Page 65 of Forbidden Need

McDades. A lot of them. And after the massacre of other families on the east coast, they didn’t gather in close quarter groups when they didn’t have to. Only one man had the authority to allow it.

Whisper, Razer, Niall, Hock, Daly, every McDade in her life.

Strat. Ford. Even Jagger Dunn stood with them. The Manzanis may have something to say about that.

She inhaled. It was such a show of support. She hadn’t explicitly invited them, so as not to put Connel in a difficult position. Or had she feared how a refusal would hurt? How could she have doubted him? There he was, her guy at the head of the pack, serious, somber, and completely fixated on her.

Like true soldiers, the group formed into two lines of height order behind him.

The back doors of the two vans at the front and back of the pack opened. A dozen men poured onto the street, spreading out to provide security, she guessed, from the way they dispersed and took posts.

Her eyes closed, freeing another tear. If she didn’t take a breath, she’d come undone. How could anyone doubt her guy’s love or that he’d always do what was best for her?

How had she existed without him?

As her eyes opened, she smiled at their ranks. Strat winked, infusing her with a strength that could get her through anything.

Conn’s eyes stayed on hers; he ascended until he was right there at her side. Without a word, she threaded her fingers between his. The gentle squeeze of his grip released the tension from her body.

He was there. With her. She wasn’t alone.

And if people had come to gawp, they sure had something to gawp at now.

Leaning in, his words warmed her ear. “You are never alone,” he murmured, brushing away her tear. “Our army will always raise you up.”

The pillar of his strength held her firm.

“Father,” she said to their priest before she lost her shit, “I don’t know if you’ve met—”

“We’re old friends,” Connel said. “Aren’t we, Father Fitz?”

“Mr. McDade,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us.”

“We’re here for Sersha,” he said. That voice, with that intonation, wasn’t one to be ignored. “Do your best work.”

The Father gulped and no one else said a word. Not one single word.

Conn nodded up the stairs, where the gawkers had their ball. Though the pastor glanced at her, he didn’t hesitate to proceed inside.

She went up with her guy’s hand secure in hers, his people at their back.

Others seemed tense as they went inside, yet her whole world was lighter.

She glanced back. The McDade gang shuffled into the back rows on both sides of the aisle.

“Thank you for being here,” she whispered, cupping their joined hands in front of her.

“You’ll pay for it later,” he murmured without caring whispers followed their advance toward the front.

Her impervious man sailed down that aisle, strong and indifferent to speculation. She’d never considered it, but it must’ve followed him all his life. Scrutiny. Rumor. Judgment. Growing up, her grandfather and father got attention. She’d been invisible. Connel McDade never had and never would be invisible.

“Let’s hope there’s no mandatory confession,” she whispered. “You’d be in the box a while.”

“Only if I took you in with me. Show’s better than tell.”

“Want to make the priest blush?”

“Guy’s a masochist in our playroom, baby. We own him.”

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