The trouble was, I didn’t know if I believed that, and after that text chat with Finn, I didn’t think he believed it either.
When Da told his captains that he'd murder anyone who didn't confess today, their families too, I knew there'd be no greater incentive for the truth to set our men free.
And with my own truths to spill and a wife to protect, a wife I fucking loved, I needed this amnesty not to be bullshit.
I trusted Finn when he said he thought Da was being honest with his intentions, but this was Da.
More volatile than butane, more flammable than gas.
A squeaking sound drew my attention away from my phone. As Conor strode down the hall in a pair of bright blue high-tops that he'd combined with a D&G suit, I watched him as he slumped into the seat beside me.
I slipped my cell into my pocket as he asked, “Wassup?”
“You been watching Scary Movie again?” I questioned, peering at him as he peered at me.
“Maybe. Can I help that I like parodies?”
I snorted. “You like a lot of weird shit, bro.”
“Not that weird. There’s a porn parody of that too, but I didn’t watch that.”
“Should I applaud you?”
“I mean, you could.” He grinned at me. “I’d take the applause. I’m sure I deserve it for something or other.”
“Tsatsa.”
He squinted at me. “Since when did you start speaking Russian?”
“Since Camille—” I broke off before I could finish. The last thing I wanted was him knowing that Camille reverted to Russian during sex.
I took that for the compliment it was.
Especially when French came out.
I didn’t have a goddamn clue what she was saying, but when she got that wild look in her eyes, my ice princess wasn’t so fucking icy.
“Since Camille?” His brow furrowed. “You’ve been together a minute.”
“So? I’m not a dumbass,” I retorted. “I can pick up a fucking language book and learn it.”
He squinted at me then rumbled something in Russian.
“I’m not fluent, and you’re a fucking show off as well as a tsatsa.” A bighead.
He shoved me in the side. “Why didn’t you come to me? I’d have taught you.”
A man could get a complex around baby brothers like mine.
Conor was a genius. Computers, code, languages, the fucker could do it all.
Declan had it too, just in a different way. He was good at art, which was akin to admitting to being a nonce in our household, and had a gift he’d never been allowed to develop.
Then there was Eoghan. The sleeper. He had an eidetic memory, so that meant being around him was like living with an encyclopedia sometimes because he knew a lot of random shit.
Even Aidan Jr. had been granted a gift.
He had this ability to render men mute when he gave a speech.
It happened rarely, but when Da finally died and gave us some peace and quiet, the inner general in my eldest brother would stir to life.
He was going to make a fucking awesome leader.
As for myself, I was probably the dunce of the family.
Hence the complex.
What use was I other than as my father’s and, eventually, my brother’s muscle?
I pursed my lips at the thought then replied to Conor; “I’d prefer to be taught by Master Splinter than you.”
“What do the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles have to do with anything?”
“A lot,” I grumbled.
“I should be offended.”
“No, you should be grateful. If you taught me, I’d have to stab you every time you fucked me off.”
“You’d never stab me,” was his confident retort.
“Says who?” I drawled.
Conor sniffed. “You wouldn’t stab me. You lurrve me.”
I rolled my eyes before I stunned the hell out of him by grabbing him in a headlock, shoving his head down, and giving him a noogie. “Who says I lurrve you?”
“Uncle Brennan?”
I paused in the act of giving the noogie, well aware that I’d been caught red handed as I turned to find my nephew Shay watching us, his head tipped down as he stared at Conor and me.
“Yeah, big guy?” I slapped my hand over Kid's hair to straighten it out some, unsurprised when he shoved me away with a glower.
“Why are you giving Uncle Conor a noogie?”
“Because he deserved it?” I arched a brow at him. “Did you need something?”
“No. Just thought I’d save you from Grandma. She’s looking for you.”
I blinked. “Owe you one, Shay.”
He grinned at me before he hurried down the hallway and away from us both, clearly avoiding Ma.
She had a tendency to pinch his cheek whenever he was near, so I wasn’t altogether surprised he was getting the fuck out of Dodge.
“Scared of a clipped ear?” Conor taunted, smoothing his fingers over his hair.
“You fucking know it.” Ma's fingers were like pincers.
“Bren?” Ma demanded as she made an appearance around the corner—Shay really had spared my ass. Well, my ears.
“What, Ma?”
“Have you seen Mary Catherine?”
“Why would I?” I grumbled with a frown.
“Didn’t she leave a few hours ago?” Conor replied.
Ma did the weirdest thing.
She didn’t look at him.
Or answer him.
She stared straight at me.
Conor noticed as well. He straightened up, not accustomed to being ignored by our folks.
For some reason, though he was the middle child, he was treated like he was the baby of the family.
We had a peculiar dynamic, that was for sure. Eoghan, while the youngest, wasn't nicknamed 'Kid.' That moniker belonged to Con.
“You should know where she is," Ma groused. "Aren’t you on security today?”
I frowned at her. “Conor just said he thought she left.”
“Well, where is she? Where did she go? Her mother’s worried.”
Turning to Con, I shot him a look, wondering what the fuck was going on even as I asked, “You see where she went?” Had I asked a more stupid fucking question in my life?
Was this Telephone and we were in third grade?
“No,” he said slowly, his gaze never once meeting mine, just focused on Ma. “I saw her get into a taxi. Savannah was talking to her so I didn’t think anything was wrong. Plus, the kid was crying. I thought she was taking her home.”
"Ain't the kid a boy?"
Con shrugged. "All I know is the little bastard cried a lot. With pipes like that, I wasn't about to get closer to the noise to find out whether it was a dude or not."
Chuckling, I said, “There you go, Ma. You have your answer. She got in a taxi and went home.”
She huffed. “Aren’t you going to look into it?”
“No?” I countered, even more perplexed. “Why would I?”
A harrumph escaped her, and she swarmed by, muttering under her breath, “If you want something done properly, do it yourself.”
“Whoa. What the fuck did you do?”
He’d turned to watch her go. “No idea.”
I shoved him in the side. “‘Fess up.”