Page 106 of Líadan's Code

“That’s very generous,” Brendan says, tucking my arm in his. It would fucking suck if I slipped and fell walking out. “I’ll let Mickey know. We have a viewing to get to.”

“I’d give my condolences, but I’m not sure if I should,” Laura says as she slips out of the door Brendan holds for her. Mickey left him the key to lock up with, knowing we’d see him later.

“None needed,” I say as Brendan pockets the key after locking up. “Daddy was a melodramatic bastard.”

“Then may he rot in Hell,” she says, waving as she walks to her car.

“I think I almost like her,” I grumble as Brendan escorts me to our ride share that drives up. His low chuckle makes parts of me clench deep in my body.

Getting in the car, he gives the address of one of my favorite sandwich restaurants, which happens to also be near the funeral home. There is so much about Chicago that is familiar, because I grew up here, but it also has so many toxic memories. I’m glad we’ll be leaving soon, even if we don’t have an idea of where to yet.

“How are you feeling?” he asks in a low voice, his mouth on the shell of my ear. “You worried the old men yesterday.”

Thinking back to the way that Mickey kept walking by periodically today to press a protein bar or water into my hand makes me grin. God, I’m sure I did. I felt like shit last night, and almost fell asleep in the new hotel room while taking a bath.

The Waldorf Astoria more than made up for the terrible places we’ve been staying in and the lumpy mattresses.

“Tired still,” I admit. “My energy levels don’t seem to go as far as they usually do. I keep waiting for my period to show up and say ‘Surprise, Motherfucker!’”

Brendan snorts at that, shaking his head. “You don’t even watch enough action movies to say things like that,” he says as the driver pulls over at our stop.

Opening the door, Brendan helps me out and we thank our driver. The next forty minutes are spent getting dinner, chatting, and then walking to the funeral home.

“I wonder who Daddy left everything to,” I murmur.

“You,” Brendan says. “He was a dickhead, but I can’t think of anyone else he’d give everything to. That is, if he even thought to have a Will. I’m sure we’ll find out tomorrow before the funeral at the Will reading. We have an appointment in the morning.”

It’s overwhelming to focus on everything, so I asked Brendan to give me information when I need it, instead of dumping it on me. This way I can process it easier. I have too much to do to get overwhelmed. Also, since I don’t have a phone, Brendan has been fielding all calls for me.

Brendan opens the door to the funeral home, his hand on my back to support me as I walk through it. The funeral director is waiting as he stands just inside, glancing back at the room Daddy is in.

“Is there a problem?” I ask. This is the funeral home that our families tend to use, so he shouldn’t be this nervous.

“Two people had a fight, and a gun went off,” he hisses furiously. “It’s not the first time something like this has happened?—”

“No, but we’re better than this,” I grunt. “I’ll pay for the damages. Do I need to know anything before I walk in?”

“No, Miss O’Brien. I think I’m just a little bit nervous still,” he admits.

“I’ve got it from here, Mr. Fiddler. Go take a deep breath, smoke a cigarette, and I’ll wrangle the family,” I suggest. I once caught him smoking when I was a young child. It’s one of the only functions Daddy took me to, and it was to a fucking viewing.

“I could never,” he gasps, smirking as he winks at me.

“You’re a natural with people, milseán,” Brendan murmurs as we approach the viewing room. “Stay nice and relaxed, get through this, and I’ll reward you by fucking you on your daddy’s casket.”

Fuck. I shouldn’t be wet at his words, but if I was wearing panties, they’d be destroyed. I’m wearing a bra because it’s needed with this dress, but I drew the line at panties. My tights are a bit damp, unfortunately, though.

I pull my face into someone who cares to be here as I step into the room. Six men stand, all men who were Daddy’s friends or close relatives. These men worked with him, but were not involved in the sex trafficking area of his business.

“Líadan,” one of them says somberly. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The words are hysterical, because I don’t give a shit. Most of the world doesn’t know how he died, though word has spread that I’m his heir. There is small talk, small prayers spoken at the casket, and an interminably long three hours of this.

“I’m only swinging by long enough to say I was here,” Mickey says, stepping into the room.

“I don’t blame you,” I say, smiling. “He’s still very dead.”

Mickey smirks as he sits next to me. Brendan left for a moment to get a bottle of water, because all of this chit chatting is exhausting.

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