Page 120 of Mob Saint

“Tiera, can you come out here, please?”

My brow furrows as I toss the remote on the bed. I head down the hallway to the living room. It surprises me to see my dad and Gareth there along with the other O’Rourke men. I walk to Seamus’s side and look up at him. His expression is grim, but he tilts his head ever so slightly toward my dad. It’s not permission so much as reassurance.

“Hi, Dad.” I wrap my arms around him, and he gives me a tight squeeze.

“Hi, nugget.”

I hold on for another moment, but then I pull back and shoot him a smile. I let go and walk to Seamus’s side. He slides his hand into mine before we take seats in the living room. It’s obvious Seamus is used to having his entire family over because there’s a massive sectional along with armchairs. When we’re out here, we usually cuddle on the chaise part, or I sit on his lap in a reclining armchair. We take spots on the extended part of the chaise, facing everyone else.

I study the group, and no one looks happy to be there. I look up at Seamus again and keep my voice down, not that I think everyone else can’t hear us.

“Does this have to do with earlier on?”

“Yes.” His tone isn’t gruff, but it’s clipped.

My gaze darts to Gareth, then my dad. They looked no more pleased than any of the other men.

“What happened?”

I’m still looking up at Seamus, so I watch him jerk his chin toward Gareth. I swipe my gaze to him and immediately grow suspicious.

“Tiernan, I got a call this morning. It was obviously a recording since Zack’s dead, and it didn’t respond to what I said, but it was his voice. It differed from the other calls I’ve gotten. It mentioned Seamus. The voice told me I needed to break you up by making it look like Seamus went back to his previous arrangement and didn’t tell you. If I didn’t, he’d record Cormac somehow and send it to you. If I failed, he’d wipe out your bank accounts and sell off all your investments. He knew everything about you, so he knew you’re frugal. He knew you have a nest egg.”

I do, and I haven’t kept that a secret from Seamus. I told him I had enough to live on until I find another job. He didn’t argue with me, but he also doesn’t let me pay for anything but my mortgage, utilities I don’t really use anymore because I’ve essentially moved in with him, and my student loans. Anything else, he covers.

We talked money, and I’ve never met anyone with as much as he has. He could probably buy a small country and feed the entire population for five years. I will never earn as much as he does. And it was all from legal ventures. I have no idea how much he has from—other stuff.

Seamus wraps his arm around my hips and rests his hand on it. My dad and Gareth don’t miss the gesture. I lean into him.

“Who made the call?”

“You won’t like it.” Gareth looks like he wants to sink into his spot on the sofa.

“No sh—Of course I won’t like someone threatening me.” I catch myself in front of my dad.

Seamus pulls out his phone and taps a contact.

Motherfucker.

Seamus makes the call and puts it on speaker.

“What do you want, pinche care chimba.”

I don’t know that one. Cormac leans to whisper to me. “Fucking vagina for a face or there abouts.”

“Watch your mouth, or I’ll wash it out for you. Tiera can hear you.”

There’s a long silence. I glance at Seamus, but he’s looking at the phone. Isn’t anyone going to say something?

“Why’d you do it?” There. I gave in and spoke first.

My question is met with more silence.

“You’re something of a Catholic, aren’t you?” It’s rhetorical so I don’t expect an answer. “I’m one too. I didn’t have to memorize huge chunks of the Bible in school, but I remember some verses. The Gospel according to Matthew. It goes something like you’ve heard of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. But if a man strikes you on one cheek, you turn it and offer them the other. If he strikes that one, then you give him your cloak. Do you remember that one? I know Seamus said you went to Sunday School together. There’s this other one from Romans. I don’t remember the exact words, but the gist is I do not do the good I want, but the evil I don’t want is what I keep doing. Does that one sound familiar?”

I still don’t think I’m going to get an answer, and I don’t. Who knows who else might be listening on the other end? I don’t give a flying fuck.

“Because I can’t help but do evil, I just can’t seem to live by turning the other cheek. I’ve spent three years tampering with evidence to make fires look like they started themselves. Sometimes I make it look like something else started it, just so I can hide who did it. Sometimes they look like the building owner set it for the insurance claim. I didn’t do the good I wanted even though I knew the things I did were evil. But I feared what would happen if I didn’t. I couldn’t bear what did when I refused.”

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