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Before I had a chance to even take in the wide open spaces, the golden amber marble on the floor, the decor that looked like it belonged in a magazine—and I was in the frickin’ hallway, of all places—I saw him.
I didn’t know who he was, but he was terrified.
A bag was over his head, taped around his throat, so I couldn’t see his face, but the way his lungs were working? He was close to hyperventilating.
Even from this distance, I could see the stains on his pants where he’d obviously urinated, and I couldn’t blame him. I’d be peeing my pants, too, if I was surrounded by Aidan O'Donnelly and only God knew who else.
The man in charge was waving a gun in his hand as he paced from one side of the large living room to the other. He didn’t seem to realize there were new people here, he was just ranting about some shit or other as he wafted that damn weapon about.
At my side, Finn swore under his breath and, waiting until Aidan disappeared out of sight for a handful of seconds thanks to a wall that hid us from him and him from us, he stormed down the corridor and dragged me with him.
I didn’t even have it in me to argue. I just let him drag me along, so fucking grateful when he shoved me through a doorway and didn’t take me down to that gorgeous salon, which would always be spoiled thanks to the fact someone just had the piss beaten out of them.
My whole body quivered as I rushed inside the bedroom.
A quick glance told me it was sartorial elegance in the flesh. There was a California King bed that seemed to go on for miles and miles, and it was covered with a crisp comforter the color of Finn’s eyes. With the plump pillows, and the soft white cotton under sheet, which was revealed thanks to the way the comforter had been folded, I really wanted nothing more than to bury myself under that duvet and hide my head under the squashy down.
There were stylish rugs placed in artful angles that brought a rich color to the tapestry of the room. Expensive oil paintings with an almost Middle Eastern theme decorated the walls, and combined with the lighting, it was, I realized, as colorful as a souk. Like a little Arabian tent in the middle of Manhattan.
It was cozy and comfortable, and even better, had several doors leading from it to other rooms.
I had no desire to hear what was going on. Not even one ounce of me was curious. We learned not to be curious in my neighborhood. That kind of stupid logic got you killed, and as everyone was taught from a young age, if we were stupid around the Points, our moms would be attending our funerals.
To be fair, I didn’t know if the Five Pointshadkilled any kids. I doubted it, Aidan O'Donnelly was a God-fearing man, and even if he went to confession to be absolved of all his sins, killing kids just didn’t seem like his kind of remit.
At least, I hoped so.
Not that it helped me at the moment.
My mom was no longer around to attend my funeral, and I was an adult. Aidan, I felt certain, would have no compunction about getting rid of me if I caused too much of a stink for him and his men.
One of the doors led to a sleek bathroom that was done in all black. The tiles, the vanity, the sink, the shower stall . . . totally black. All done in marble so shiny, I could see my reflection in it. Only the mirror and the faucets gave any relief to the color scheme, and overhead, there was a huge skylight that brought in a shit-ton of light as well as brightening up the room with the gorgeous sky that was so pretty, it made my eyes water.
Well, it was either that or fear.
Would that be the last beautiful thing I’d see before Aidan shot me between my eyes for sneaking around?
My throat closed.
No. Finn wouldn’t have brought me here if he’d wanted Aidan to kill me.
Finn wanted to fuck me, not murder me.
I realized then how stupid I’d been not telling him my link to him, my link to his mom. The truth was, I’d been so stunned by not only his beauty, but the photos, and the fact that, well, I’d not only believed Finn was dead, but the knowledge that if he’d lived all these years and had never told Fiona of his whereabouts–that spoke of a hatred that I didn’t really need to align myself with.
The bathroom was useless. I’d stick out like a sitting duck with my pale skin and red hair, so I ducked into another door and found a closet.
I didn’t care if it made me look like a child. I pulled the door, and dropped to my knees. There were shoes there, but I didn’t give a fuck. I clambered above them, uncaring that the expensive accessories dug into my ass as I huddled in the corner and, for the first time in five years, prayed.
Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,
Thy kingdom come, thy will be don—
Then, like something from my nightmares, I heard it.
The gunshot.
And like it hadn’t interrupted, I continued with a harried, terrified inner voice,
–done, on Earth as it is in heaven. . . .
