“You and your treasure. I can just see you sitting in your office, surrounded by piles of coins like King Midas, jacking off to it.”
I grinned, but corrected, “Nah, everything he touched turned to gold. He didn’t have a thing about coins.”
Bagpipes grunted. “Ali fucking Baba, then.”
“If all you’ve got to do with your time is bitch at me, instead of watching my wife peel carrots, go and fucking help her.”
“Knew I should have kept my trap shut.”
“Roll up your sleeves,” I joked.
He hesitated a second, then said, “Donny messaged me today. Conor’s been asking for Callum. Donny wondered if we knew what was up because Aidan Jr. didn't have a clue.”
I grimaced. “Since he asked on Sunday, Con ain’t mentioned him again.”
“Why would he, though?”
“Why’s Donny called you, then?”
“Curiosity." He sighed. "It gets better. Mark's been on the phone too. Asked me to keep an eye out for his kid.”
Clenching my jaw a second, I muttered, “Fuck.”
That meant Da would be getting involved soon.
“About sums it up,” he agreed. “You gotta make a decision about what you’re going to do with the fucker, Bren.”
“I know.” I heaved a sigh. “Speak to you later.”
Bagpipes’ answer was another grunt and feeling the urgency biting at my ankles like a Pomeranian on steroids, I headed out of the office and down the stairs.
Once there, I murmured as I shot off a text, "I know you’re awake, Callum.”
Me:Couldn’t you have volunteered at St. Patrick’s soup kitchen?
I didn’t expect a reply, not with her being busy, so I placed my phone on the table and turned my focus to the matter at hand.
“He must think having a nap will delay the inevitable,” Tink murmured.
I cut my other man a look, saw he was leaning against the wall, watching the state of play like it was a show on TV. Forrest was bouncing on his heels, pissed at having to stop because Callum had passed out.
“The inevitable is fucking dying,” Callum rasped, finally raising his head and spitting out a globule of saliva that was drenched in blood.
“How else do you think we should handle traitors?”
“What would you have me do, Bren?” he rasped. “Go to jail for something I didn’t fucking do?”
“Don’t cut that bullshit with us,” Tink retorted. “You could have gone to Conor. If any fucker pulled those kinds of moves with me, that’d be the first thing I’d do.”
His disgust was so tangible that I believed him. I actually fucking believed him. That was a massive weight off my shoulders, and he didn’t even know it.
“Conor ain’t like Bren. You know he’s on another planet most of the bastard time.” He spat out some more blood, his beat up face puckering with pain as he wriggled on the meat hook, his skin blanched and a wail escaped him as his broken forearm made itself known. When he got himself under control, he gasped out, “He ain’t interested in this world, just his fucking computers and that goddamn Lodestar. She’s all he can talk about now.”
Forrest and I shared a look.
“You could have come to any of us. You didn’t have to deal with the NWS,” I told him, siding with Tink.
“I haven’t done much dealing with them,” he muttered. “They just told me to tell some peoplesomethings.”