"I didn't have proof. There's no way I was coming to you with names without it."
He grimaces. I would only have my word. Would that have been enough? I truly don’t think it would have been.
"Orla," Ryan says, watching my reaction. I look between the men surprised to hear Ryan bringing up his wife's name to me. She's always been a bone of contention between the two of us, and she is even more so now.
"I went to visit Belle Tate. She didn't know much except that Donovan has a girlfriend. He disappeared not long after you were arrested saying he was going on vacation," E-Z explains. No wonder Ryan is here in person.
"So the sleaze-ball took off?" I ask, confused, "We already knew that." Those two assholes get to breathe clean air and do as they please while I'm stuck in here and slowly dying.
"Orla was fucking Donovan," Ryan says, clenching his jaw. He's had years to practice schooling his features, but having to do the same thing, I see the micro-expressions giving away his feelings.
I grip the edge of the table, wanting to throw it across the room in a rage. I take a few breaths until I can get control—pushing the animal back inside—at least for now.
"So, you talked to her?" I ask carefully. Even though he's here talking about her, it doesn't mean he's on my side.
"She was using him to get rid of you, Killian. She confessed everything, even that her nephews helped," Ryan has the decency to look ashamed, "She found out you're my son and wanted you dead."
"What happens now?" I ask, not sure what Ryan will say, but from the tone in the room, I’m thinking that I won’t be happy.
"Donovan is gone," Ryan says.
I take that in for a second. One of the five people I need revenge on is dead. Need is the keyword. I’d rather have it than air at the moment. One of the dickheads responsible for me being in here is dead. It burns in my gut that he didn’t die at my hands.
“The others?”
"Orla and her nephews are being handled, but Bones can't be found."
I take that in, silently fuming. This feels like Ryan choosing Orla over me and my mother all over again knowing we weren't good enough for him to claim because of her. He’s doing it all over again only now it’s much more important. This time, I’m facing the electric chair.
I lean back in my chair, trying to steel my nerves, "And me?" I'm not going to like his answer. I don't even know why I'm asking.
"We're paying the guard off to change his testimony. He'll confess to the robbery and say you only shot him and the others because they shot at you. You are just an innocent bystander. If you agree, the prosecution will offer you a deal where you serve five years with a chance of parole in a year for good behavior."
"Parole? That's the fucking plan!?!” I roar. “I didn't do this shit and you want me to agree to rot in here for a year or more of my life?” Rage drips in every word I speak.
"I'll call in a marker for the parole board to grant your parole. At most, you'll serve a year. I'm still trying to call in a few more to try and get you a pardon, but the press isn’t making this situation any better."
"You’re asking me to give up a year of my life, and for what? Just so you can protect the wife who fucked around on you?" I snap, my entire body shaking with adrenaline. "Do you know what this hell hole does to you? The stink sinks deep inside your bones. How can you sit there and ask me to withstand that for any amount of time let alone the possibility of five fucking years?"
"Killian, it won't be that long. You don't have a choice when the prosecution has an open and shut case on you and the press calling for your head. There's nothing else we can do."
Ryan is doing all the talking while E-Z is sitting there looking uncomfortable with it. He knows it’s fucking bullshit. I can see it in his face.
"Don't fucking insult me. We both know there is. You just don’t want to."
“I’m protecting—”
“You’re protecting yourself, old man!”
“I’m protecting both of us, Killian!” he growls back, his hand slapping down on the metal top of the table. “I’ve been backed into a corner here, damn it. I will take care of you, but I can't turn Orla in. If I do, the sharks will smell blood. As head of the family, I can't show any weaknesses. I can't allow cracks to surface. If I do, I'll just be signing my death warrant and one for everyone I care about—which includes you."