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Inside, there were over eighty men with their wives and kids, each drinking Aidan Sr.’s alcohol while the women primped and gossiped like curious peahens as they tried to figure out why they were here and what Aidan’s upcoming speech was about—because not all of them were dumbasses, the odds were high it was about the cathedral and the church’s ‘arson attacks.’
Aidan hadn’t told me specifics, but then, we’d been busy. Last night, after my call with the family, we’d gone to bed, then he’d woken me up with an orgasm that made me wonder why I hadn’t gotten that kind of wake-up call on Christmas morning.
After, I’d passed out, and when I woke up, it was because Aoife was knocking on my door, telling me I had thirty minutes to get ready.
Charming.
Determining next Christmas would be spent with his face between my legs and not being hauled out of bed before the dawn birds started singing, and that Aidan really needed to start getting better at communicating—it took way longer than thirty minutes for something this good to lookthis good—I guided Mary Catherine away from the crowd and into the house itself.
"I hope you don’t mind me getting involved," I said sheepishly. "I can’t keep my nose out of other people’s business."
"Are you kidding?" Mary Catherine sent me a tired look. "You spared me more humiliation than usual."
I frowned. "I’m so sorry to hear that." Beside the wintergarten, there was a suite of rooms that was a bedroom/bathroom/living room combo. Though tastefully appointed, it was pretty standard stuff. Like going to a hotel or something.
As I stepped into the living room though, I asked, "Do you need anything? Is he sick?"
"Sick of being dragged around more than anything." Mary Catherine shot me a tired smile. "Mostly, he just needs to eat. Can I take a seat?"
"Sure, please do." I wafted a hand at a small club chair and she heaved a sigh as she plunked her butt down. "I’ll leave you—"
"No!" Her eyes flared wide. "Please, don’t."
"Are you sure you don’t want privacy?" I asked uncomfortably.
"She’ll see you and—" Mary Catherine swallowed.
"And?"
"She’ll come in and it will start again."
"Do you want me to grab your husband?"
"He’s not here."
"Oh! He’s not?"
"There are only Lieutenants here and above." She bit her lip. "Digger isn’t even a Five Pointer. That’s why Mom was giving me shit."
"Because she doesn’t approve of him?"
A shaky laugh escaped her. "That’s the understatement of the year. He’s a biker." Her chin tipped up like she was expecting criticism as she declared, "He’s a Satan’s Sinner. He had to go on a run four days ago, and ever since, she’s been crazier than usual."
I frowned. "A Sinner?" I thought back to Cruz and the other guys who’d helped free the compound of dead bodies. "I almost met some of them a little while ago."
Mary Catherine blinked. "You did?" Her hand moved to the back of her son’s head as she started fidgeting around, unfastening buttons and popping a boob out. The kid, clearly scenting gold, dug right in. "How did you meet them? Who did you meet? Did you meet Sin?"
I blinked. "I don’t know. I only heard one name. Cruz."
She shot me a bright smile. "I know Cruz. He has brilliant tattoos. Have you seen them? He’s, like, covered in black ink with bare skin peeping through."
"Negative ink. I’ve heard of that."
"His makes him look like a skeleton."
Walking death.How fitting for a dude who could boil down corpses and make them into batter.
Yuck.
