Page 72 of Vengeful Vows

“She’s very beautiful.”

“Was,” Declan bites out.

“When we found out that Niall was running young girls, letting God knows what happen to them, we retaliated. There were losses on both sides,” Patrick says.

“I’m so sorry,” I gasp.

Patrick holds up his hand. “Save your sorrys, a’stor. You’ll need them for the end.”

Declan took in a shaky breath, rubbing his hand across his face.

“After the first few battles, we thought we’d made a mark. We thought that your father would stop stealing our shipments, trying to recruit our men. We thought for sure that he’d stop running girls. And I suppose he did, for a few years.” Patrick pauses and looks right at me. “I believe it was around the time you were a child.”

I nod. I know that my father did take a break from crime for a while after my mother left, that he’d stayed home with me a lot, but I didn’t know exactly why. I thought he was just grieving my mother leaving.

“Maureen was on her way to the market,” Patrick starts, and then a sob hitches in his chest and he stops, taking in deep breaths to get himself together.

Part of me wants to reach across and take his hand, but I don’t. My shoulders are stiff. It’s like I’m frozen solid. I can’t feel anything—not the tears running down my face, not fear or panic or sadness. Nothing.

I’m just numb.

It almost feels like I’m watching this scene from outside my body, as if I’m floating somewhere on the ceiling and watching Patrick break down.

“I’ll do it, Da.” Declan reaches across to pat his father on the back, and Patrick nods.

Declan turns to me, and there’s such pain on his face it would tear me in two, if I wasn’t somewhere on the ceiling watching. If I was back in my body, this would hurt.

“My mother was on the way to get groceries. We didn’t have Marisol before Ma passed. She did all the cooking, all traditional, shepherd’s pies and soda bread, things like that. She loved cooking for us.” Declan pauses and pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, as if he’s trying to stop tears.

His eyes are wet, anyway. “She never made it there.”

“She was t-boned by a Rolls Royce,” Gray states. “You know anyone who drives a Rolls?”

I frown. “No.”

But a memory comes to my mind. A fleeting one. And I try to grab it. It’s…

“My father...” I gasp. “He used to own one, years ago.”

“Want to take a guess why he got rid of it?” Declan asks, bitterness clear in his voice.

“No. No, that can’t be.” I shake my head, and suddenly I’m slammed back into my body, and the world is full of emotional pain. “He wouldn’t.”

“He did, a'stor,” Patrick whispers, as gently as he can. “There was video evidence, but we could never see his face. We knew that he’d arranged it, even if he hadn’t done it himself. The man behind the wheel drove away, left Maureen there, bleeding to death in a car that, after capsizing a few times, landed wheels up but was completely destroyed.” Patrick sobs now, dropping his head into his hands. “We couldn’t even have an open casket.”

“Why?” I whisper. “Why would he do that?”

“He hates us.” Gray sounds almost frustrated, as if it should be simple. Obvious. “He wants what we have, and he’s been trying to get it for decades.”

“But your mother?” I gasp, and suddenly, I can’t breathe.

I bolt upright and then stand, pacing around the room and wheezing, trying to breathe through what feels like a pinhole in my throat. “Innocent girls... children...”

I want to scream they are lying, but memories flow of things I hadn’t noticed before, and the picture forming in my head is a dark one.

Oh god. My father is every bit of the monster that the Burkes think he is.

Paige stands, coming to me and putting her arms around me, and I sob against her shoulder, and she sobs against mine, both of us coming away with wet shirts.

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