51. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
“What in premeditated murder is this?” I say, entering Riordan’s living room early Saturday afternoon.
In a plastic baby pool, Priscilla sits in about ten inches of water with her legs spread and Riordan behind her, whispering into her ear.
He’s shirtless and wearing skimpy swim trunks. Priscilla has on a T-shirt that I guess no one told her has gone transparent from the water. I don’t even want to know if she’s wearing anything below the waist.
Three blue tarps protect the new hand-scraped wooden planks Rior and Pris installed in their renovated farmhouse located in a very old and hidden rural section of Astoria.
“It’s a water birth,” Isabella says, breezing past me carrying a tray with mugs of tea.
Like it’s the most normal thing in the world, Kieran’s wife, our queen, kneels in front of the pool and hands Riordan a mug. He brings it to Priscilla’s mouth for a sip, kissing her neck.
This is in between the screaming. Hers, of course.
Isabella birthed her twins in the hospital, heavily sedated, under strict medical supervision. Not to mention guards at every exit. Riordan and Priscilla have known each other since high school, and I guess looking back, they were always a little on the bohemian side.
Being away for nearly three weeks, I’ve been stripped of my tolerance of having so many people around me. At every turn, I see another set of eyes like mine, another set of wide shoulders, another pair of size-thirteen shoes.
It’s a star-studded event with O’Rourkes as far as the eye can see.
Except my parents, who left for Ireland a few days ago. I’m livid my father wouldn’t wait for the baby, or me, to say goodbye. We’ve never been close Da and I, a chasm that widened after what I did that night in Boston. I’ve kept how I detest him to myself.
Darragh struts past me, holding his son, knocking me out of my thoughts. At least he’s a doctor and can intervene if anything goes wrong. Heck, he delivered that wee-one in his arms when Ana’s doctor never showed up.
“How do I get a birth certificate to use for all my paperwork?” I tug him.
“Amelia and I will sign off on a certificate of live birth, then we’ll have it registered at the town hall,” he answers, and one-handedly, bites down on a sandwich from the six-foot hero in the dining room.
Amelia is Amelia Quinlan, Darcy Quinlan’s mother who moved here from Ireland with her husband Rian. Ewan and Rian hover in the corner with Lachlan. If you haven’t pieced it together, Ewan and Rian are brothers, half-brothers, and Darcy is technically Ewan’s niece. Or was when he banged her, not knowing she was adopted. They have two wee-ones who are here somewhere running around with Sophie, Darragh’s daughter.
We’re bleedin’ outnumbered with all these kids.
Darragh’s words register, and I realize I can’t file any paperwork for this baby as far as trusts or college funds until that formal birth certificate from the state is issued. I’m still happy to be here for Riordan.
But, fuck, it already feels like I don’t live here anymore.
“What’s going on in Vegas?” Kieran’s thick brogue sails into my ear from behind.
I turn around and the permanent scowl he wore for years from drowning in grief is gone. He’s still wicked and dangerous, but a confident smile sits on his lips now.
Riordan had just pretended to be happy by pushing away the sorrow of his past with Priscilla. But now, he smiles all the time, too. When he’s not murdering someone.
Lachlan always wore a big evil grin. Cracking jokes. Even in our black site when he’s ripping out someone’s liver.
I catch a glance at myself and wonder who the hell I’ve been all these years. Serious, yes. Hiding from the trauma of that night in the woods, sure. Taking life day by day, and by the balls because the financial health and sound legal standing of my family has been my responsibility for almost a decade.
“Let’s talk later,” I say to Kieran, sipping the beer in my hand.
This might as well be a Super Bowl party.
“Monday morning. My office.” Kieran gives a tight squeeze on my shoulder. “Anything pressing I need to know?”
“No,” I lie, since I’ve been worrying for hours that I told Jillian, a prosecutor, that I murdered two people and buried their bodies Upstate.
Bodies. Buried…
A hunch nags at me about this Borgia case Daniel is fucking up. Witnesses.
The evidence includes witness statements, and they have to be protected.
Where are the witnesses for the case?
Two hours, more screaming, more water splashing everywhere, more tea, and lots of towels later, Priscilla finally gets on her hands and knees, her arse visible for everyone to see. With a squeal that I don’t think I can ever unhear, she wails, and Riordan catches his baby like it’s a hiked football.
“It’s a girl!” Darragh is right there, cutting the cord and squeezing snot from the little lizard’s nose.
Crying, Riordan holds his daughter.
Katya and Isabella help Priscilla into a seated position, Katya struggling because she’s popping out a wee-one next. Once Pris is on her arse, and I’m happy not to look at it anymore, only because she’s my brother’s wife, and I have no business seeing it, she reaches out for her baby, who’s screaming her little head off.
Without even thinking, I take out my phone and snap a photo, especially since private parts are now covered up.
And again, without thinking, I shoot the pic to Jillian.
Seconds later, she responds.
Jillian: Oh my gawd, so cute! And I assume a girl, because of the pink towels?
There were both colors at the ready since they didn’t want to know.
Me: Aye. A cailin.
Jillian: Are they in a tub? She did a water birth?
Me: That is a tub, and I’m not sure I can ever look at pool water the same again.
Jillian: LOL. I’m sure you’ll change your mind.
I live in a loft and don’t have a pool. Kieran’s house, the home I grew up in, does. But here in the New York, we get four months of prime pool weather, tops.
It’s December, so it’s closed up.
Lachlan lives on Astoria Harbor, and I hear sometimes he and Katya go skinny dipping off his dock. Last December, they did a polar bear plunge in Brooklyn.
I step back and think, who the fuck are these people?
For a second, I worry if all this happiness and joy will hurt the edge we have to stay in power.
“How’s dating app girl?” Balor asks, sidling up next to me eating a cookie.
My phone buzzes a moment later, and I practically drop it seeing Jillian in a mirror selfie wearing a black string bikini.
Jesus Fucking Christ.
“It’s a hook-up app.” Shaking my head, I give Balor a glimpse. “That’s how she is. I’m losing my fucking mind.”
His eyes fly open, and he even lifts his glasses to see better, but I pull the phone away. All that luscious flesh is for me.
Christ, she’s hot as fuck, spilling out of that bikini top. All I can think is, more for me and less obstruction to keep me from licking her nipples.
Me: Give me a minute.
Jillian: Going to whack off?
This photo certainly would do the trick. Only, I didn’t really sleep well on the plane and I’m ready to drop.
“Anything else I should know, besides you two trading skin shots?” Balor asks with eyebrows lifted.
“I fucked her twice. Well, three times. Once as Johnny.”
“Who the fuck is Johnny?”
“The profile I set up on her app. Oh, can you fuck with it to make sure she never gets responses? She can toggle that acceptance bar any time. I’m going crazy checking it every…” I stop when my brother stares at me with his jaw dropped. “What?”
“This is the woman who tried to put Cormac in jail, right?”
“It wasn’t personal. Although, she does seem to have a hard on for prosecuting crime families. She wants to be a director for the corruption unit.”
“And you think once you’re done fucking her and walk out on her, she won’t tip off the Feds here with your goddamn pillow talk?” The alarm in his voice sets me back.
Am I not reading this situation with Jillian correctly?
“Aye, I know that.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Because I intend to make her as obsessed with me as I am with her and bring her back to New York after this gobshite with her brother is done.”
Balor’s eyelids flutter behind the thick lenses. “I’m gonna ignore the obsessed part for a moment. What about her brother?”
“He’s the weasel director in that office. He’s the one who saddled me with figuring out what the hell Lazaro Scava is up to, so he can get around all their legal fuckery.”
“Scava? As in the Borgias?” Balor’s face drains of all its color. “You’re conspiring against the people who sent a hitman to kill Darragh?”
“Yep, them. And I still have to meet with Lazaro.” Which makes me wonder why they haven’t tracked me down. “I told you all this when I called in to say why I had to stay there.”
“I’m pretty sure you didn’t say it was a Borgia you were helping the D.A. nail.”
“I know what I’m doing.” I fold my arms. “They have no idea I’m helping Vance.”
Balor opens his mouth, but the smell of…something hits me. I turn around and jump back. Riordan stands there with his daughter, who I don’t think he’ll ever put down. His eyes are red from crying. He put on a T-shirt, but it’s sticking to his wet body since he didn’t bother to towel off.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” He kisses her forehead.
The poor thing has a pointy head from being squeezed out of a narrow birth canal.
“She’s gorgeous, brother.” I lean in, avoiding the lizard in his arms covered in placenta.
Balor pats Rior on his back. “Congrats.”
Darragh passes me next, and I pull his arm. “Her head isn’t staying like that, is it?”
Eyes narrowed, he says, “You’re a dick. Of course not.”
“Just asking.” I have to plan for her future, and if she’s going to look like a conehead, I need to make the proper financial arrangements.
My phone buzzes again.
Jillian: Done?
I can’t help but smile widely, more than I ever think I have in my life.
Balor’s eyes are on me when I look up, then he starts laughing hysterically.
“What?”
“You’re not obsessed. You’re in love.” He slaps my shoulder. “Look around, bro. This is your future. Hey, Rior, don’t throw out that pool!”
Wiping his eyes, Balor swaggers away, laughing.
I’m not fucking amused.
I don’t want this. It’s not for me. No one needs me to be married. Unlike my brothers, I actually have to work. I could hire more lawyers, but I don’t know who to trust.
I trust Jillian with my darkest secrets.
Fuck, I can’t stop thinking about her.
Although Balor’s concern about me helping Vance against the Borgias has me worried. Is my obsession with Jillian compromising my judgment?