Page 12 of Líadan's Code

Anyone else would be screaming, wailing, and crying, but not Lía. I don’t think it’s all caught up to her yet. Or maybe, it’s more so that she can’t process it the way others would.

The Irish are simply built differently.

“They changed you,” I correct her. “My best friend and love of my life is not ruined.”

“How, what?” Lía hisses as she raises and drops her hands in confusion. Lifting her arm, I see there’s thin cuts along the inside of it.

This looks like Bruin’s handiwork, though I won’t ask right now. I’m the boss’ executioner because I’m the most likely to get information out of my prisoners, while Bruin is a bull in a china shop, driven to maximize his destruction. He enjoys simply hearing them scream.

She’s here. She’s still standing, and she’s mine.

“You are mine, and therefore you’re perfect,” I growl, rubbing her shoulders carefully. “I have loved you my entire life, this will never change. I’m just bringing you with me to every job from now on. You’ll never be alone, ever again, unless I know you’re safe. I swear it.”

Lía takes as deep of a breath as she can handle before she nods. The well of emotion in her gaze almost brings me to tears myself, but I force myself to be strong. I will fall apart another time, and then burn away all emotion.

If she’s to be a monster at her father’s insistence, then I’ll help her shed all the blood she needs. We belong together, and no one else matters.

Chapter Three

Líadan

Three years later

Crossing the streets of Chicago, as I walk to the local farmers market, is a luxury I never thought I’d ever get to do. It’s funny for a serial killer to be excited to be able to just stroll through the city, but I am. Well, as excited as I can get, anyway.

I show anger, hatred, and mild forms of happiness to the outside world. Even Brendan, my best friend and lover, doesn't experience much more than this unless you include my snarky attitude.

I’m walking without a guard or goon following me these days, but my father is still watching my movements on every camera in the city he possibly can.

A little girl surprises me as she crosses in front of me, forcing me to stop quickly in my tracks. My eyes widen as she almost falls before righting herself. She appears to be about ten, and I look around for a parent.

When I don’t see one, I shake my head, because it’s unfortunately normal to see packs of kids living on the street.

“Sorry,” she mutters before she runs to meet up with an older boy. He meets my gaze before hurrying away, finding a predator scarier than him.

Hmm, I’ve always found it interesting how intuitive kids are. Deciding not to scare children unnecessarily, I smirk at them as I continue walking into the park.

I live for Saturdays in Chicago, especially in mid-October. The weather is beautiful, people are in good spirits, and it’s a bit more acceptable for my scary side to come out.

Daddy decided a year ago that he needed to be able to keep a closer eye on the family and his enemies. While they’re no longer plotting to assassinate him or planning human trafficking auctions without his permission, he didn’t stay alive this long without being a paranoid fuck.

Respectfully, of course.

I have no reason to sneak around, so I won’t. I’m on a mission to pick up a dozen apple cider donuts, flowers, and maybe a new scarf. Daddy knows I’m not his innocent daughter anymore.

Pushing me too far when I’m his Banshee, the literal bringer of death to those who fuck with him, means his weapon can just as easily be used to take him out as well.

My soul needs blood to run, my fingers itch for a weapon, and Daddy feeds that need with the tasks he gives me. It’s how I fill my days now with Brendan at my side. Sometimes he helps me, other times I lose myself in my fucked up rituals.

No one knows I’m Daddy’s tool, the one who punishes his enemies or those who fuck up in the family. I wear a mask when I’m in my torture room regardless of whether they are going to live or die, and don’t remove it until I’m driving home.

I’m careful in every aspect. I’ve been living in a quiet townhouse with Brendan for the last three months, though Daddy knows I’ll pick up and go wherever he needs. It just made more sense, because the mansion isn’t near any of his warehouses, but most importantly, it gives me something I’ve never had.

A bit of freedom. It’s new, but it’s something. One day, I plan to rule over the O’Brien clan, and the blood will run while I change things.

Smiling to myself over my fucked up thoughts, I know people are seeing a woman who is five-foot-eight, with long raven-black hair that curls down my back, and green eyes. My makeup is done lightly, my brown double breasted coat is well tailored and open, showing off my black leather skirt and long-sleeved crimson sweater. Daddy doesn’t care what I wear now that I’m no longer a virgin.

In his mind, he’s cashed in on the value of my innocence, so as long as I don’t embarrass him, I’m able to live on my own. Even if it means living with Brendan.

---