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And he died.
Which solved one problem, but triggered a whole host of others.
Aidan, panting from the brute force he'd used, stared down at the corpse like he was just waking up, like he was just starting to register what he'd done.
"Call Uncle Paddy," Conor ordered, his voice clearer now, satisfaction lacing it but also, authority.
I turned to look at him while Aidan stayed staring at the bloody mass on the church floor—his first kill.
Seeing the change in Conor lessened my nerves. His lips wobbled a little and his eyes were still wet, but they were burning with relief now that they were pinned on McKenna's corpse. His trauma was slowly coming under lock and key as his brain whirred to life.
"You sure?" I questioned.
"Paddy isn't reliable," Aidan argued shakily, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand and smearing blood everywhere. His voice was definitely home to a quiver, but he seemed to take strength in the change in Conor too. "He’s my godfather as well, Conor, but you know what he’s like. Grandda used to say he’s got less use to the Firm than a chocolate teapot, and you know Da agrees."
His younger brother dipped his chin, and for the first time since the priest had perished, stared right at me. "Uncle Paddy will know what to do," he declared, sounding more confident than a seven-year-old should. Never mind one who'd just been raped.
I knew he wanted me to convince Aidan, but shit, there was no convincing him. Like his da, he did what he wanted,whenhe wanted.
"He's good at avoiding Da's wrath," Aidan admitted begrudgingly.
"Uncle Paddy’s smarter than he lets people think," Conor retorted, his tone firming.
"We should just tell Da," Aidan argued.
But Conor's confidence crumbled. Like a house of cards going up in smoke, the vulnerable kid of before made an abrupt reappearance. "No!"
"He won't judge you," Aidan said softly, his shoulders slumping when Conor started to cry again. "He'll be glad we—"
"No! Please, Aidan. Please! I don't want him to know." His tears morphed into sobs, his small frame shaking and trembling as he stood there, arms wrapped around his stomach, pleading with us.
Aidan and I shared a look, and the change in Conor, so abrupt and sharp, made me want to do as he urged. It did the same with Aidan too. I just hoped Conor's faith in Paddy O'Donnelly wasn't wasted. Because if he didn't help, we were fucked. Maybe not as badly as McKenna, but still screwed.
The second Aidan Sr. learned we'd killed a priest, without being told what that fucker was doing to his son, was a daywe’dhave to endure an eternity of being fucked with hot pokers too.
While I knew my place was in hell, dying at fifteen wasn’t on my bucket list.
Especially when this wasn’t something I could confess to, not in this church, anyway...
