Page 20 of Inflict

“It didn’t matter almost six years ago, when it was your wife shoving pills down her throat to make herself feel better for what she didn’t have, now did it?”

Declan tipped his chin up higher. “It’s not the same thing.”

“It is. It is exactly the same.”

“You showed up with her, practically threw her at us. You knew Marie would take her, and never ask where you got her from. You knew my wife was suffering, and I couldn’t even let Marie take her out of the house! How was I going to refuse my wife when she saw the one thing she wanted and couldn’t have—we never asked, Sean.”

“You never said no, Declan.”

“How old is she?” the other man asked once more.

“Feckin’ hell, what does it matter?”

“Because I asked.”

“Fourteen, maybe.”

What color was left in Declan’s face was gone in an instant. Sean chuckled in response, but otherwise, said nothing.

“That isn’t even the age—”

“She may not be, but she will be eventually, and I do like the process,” Sean interrupted.

“You said once—”

“I said what, Declan?”

“I watch the news, Sean. I keep up, like any intelligent fool should do. It was getting out of hand, I allowed you this shite to quiet the rest, but it hasn’t, has it? I watch the feckin’ news.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” Sean murmured.

“You’re not careful anymore, either. Others have brought things to my attention—why do you think I’m here? Do you think I like spending time anywhere near you?”

“Ouch, brother, that hurts.”

Declan scoffed. “Feck off. You’re not my brother—he found you in the rubbish bin like the trash you are, Sean, and he should have left you there, too.”

Sean smiled. “On that, we can both agree.”

• • •

Connor wasn’t quite sure what exactly had woken him, but as he rolled over in his bed, he quickly realized it was too early for his school alarm. He relied on his alarm because his father made no effort to make sure he got to school on time; all of that responsibility fell on Connor.

He didn’t really mind; he enjoyed school.

The murmurings coming from somewhere outside of his bedroom woke Connor up even more, his curiosity getting the better of him, even while he knew spying had done nothing good for him lately. Still, he followed the voices, grabbing a sweater to pull on over his fleece pajamas because the house seemed colder than normal.

On bare feet, he padded quietly down the stairs and peeked around the corner. There at the front door stood his father, tall, formidable, and as always, cold. Just beyond where Sean stood, outside on the cold, frozen over step, was a police officer in his full uniform.

No wonder the house was cold.

The wind blew in from the open door, filling the house with the usual scent of winter, cold air, and … something else.

Connor sniffed, trying to figure out where he had smelled that strange, heady scent before. It was right on the tip of his tongue—a memory wanting out, but something else snagged his attention. The conversation happening on the doorstep.

“It was destroyed in minutes—the department didn’t have a lot to save once they got there,” the officer explained.

Sean’s hand clenched against the door, as though he was considering shutting it. “Unfortunate.”