Page 108 of Mob Saint

If he says Gareth, I’ll murder them both with my bare hands.

“Your dad. In all fairness—before you lose your shit on your poor old dad—he thinks I’m dead. I should have been. He only pulled me out so he could put Jimmy Patricks’s body in there for me. He knew there couldn’t be a record that the O’Rourkes succeeded in murdering me. He got Jimmy in place and out of the way right before the second explosion. If he’d been a foot closer, he’d have died instead of me.”

Darren laughs. It stretches his already grotesque face into something that looks like Harvey Dent—Two Face—from Batman. The movie version with Aaron Eckhardt—fuck—the irony—the pathos—of that. My Aaron is dead, and Darren survived. It ignites my rage all over again.

“Don’t you want to know how I survived?” He can’t stand that I won’t ask.

Darren’s too narcissistic to believe anyone isn’t interested in him when he’s the center of the story. I want to know like I need my next breath. But I refuse to give him the satisfaction of asking. He’ll volunteer an explanation if I wait long enough. He can’t help himself. He likes nothing more than to talk about himself.

“I don’t care if you think to wait me out, Tiernan. I prefer the sound of my own voice to yours any day.”

I stare but don’t move. I think he wants to snarl, but he can’t pull his lips back that far. I’m goading him rather than the other way around, and it’s driving him nuts.

“Your dad called Vince and Keith to come and get my body. He knew I was alive, but he was certain I wouldn’t last the time it took for them to get to me. He’d wrapped me in a blanket and rolled me around to put out the fire that was burning my skin from my bones.”

A fiberglass fire blanket. They can extinguish small fires. I gave my parents three sets each one year for Christmas. Since they’re highly heat resistant, they’re often used by wildfire firefighters to protect themselves when the wind changes, and the flames blow over them. It would have put out the flames of hell that licked at Darren’s heels. My dad’s going to regret what he did for the rest of his life. But he did what he was supposed to: save his mob boss before all else.

“Vince and Keith were nearby since they were supposed to be at the meeting too, but I’d suspected the O’Rourkes were going to attempt my assassination.”

Assassination makes him sound far more important than he is. Murder would be more fitting. If only Seamus had succeeded.

“They got me to Mikey, who got me into a private hospital without any questions. Amazing what money and Vince could do. Seamus put a bullet through my head, and God’s benevolent mercy healed me.”

I want to smash him in the face. He’s never believed in anything but himself. He never went to church, not even to make a show of support to families at baptisms, weddings, and funerals. He couldn’t be bothered. He waited around for people to kiss the ring. He’s mocking my faith.

“I spent nearly a year recovering. Once the bullet was out and the skin grafts were complete, it was a matter of waiting and plotting.”

Darren died—supposedly, I guess—not long after Aaron. Gareth, Vince, and Keith made it sound like the harassment started before the car bomb, then escalated almost immediately. Did it take a year? Was Keith carrying out Darren’s orders and doing the dirty work? Vince clearly crossed Darren since he lost his head for it.

The timelines never seem to match up whenever I think about them. Gareth said things started before his dad died. But what did? I wouldn’t know since no one fucking told me. Darren orchestrated the car accident, but was that because someone was already extorting him? Did Aaron or I piss him off, so he made sure someone picked up his mantle after we thought he died?

“Don’t think so hard, cailín. It’ll hurt your pretty little head.”

My place was bugged. Or maybe my car. Or I don’t know where because I can’t remember all the places Seamus has called me that. I thought only outside and in my home. But Kieran searched it. Did someone go in and collect them while Seamus and I were in Trenton? Was his car bugged?

“You don’t like it when I call you Seamus’s pet name for you. What else was it he called you? His slut. His whore. Sounds about right. You let Keith only fuck you from behind because that was the only way he could get it up with you. You wanted it so much you never questioned it. You begged Aaron to fuck you when he still wanted Hillary. What man wouldn’t take a woman who threw herself at him? I guess you were a better lay since he kept coming back. You could only get your Dom’s dick up when he practically beat you to get hard. But I can’t fathom why a man like Seamus O’Rourke, who’s been fucking a woman who looks like a supermodel, walked away from the perfect little submissive for a sow like you.”

How does he know anything about my Dom? Darren was around when I was with Keith and Aaron. He’s clearly around for Seamus. Who fed him information about?—

“The penny just dropped, didn’t it?”

The betrayal I feel threatens to snap my resolve. Zack used everything I ever confided against me. I never invited him into my home, and he never rode in my car. I don’t know how he got into either of them, but he worked for Darren. He approached me one night at the club I’d just joined. I’d figured out what was missing after reading that book The Red Drifter of the Sea. The relationship—a realistic version of the erotic fantasy—was what I wanted. But I didn’t want it to be romantic. I didn’t want to risk giving my heart to anyone else. How repulsed was Zack to have to keep fucking me as I gained weight? He did it because it was a job. That’s all I was. Man-whore.

“Why reveal yourself now?” It’s the first question I’ve asked.

“Because the timing’s right. Someone wants to fuck with the O’Rourkes even more than I do. Alex!”

A swarthy man I don’t recognize walks in. He’s drop dead gorgeous. Like too good to be true. Like he makes Armani models look like schlubs pulled off the street. Like so hot you can’t look away because it draws you like you’re craning your neck to see a car wreck. He’s got the too perfect look Finn has.

He does nothing for me. He’s not rugged like Cormac. He’s definitely built, but he doesn’t have the bulky build that makes me feel shielded from the world. There isn’t enough muscle for me to run my hands over, finding more dips and ripples each time he flexes. He doesn’t make my panties—if I wore them—wet like Seamus has since the moment I saw his back.

“Alejandro, fuck nut. We aren’t friends.”

The man snaps at Darren, and I watch my tormentor—co-tormentor—swallow. Menacing with a soulless aura radiates from the man as he prowls past Darren and comes to stand before me. He looks over my shoulder at whoever is restraining me and lifts his chin. The hands release me immediately.

“Tiernan, I’m Alejandro Diaz.”

He has the audacity to stick his hand out to shake mine. I don’t look at it, and I don’t offer mine. My gaze locks with his, and I refuse to blink until I can’t stand it. It’s a second after he blinks first. He grins, his white teeth looking like they belong on a toothpaste commercial.

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