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Fifty-Seven
Finn
“Goddammit,”Aidan hissed as he plunked his ass down on an armchair in the living room.
“When’s your next physio session?” I questioned, pressing the bottle of beer to my lips and swigging some down.
“Tomorrow.” He grunted as he laid his leg out in front of him. “It’s getting better. Today’s just not a good day.”
On the brink of answering, I arched a brow as the door opened and Conor swaggered in with a bottle of beer and his diamanté cat. “Where’s Jake?”
“Why?”
“He likes the cat. I brought him the cat.”
“To keep?”
Kid hesitated. “On loan.” He peered around the living room. “I can’t believe you’re still staying in a hotel suite. It’s a good thing you’re a billionaire.”
“Aoife likes it.” That was all that mattered. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but it was what she needed until I could find the right place for us. “And Jake’s in bed.” When he swiveled on his heel, I barked, “Conor, if you wake him up, I will shove this beer bottle where the sun doesn’t shine. It took me three hours to get him down.Three.”
“We’re dealing with a man on the edge,” Aidan said with a laugh. “Don’t mess with him, Kid.”
Conor huffed as he dumped the cat by the door then strolled over to us. “He’s always asleep when I visit.”
“Stop by earlier, and don’t pout.” I shot him a withering glance.
“It was easier when you lived opposite me,” he grumbled.
“Tough.” I turned to Junior. “You sure your knee’s getting better?”
“Oh, for sure. It’s painful, but not like before the surgery.”
“You don’t want to shoot up?” Kid inquired.
“No, Conor, I don’t want to shoot up,” Aidan said on an impatient sigh.
“You sure? Finn and I will gladly sit on you again.”
My lips curved as I raised my beer bottle to Kid. “Ain’t that the truth.”
He smirked, took a sip of beer, then asked, “Did Lodestar funnel that information to Savannah?”
Aidan angled himself toward Conor. “The bank account shit?”
Savannah had recently published an article that exposed the five banks where the Sparrows held accounts. Some CEOs and CFOs had resigned over the last couple days.
With no money, and fewer men in positions of power, the Sparrows were no longer just dying, they were on the brink of extinction.
As for our other problem—thosecheilebastards—it had been all quiet on the Western Front.
“Yeah. The bank account shit,” Conor confirmed. “Did Lodestar give her the data?”
“Of course. Why?”
Conor scratched his chin. “She’s gone quiet on me.”
Brennan and Declan sauntered in, Dec carrying a baby, Brennan two bottles of beer.
