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He scowled at me. "I’m going to help, Conor."
"Oh." Clinging to him, not wanting to let go, I tightened my fingers around his. "Why is she bleeding down there?"
His jaw clenched. "Grainne, who hurt you?"
"John," she slurred.
"John, who?" I asked. Then eagerly, I explained, "My da’s the scariest man in New York. He’ll make sure John pays for what—"
"Kid, shut up," Aidan hissed. "John… She meansajohn. She’s a… She sleeps with guys for cash."
"People do that?" I knew I sounded doubtful. Why would someone pay to sleep with another person?
"Some do." His wary gaze drifted over to our father. "How do you know her, Da?"
Rage lit up his features at Aidan’s question. "Watch your mouth, boy."
"How do you know a hooker, Da?" Junior insisted, clearly angry enough that he’d lost his sense because Da looked like he was about to punch him.
"F-wank."
I blinked at the girl’s slurred answer. Fwank? What the heck was fwank?
"Frank?" Aidan enunciated, his relief clear. "Our uncle? You know him? Or… did he do this to you?"
Da was silent a second before he muttered, "She used to be his side piece. He’d never hurt her."
"What’s a side piece?" I questioned, but no one answered me.
Grainne began sobbing as Junior unapologetically rumbled, "I was watching out for Ma."
"You don’t need to do that. That’s my job," Da sniped, but he mirrored Junior by crouching in front of Grainne and asking, "You know the fucker’s name?"
"Jus’ lemme die. I wanna die. Lemme die—"
"No!" I cried. "You can’t let her die!" It didn’t register that I was sobbing, but big fat tears blurred my vision as I continued, "Da, you have to help her! You have to!"
Da hissed, "Conor, shut your mouth."
Sniffling, I obeyed, but only because he leaned forward and started to shuffle Grainne around and into a position where she was standing.
Every movement must have hurt her because she sobbed each time. Sometimes, she even screamed or cursed, and that was how I knew she was in excruciating agony because no one swore at Aidan O’Donnelly Sr.—unless they had a death wish.
Junior helped prop her up, and the three of them staggered down the alley with me darting out in front of them so I wasn’t left behind.
"We need to get to Bellevue," Da groused at Jonesy, his guard, who dipped his head to tell Michael, our driver.
I watched as my brother and father helped Grainne into our car, and the second she was weeping miserably in a heap in the backseat, that was when Junior jumped in beside her, and when I should have too.
But I didn’t.
I wanted to know why Da stayed back, wanted to know if I could find out what a side piece was.
"Don’t say a word about this to Frank, do you hear me?"
Jonesy was shrugging. "You know me, boss. I don’t say shit to no one."
"Good. Tell the others I’ll have their balls if they utter a fucking word." When he saw me looking, my eyes bright with curiosity as I wiped my nose on my cuff—men didn't cry, especially not in front of the guards—he ordered, "Conor, you keep your trap shut too."
"Why would a man do that to a lady, Da?"
"She ain’t no lady," Jonesy said with a snort.
I scowled. "Shut up! She is! She ain’t a boy, is she?"
Da heaved a sigh and clapped a hand to my shoulder. As he squeezed, he muttered, "Women pay for the sins of man, Conor. Remember that, boy. It’s why we protect and cherish them. Always."
Staring up at him wide-eyed, I nodded.
Never realizing that those words would be the only lesson I’d ever learn from the sadistic psychopath who was my father, and it was one I’d live my life by…
