Just not mine.
Mine belonged to the bastard on the bed.
The bastard who’d almost died on the bed. Twice.
When I’d learned he’d been shot, I’d been unable to stay away. For years, I’d pushed distance between us, uncaring what he did or what happened to him, just living with survival instincts in mind.
But the second I’d known he might be dying?
I’d had no alternative but to come and see for myself.
Thanks to a few misspoken words when I thought the love of my life, the father of my son, was about to leave this world forever, my kid’s future was in jeopardy. I’d hate myself for it if I hadn’t been traumatized by the sight of Declan as a bunch of surgeons, in this illegal hospital, gathered around him and started to cut his chest wide open.
No one should have to see that.
No one.
“I don’t think you’re scared of anyone, Brennan,” I told him carefully, well aware that was true.
Some might say I was still a dreamer, unrealistic, but I knew how to read people. More than when I was a kid.
I knew what Brennan was and wondered if he knew it too.
He was Aidan Sr. reincarnate.
The thought made a shiver rush down my spine, because that meant he was a psychopath, but Brennan had a self-awareness that was very uncomfortable, and made his kindness all the more perplexing and my trust in him all the more concerning and bewildering.
When Eoghan, Declan’s younger brother, had discovered I’d been hiding a son from the family, he’d gone apeshit.
Brennan?
He’d dealt with me—there was that word again—kindly.
I gulped, and whispered, “Will you do everything in your power to protect my boy?”
He patted my shoulder. “He’s our boy,” he corrected me, making me shudder. “And you know we will. You should go get him. Bring him here. Not for Declan. We don’t want the boy to see his da like this for the first meeting, but the family will want to get to know him.”
My stomach twisted, turning sour at the prospect. “I-I have responsibilities up there.”
He shrugged once more, and I knew he was about to dismiss a decade’s worth of hard work as if it was nothing. “You know they mean shit now.”
I gritted my teeth with fury. “I’m a professor at the Rhode Island School of Art, Brennan. Do you know how difficult it was to obtain that position? Do you know what I had to sacrifice—”
He snorted. “Use that argument on Declan, and I’m pretty sure he’ll blow his top.” Another pat. All the more discomforting. “Your life’s been in New York ever since you got pregnant. You’ve just been procrastinating.”
I wanted to wail that I had a life, that I had plans that had nothing to do with the many and various crimes the family committed. That that wasn’t my future anymore.
But when I looked at him, I knew what I was seeing.
The stonewalling that would make it so that if I didn’t do as I was told, Seamus would be taken from me.
Was it weak to concede defeat?
Or strong to accept it? Because for my boy, I’d kill. And in this world, those words held real-life consequences.
I bit my lip, grinding my teeth hard as I shoved away from him, and when I walked toward the door, he called out softly, so softly that I felt the threat worse than if he’d pressed a knife to my throat. “Don’t think to run, Aela. If you do, the consequences will be a thousand times worse.”
The statement, and that he’d felt he had to repeat the warning, had me shoving the Velcro-ed sheets that acted as a doorway open, dashing out of the freaky clinic I was sitting in, and running to the bathroom so I could puke my guts out.
The place was beyond weird.
Situated in the middle of a warehouse, clear, see-through plastic had been rigged up to create a sterile space within a space.
Inside, there were two hospital beds surrounded by all the equipment you’d expect in an ER or ICU.
That was the clout the O’Donnellys had.
They didn’t need access to hospitals, they had their own. Anywhere, any time. With a team of nurses and doctors and surgeons on hand who’d jump to help, it was all the more disconcerting to be in the web again.
To know the spider was closing in on me, and I was the one stupid enough to come traipsing inside.
When my knees were aching, my body trembling as the aftereffects of fear, stress, and anxiety hit me, I leaned back and away from the toilet, pushing the lever so it flushed.
As I watched my meager stomach contents disappear down the drain, I tried to get my thoughts in order.
Obeying didn’t come easily to me.
I was known for my anarchist art, known for my feelings on the current government, and my anti-populist stances. It was all well-represented in my work, for God’s sake, and my art was internationally renowned.
I’d created pieces for bigwigs. Made works of art for billionaires and corporate sharks, even a few Saudi princes.
Why?
Because I bled them for all they were worth, for every inch they’d given me to have a piece of Aela O’Neill in their homes, and that money? I gave it back to the people.
I was a modern-day Robin Hood for a reason.
I knew what it was like to be controlled, to be under someone’s thumb, and I did my best to protect anyone else from that fate.
Of course, there was no one here to help me now.
My Maid Marian was a dude lying on a hospital bed who’d loathe me the second he opened his eyes, and who’d treat me like crap.
But my fate was entwined with his.
I should have known it would bring us back together—sometimes, wishful thinking just never got you far enough away.
I clambered to my feet, and I washed my hands and face with the soap provided. It cut through a day and night’s worth of grease, but I still needed a shower badly.
Blowing out a breath as I looked in the mirror, taking in the black curls, the blue streaks that were my rebellion, the elfin face that was too weak, and the eyes that were exhausted, I shook my head and pushed myself away from the spotted mirror and the chipped sink and headed on out.
Was I surprised when a couple of goons appeared at my side?
Maybe I was.
Maybe I wasn’t.
I’d thought Brennan was giving me a semblance of control, making it look like I had a say in this, even though I didn’t.
The goons?
Proof otherwise. Proof that I wasn’t to be trusted.
Pretty smart of them.
When I cast both men a look, I saw Eoghan in the background, Dec’s younger brother, eying me.
And I knew.
He’d sent the goons.
I gritted my teeth. I was grateful that Aidan Sr. and Lena O’Donnelly weren’t here anymore. After the old man had slapped Brennan for speaking up, for telling the old man to calm down because he was freaking the staff out with his wild temper, I was grateful that they’d gone to Finn O’Grady’s apartment to get some rest. Only having to deal with my babysitters was a boon, but I still ignored Eoghan and stormed out into the street.
There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run, but I had to make sure Seamus was prepared for the future that was coming our way.
Unfortunately for me, he was a teenager.
And teenagers were like mini mafiosos without the murdering power.
FML.
DECLAN