Page 161 of Filthy Feck


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She snorted. “No. I didn’t have a say in anything. I had to ask to use the bathroom, Conor. You think he gave me a choice about getting pregnant? Hell, he could have brought in a football team and ordered me to fuck them and I’d have to or I’d end up—”

“What?” I prompted when she stilled.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said with a sigh. “He had a way of making me do whatever he wanted.

“I knew that with a kid and his warped ideas of love, he’d make sure he provided for us. I killed him a week after he’d been to visit his attorney to change his will.

“I broke into his medicine cabinet, drugged his whiskey, then got him ready for the end. When he started to stir, I strung him up and watchedhimdance forme.” A ghost of a smile drifted onto her lips and I knew point blank that that bastard had made her do that—dance for him. The smile barely had a chance to exist before it was immediately quenched. “I was going to get an abortion but God proved he exists because he smiled down on me and I miscarried.”

“What happened?”

“Helped Hans hang himself. He kicked me while he was swinging. I fell.”

She uttered the words in such a facile tone that I knew those were the bare bones of what had undoubtedly been one of many traumatizing days in her life.

Her hesitation was palpable as she mumbled, “You’re Catholic.”

“Your body, your choice,” was my immediate reply. “And I’m not really Catholic.”

She grunted. “I know that, just wasn’t sure if you did and if I’d have to kick you around a bit until you understood that even if Ihadn’tmiscarried, I wasn’t going to let—”

I pressed a finger to her lips. “Your body. Your choice. Anyway, what is it with you and fighting? Or is it just a self-defense thing?”

“Got a black belt in Ju-Jitsu at fourteen. What do you think?”

“Wow.”

Another grunt.

“If you ever want to fight me… I’m not a black belt, but Brennan makes us train.”

“Hemakesyou train? You aren’t ten and have anger issues.”

“That’s why you got your black belt so young?”

“Yeah.”

“I had authority issues but Da let me burn that off by hacking into government agencies.” Her snicker soothed the agitation her anecdote had stirred.

“That was a Krav Maga move you pulled on the guard at the dinner table.”

I shrugged. “Brennan is the kind of guy who gets straight to the point.”

“Why teach something unless it’ll decimate an attacker?”

“That’s him in a nutshell,” I said with a chuckle. “Why waste time punching someone in the face when you can snap their fingers, rupture a testicle, and puncture a lung?”

She whistled. “I like his style.”

“Thought you might,” I quipped. “He’s always taught us to be light on our feet, but I only got back into fighting and training because of Shay.”

“Explain.”

“Bossy.”

Her nose crinkled. “Get on with it.”

“Brennan got into boxing when he was a teenager; he was the one with anger problems.”

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