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"Well, takes one to know one," she sniped, huffing again and folding her arms across her chest with a petulant pout that made me want to bite her bottom lip. "I was only trying to tell you that I quickly discerned the deaths your father was involved in."
I reached up and rubbed my forehead where a headache was starting to gather. "You did?"
Did I even want to know how?
Just the idea of having to read reports was enough to make me want to puke. I spent most of my life avoiding the written word, and whenever I could, I listened to text.
The last words I’d read, in bulk, were from Uncle Paddy’s fake autopsy report.
"I did. He has a flair that speaks of enjoyment. Your father would, in all likelihood, always have been a killer. Whether he was a part of the Irish Mob or not. So, when you say, ‘You’re not like your da,’ I know you’re not."
"You can’t know that. Not really. Because I only just figured it out myself."
"I’m not saying you’re not cruel, Aidan. The shit you did is terrifying, but there was no enjoyment to it. You didn’t prolong people’s deaths."
I thought she was old enough to know better, but she’d just proven to me that she was capable of some dumb fuck moments so I decided to test the waters, push her buttons, and tell her, "The guy who came into your apartment—I prolongedhisdeath. He paid for what he did to you. He paid for not only hurting you but for scaring you. When I was torturing him for information, I made it slow and I made it hurt, but I did that for one reason."
"Me," she said softly, her smile pure when the topic of conversation was anything but pure.
"Yes," I said gruffly.
"Your father’s a psychopath, Aidan—"
"You’re the one who’s excited about meeting him," I drawled, watching her shrug.
"He fascinates me. I can’t help it." She chuckled, but it was sheepish. Embarrassed. "I know it’s odd."
I could no more stop the soft laughter falling from my lips than I could stop night from turning into day. "I’m the one with the psychopath for a father, little one. If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s me." When her warm gaze collided with mine, I teased, "Anyway, you’re no stranger than those guys who like true crime novels."
Her nose crinkled. "Thank you for trying to normalize it, but I’m pretty sure they don’t go to the extents that I have."
"I guess it was all just homework for the real thing, huh?" I jibed, feeling a little lighter, enough that I could joke about something that definitely wasn’t funny, but then, she did that to me. For me.
Somehow, amid the darkness of my world, she shone a flashlight over it. Not to illuminate the nasty stains but stumbling over it like Nancy Drew. Except, this particular Nancy Drew had the hots for the bad guy. Not the good.
"You’re not your father, Aidan," she assured me. "Not saying you’re a good person, but you’re not him."
I had to laugh. "Gee, thanks."
Sending me a wink, she murmured, "Just telling it how it is."
"Brutally so." I snorted, but I eased off the brakes and started trundling down toward the house.
"Aidan?"
"Yeah?"
"I don’t—" She paused. "I can’t—" When she hesitated again, I shot her a look. "What is it?"
"I’m just trying to find a way to phrase it."
"Phrase what?"
"I don’t care what you do. I know I should. I know it’s bad, but there’s so much bad in this world. So much of it." Her head tipped back against the rest as her eyes fluttered close. "I’ve read so much of what the Sparrows did to women, and I’ve learned some things that I didn’t want to know a human could do to another living being—some of which were in the files I got from the coroners—but I just ask one thing of you."
"What, little one?" I asked quietly.
She gulped, tilted her head toward me, then whispered, "That you don’t get caught."
I released a breath, then reached for her hand and raised her knuckles to my mouth so I could brush my lips over them. "Your wish is my command."
