eeds the back of a hand from time to time to help him grow to a man. I never meant you any harm.”
Roarke nicked Grogin, just under the jaw. “Let’s say I don’t mean you any more harm now then you meant me then. I’m going to ask you some questions. If I don’t like your answers, I’m going to slit your throat and leave you for the rats. But I’ll let Brian have a go at you first.”
Smiling cheerfully, Brian took the sap out of his pocket, slapped it on his palm. “You knocked me about plenty as well. I’d like a bit of my own back, so I wouldn’t mind if your answers don’t suit my mate here.”
“I don’t have anything.” Grogin’s eye ticked back and forth, from face to face. “I don’t know anything.”
“Better hope you do.” Roarke hauled him up, heaved him toward a filthy sofa. “You can try it,” he said, kicking a chair around when Grogin’s eyes flicked toward the rear window. “We’ll be on you like jackals, of course. But I’ll just hunt up someone else for the answers I need.”
“What do you want?” he whined. “There’s no need for all this, lad. Why, I’m practically an uncle to you.”
“You’re nothing to me but a bad memory.” Sitting down, Roarke ran the tip of the knife over his thumb, watched the thin line of blood bead. “Keep it honed, I see. That’s fine. I’ll start with your balls, if you’ve still got them. Siobhan Brody.”
Grogin’s gaze stayed locked on the knife. “What?”
“You’d best remember the name, if you want to live so long as another hour. Siobhan Brody. Young and pretty, fresh. Red-haired, green-eyed.”
“Lad, now be reasonable. How many young girls such as that might I have known in my life?”
“I’m only interested in this one.” Stone-faced, Roarke sucked blood from his thumb. “The one who lived with him more than two years. The one he planted a child in, and she gave birth to me. Ah there now.” Roarke nodded as he saw Grogin’s pupils widen. “That’s stirred the juices some.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Before Brian could move in, Roarke simply reached over, and snapped the bone in Grogin’s index finger. “There’s one for Siobhan. I’m told he broke three of hers, so I’ve two more to even that score.”
Grogin went deathly white and let out a long, thin scream.
“I’m feeling superfluous here,” Brian complained and settled himself on the ratty arm of the sofa.
“He beat her,” Roarke said flatly. “Blackened her eyes, broke her bones. She was all of nineteen. He let you have a go at her, Grogin? Or did he keep her to himself?”
“I never laid a hand on her. Not a hand.” Tears leaked from Grogin’s eyes as he cradled his injured hand. “She was Patrick’s woman. Nothing to do with me.”
“You knew he beat her.”
“A man, well, a man’s liable to need to teach his woman a lesson now and then. Paddy, he had a heavy hand, you’ve cause to know yourself. It’s not my doing.”
“She left him for a while, took me and left him.”
“I can’t say.” He jerked when Roarke leaned forward again, and yelping, cupped his hands at his own throat. “For God’s sake, have pity. It wasn’t me! How am I to know what went on behind Patrick’s door? I didn’t live in the man’s pocket, for Christ’s sake.”
“Brian,” Roarke said smoothly. “Have a go here.”
“All right, all right!” Grogin was shouting before Brian so much as shifted his weight. “She might’ve gone off for a bit. Seems I recall him saying something.”
When Roarke’s hand snaked out, took a hold of Grogin’s wrist, the man curled into a ball, weeping as his bladder let go. “Yes! I’ll tell you. She took off with you, and he was mad to get her back. A woman didn’t walk out on a man, take his son that way. Had to be shown her place, you know? Had to be disciplined, so he said. She came back.”
“And was shown her place?”
“I don’t know what happened.” Grogin began to sob now, fat tears, snotty sobs. “Could I have a drink? God’s pity, let me have a drink. My hand’s broken.”
“One bleeding finger, and he’s crying like a lass.” On a huff of disgust, Brian heaved himself up and fetched the bottle of whiskey from a table, poured some into a cloudy glass.
“Here then. Fucking slainte to you.”
Wrapping his good hand around it, Grogin brought the glass to his lips, gulped down the whiskey. “He’s dead now, you know. Paddy’s dead, so what does it matter? It’s him that done it,” he said to Roarke. “You know how he was.”
“Aye. I know just how he was.”