Psychopaths didn’t know how to love, and in all honesty, that explained a lot about how we’d been raised. We’d been toy soldiers with a general, reporting back for duty, aware that if we misbehaved, well, we’d be punished.
Brennan’s wrist was one such act of terrorizing, Conor’s scars another. I’d been whipped a few times myself, and I knew Declan had as well—plus, he’d been bullied for his love of the arts.
Eoghan was the one who’d been spared the most, I thought, but as I looked at them, the pair huddling together, reacting to the news I’d shared, it was a strange moment to feel loved.
To see, for myself, how these two monsters were shaken, broken by what I’d shared.
It hurt to admit that I’d expected Da’s ego to be pricked. His rage to be based on the fact that someone had dared defile an O’Donnelly.
But it wasn’t.
I’d seen that when I’d watched him slam his head into the wall.
I’d seen that when I’d watched him tear his office apart, just as his soul was splintering into a million pieces with his grief.
Everyone knew Aidan O’Donnelly had a short fuse, but what I’d witnessed was like nothing else. Was indescribable.
The brutality with which he’d tortured the Archbishop was beyond anything I’d ever witnessed from him, and I’d seen a lot. I’d watched him cut off toes with a blunt knife, and I’d seen him piss on people when they were on fire to blot out the flames.
Tonight, he’d been pure rage.
And that was for us.
His boys.
It made it easier to accept that I’d broken Conor’s promise. Especially as we were heading to St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Manhattan without him.
A part of me hoped Kid would never have to find out that I’d told Da, but I wasn’t so lucky. I knew that. He’d find out eventually. Secrets had a way of doing that, didn’t they? Coming to the surface?
As Finn drove us in a town car, the white van following us with one of our men behind the wheel, I kept glancing back, watching Ma.
Seeing how broken she was, it made me question shit. Why they’d raised us the way they had. Why, when they clearly loved us, they’d had to be so fucking mean.
I didn’t ask them, didn’t say shit. Didn’t even mention the fact that, for some reason, Finn had called Da, Da. Whatever reason for that was something I couldn’t deal with yet. Tonight was for this problem, and I had no idea how it was going to end.
As I tugged on my bottom lip, we drove through Midtown and made our way toward Fifth Avenue where the cathedral, the Catholic Church’s most visible symbol within the city, was found.
At six-thirty, it was already way past dark, and while the area was bustling as people did their Christmas gift shopping, I knew the cathedral would be silent by now, the dress rehearsal for tomorrow’s Midnight Mass having been completed hours earlier.
Finn took us around the back of the cathedral, and while this wasn’t our main place of worship, we’d been here for enough weddings and funerals to know the lay of the land.
Da, I knew, even had a key, and I didn’t want to wonder why the hell he had that in his possession.
The car and the van merged down a dark alleyway, the tires rustling as we drove over some glass and whatever else was in the shitheap behind the cathedral.
As it started to rain, a storm cloud appearing from out of nowhere, thunder rattling along in the sky in a season where thunder was as rare as a boiling hot day, Da whispered, "There, you see, baby? God’s crying with us."
I had no idea why that made me feel like I was choking, but it did. I sat there, stoic in silence, wondering what his and Ma’s game plan was, because they were clearly in sync, while the windshield wipers tried to fight off the sudden deluge.
This would take care of the crowds at least.
When we made it down a certain street, like Da actually knew where the fuck we were, he rumbled, "We’ll park here. In the trunk, there’s a jammer."
I frowned. "There is?"
"Conor gave it to me as an early Christmas present." Da’s laugh sounded as choked as I felt. "Thought it would make me fine him less."
"God love that boy," Ma rasped, before she broke my heart by weeping.
The soft sounds were a torment I didn’t want to ever hear again, because every time she cried, it was when the worst shit in our lives went down.
When my uncles died, when she’d been kidnapped, the drive-by that had butchered my knee and Aoife’s guts, when, when, when...
"You’re going to get wet, sweetheart," Da soothed. "Are you sure you don’t want to stay in here?"
Ma didn’t answer, just scurried over to the other side of the car and got out of that door when Finn unlocked it for her.
As she stood there, in the pouring rain, I asked Da, "What’s the game plan?"
"You’ll see soon enough."
I climbed out of the car, and hesitated when I reached Ma. She stood there, so isolated, staring up at the cathedral, and it made me whisper, "I hurt the priest who did this to Conor, Ma." Shit, why was it parents had the ability to make you feel like a little kid again?
"Your father told me." She cast me a look. "You make me proud of you every day, Aidan. Every day you get up, and you fight, you make me proud." She reached forward, her hair soaked and swirling around her face, her clothes drenched, everything about her slick with rain, as she cupped my chin. "But I’ve never felt that more than now.
"Your da’s funny about pride," she whispered, but somehow, even over the rainstorm, I heard her voice. "He might not tell you, but you’ve earned the right to be his heir today."
Jesus.
Was that supposed to be a compliment?
Rather than disrespect her, I dipped down and brushed my cheek against hers. She held me close, squeezing me, until Da called out, "Get the jammer, Junior."
I hobbled away, feeling oddly bereft, feeling as if something were about to happen, something I could only dread.
I’d started building a snowball tonight, that somehow had turned into a boulder that could flatten the city.
Where this was going couldn’t end well, but it was too late for that. It had been too late since I was fifteen.
Grabbing the jammer from the trunk, I saw the six men in the van behind us clambering out too.
From the town car’s trunk, they retrieved a wheelchair and they shoved our captive into it.
The Archbishop was dressed in a robe and slippers, his head tipped forward and covered by a hat. He was unconscious, had been ever since Ma had set that torch to his dick, so I knew we were good for the time being—he was no threat to exposing us, especially because he just looked like an old man in a wheelchair.
While one guy, Anthony, pushed him, the other five carried only fuck knew what in duffle bags. Four apiece in their hands, they were loaded down with them, and they were clearly heavy as hell as they lumbered with us along the grim walkway that had slick floors which had Da gripping a firmer hold on Ma while we walked toward the cathedral.
The looming spires, the neo-Gothic architecture that took up an entire block on Fifth Avenue, was wasted on me.
Even its beauty meant little.
For all that Da had tried to make us be Catholics, none of us felt the faith like he did. His belief system made no fucking sense to anyone but him though, so considering we weren’t born headcases, just taught, I took it as a good sign that his logic and ours didn’t compute.