Page 37 of Killian

Every single time with him is like the first time. I once thought I would tire of him, but the more I’m with him, the more I realize.

One more time will never be enough.

That’s what scares me the most.

“Take me to the church,”I snap as I slam the car door shut. The driver nods as Conor closes the partition, giving us some privacy.

“Your temper is shorter than usual,” he says conversationally.

Yours would be too if you kept having to leave the woman you love for business.

I don’t say those words out loud though.

“Someone is fucking with us and I don’t know why,” I bite out, trying not to think about Greer.

“We will find them, boss.”

“You weren’t so sure yesterday,” I point out.

“Yesterday was yesterday. I was frustrated with everything then.” He turns, looking at me. “I want you to be happy. Truly. If being with her makes you happy, then so be it. Who am I to stop you? Like I said yesterday, I’ll protect her with my life. She is now family.”

“Thank you.”

It means the world to me that Conor is coming around. I might not always be sure if I can trust him, but he is still the closest thing that I have to a child. I trust him more than anyone else.

Not Greer.

Never Greer. I will always trust her above all others.

After a moment of silence, I ask him, “Is there anything else I should be made aware of?”

Conor fills me in on little things, never actually giving anything away in case the car is bugged. Even if we sweep it, one can never be too careful.

Even our route to the church was longer than necessary. Anything to throw off anyone who might be watching us.

Once at the church, Conor steps out first, checking the surroundings. Once I step out, I take in the grand stone church with stained glass windows and make my way inside.

“Good day, son,” a nun greets me.

“Good day, Sister,” I murmur, making my way toward the front.

Once at the altar, I grab a candle. Slowly, I place the wick next to an already burning candle, catching the wick on fire before placing it on the altar. I kneel before the statue of Jesus and say a prayer. Once done, I move, sitting on a bench, staring up at the elaborate gold ceiling and the neo-baroque architecture. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man I need. I stand, making my way toward him as he slips into the confessional.

Closing the curtain behind me, I sit.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been six months since my last confession,” I say like every good Catholic.

“You can cut to the chase, child; we both know you’re not here to confess,” he says with his weathered voice.

“You know me so well, Father.” I smile before letting it fall. “Have you heard any whisperings about what’s happening on the streets? Strange things have been happening?” I ask quietly.

“What makes you think I would know.”

“We all know who’s really in charge around here. You have eyes and ears everywhere.”

The priest thinks for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “The neighborhood is loyal to you. If there is someone who wants to do you harm, it is someone from outside of here.”

“Are you positive?” I question.

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