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"They can breathe?" I clarified, not wanting the extra hassle of their deaths.
Anthony shrugged. "I taped up their mouths, but not their noses."
"You wheeled them far away enough so that if this place explodes, they won’t get caught in the blast?"
"This ain’t my first arson attack," Anthony growled like I’d offended him.
"What about the rectory? The common areas? Were they clear?"
He nodded. "Didn’t see anyone other than guards."
"You checked every room?" Where was everyone?
"You trying to tell me how to do my job?"
Raising my hands in defeat, I stepped closer to the altar, murmuring, "Da? Security is dealt with."
He just grunted as he tugged off the hat on the Archbishop’s head, then slapped him until he was conscious.
Unlike before, he now had a matching Cheshire Cat grin thanks to Ma. I’d seen her use a knife in the kitchen, and she’d certainly learned some skills while cooking was all I’d say.
The dull thwacking sounds sent blood spattering everywhere, but Da didn’t care about blood evidence. Why would he when he was going to torch the ancient edifice anyway?
Masters came awake with a slurred, "Where am I?"
Da rumbled, "You’re at the gateway to hell." His head tipped back as he peered at the Sanctuary’s ceiling.
A sacrifice was going to be made tonight, but it was anything other than Catholic in origin. Far more pagan than I thought Da was capable of.
Like those words brought him to full wakefulness, though, the Archbishop sobbed, "No, please, no. Last rites, I need—"
Da punched him in the face, not that the bastard had to be feeling all that much by now. Brain damage was already underway especially with how fractured his orbital bones were.
A bag appeared from his pocket and it was placed around Masters’ head, then Finn and I both sucked in a sharp, surprised breath, as Ma, wielding the duct tape, began to tape it in place.
As the Archbishop made agonized sounds as he gasped for air, the bag grew fuller and fuller, turning into a balloon as he started struggling in the wheelchair.
Da raised his arm and tucked Ma under it. "See him squirm, baby?"
"I do," Ma confirmed. "Wish Conor could see it. Wish Conor could know." Her cheeks gleamed with tears that flowed non-stop. Tears that had nothing to do with the rain that had wet us all through.
Nervously, I licked my lips. "You’re not going to tell him?"
"Your father told me you promised Conor to keep it a secret from us."
A harsh sob escaped her, one so loud and so surprising after the calmness of her earlier tone that I flinched at the sound of her agony. It made me close my eyes as I felt her pain with her.
I’d never processed what it had done to me to see Conor being abused like that.
I’d never processed how it had felt to kill that son of a bitch.
Uncle Paddy had taken Finn and me boxing for a while, but then he’d died.
Well,pretendedto die.
Christ, I still had to tell Da that.
Scrubbing a hand over my face as Ma sobbed out her fucking heart, falling forward with the agony of her sorrow, needing Da to prop her up and stop her from sinking to her knees in a puddle of grief, I felt Finn huddle nearer to me.
