"When I speak of an organization, I'm talking about the New World Sparrows, a body of people for whom I have worked since my first year at the NYPD Police Academy.
"Congressman Jason Young is also a member of this group, and I have been in contact with him for some years."
He switched onto an app, and there was a soft hushed voice, faintly masculine but androgynous that whispered, "Coullson can no longer be trusted. Those on high say he needs to be silenced. The usual payment will be made once the job is done."
When the recording was complete, Lacey muttered, "This morning, I realized this was a trap. I was never meant to make it out of this room alive. If they think they can take me down for knowing too much, then they can think again.
"The Sparrows are everywhere—"
There was the sound of a faint explosion, as if a glass door or a window had been smashed, and he jerked like he’d been hit. But his head twisted to the side as he looked for the source of the bullet’s entry, then he snarled, "Those bastards—"
Someone promptly shut him the fuck up by shooting him.
Because of this Young, however, the entire world knew about the New World Sparrows; a threat to everyone's personal liberties and a group that was affecting my da's bottom line.
We were involved in the extermination process. Not because they were the 'toxicity' the President declared them to be, or because they were infiltrating the very mores upon which this nation was founded, but because they were business rivals.
"He’s a prick but I don’t think the President’s a Sparrow," Finn mused, but he sounded like he was chewing.
"Why not? Davidson’s smarmy as fuck."
Finn shrugged—the motion made me want to hurl. "I just don’t."
Silence fell a second, but even I knew Conor was like a dog with a bone. Something Finn had said had triggered him, and where Kid was concerned, silence wasn’t a good thing.
"Have you spoken with him?"
"Maybe at a gala or something. You know the shit your da makes us attend."
"So he’s a prick because of his policies." Somehow that was both a statement and a question.
Con would have made a great CIA interrogator. Sometimes, he came across as naive, but beneath it all, a brain ticked away that someday, scientists and colleges would fight over to dissect.
Finn grumbled under his breath, "Yes, Conor. He’s a prick because of his policies."
"Shay would agree with you. He hates him."
"Most kids his age who are as woke as him probably do," Finn replied absently.
"You’re not getting laid, are you?"
"What the fuck does that have to do with you?"
Conor sniffed. "You’re miserable. All the time."
"I’m not."
"You are. I just assumed it’s because you’re not getting any."
"I’m getting plenty. It’s—" He sighed. "Never mind. You wouldn’t get it."
"Why wouldn’t I? Because I’m not married?"
Finn fell silent. "You never know what goes on behind closed doors."
"Is Aoife whipping you with a roll of pastry? I’m sure there’s porn out there for that. Get a live stream going, earn some bucks at the same time."
"This isn’t a joke, Conor," Finn rumbled. "Nothing about this is funny—"
I groaned. "Can you fuck off and leave me to my infomercials?"
"Conor says sitting on you is good for you," Finn pointed out, no remorse to his tone. Even in my state, however, I picked up on the fact he was relieved to change the subject. "And you deserve to be sat on for going off grid, you asshole. Why the hell didn’t you call me or text me?"
"Didn’t realize we were—" Pain knifed through my head. "—dating," I finished with a gasp.
"Was that supposed to make me want to get off you? I don’t think so." Finn sniffed. "Fucker."
"You’re going to have a problem with Jake when he starts talking properly, not just Dada stuff," Conor said calmly. "You say ‘fuck’ a lot."
"And you don’t?"
"Yeah, but I don’t have a toddler, do I? It doesn’t matter if I swear."
Finn paused. "You sound sad about that."
"Maybe I am. My cat doesn’t care if I swear."
"It’s not a cat. It’s an ornament. An ugly one at that." To me, he groused, "Aidan, tell your brother that that cat isn’t fucking real."
"He’s right. You swear a lot," I rumbled.
"Fuck off. I have a lot of stress to deal with. A lot of fucking stress. If saying the word ‘fuck’ makes me feel better—"
"That’s just the placebo effect," Conor chimed in. "And my cat is as real as I want it to be. He's my placebo. You swear, I have a cat who doesn't talk back."
"That’s weird," Finn grumbled. "You’re getting weirder, Con. We need to either get you laid or get your da to arrange a marriage for you."
I groaned again. "Can we have this conversation—" Nausea churned in my stomach. "—another time? When I’m not dying?"
"We’re all dying," Conor muttered. "All of us. All the time."
"Now’s not the moment to get existential on us, Con," Finn pointed out. "Anyway, can detoxing off Oxy be that bad? I mean, it’s not heroin. They say it's harder to quit smoking and he did that when he was in his twenties. All those centuries ago."
"You're three months younger than me," I rasped. "Remind me to stab you—" I gasped out in pain before I could finish threatening him.
"I will when you're not in a blanket fort," Finn retorted snidely. "Why is he having withdrawals?"
"Because dumbfuck had started having some heroin here and there."
"Jesus," Finn boomed.
"He says it wasn't enough to get addicted, but we both know that's bullshit. That's why he's acting like Mount Rushmore is erupting."
"Once," I muttered. "Just once." After that last NA meeting, I'd fucked up.
Royally.
Waking up from that high, though, had put the pain I suffered because of my knee into perspective.
"Thank God for that," Finn muttered. "Aidan, what the hell were you thinking?"
I didn't have the chance to answer before agony sucked me under, not that I even had a reason for why I'd been so fucking stupid other than an excuse they wouldn't accept—that chronic pain was like an abyss. One you could never escape from. One that made drowning seem like a fun time. One that made me feel as if waves of spiders, their eight legs tipped in hydrochloric acid, were crawling up and down my spinal cord, sending chaos throughout my nervous system.
Heroin had seemed like an easy escape. A paradise few would ever understand because release and relief went hand in hand and, in this society, we were just supposed to man up. Suffer in silence, to the point where narcotics were the only freedom we could ever feel.
Because neither of them wanted to hear that, I didn't bother interrupting Conor when he stated, "I've been reading some books about it, so the situation is under control."