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“Fucking pathetic,” I growled the words, and they echoed against the cement walls, the metal bars and benches in the deep recesses of the holding cell.
Twenty-four hours passed and I grew, not anxious, but I feltsomethingas parts of my life flashed before my eyes. It wasn’t the kind of flashes you get just before you die, not happy moments, pivotal moments in your life filled with laughter and smiles, some moments of wistfulness. No, these were the flashes that said a second chance might be possible. A chance to fix all the fuck ups. All the mistakes.
Every face I erased from this Earth.
Owen Byrne. Roman Hargrave. Father Eric. Father Johnson. Some random fucking John. Father Ray O’Leary. Father James Murphy. Father Richard Swanson. Father Sean Sullivan. Bonnie. Mueller.
And there were so many more.
There were too many to name. Some I only knew by a first name, and some of them didn’t have a name at all. All that mattered to me was satisfying my thirst for revenge.
And I did. And it was wonderful. Beautiful.
Satisfying as fuck.
But it wasn’t enough.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Thomas
“Notorious underworld figure, widow of Irish mobster Colm Ashby and daughter-in-law and rumored protégé of mob boss Cillian Ashby, Sadie Rose Ashby, was arrested yesterday.”
With her fake plastic smile, the anchorwoman spoke just outside the gates of Ashby Manor. Her Easter egg-colored blazer had to be hot under the desert sun.“Mrs. Ashby took over the family business upon her husband’s death and proved even more astute in the business world and twice as ruthless in the underworld.”
I changed the channel, but it was all the same. Sadie’s arrest played on every local news and radio station. Every fucking podcaster in Nevada had put up a video, giving their take on what the arrest meant.
Twenty-four hours had passed since that ginger bitch Fed slapped the metal cuffs on Sadie and took her away. Twenty-four hours and there was no word from her or her attorney.
“This is Sky News 10, Las Vegas, live at Ashby Manor, where infamous female gangster Sadie Rose Ashby has been placed in handcuffs. As you can see below, the FBI and not local authorities are escorting her out of the lavish mansion. We can only speculate what prompted this arrest, but the charges must be serious. This is Caleb Gentry. Back to you in the studio.”
These vultures were having a fucking field day with this news. Not that they were happy to see Sadie taken down, but news like this would give them fat to chew on for days. Weeks, even. The aerial footage of the mansion and the matriarch had played on an endless loop since it happened, and it was driving me crazy.
“You could shut that shit off,” Jasper growled at me from the doorway of the office I kept on the first floor, where I paid the house bills and house staff.
“It’s all the same goddamn thing anyway. Over and over. Fucking Beck.”
“I could, but I can’t.”
“Glutton for punishment as always,” Jasper shot back with a knowing smirk that I chose to ignore.
“It’s not all bad news.” I flipped the smart television over to the internet and played a video from a well-known podcaster.
“Say what you will about Sadie Ashby, but the truth is she is one bad mamajama. She did for the Ashby Organization what neither Colm nor Cillian could. She moved them into the stratosphere.
Sure, we can only speculate about the cash made in the underworld, but the casino and resort businesses are booming, which means jobs and money for the local economy. Even their legal cannibis business rakes in a pretty fucking penny. The family and the organization have flourished under the leadership of Sadie Ashby, which is probably why the feds have their panties in a bunch.”
Jasper snorted. “Sounds like a fanboy.”
“Maybe so,” I agreed with a shrug. “But that fanboy’s video already has nine hundred thousand views, and if it comes to it, I hope some of those people end up on the jury.”
Jasper went a little pale at my words. “Shit, don’t even talk like that, Thomas.” He shook his head and pushed off the doorway. “Where’s your stash?”
I pulled a bottle from the bottom drawer of my desk, along with two shot glasses. “I doubt it’ll come to that, but we must prepare for the possibility.”
“I am,” he growled. “Doesn’t mean I want to fucking think about it.”
I knew what he meant. Even now, the thought of Sadie in jail, fingertips black from the fingerprinting process, the bright fluorescent lights giving her a headache, made me sick to my stomach.
