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For all I knew, he might have one on his ass cheek, but I doubted it.
Tradition was tradition for a reason.
My da had that same damn phoenix on his upper arm, much as Michael had. And my elder brothers were the same, fools that they were.
High enough to be covered by a short-sleeved shirt, but easy enough to expose to prove to a fellowcheilethey were of the brotherhood.
I pressed my back against the bathroom door as I ground out, “Get dressed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered and dressed at lightning speed.
Now I knew he wasn’t ECD, I asked, “Do you know how to disconnect a PCA pump?”
“A what, ma’am?”
I took that as a no.
Sighing, I explained, “A patient-controlled-analgesia pump.”
Jamie shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
Damn.
Would Aidan Jr.?
Which of my boys would know how to do this? Would any of them?
The dread in my gut wouldn’t abate.
TheÉire le chéile go deowere bad news, and they’d targeted Aoife’s mother. If thecheileswanted Michelle dead, what was stopping them from wanting Aoife dead too?
If they’d gone for the lover, why not the love child?
I couldn’t let that happen.
Aoife had been safe these last few years because she’d married Finn, but that was no guarantee, was it?
Aoife… I’d already caused that poor girl such devastation. Thecheilesterrified me, and meddling was the last thing I wanted, but I had no choice.
I owed her; I owed Finn.
We needed answers.
I was under no illusion that my sons were cut from the same cloth as their father because I’d helped mold them into that. If I tossed Michael at them, then he’d be dead by the day’s end. But dying for the cause was what thecheilesdid.
Death was only a way to martyr them. They weren’t afraid of it; they wouldn’t be afraid of my children.
Well, that wasn’t strictly true.
So I called the only man who’d be able to help me, the boy I’d let down, the son I’d failed. Whose soul, to my shame, Michael’s death would rest on…
“Conor?” I whispered, wishing that I didn’t need to do this, wishing there were another path I could take. “I need your help.”
