The first one had my mouth tightening.
Forrest:Coullson is on the move.
Me:Heading to his usual spot?
Forrest:Looks like it.
Me:Keep me in the loop.
Forrest:Today the day?
I shot Ma a look, saw the defiance in her eyes and had to wonder what the fuck she’d said that might be used against us... Now was not the time for family secrets to be spilling out from the core unit of the King and Queen of the Five fucking Points.
Me:Time we broke ranks and started the ball rolling.
Forrest:Gotcha. I’ll be in touch.
Before I could read the second message, Ma’s hand reached for mine.
“It was twenty-five years ago.”
Guilt hit me. Like a fucking sucker punch. I closed my eyes and squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry, Ma. I forgot.” How the fuck had I when it was my living nightmare? Twenty-five years ago she’d been taken hostage.
Because of my fuck-up.
She shook her head. “You don’t need to be sorry. I know the family is piling too much on you.” Our gazes clashed and held as she whispered, “Brennan?”
That her defiance had disappeared, slipping away like sand in my hand, being replaced with a cocktail of guilt and shame, had me frowning with concern. “Yeah, Ma? What is it?”
“Do you ever—” She released a shaky breath. “Do you ever regret what you’ve done?”
I blinked, because I knew she wasn’t talking about the Aryans. About my letting her down.
What I’d done?
I’d killed for the family. Slaughtered for us, truth be told. My hands weren’t just covered in blood, my fucking soul was too. But that was nothing to what I’d be willing to do.
When you were born into the Irish Mob, there was but one route in your life—to follow in your father’s footsteps. To become a soldier for the firm.
I wasn’t like Declan who’d questioned his place in the Points, nor was I like Eoghan who’d tried to live his life in the regular army—not just an illegal one. I knew my place. Had accepted it a long time ago. But regrets?
“Yeah, I have regrets,” I told her softly, frowning when her manicured nails, the clean white tips, dug into my palm.
“When I was a girl, I used to believe that going to church was enough. You did something wrong, you went to confession. That was how it worked. It’s what your father believes.” Her brow puckered. “It’s what I believed but—”
“What have you done wrong, Ma?” Deciding to lighten things a little, my grin made an appearance and it turned rueful. “Apart from give birth to five knuckleheads?”
She’d normally have narrowed her eyes at me, but this time, those bright green orbs were wide with distress, and business aside, concern had me asking, “Is the therapist helping?”
My cellphone buzzed again, and I knew why. This time it’d be another of my buddies on my crew—Bagpipes. That he’d messaged at all was enough for me to know she was on the move. Which meant he’d be awaiting further instruction.
Mouth tightening, I ignored my phone, and gently coaxed, “You don’t need to talk to strangers, Ma. I’m here.”
“I-I can’t get clean, Brennan. I can’t seem to shake it off. Your father made it sound so easy, but sometimes, there’s no going back, is there?”
My brow puckered as I wondered where this was coming from.
She’d seemed all right on Sunday, the last time I’d seen her. A smile on her face, her hair neat and tidy even after cooking for all of us, her trim figure shown off in a blouse and skirt with low kitten heels that made her look ten years younger than her real age. She’d joked and chivvied us like usual, hugging Jacob, trying to get to know Seamus, teasing Inessa and Aoife... normal.