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His head twisted to the side as he shot me a bewildered look. "Two canisters."
I rubbed my chin. "Take us to St. Patrick’s. Our parish, not back to the cathedral," I clarified because he was a moron.
"You can’t be serious," Anthony rasped.
"Are you fucking questioning me?" I barked, satisfied when his shoulders hunched.
"No, Boss."
"Good," I snapped, coughing a little before I rumbled, "Now take us to the fucking church." I reached for my cell, called Donall, and told him to make a shell out of the white van.
Driving through our territory, our neighborhoods, I felt safer than I did being in Midtown, but that wasn’t saying much. Even here, we could be picked up. If Conor’s gadget had let us down for just a few seconds, we might be fucked if we were caught on camera.
In the distance, I could see the church spires, and started pressing the jammer as I recognized just how much of a mainstay it was in my life.
Everything was celebrated here, the end of the week, births, deaths, marriages.
Seven days didn’t pass without me having to come to the godforsaken place twice, and I had to sit in that goddamn booth where Conor had been raped.
I had to sit there and atone for shit when I was already fucked. When I was already going to hell because I’d never confessed to McKenna’s murder. Not because I was scared of the consequences if Da ever bribed Doyle into sharing secrets he learned in the confessional—and I wouldn’t put it past him—but because I felt no regret.
I’d willingly burn for an eternity because McKenna had gotten everything he deserved.
Now, maybe, it was our chance. Maybe Finn and I could have some of that. Some peace. Some goddamn freedom from our pasts.
As we pulled up outside the church, Finn rasped, his voice hoarse from coughing, "What’s the game plan, Aidan?"
I didn’t answer, just said to Anthony, "Keep the jammer working. I’m not concerned about the church, but about any residential cameras."
He blinked but reached for the gadget and pressed that red button while I was there.
I nodded in thanks, then struggled out of the car, the agony in my knee fading as I stared up at a place that was a personal source of misery. Which was when, at the worst possible time, I realized the Oxy hadn’t just helped me blot out the physical pain, but the psychological too.
Throat thick, from emotions as well as the smoke, I whispered, "Can I ask you a question, Finn?"
"Of course," was his immediate reply.
"You never told me why you ran away from home. Did you?"
He stilled. "You know that fucker was beating me."
"Did he know you were Da’s?"
"Apparently."
I grunted. "That’s why you ran away?"
Finn reached up and tugged on his shirt collar, pulling away the already loose necktie. As he did, I knew the desire to lie was strong in him. I could fucking feel it.
Just like when Da had been looking at Finn and me, there’d been a different kind of hell in his face when his gaze had glanced off me and pinned itself to Finn.
A hell that made me wonder shit.
"You got married here," I said softly.
"I did."
"Why?"
