. “Little fucker is going to be a brilliant fighter by the time I’m done with him.”
“How did the training go last night?”
He grinned. “Got two good punches to the gut. Nearly got kneed in the balls too.”
“You’re teaching Shay how to fight dirty!” I accused. “You shouldn’t do that. You’ll get him into trouble.”
Brennan snorted. “That’s the only way to fight. Never leave a mark on your opponent if you don’t have to, Camille.” He tapped his nose after he winked at me. “That’ll stop the bastards from going to the teachers.”
“Will you teach Jake too?”
“If Finn asks. He used to be a nasty fighter though. He’s getting soft, but he might want to handle that himself.”
I thought about the man I’d seen at church the other day and arched a brow at him. “He didn’t look soft to me.”
Brennan scowled at me. “You shouldn’t be looking.”
I snorted. “What would you like me to do? Study the floor when someone introduces me?”
My husband grunted. “Fucking Finn. The ladies always love him.”
I could see why...
Not that I said that, even if it was nice to know his jealousy and possessiveness worked in that way too.
If I could inspire nothing else in him but that, I’d be happy.
“Finn isn’t related to you, is he?” I asked softly, cautiously. That photo in their parents’ hallway wouldn’t stop nagging at me. I guessed it was because I loved a puzzle, but I knew I had to tread carefully
“No. He’s an O’Grady.” His nose wrinkled. “For what that’s worth, which ain’t much. His father was a bastard.”
“I wasn’t sure if he was a second cousin or something.”
“Why? Because we took him in?”
“Well, that, and he looks very much like your uncle. The one in the picture? Frank?”
Brennan frowned. “He does?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. But if he isn’t a second cousin, then...” Casting a look around us, I changed the subject quickly, murmuring, “When you’re here, it’s hard to believe that the city is so close. It’s like being in the middle of nowhere, isn’t it? No people, no crowds, no traffic. No noise.”
“You like it quiet?” he asked, his surprise evident, but I could see I’d set the cogs grinding in his mind.
“Why does that shock you?”
“Because you’re sixteen years younger than me, not older.”
Laughing, I just hitched a shoulder. “I like it noisy when I like it noisy. But for the most part, I appreciate the quiet. You don’t get much of it in our world, so I think that’s why.” I sighed. “Your terrace is peaceful too, that’s why I love it out there.”
“Our terrace,” he corrected gruffly, drawing my attention his way.
That ratcheted up my joy a smidge. “Our terrace,” I agreed.
“I barely sit out there to be honest,” he admitted.
“You should try to. I’ve been going out there after I wake up.”
“Isn’t it getting cold?”
“I guess, but nothing too unmanageable. I just take a blanket out with me.”
“I’ll get Forrest to bring up some of those patio heaters.”
Though the idea had occurred to me as well, I just said, “You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s New York, Camille,” he said dryly. “It’s gonna be freezing soon. We won’t be able to do this for much longer.”
“The younger horses don’t mind the snow. Terry hates it.” He’d hated it back before I’d left New York, now in his twenties, I knew he’d loathe being out in the cold. My lips curved into a smile. “Vicky used to love the snow. She’d play in it for hours at a time, would even toss snowballs at the boyeviks.”
“I bet they loved that.”
“They didn’t,” I said with a laugh. “But they never complained. Most of them were from Moscow though so they were used to it. Their temperatures make ours look balmy.” I chuckled. “I remember this one time she got a bucket and shoved it full of snow, then she went upstairs to the upper hall, rushing so it wouldn’t melt, and waited, dangling out of the window until someone left the house by that exit, and she poured it on their heads. Then she did it all over again.”
He snorted. “Sounds like a charmer.”
I grinned at him. “When you get to know her, she is.”
A frown had his brow puckering. “You’re not going to ride if it snows, are you?”
“If the mood takes me.” The weather wouldn’t stop me from coming to the stables. I wouldn’t ride in bad conditions, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t hang out with the horses. I’d missed too much of them already. I wasn’t going to miss anymore.
His frown darkened. “If you want to go riding, we’ll ride together. Okay?”
“How will that work?” I countered, but there was no heat to my words. “Do I make an appointment with you three weeks before?”
Brennan pulled a face. “Well, no.”
“Bagpipes will be with me, won’t he?”
“Yeah, but not on the trail. He can’t ride.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You might not be.” He shook his head. “No, give me a day’s notice. I’ll figure something out. Or pick a day every week, and I’ll make sure I have free time.”
I bit my lip, and let my eyes drift down to the pommel. “You don’t have to do that, Brennan.”
“I know I don’t,” was his gruff reply.
Neither of us said anything after that, letting the silence fall between us. It was surprisingly comfortable. Just the two of us, the horses, the quiet, and the trail.
It shouldn’t have felt intimate, but it did. We were alone, together, and it felt like we were advancing. Taking steps forward that would bring us closer, not just figuratively either.
I wasn’t sure if I’d ever feel comfortable asking him for things, because I didn’t want to be a burden. Maybe that would change when we were ready for kids. For myself, I couldn’t ask him to drop everything to go horseback riding, but for them? I would in a heartbeat.
That he was willing to make time for me meant more than he probably knew.
When we were on our way back, he asked, “Camille?”
I hummed. “Yes?”
“You know I’ll keep you safe, don’t you?”
My mouth curved into a smile. “I do, Brennan, I do.”
Thirty-Four
Brennan
“You’ll never guess where the fuck I am.”
From my vantage point, I frowned down at a pool of blood that was gathering on the floor below me. “Are you fucking messing with me right now?”
“No. I’m not.”
“You pulled me out of an interrogation to bitch at me?”
“Guess where I am, Brennan. Guess where your wife has brought me.”
Using my forearm to wipe away the sweat on my brow, I grumbled, “If you’re moaning about her going shopping—”
“No, I’d prefer that. We’re in a goddamn soup kitchen.”
Surprise had me straightening up. “You’re shitting me.”
“I ain’t,” he countered. “I’m in a fucking soup kitchen, and she’s elbo
w deep in carrot peelings.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why is she elbow deep in carrot peelings?”
“Because she’s peeling carrots, dumbfuck,” Bagpipes grumbled.
“Why though?”
“She’s volunteering. Just signed up today.”
My brow creased. “My wife has volunteered to work in a soup kitchen?”
“Do you have soap in your ears or something?”
“Maybe.” I grunted. “Well, that’ll get Father Doyle off my back.”
“Why would her volunteering at a soup kitchen that's not attached to St. Patrick’s get him off your back?”
“Shit!” I groused. “She ain’t at St. Patrick’s Community Center?”
“Nope. I’m guessing you guys don’t talk about this shit?”
“When the fuck am I supposed to talk to her about stuff like this?”
“In bed.” Bagpipes laughed. “Ya know, before you fuck her. Then there’s after the fuck. Never heard of pillow talk?"
The second my head hit that pillow, I was fast asleep. But we talked when we were together. She wasn’t a bit of fluff, actually had something going on between her ears. Listening to her discuss horses, the sisterly anecdotes she dropped from time to time, and conversing about what was happening on the news had told me that much.
That she’d whored herself out still boggled my fucking mind. She must have had an education, so why the hell she’d taken that route was beyond me. Unless, of course, it was down to that masochistic side of her personality...
Aware Bagpipes was waiting on me to reply, I grumbled, “I ain’t working you hard enough if you’ve got time to talk to Kerry-Louise.”
Bagpipes snickered. “Oh, please, sir, just add another six hours' work to my twenty-hour shift.”
My lips twitched. “Shut up.”
“Well, if anyone could make a twenty-six-hour day, I’m pretty sure it’s an O'Donnelly.”
“You picked that fucking coin yet?” I demanded, knowing full well he had.
Bagpipes snorted. “Never said you didn’t pay us well. Just said that you can’t make extra minutes in a day.”
Wasn’t that the goddamn truth.
Pulling a face, I muttered, “Is she safe there?”
“Give her some credit, Bren. She’s Bratva. She knows how this stuff rolls. She’s as safe as she can be. She’s in the kitchen, not serving or anything.”
“How many days did she sign up for?”
“Five mornings a week.”
My brow crumpled at that. “Think this is some kind of penance?”
“Maybe, but I doubt it. It ain’t like she’s going around lashing herself over her da, is she? If anything, she’s happy the fucker’s dead.”
I thought about the hands that had given me a handjob this morning—there’d been no Band-Aids on them, so he was right. She wasn’t going through with her version of lashing herself. Neither had she asked about a funeral. The only request she’d made about her family was regarding the legalities of Victoria’s guardianship. I was looking into it even though Vasov’s death hadn’t exactly been made official, so it wasn’t like the State of New York even knew she was an orphan now.
Mouth turning down at the corners, I muttered, “It ain’t right her working there.”
“Why? Because it ain’t Doyle’s church?”
“I don’t know. She's a—” She was a queen. Why the fuck didn’t she get that?
“Maybe she’s just a nice person. I mean, if you talk to her for more than five minutes, I’m sure you’d pick up on that.”
“We talk,” I muttered. “Just not about this. Mostly about the family and—” A thought occurred to me. “You remember my Uncle Frank?”
“How couldn’t I? Remember that time he filled your da’s office with those rubber snakes?”
I grinned. “Thought he was gonna kill Frank.”
“Probably strangled him a bit. You know, like Bart and Homer Simpson?”
Chuckling, I agreed, “You’re probably right.”
“What about him?”
“Do you think Finn looks like him?”
Bagpipes fell silent. “I mean, I’ve never thought about it, but I guess so. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Frank’s picture though.”
I just hummed. “I wondered if Finn was one of Frank’s by blows. You know what he was like with the ladies.”
“A legend,” was the wry retort. “Aidan Sr. would know though. He’d have said something.”
“True.” I frowned, then turned back around and stared down at the factory floor from the office I was using at this depot we'd overtaken in Bed-Stuy. There, I faced Callum who was hanging from a meat hook. His head was lolling on his chest, but I could tell he was starting to stir. His shoulders were no longer straining under the deadweight of his body and that was jolting him awake as agony splintered down his arm.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just something that occurred to me is all.” I cleared my throat. “Anyway, you get off.”
“He spoken yet? I can’t believe I’m stuck here while you’re breaking that fucker.”
My lips curved into a grin. “You’re guarding treasure, Bagpipes. That’s important to me.”
“You and your treasure. I can just see you sitting in your office, surrounded by piles of coins like King Midas, jacking off to it.”
I grinned, but corrected, “Nah, everything he touched turned to gold. He didn’t have a thing about coins.”
Bagpipes grunted. “Ali fucking Baba, then.”
“If all you’ve got to do with your time is bitch at me, instead of watching my wife peel carrots, go and fucking help her.”
“Knew I should have kept my trap shut.”
“Roll up your sleeves,” I joked.
He hesitated a second, then said, “Donny messaged me today. Conor’s been asking for Callum. Donny wondered if we knew what was up because Aidan Jr. didn't have a clue.”
I grimaced. “Since he asked on Sunday, Con ain’t mentioned him again.”
“Why would he, though?”
“Why’s Donny called you, then?”
“Curiosity." He sighed. "It gets better. Mark's been on the phone too. Asked me to keep an eye out for his kid.”
Clenching my jaw a second, I muttered, “Fuck.”
That meant Da would be getting involved soon.
“About sums it up,” he agreed. “You gotta make a decision about what you’re going to do with the fucker, Bren.”
“I know.” I heaved a sigh. “Speak to you later.”
Bagpipes’ answer was another grunt and feeling the urgency biting at my ankles like a Pomeranian on steroids, I headed out of the office and down the stairs.
Once there, I murmured as I shot off a text, "I know you’re awake, Callum.”
Me: Couldn’t you have volunteered at St. Patrick’s soup kitchen?
I didn’t expect a reply, not with her being busy, so I placed my phone on the table and turned my focus to the matter at hand.
“He must think having a nap will delay the inevitable,” Tink murmured.
I cut my other man a look, saw he was leaning against the wall, watching the state of play like it was a show on TV. Forrest was bouncing on his heels, pissed at having to stop because Callum had passed out.
“The inevitable is fucking dying,” Callum rasped, finally raising his head and spitting out a globule of saliva that was drenched in blood.
“How else do you think we should handle traitors?”
“What would you have me do, Bren?” he rasped. “Go to jail for something I didn’t fucking do?”
“Don’t cut that bullshit with us,” Tink retorted. “You could have gone to Conor. If any fucker pulled those kinds of moves with me, that’d be the first thing I’d do.”
His disgust was so tangible that I believed him. I actually fucking believed him. That was a massive weight off my shoulders, and he didn’t even know it.
<
br /> “Conor ain’t like Bren. You know he’s on another planet most of the bastard time.” He spat out some more blood, his beat up face puckering with pain as he wriggled on the meat hook, his skin blanched and a wail escaped him as his broken forearm made itself known. When he got himself under control, he gasped out, “He ain’t interested in this world, just his fucking computers and that goddamn Lodestar. She’s all he can talk about now.”
Forrest and I shared a look.
“You could have come to any of us. You didn’t have to deal with the NWS,” I told him, siding with Tink.
“I haven’t done much dealing with them,” he muttered. “They just told me to tell some people some things.”
Well, at least we were getting somewhere.
Four days into having the fucker hung up like a side of beef and the bastard was finally starting to talk about the shit I was interested in.
“What like?”
“Let me down? My shoulders are knackered, Bren, and my fucking arm, I'm pretty sure it's going to need surgery.” Callum begged.
My mouth turned up at the corners as Tink hooted and Forrest chuckled. Methodically, I tightened the Ace bandage around my weak wrist.
Wrapping it so that it would support me as I beat the fuck out of him. “That’s the point, Callum. Torture’s supposed to hurt. And I wouldn't worry about the surgery, my man. Where you're going, St. Peter's the best plastic surgeon around. He'll fix you right up."
He registered that truth then swallowed, before reasoning, “I’m gonna talk though, ain’t I? You can see that.”
“Why, because you think talking will spare you from dying sooner?”
“Maybe.” He shot me a pleading look.
“You know that if I’d told Da what you’d done, he wouldn’t have strung you up by your hands.”
“Knowing Aidan Sr., he’d have him hanging by his dick,” Forrest joked, his smile mean as Callum winced.
Rage filled me. On Conor's behalf. On my behalf. On Da's. I'd never liked Mark O'Reilly, thought he was a dumb piece of shit, but the bastard hadn't raised a traitor. This was going to kill him as well.
“You’re fucking family,” I snapped. “How the fuck could you eat at our table and fuck us over like this?”
“I didn’t have a choice,” he yelled. “I told you Priestley’s pregnant. What was I supposed to do?”
Filthy Sex: The Five Points’ Mob Collection: Four Page 34
