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He grunted, then called out, "Forrest, Tink, Baggy, you can all fuck off home now."
"About time," Baggy groused. "Some of us have wives to fuck."
"Some of us have wives who’ll nag about us going missing for hours on end on Christmas Eve morning," Forrest confirmed.
"Jesus. Talk about a bunch of moaners," Brennan rumbled. "Stop bitching at me and get your asses home." As his crew grunted and started rolling their eyes, he called out, "Merry Christmas, fuckers."
They returned the call, and I was left with my crew. Men I barely knew anymore. Men who I’d outgrown a long time ago, but who, I knew, would have my back.
I shot a look at Mickey, Jamie, and Connolly, and told them all, "Have a great day tomorrow. See you the day after Boxing Day."
Like I was their fucking general, they saluted me. Their formality so unlike Brennan’s crew that, for a moment, I was envious.
For all that the sniping between Brennan and his men could have looked like a weakness, it was, if anything, a strength. They wouldn’t ass-lick, wouldn’t blow smoke up his ass and be anything other than candid with him.
Yeah, Brennan’s relationship with his crew was something to envy for sure.
When they retreated, slipping out of the warehouse, leaving me alone with him, I limped toward him so we could go home as well.
"Why don’t you ever use a fucking cane?" Brennan asked as he watched me. "I’m pretty sure it makes shit ten times harder on you."
"Gimps use canes."
Brennan frowned at me. "What fucked up bullshit is that?"
I scratched my jaw. "Not my words, heard them at church."
He squinted. "Someone said that and you overheard it?"
"Yeah." I shrugged.
"Which dumbfuck said that?"
"Tony said that to Paul," I murmured, referring to the men Da considered his advisors even though they were denser than rocks.
"You shitting me?" Brennan growled. "Why didn’t you tell Da?"
"What am I? Fucking five?"
"They think you look more hardcore hobbling around like that?" He scowled. "God spare me from idiots. Although I’m not sure who’s the bigger dipshit. Them for saying it or you for listening."
"Fuck you," I told him, but my tone was mild. "Yougo from being the Irish Mob’s golden boy, expected to be perfect, expected to lead in our father’s image, and then having to learn that you’ll never be what you were before."
Brennan scowled. "I hate to break it to you, Aidan, but it sounds like you were listening to your fan club. Trust me, your brothers never thought you were fucking perfect."
I had to grin, and it morphed into a chuckle as I socked him in the shoulder. "Bastard."
He smirked. "True, though. You’re an idiot for listening, and have probably damaged your knee more because of it. Anyway, everyone knows Tony and Paul are schmucks."
"Everyone but Da."
"Oh." Brennan whistled under his breath. "Oh, I get it."
"You do? Slow off the mark, Bren."
"You thought he’d listen to them?"
My mouth tightened. "I did. I wasn’t going to do anything that would make Da take my position from me. Of course, I fucked up by getting hooked on Oxy." I blew out a breath. "But that was later on."
