Chapter Thirty-Four #2
“Who the fuck am I going to bring with me?”
“Good. I’d hate to have to hurt Kat. It’ll be so nice to have you both home again.”
My blood feels like sludge trying to move through my veins. I hate everything about him—the way he looks, talks, breathes…the fact that he’s my father. I would die before I went home with him again, before I allowed my mom to do it.
“You have one hour.” Jagger ends the call.
“He thinks he’s in control,” Conan says.
“He’s always been like that.” I stand. “He’s cocky, but not in a way that’s warranted. I can’t tell you how many times others have had to fix his mistakes.”
“And now he’ll die,” Rory says coldly.
“Let’s get you mic’d up, Spike,” Finan tells me, my heart racing as he places a small camera in the button on the collar of my shirt.
Rian and Dean pull up the house on Dean’s laptop, Rian pointing to the screen.
“We’ll park the van here while Shai goes inside.
Finan will stay in the van and monitor what’s going on with Shai.
We can hear you through our comms, but Fin will be our eyes.
The rest of us will split up in the woods surrounding the house.
No one goes in until Shai gives the word.
” He gives Rory a pointed look. “You can do this, son. I know you can. I get it. It’s fucking hard when it’s the person you love, but we have to do this the right way. ”
I hold my breath, unsure how Rory will respond, but he only nods and says, “I know what I’m doing.”
Finan claps his hands together. “Let’s go get our toys and get the fuck out of here, then.”
Ollie and Aislin stay behind. This is the first time I’ve been allowed in their secret room, and I can see why. It’s full of drugs, ammunition, and weapons.
“You know how to shoot?” Conan asks.
I have my handgun that I’ve never actually shot—well, not at a human, just at targets, but still I nod.
I’m a good fucking shot. We showered and changed hours ago, everyone in all black as we arm ourselves to the teeth.
It feels like all the emotion inside me is shut off, all the fear and worry.
I don’t have space for it right now. All I can do is focus.
Ollie hugs us tightly before we go, holding on to Cillian longer than the rest. They whisper hushed words to each other, making promises, I’m sure, the way Rory and I did earlier, and then I’m on my way to Rory’s car to go face my demons.
Rory walks over to me, twisting a spinner in his fingers that I saw Cillian give him a few minutes ago. “I love you,” he tells me again.
“I love you too.” I take his mouth, pushing my tongue inside, making even more promises to him that I intend to keep.
“Let’s fuck shit up.” He gives me a wide, manic grin, then runs toward the van, jumping on Cillian’s back, making me smile.
*
The house is an older farm-style home without neighbors for miles. It’s snowing, light flakes hitting the windshield as I sit here, taking a couple of deep breaths before I go in.
I’ve never done something like this before. It’s not the same as holding up some random person and stealing from them. I’m not afraid of Jagger, but of fucking this up. Of getting my mom hurt, or the people currently putting their lives on the line for me.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling something else as well, that tinge of excitement building in my gut.
What’s wrong with me that I’m craving something like this?
But then, this same flame had been reflected at me when I looked at Rory and Cillian.
Dean and Tiernan. And all it did was make me feel more at home.
“I’m heading in,” I say softly. “Two men at the front door.”
I get out of the car and walk toward them, their guns immediately pointing at me.
“Look who it is. I hear you grew a pair of balls since you left Houston,” Tommy, one of Jagger’s highest-ranking men, says.
“Hopefully one day you will too,” I throw back at him, only for him to cock his gun in response.
“Chill the fuck out,” the other guy says, but I don’t recognize him. “Lift up your shirt.”
I do as he says, and like I figured he would, he takes the gun from my pants. I’ve got another one strapped to my ankle and a knife in my other boot. I can only hope they don’t get those too.
“Search him,” the guy says to Tommy, which surprises me. He’s a big guy, probably at least two hundred and twenty pounds, with a strangely flat face and a permanent scowl. Whoever this is, he clearly holds more authority than Tommy.
Tommy pats me down, finding my second gun but not the knife. “I can’t believe you found them both,” I tell him, trying to alert the guys I’m going in with nothing but a knife.
“Shut the fuck up.” Tommy shoves me toward the door. I almost trip but catch myself. Flat Face twists the knob and lets me in.
There are a few tables inside, a couch and a chair, my eyes casing the room, skipping over the men until they land on my mom. She’s in a corner on the floor, in nothing but her bra and panties, arms and ankles tied, face and body bruised and bloody.
I see red, my skin feeling like it’s burning off my bones as anger engulfs me. I take a step toward her before I hear, “I wouldn’t get any closer,” in my father’s cold, cocky voice.
He’s not holding a gun, but then, there are at least ten others pointed at me, making me conclude that he definitely knows who Rory is and took so long because he was calling in reinforcements.
My mom starts crying, mumbling, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll fix this.” Then, giving my attention to my father, the smarmy-looking man with a pointed nose and dead eyes, I add, “I didn’t know you were throwing a party for me.” I turn so they have a good idea who’s around me, hoping Finan is relaying this information.
“This isn’t for you. It’s just insurance. Rory Fitzpatrick? I didn’t think you had it in you, son.”
Well, there’s the answer to that. He didn’t know who Rory was, but he does now, and he’s a big enough idiot to think he can take on the O’Sheas.
“You’re not even worthy enough to say his fucking name.” My hands fist, itch to grab a gun, for my finger to be pressing against a trigger.
My father frowns, approaches me, and swings his fist. It connects with my face with a loud crack. I stumble backward, bell rung, eyes blurry, and know, that even if he hadn’t already, he just signed his own death certificate.
I wipe the blood off my mouth and smile.