The Absolution of Aidan (The Syndicate Series Book 3) (2 page)

“Where is he?”

“He went to make a call. He should be back here… here he is. She’s awake.” Her slender frame twists toward him.

Dad comes into my sight. Jesus, he looks worse than my mom.
What in the ever-loving hell is going on?

“Damn it,” I say to the both of them. I cough afterward. Mom reaches for the water, bringing it up to my mouth. I sip as much as I can. The cool, crisp tingle feels like heaven soaking into my cotton-dry mouth.

“I know everything that happened before I came to wherever the hell I am, but what I don’t know is, what are you keeping from me? Am I dying? Is my back not healing right? What is it?” One of the monitors beside me starts beeping faster and louder, the sound driving me even crazier than I know I already am.

“Deidre. Calm down. It’s nothing like that at all.” Dad glides to the other side of my bed, then bends down and peppers my face with kisses. “We’ve missed you so much, sweet girl.” He brushes my hair back just like Mom did.

“You’ve been out for three weeks, honey.” His manner is light.

“Three weeks?” I look between the two of them. Christ, I had no idea I was out that long. No wonder I’m lying on my back. The pain from being cut is barely there anymore.

“We’re in Maryland at a woman’s health care retreat facility. You had a nervous breakdown, Deidre. Your mind completely shut down.” I shake my head at my dad’s words.
Is this his nice way of saying I’m crazy? That I’ve lost my mind?
Because if it is, that’s what I was trying to convey to them all along.

There’s more though than what he’s telling me. I know my parents. My mom isn’t looking at me. She’s caught up in her own head, looking out the window. My dad is looking at her. It’s as if they are both waiting to see who will speak first.

My mom does, and the words that tumble out of her mouth have me gasping, shaking, and screaming one loud “WHAT?”

“You’re pregnant, Deidre,” she repeats.

To say I’m conscious now would mean I have woken from nothingness, neither seeing nor hearing a damned thing. My view of my surroundings goes off into forgetfulness. For the past few weeks, my entire existence has been scattered off into the universe of the unknown. Living in lala land. Those weeks are gone. Poof. Vanished.

But this. Those three words coming from my mom’s mouth I heard loud and clear. How could this be? I’ve always been safe when I had sex, was never unprotected.

“Oh, god.” My brain shoots to my stomach. Immediately, my hands span across there too. “The baby.” Those are the only words I can seem to get out. I clutch my stomach, pain ratcheting to my heart. I’ve been drugged by a madman, then drugged again at the hospital, and now I still have drugs dripping into my arm. I panic, my hand sailing to tear the IV out.

“Deidre, what the hell are you doing?” Strong hands grip me by my shoulders, pressing me back into the bed. My dad’s face is hovering over me.

“Drugs. I’ve been pumped full of them.” I panic.

“And your unborn child will be fine.” A woman steps into my room, wearing black jeans and a white-pink, loose t-shirt. Her gray hair is styled into a sleek bob.

“Good morning, Dr. Brown. As you can see, we’ve just told her.” Mom pulls up a chair beside the bed and sits down, folding her hands in her lap, her sternness screaming at me to stay composed.

Glancing up to this Dr. Brown, who is not dressed like a doctor at all, I sense the same tranquility of peace from her as I did from nurse Karrie. On the inside, I start to laugh uncontrollably. I’m in a god-forsaken nut house, so of course they are all going to act peaceful, quiet, and collected. God forbid they should upset the crazy lady, who somehow got herself pregnant by a man who hates her fucking guts.

And so it begins.

Eight months of therapy. Confined to a place I learned to love. A place where I coped with being kidnapped, tortured, and learning I was pregnant. Followed by every test imaginable to make sure the health of my unborn child was not jeopardized in any way from the events that brought me here.

I’ve been hiding out for the past few months, building the courage to face reality.

Now, a year later, with so much more to tell, I’m heading to tell my best friend I have a baby. Not just my baby.

Aidan’s baby.

AIDAN

“You Bastard,” What’s-her-name hollers while gathering her clothes off my living room floor. I hate this shit. Do these chicks think it’s only men who get all decked out, head out for a night on the town, looking for a piece of ass for the night? I mean, what in the ever-loving fuck? Seriously, though? This chick wanted me the minute I walked through the damn door of Jim Bob’s.

That’s right. There’s a bar in New York called Jim Bob’s. Best damn bar around. That man and his staff can mix a mean straight up double shot of Jim Beam. On the rocks. Neat. Dirty. Shit, they’d even leave a drink out for Santa if you asked them to.

“You really have problems, dude!” she squeals louder than a mouse when you step on its tail. While I conspire to steal guns, I bet this bitch conspires with other women on how to set fire to a man’s ears. “You’re a dick. An asshole. Trash.” Jesus, I love a pissed off woman, sassy and a mouth made to fuck, but not from her.

She needs to tell me something I don’t already know. Like how the hell to make her understand I want her gone?

If a guy screws around, fucks anything that walks, he’s a man-whore, or a bastard in this chick’s case, as she calls me the word once again. But if a woman does it and we call her a bitch or a slut, then holy war breaks out. They become irrational, insensitive, and irate. Fucking women.

“You got the name right, sweetheart, now please leave.” I lift my brows, standing there with the door to my apartment wide open. “I hope your dick rots off. It shouldn’t take very long as small as it is.” She storms past me, her blond hair hitting me in the face, the scent of her cheap-ass perfume filling my nostrils.
Christ, Aidan, you can pick them, man. Classy.

Slamming the door shut with my bare foot, I burst out fucking laughing at her comment about my dick. She wasn’t screaming that half an hour ago when she actually saw how big he is. The bitch actually started gagging. Hence why she suggested Viagra. I mean, good lord, what man’s dick wouldn’t deflate once a woman starts to gag, then looks up to you shaking her head no. And this is my fault? No damn joke.

The only thing she got right all night is that I am a bastard. Hell, that plus worthless or piece of fucking shit. Take your pick. Those words right there stop my laughing in an instant.

My entire life, my own mother has called me every name except the name she gave me at birth. Now you talk about a fucking bitch. She’s the queen bee of them all. Fucking rich bitch with an even richer husband and my fucking punk of a half-brother. Fuckers. I hate them all.

I have no clue who my biological father is. In reality, I am a bastard. So fuck that bitch right along with my worthless mother.

I haven’t spoken to any of them in five years. Even then it was only in passing at my grandfather’s funeral. God, I miss that old man. He was the only one in my entire family who made me feel like I was worth something. Always picking me up from the mansion that seemed to stretch a mile fucking wide in the middle of the Pocono Mountains. I hated that place about as much as I hated the people who lived in it.

My grandfather and I never talked about why he wouldn’t come inside of his only child’s home. I know it had everything to do with my step-dad and my envious half-brother. But what did they all expect when every time he did come around all they would ask about was his land? They even stooped as low as having little Ryan Junior start questioning him about it. The kid had no idea what the heck he was even talking about. I have no doubt that’s why he cut his ties completely from them all. Including Junior.

Every single letter I’ve received from either my mother or her power-hungry attorney have gone in the trash, every phone call to voice mail. I have nothing to say to her. She wants the hundreds of acres of land my grandfather willed to me. Fuck her. I know all she wants to do is sell it. Pad her wallet even more. The bitch can die with all her money. She sure as shit won’t ever get her hands on that land. I have no idea what I will do with it, if anything, but it’s mine. I may just leave it the hell alone. Why not? My grandfather did. I loved walking that land with him. He was the only one who I could release everything bottled up inside of me to. Got me started my love for Jim Beam. “I love ya, old man,” I mumble.

I flick the lock on my door and make my way into my kitchen, grabbing my bottle of Jim beam off the counter, taking a long slow gulp. The burn feels priceless as it smoothly flows down my throat. Thanks to my two good buddies Cain and Roan, I have this thirty-seven hundred square foot apartment overlooking the skyline of New York, on the same floor, right around the corner of the hall where Roan and his now live-in girlfriend Alina Solokov live. Lucky fuckers. Both of them. I never in a million years thought I could settle down with one woman, but hell, I hate being single. I want it all. The woman who only has eyes for me. Someone to talk to. To hold at night. To fuck when I want to. To tell me she loves me and that I’m worth something.

“You’re so fucked up, dude.” I take another swig. This one is even longer. It burns. It burns so damn good.

Twisting the cap back on, I sit it back on the black marble counter. I stare at the deep blue-black of the counter, flashes of the same color running through my mind. A color so rich and dark, it’s the prettiest color I have ever seen. Until in a flash, it was fucking gone.

Deidre La Russo. “FUCK!” I shout. I’ve tried to forget every damn thing about her. I brace my hands on the edge of the counter and tilt my head down, taking a deep breath, waiting for the guilt to flow quicker into my veins than any amount of Jim Beam can do. I’d give anything for her to storm through my door with her attitude. Any damn thing at all.

After everything that happened to her, she up and disappeared. Guilt ate me up worse than the brutal beating and the drugs Roan’s brother inflicted on me. The unmentionable things he did to that woman while I was forced to watch. I cringe when the sound of her screams ring out in my ears. I can still hear them from time to time after a nightmare, when I wake up in a cold sweat, only to realize that motherfucker is dead. But her…I will never be able to forget her, nor the things we said to each other. The names I called her. Christ. The moment I could get out of that hospital bed, I did. The first thing I did was check on her. Make sure she was going to be ok, only to my surprise she was gone. Fucking gone and for a year, her parents have kept her whereabouts a damn secret.

Why I’m all of a sudden thinking of her now beats the hell out of me.
You’re always thinking of her, you asshole. Always.

Maybe it’s because I’ve never had a woman rile my ass up the way she did, with her sassy attitude. Her sweet, yet tart mouth. And her ass. What man in their right mind doesn’t love a nice ass? The moment I walked into her apartment over a year ago and I saw her with her back to me, my instincts shot straight for her ass, and hell, the first thing that ran through my mind was how round it was. I hadn’t even seen her face yet and I wanted to grab that ass and grip it tight like a damn bowling ball, squeeze for firmness and flexibility.

And then she turned around. I had nearly came undone, was void of speaking. I’ve seen some beautiful women in my twenty-nine years, but Christ, not a damn one of them compared to her.

Those hazel eyes blinked in astonishment at me. Most women do when they get their first look. I’m not one to brag, and shit, but I’m a big guy. I can only imagine the first thing that ran through her mind was ‘Holy shit, this dude is big.’ I’m six foot seven. I do my best to keep myself in shape, working out as much as I can with Cain and Roan. Most people fear me, claim I intimidate them, but not her. She stood tall, even though she can’t be much over five foot five or so. When those first words tumbled out her sexy as fuck mouth, I knew right there I was imperially screwed.

“Who the hell are you?” she said, her hands firmly planted on her curvy hips.

“Don’t act like you have no clue who I am,” I dropped my bag on the floor. My long legs carried me straight to her. I was there to protect her. She didn’t realize it, but she was about to get her first lesson; either that or I wanted to shove my tongue down her throat.

“We all know there’s a dangerous man out there. One who will kill anyone who gets in his way of getting what he wants. He wants your best friend, and what do you do the minute I knock on your door?” I leaned into her, my face close enough to see the gold flecks in her eyes. She didn’t budge, flinch, not a damn thing except tilt her head up to look right at me. Those long raven-colored locks of hers touched the tip of her apple-shaped ass.

“What? Are you pissed off because I didn’t greet you at the door? Say ‘Oh hey, badass guy, thanks for invading my privacy? And double thanks for making sure I stay cooped up in my apartment until psycho man is found?’” Her brows lifted, waiting for me to answer. My answer was in the palm of my hand. Literally. I wanted to bend her over my knee right there and spank her ass.

“You never holler ‘Come in,’” I quote. “You go to the door and you check the peep hole. That’s what it’s made for. You get me?” I glared down at her.

“You’re a dick,” she retorted.

“Don’t get me started on my dick, sweet-tart, little thing. You can’t handle my dick.”

From there it was game on. The two of us couldn’t say jack shit to the other without it turning into a full-fledged yelling match.

I stand here and shake my head, thinking about that woman and her damned mouth. Christ almighty, she has a mouth on her.

And could she ever suck cock with that mouth. Fuck. Now I’m hard. I’m always so damn hard to the point I realistically ache everywhere whenever I think of her. My chest. My mind. God.