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Thirty-Eight
Savannah
"You’re fucking weird,do you know that?"
I ignored Brennan as I watched the biker who’d pulled up twenty minutes ago with a few other brothers from his MC—all of them making up a cavalry of hogs with a pick-up truck trundling along behind them—being shown the battle scene by Declan.
I wasn’t sure why he needed a guided tour, but Declan kicked over a few bodies, exposing lifeless faces and gesturing at them all the while.
"You morbid or something?"
Folding my arms across my chest, I asked, "Why? Is it an issue if I am?"
Brennan grunted. "Not if you make Aidan happy. Conor’s right about that."
Tilting my head to look up at him, I admitted, "We haven’t been together long enough to know that. Not really. But I want to make him happy if that gives you any peace."
"Women aren’t peacebringers," he disregarded, his focus on the scene ahead. "You’re warmongers."
I snorted. "White male privilege talking there. AKA, bullshit."
He smirked. "You stick around this family and you’ll realize it’s the women who are the troublemakers. We men are just humble servants, doing business and keeping a roof over your heads."
"If you say so," I mocked, but my lips twitched a little because I realized Brennan was joking.
Actually joking.
What the hell?
"Surprised you’re not out there, asking questions."
"Declan told me to stay here." I pouted.
"He got a read on you fast, huh?" Brennan scoffed. "What’s with the morbid curiosity, anyway? You know I’ll have to slice your head off if you dare publish anything about the family?"
"Do you know how many times I’ve been threatened with that?"
"Decapitation?"
"No," I complained, "with retribution if I publish anything about the O’Donnellys. It’s already happened three times today, and I’m getting pretty sick of it."
"Once a journalist, always a journalist."
I nodded. "You’re right, and I’m not ashamed of that."
"Why not?"
I stared at him, dumbfounded by his lack of awareness. "Don’t you know how important the free press is?"
"I vote Republican, Savannah," was his dry retort, "what do you think?"
I made a puking sound. "Did you seriously vote for Hewett in the last election? His head was so far up his own ass you could see it when he was talking."
"You do know who my father is, don’t you?"
Despite myself, I had to grin. "I haven’t met him, but I can imagine."
Brennan murmured, "I vote red for the tax breaks."
