The Absolution of Aidan (The Syndicate Series Book 3) (14 page)

“Make sure she doesn’t know. She will flip her goddamn shit if she finds out she’s being protected. Unless she leaves. If she leaves, then tell him to stop her ass no matter what the hell he has to do.” Goddamn it. I pull back into traffic once it’s cleared, more eager now to get this day over with. Fuck.

My mind races back to the confrontation with my mother. I cannot for the life of me recall if Deidre told them her name or not. Son of a bitch. I need to get back to them as quickly as possible.

“Thank Christ for modern technology and computer hackers.” Roan brings me out of my dark thoughts, slams the laptop down, and tosses it in the backseat, then gleams like a choir boy about ready to sing. I hope he has more information about Anna.

“What did they find out?” I crank the wheel to exit the highway.

“She has the day off today. Pretty damn convenient.” My chest rises and falls quickly. Good news indeed. This means we don’t have to confront her at work.

“Punch in her home address into the GPS. We’ll start there.” Pulling onto the street that would have taken me to where she works, I continue driving until Roan has the address punched in.

“She lives two miles away.” How convenient once again. “Thank Christ for modern technology,” he boasts out again, like a stupid fucker who thinks he created said technology. Makes me fucking laugh, which, with the heaviness my head and chest feel, I needed.

Three minutes later, we’ve pulled up to the curb alongside a small, white house with a perfectly manicured lawn. Charming would be the right adjective to use. Hell, I don’t know. What does shock the ever-loving hell out of me is the new red F-Type Jaguar Sports car looking entirely out of place in this neighborhood. Don’t get me wrong, the area isn’t bad, but hell, every house on this entire block looks the same. They may all be different colors, but the style and shape are identical.

“Nice ride.” I twist my body out of the seat and snatch up the keys, locking the doors before acknowledging Roan.

“I bet Ryan bought it for one of them before he croaked.” I state knowing what I feel in my gut to be true. That piece of shit more than likely bought them off in every damn direction to keep them silent. Unless Anna and her mother are a couple of money-hungry bitches like my mother. Something tells me they’re not though. If they were, then they sure as hell would not be living in a house the size of my fucking bathroom.

“Cute little house.” I’m about ready to agree with Roan when we’re both damn near struck dead by the petite woman who barges out of the house with a goddamn rifle in her hands.

“What the fuck?” I say, pissed as fuck. “Jesus Christ, woman. Put that goddamn thing down,” I hiss. Damn it.

“Get the fuck out of here,” she booms in a voice louder than a little spitfire like her should be able to. She’s like a wild, little pixie. A beautiful one at that. Long, blond hair. Short, but toned legs. She has badass written all over her tiny, little body. If she put that goddamn gun down, she and I might become fast friends. Not in the sexual way, but in the I-have-your-back-and-you-have-mine kind of way. I dig this chick. Junior obviously wants her out of the picture, doesn’t want to claim her as family. Hell, I’ll be glad to claim her as mine. Don’t ask me why this shit is running through my head when she has a gun pointed at my goddamn chest. It just does. I can feel her pain from here.

Even though I see my entire life unravel before my fucking eyes. No raising my kid. No wishful thinking of having someone love me for me. Nothing. Then the little hellion cocks the hammer back. Fuck that shit. I may have changed my mind about her after all.

“Listen, I don’t know who you think we are. We promise you we’re not here to hurt you,” I point out.

“Really? Is that why my mother is lying on the couch right now with a busted lip? Haven’t you fuckers done enough? We don’t want the money anymore. Leave us the fuck alone.” Son of a bitch. Fucking Junior must have been here.

“Does the name Aidan Hughes ring a bell to you?” Lifting a brow, she doesn’t say anything at first. Then we both watch as she closes her eyes, takes a few short breaths, then lowers the gun and her head at the same time.

“I’m sorry.” She lifts her head back up, and I can see in her eyes speak the truth. Sadness emits out of her, like a unique variety of storytelling. I feel sorry for her.

“I swear, Anna, we’re here to help you.” I recognize the minute it all registers with her who I am and what I’m really doing here. A face can tell a thousand stories, they say, and this young woman’s expression tells it all.

“I’m Roan,” the pansy-ass motherfucker finally speaks. “You found your voice, dickface.” I nudge him in the shoulder as I stroll on past him toward Little Miss Pixie Stick.

“Mom.” Anna’s tone is comforting as we step over the threshold into the quaint little house.

“In the kitchen.” A delicate, yet muffled and soft-spoken voice calls out. Then I see her. This woman my mother hates. Her lip is swollen, her are eyes red-rimmed, showing evidence that she’s been crying.

“Oh, god.” She takes a step back, those sad eyes darting from me to Roan, then back to her daughter. She’s beautiful, like her daughter. Mid-forties, I guess. When we first started investigating this morning after I filled Roan in on everything, we wasted no time in finding out Ryan’s daughter’s name or her whereabouts. Our main concern was finding her. Our effort led us here. I know nothing about this woman standing before me. Not even her name.

Just like Anna, I see her recognition of who I am once she glances back at me. Obviously, they’ve seen pictures of me somewhere. I can find all that shit out later. My main goal right now is to get them to agree to leave with me. To get them the protection they need until we can figure this shit out.

“Ma’am,” I say politely.

“Wh… what are you doing here? And you?” She points to Roan. “You’re the freaking mob.” She says, dropping her hand from where she was holding a wet cloth up to her lip.

“I am,” Roan speaks truthfully.

“Great. Can this day get any worse?” She saunters over to sit on a blue, flowered couch. I glance around the room, a homely sensation passing through me. Pictures of Anna and dickface line the entire mantle above the fireplace. It’s apparent to even my eye by the way she’s looking up to him in several of the pictures that the woman adored her father. That look is mirrored right back at her by her father. No wonder the man was gone half the time. This was his happy place. Maybe he wasn’t a dick to the two of them. Who the hell knows? Tearing myself away from the photos, I train my thoughts back to the reason we’re here.

“Listen, like I told Anna, we’re here to offer you our help.” Her demeanor changes instantly. Her shoulders sag forward and a relieved smile spreads across her face.

“Mom. We need their help. You know we do. Plus, you know I’ve done my homework. I really believe we can trust them. You know what dad said if anything were to happen to him.” Anna moves to sit next to her mom.

My head jerks back as if I’ve been punched in the damn face. “I know what he told us, sweetie, but I’m scared,” her mother whispers.

I catch my buddy looking at me with a taken-aback expression written all over his face, like my own.

“Ma’am,” I say once again.

“Please, call me Grace.” God, she sounds and acts so differently from my own mother. I’m confused. This bizarre shit has my head lighting up with a million questions.

“It’s clear you need our help, and it’s blatantly obvious we all have a lot of questions. But one thing I can promise the two of you is we’re here to assist you in anything you need.” The hard timbre of honesty in my voice is apparent to the two of them. The last thing innocent and sweet-looking Grace says before we help them pack up their personal belongings so they can follow us to New York is, “Help us kill the rotten son of a bitch who killed my daughter’s father.”

“You should mind your own business, fucker,” a deep raspy voice calls out from the shadows. I’ve taken the women to their hiding place and dropped of Roan. The minute I park my truck in the garage at Deidre’s building, I’m assaulted by some dickhead’s words. “Who the fuck are you?” I creep toward the voice as I tug my gun out of my back pocket. It’s obvious this is one of Ryan’s buddies or someone he’s hired to threaten me.

“I’m the one who’s going to fuck you up, Aidan, then toss your ass in jail. I’m the man with the badge.” I scoff. As if a crooked cop or a damn liar who thinks he can scare me off is going to make me back down.

“Jail? For what? Taking care of what’s mine?” I deride this corrupt idiot.

“I doubt very much the gun you’re packing even belongs to you. That’s a charge right there, among other things. Resisting arrest. I can nail you with as many charges as I see fit.” He stubs out his cigarette like we’re in some damn movie.

“I don’t have time for this shit. You want to take me on all by yourself in the middle of a parking lot, then bring it, motherfucker. I guarantee you will not be taking me anywhere. I, on the other hand, can make sure you disappear.” I stand there watching this arrogant prick as he contemplates his next words. I’m not dumb. These cops have no clue what my family will do. He’s not one of ours, that’s for sure. If he were from New York, he sure as hell wouldn’t be here alone. There would be a slew of other cops here waiting to take me in. Fucking cops. At least I’m not afraid to admit who I really am. I’m not on some fucker’s payroll, who’s scared to do his dirty work himself. Fuck no.

“Consider this a warning.” The fucker lunges at me. I dodge him. And with the shit day I’ve had, with the images about a man slapping a woman around in my mind, I let this beefed-up, bald-headed slime ball have it. I pull my gun out, tossing it on the ground, kicking it a few feet away, then take him on with my bare hands. He doesn’t stand a chance in hell against me. Not with the way I feel.

The lot is empty. I couldn’t give two shits if security sees this shit. If they do, good. Get them down here and let them deal with this fucker. I’m going to beat his ass, act like nothing happened, and get to my family.

I punch him repeatedly. It’s like I’m a wild man trapped inside of one of those cages with an enemy and only one can survive.

He tries his best to get out of the chokehold I have him in. His arms are swinging everywhere, missing me every damn time. I squeeze his neck tighter as I pummel his face. His grunts from my thrashing egg me on. He can take his bruised body back to the pussy who’s to afraid to stand in front of me himself.

I release my hold on him, his body slumping to the ground. He’s choking on his own blood as he tries to speak. I grab my gun and place it at his temple.

“Take this message back to Ryan, asshole. Tell him next time he sends someone after me, he should make damn sure it’s either him or someone who can fight back, not some amateur who won’t be able to wipe his own ass for the next month.” Then I take hold of his arm just above his wrist, bending it back until I hear the bones snapping. His screaming follows. But I need more. My anger is surging, Grace’s face flashing in my head. Letting go of his hand, I lift my boot the minute his limp-less arm falls. With all my strength, I crush his fingers, wincing myself at the agony he must be feeling. He’s all but passed out. Fucking joke. I flip him over enough to check for identification. When I find nothing in his pockets, I leave the fucker there. Tucking my gun back in place, I make my way into the building. My hand is stinging. A few scrapes are showing. I decide right there to not give Deidre anything to worry about. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. I vowed I would do my best not to hurt her again, and when I give my word, I stick to it. I hate lying, but hey, if she sees them, I’ll lie to keep her free from anymore worry. Tell her I had to hit the punching bag a few times. Technically, I did. “There’s a body lying in the parking garage of Deidre’s apartment. Can you take care of it?” I cut my words short before I step into the elevator. “You got it, man,” Jeff clips back. There isn’t a single person in this organization I’m a part of who doesn’t have a job. Some are dirtier than others. Jeff is the one who disposes of bodies. This man isn’t dead, but he will be. I warned the fucker.

DEIDRE

The mind does some crappy things to experience how slow time can drag. Today has been one of the longest days of my life. I swear it has.

After Aidan left late this morning, I tossed that Detroit Tigers shirt right in the trash bag with the baby’s shitty clothes before I changed Diesel into an ensemble of Yankee attire. My child will never be caught in those clothes again. Then I called my mom in hopes of having lunch somewhere close by to be able to talk and ease her mind over Aidan and his direct approach toward welcoming his role as a dad. Even though she left here with his promise falling from those sensual magic lips of his, I know she’s worried.

A few minutes after my mom gets here, there’s a knock at my door. And bam, like a bitch sweating to death in a massive heat wave, I’m hit with another blast from my past. Fucking Dilan.

Aidan sent Dilan to watch me. Now I have a damn bodyguard again. I argued until I was damn near spitting glass at the man, determined more than ever to leave and have a nice lunch with my mom and enjoy walking through the park, pushing a stroller. Enjoy just a normal day of being a mom.

I’m no fool. I know this has everything to do with his mother and little Junior, or in my words of choice, Bitch and her little Bitch-ette.

So, with my mom and a very pissed off Dilan—and an even angrier Deidre—we’ve been cooped up in my apartment all damn day waiting for Mr. Baby Daddy to return.

“He’s clean, sweetheart.” Mom strolls into the kitchen with her sing-song voice.

“Look at you, little man.” I drop the wooden spoon I’m using to mix up my famous batch of brownies. It’s late, almost nine P.M., and still no word from Aidan. I need more than these four walls to occupy my time. Mom offered to bathe Diesel, so here I am, standing in my kitchen.

“Love those little pjs by the way.” She tosses an assuring wink my way. “You know me too well,” I tease, then inhale the sweet scent of my son, his innocent odor instantly calming me. Aidan may not like them, but I do. “Yankees all the way.” I lift one of his little hands, then tickle his tummy. He laughs. The sound is welcoming.