Page 22 of Líadan's Code

“I think the Banshee needs to be involved,” Seán says, surprising me. “You have an extra room in that townhouse of yours, right? I don’t want him in my home.”

“I don’t really know what your plans are here,” I say carefully. Our home is our port in the storm of this shit show of a life. I don’t want anyone else there.

“He will receive his workload from me daily after we come to an agreement on our terms,” he says with a shrug.

Code: I beat the agreement from him.

“And how will he be receiving his work load?” I ask. I don’t want Seán to have an excuse to come by whenever he wants. He has let Lía live in peace since she moved out as long as she attends to his every whim.

“I’ll have it delivered electronically, of course,” Seán says, exasperated. “There are encrypted message thing-a-majigs now, boy.”

God save me from this man. I cannot handle him speaking like that, while I’m trying not to laugh. It’s just unfair and ridiculous.

“Yes, Sir,” I say instead. “I wasn’t aware. Will you be dropping in often to check in?”

“I don’t know yet. I don’t want to be told what to do with my prisoners,” Seán scoffs. “You can keep your idyllic little bubble a while longer. It won’t last, boy. She's meant to rule, and you’re just a henchman.”

I let him say what he needs to as I wait in front of him, knowing that he’ll move on if I stare stonily at him long enough.

“Bah,” Seán spits out, proving me right. “He’s strung up against the wall at the warehouse down in the South Shore. You know where it is. Pick my daughter up on your way. Contain her. He can’t die.”

Lía has more control than he gives her credit for. The reason she takes over the jobs where people are going to die either way is because she can let her demons loose completely. Dead men tell no tales and all that.

“Yes, Sir,” I say, ready to get the fuck out of this mausoleum. I haven’t been comfortable walking into this house in the last few years. It feels fucking evil, or maybe the devil’s essence is seeping into the walls.

“Do you want him to spend the night in the warehouse before we bring him back to our home?”

“Leave him to soak in his own filth for three days, and then you can cut him down,” he grunts, clearly done with the conversation.

Nodding, I turn and walk out of the office, my mind reeling. I don’t have a last name for this guy so I can’t do my own research. Usually I wouldn’t care if I was walking in blindly because my victims are people who deserve it, but it really seems as if this guy was looking out for his niece.

In a world where I’ve watched people sell their children, wives, or their own mother for greed, I’m not used to such protectiveness.

My luck turns as I see Skyler talking to Corbin before he leaves. Timing my exit well, I find myself walking out the front door at the same time as Seán’s computer nerd does.

“It’s Skyler, right?” I ask as I tip my head toward him.

“Ah, yes,” he says with a nod.

“Any chance you’d like to give me the last name of the man who will be living in my home?” I growl.

I don’t know how Skyler’s managed to live this long amongst so many killers because he fucking whimpers. God, who does he even belong to?

“Jordan Miles, Sir,” he whispers. “Shit, I don’t know if I was supposed to tell you that.”

“It’s my house, and I’m going to make the fucker scream for me, so I’ll go with ‘yes’ you were. Thanks, kid,” I say, waving at him as I walk to my car.

Now, to do a little research as I head home to my girl and let her know to get ready. As I leave Seán’s property behind, I call Lía to catch her up on the latest development.

“Hi, what did Daddy need?” she asks, sounding a bit breathless.

I forgot she went to the gym and then the gun range afterwards today. I’ve been on her ass about making sure she’s comfortable with a firearm, so she finally decided to take it seriously. I don’t care how well your knife treats you, a bullet will still kill you.

“Are you headed home soon? Your dad wants us to rough up some guy who hacked into his computer network,” I tell her. “Apparently, his niece was an accomplice in a murder at O’Malley’s bar in Vermont. You remember Mila and her brothers, right?”

“Fucking gang bangers,” Lía complains. “I feel like Daddy is always covering for them. I’m just finishing up at the gun range, Brendan. So why is this girl’s uncle involved? Why aren’t we kidnapping the girl?”

One thing about Lía is that she knows few people ever get a pass in life. There’s always a loophole, the floor is always one step away from falling out from under her. I wish things were different for us, but as long as we’re in this life, it won’t be.

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