She already looked spaced out, her eyes slowly blinking like she could just crawl into bed, and I almost felt guilty because she was about to meet one of her weird anti-idols, but she’d needed to learn a lesson.
Positive reinforcement worked the best in my opinion.
Sure, I could have denied her any pleasure at all, that would have worked, but instead, she’d remember the intensity of what I’d made her feel, and it would sink in.
Delighted with her, delighted that she’d squirted, I petted her as I cleaned her up, taking care to smooth soap over her arms and legs, just keeping that filthy pussy stuffed full with me, taking special note of all the bites on her body, most of which were between her legs so for my eyes only.
I dressed her, then readied her to leave, and when I found the white van gone, satisfaction of a different kind hit me. For all that she looked exhausted and ready to nap, I was prepared for the fuckfest that was about to go down.
Da was not going to be happy, but I wasn’t averse to twisting the situation to my own advantage.
If it meant diverting him from the fact Savannah wasn’t dead when she was supposed to be, and if it meant that Conor finally got some vengeance, then so be it—I’d ruin his Christmas.
Before we left, I handed her a can of Monster from the fridge, telling her, "You should drink all that. You’ll need the energy for what’s about to go down. Christmas in my family is crazy."
She blinked at me, smiled sleepily, and popped the tab.
Fuck me, I wanted to kiss her. I wanted nothing more than to haul her ass upstairs to the master bedroom and just go to sleep with her, but that was for later. For another time.
I took a deep breath.
We had many other times coming our way.
I knew it. I had, for the first time in a long while, faith.
She’d survive today, she’d survive the family, and she’d live to see another day.
Who wouldn’t?
New York’s Archbishop.
Both buried in our thoughts, neither of us spoke all that much until we made it to the family estate. As the gates loomed up ahead, she whispered, "Does he think I’m dead?"
I cleared my throat. "I try not to bog him down with information that isn’t necessary for him."
"Meaning that he does," was her dry retort. "Didn’t he see my reports?"
"Probably not. He might have skimmed them, might not. While he has the memory of an elephant, because you write under S. Daniels, and because he's a sexist asshole, he thought you were a guy.
"Anyway, in the grand scheme of things, you were a blip on his radar and we have massive whales on that goddamn radar on the regular." At least, I really fucking hoped that was the case.
"I shouldn’t be offended by that, should I?"
I snorted. "No. It’s a good thing not to be on our shit list."
"Let’s hope you’re right and that he doesn’t remember my name." She took a deeper sip of Monster. "I can see why you gave me this now. Better that than a bottle of vodka."
I leaned over and pressed my hand to her lap. Squeezing gently, I murmured, "All will be fine."
"You don’t know that."
"I do." I shrugged when she shot me a disbelieving scowl. "Look, you were a problem before, but now you’re helping us get rid of the Sparrows. Wasn’t he lucky I was disobedient?"
She chuckled. "That’s one way of looking at it."
"Mostly, he’s not going to like that I’ve brought you to the house. I doubt he’ll remember your name."
"He won’t like it because of what he thinks it means for you to be bringing someone home to meet the folks?"
I hummed as security finally walked out of the gatehouse, eyed the car up and down, then checked us out with one of Conor’s gadgets. After it was done, I opened the window, and asked, "Jonesy, where’s Da?"
"Don’t know, Aidan, but I know that a van rolled up an hour ago. Maybe he’s with that?"
Smiling, I said, "Good." I rolled up the window, then drove through the gates once Jonesy had opened them.
"You think the Archbishop is going to detract from my presence?"
"He is." There were no two ways about it.
I felt her gaze on me, felt her curiosity and braced myself for what was coming. "It was Conor, wasn’t it?"
I tensed. "What about him?"
She sniffed. "Don’t play games. We both know what I’m asking."
We did. My mouth tightened. "Yes."
Blowing out a breath, she whispered, "Oh."
"Oh."
"What happened?"
"You don’t want to know. Safe to say the priest who hurt him didn’t get the chance to hurt any other kids ever again."
"See, it’s when stuff like this happens that I like this world." She grunted. "I talked about so many shitty situations on TV, had to read out so many atrocious stories where people just didn’t get any justice at all, that I understand the satisfaction of jungle justice.
"Then, I recognize that we can’t have everyone going around killing people in the name of an eye for an eye."
"No, you can’t," I agreed. "But that’s the mobster way. Mafia 101, little one."
"I know," she said with a huff. "I’m just talking out loud, trying to reason why I’m so glad you killed that sick fuck when I really shouldn’t be happy to know you murdered a priest." Despite myself, I had to snicker, and when she slapped her hand against my thigh, she muttered, "Hey, don’t laugh!"
I snatched her fingers and raised them to my mouth as I steered one-handed.
"I’ve done a lot worse besides that, and it won’t stop, but they’re not good people. Anyone in this world isn’t good by proxy."
"Your sisters-in-law are innocent."
"Are they? They wear fancy clothes and live in fancy buildings on the backs of a lot of spilled blood. We all make a choice. That’s why I gave you the option to take a step back." I cast her a look. "Do you regret not taking it?" I worded that carefully, making sure she knew the time for leaving was long in the past.
"No, but I don’t think wanting to be with you means I’m like the next Don Corleone. I don’t want to kill anyone."
"You almost killed that guy the other night," I pointed out. "If you’d had a knife close at hand, wouldn’t you have stabbed him?"
Slowly, like she was processing the situation, she whispered, "I guess."
"There’s no shame in that. I don’t get off on killing people for the sake of it, Savannah. I’m not like Da—" I froze the second the words spilled from my lips and I pressed my foot to the brakes like we were driving a hundred miles an hour instead of a sedate twenty.
I’m not like Da.
Jesus.
Those words.
Four of them.
Four fucking words.
They hit me deep inside. Resonating, echoing, spinning around and around—
"Aidan? What is it?" Savannah demanded, her concern clear.
"I’m not like Da," I repeated, turning to her, unaware that I looked like death warmed over, which was ironic because for the first time in a long while, I felt alive again. "I’m not like Da."