Page 172 of Godless Saints

Mine for mercy.

Nathaniel may or may not know. I didn’t give a shit. Anything to keep Moon safe.

I still took the jobs he sent me. He insisted I handle them myself. No one else. Just me and whatever needed to disappear.

Besides, he'd lock himself in the bathroom and turn the shower on so I wouldn’t hear him lose control. The first time, I let him tell me he was fine.

The second time, I kicked the door down. He was curled beside the bathtub, choking on breaths that wouldn’t settle. I got him to look at me. He apologized for being difficult to love. I never forgot that. I heard it every day after that.

Every fucking day. Which was why I wanted him away from that life. Just us. I wanted to give him the family he should’ve had. One that didn’t punish him for taking up space. One that made this version of him possible.

And yeah… a house full of kids someday. I’d fill it with as many as he’d let me. And then a few more just to be sure.

But my responsibilities were with the Ashbourne name. Everyone thought inheriting it meant blood and guns. Mostly it meant men twice my age lying across polished tables while I decided which lie would cost us least.

Da had already handed me pieces of the organization. The Belfast ports. The Dublin disputes. I traveled constantly between Ireland and New York to solve problems. It was fucking exhausting.

I would never admit it to anyone.

Leaving Moon, knowing he could become a target, tore at me.

Hence the security. He didn’t know two cars rotated behind him every morning. Didn’t know the driver he trusted reported straight to me. Didn’t know I owned the apartment across from his office. Didn’t know I’d already stocked a safe house three hours away with his preferred tea and clothes in his exact size.

Da had stopped answering questions. Left them all to me.

More people noticed me disappearing to New York for Moon. Taking spontaneous trips. Bringing him to Ireland. Putting his safety ahead of strategic decisions. But how could I not? Family always came first. He was influencing my priorities.

I couldn't remember the last time I’d slept more than three hours in a forty-eight-hour span. I woke the second Moon shifted beside me. Years of danger had trained me not to relax. My jaw fucking hurt from grinding my teeth. Insane migraines after every flight; I just took pills for them. Old boxing injuries flared in the winter cold. I ran on caffeine, then whiskey to make the shaking stop. I didn’t always know where I was when I woke up.

Sometimes I woke up reaching for my gun. Sometimes I woke up reaching for him.

If Moon knew all the shit I’d done behind the scenes… I was worried he’d become scared of me. Because even I didn’t recognize the boy I used to be.

But I couldn’t run.

Because running wouldn't make the Ashbourne world disappear. It would only leave me weaker when it came for Moon.

We said our goodnights and left the main house.

I took Moon’s hand. He swayed a little.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have drunk as much as I did.”

I pulled him into my side, arm locked around his waist so he wouldn’t stumble. We walked like that through the dark. I kissed the top of his head.

“A chroí. I like you drunk.”

Moon leaned into me. “It’s so peaceful at the estate.”

We walked through the walled gardens. The large stone manor sat behind us, lights glowing soft in the windows. Ahead, the stone cottage came into view—fireplace already lit, old boxing trophies on the shelves, Catholic pieces on the walls.

Moon went straight to brush his teeth. I stripped down and got into bed, popping two pills for the migraine that had been grinding behind my eyes since the flight.

When he came back he slid under the covers and frowned at the bottle on the nightstand.

“What were those?”

“Just a headache.”