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“Eighteen.” He pursed his lips, stubbing the cigarette with force into a nearby ashtray.
“Even better.” I shrugged, spinning on my heel to face him and smiling good-naturedly.
“You can’t do this,” he mumbled to himself.
“I just did.”
“And what if I won’t?” He hesitated, pressing his hand to his neck, like he was choking.
“Then I swear to God, I will kill the little bitch. But before I do, I’ll make sure every single junkie in South Boston rides her ass six ways from Sunday. And trust me, I will hunt down the kinkiest motherfuckers the city has to offer. I do my research, as you can tell.”
Paddy’s jaw ticked, and I knew he was terrified. I’d definitely hit a nerve.
When I booked the flight to Miami, I was under the impression that it was going to be another joyless kill. But then Jensen followed the money trail to Paddy’s daughter. She was living outside of Boston with her ex-stripper mom. Paddy was sending them money every month, and according to Paddy’s wife #2, it didn’t stop there. He was in contact with Tara. Phone calls, Christmas cards and all the rest. Apparently Tara didn’t know her father was a world-class douche. She was just a college freshman looking to bond with her dying no-show of a dad. Looked like a sweet enough girl, if you ignored her problematic gene pool. I never would have touched her. But Paddy thought like a psychopath, so I knew he wouldn’t put it past me to do what he would have done if he still had a chance.
“How will I know you won’t hurt her anyway?” Paddy pressed his head to the headboard, closing his eyes in frustration. He was coming to terms with this arrangement.
I wanted Sparrow to have everything this fucker had to his name, like he took everything from her when she was just a little girl. An eye for an eye.
“Why, I’ll give you my word.” I opened my arms in a friendly manner.
He stared me down and spat again into his bucket, reaching back for the oxygen mask. “Your word ain’t worth shit.”
“Then it’s a crying shame that’s all you’re going to get. Either you hand over the money to Sparrow, knowing I intend to keep my promise not to touch your girl, or you let me walk away from this place, knowing my generous deal is off the table and that I’m going to do horrible things to your kid. Your call, old man.”
The look on his face told me everything I needed to know. He loved his daughter, even though he was a monster. I’d broken him. He had lost everything he’d worked for. He was going to die a poor man, leave nothing to his only family. He was going to pay his debt.
“You are worse than your father, Brennan.”
I smiled in agreement and fished out my phone. “I’ll call a lawyer and have him draw up the papers right away. And you can start by signing this Power of Attorney. Don’t worry, boyo, I brought a pen.”
SPARROW
FROM MY CAB at the end of the block, I watched Troy walking up to the Spanish-style house. Once he was out of sight, I instructed my driver to wait and slowly strolled up the sidewalk, noting his idling cab. His driver was busy with his cell phone and didn’t seem to notice me.
I eyed the stucco mailbox at the end of the driveway. Who was Troy visiting? What was so important at this house? Maybe Daisy was right. Maybe he did take his dick on a tour and was now visiting another mistress.
There was a house number on the mailbox but no name. I doubted I’d recognize the name anyway, but what the hell. I’d come this far. Trying to look casual, like I belonged, like this wasn’t illegal, I pulled open the mailbox, hoping to find a letter with a name. I got far more than I bargained for. I read the address on the first envelope, and my breath caught in my throat, and I froze.
It said “Patrick Rowan.”
Patrick Rowan. Paddy. The man who molested me.
Troy Brennan was at my molester’s house. My husband and the only person I’d ever told about my dark, awful secret.
Stupid girl.
I stumbled back from the mailbox, like a nest of snakes was inside. My heart pumped wildly against my ribcage. Maybe he’d come here to kill him. After all, everyone said he’d killed before. Maybe he would punish this vile man the way I never could.
I forced my gaze back to the house, just as a girl in a maid’s uniform hurried down the drive toward me, looking flushed and concerned. For a moment, I was afraid she was going to confront me, but instead she glanced right and left, like she was the one who was afraid. The girl made her way to a bus stop further up the street, hugging herself defensively and looking around every now and again.
