Page 59 of Iris' Lying Eyes

He glances at the letters spread before me, and his mouth curls in a smile. “I see you’ve been snooping through your mother’s things. Now you know; she was a whore just like you.”

The fucking irony. “Yeah, well, I guess you made sure of that,” I spit.

He smiles, his blue eyes burning, and nods to the letter. “How about that? Do you think she wrote him back? Uncle Finny,” he sneers.

“Who was he?” I whisper, dropping my eyes. I can play games too, fucker.

“So, she never told you? Hm. Uncle Finny is Finnen McCafferty.”

“Who?” I stutter, rubbing my wrist. I’m so tired of the games.

He chuckles, rubbing his chin. “Iris, your daddy was Paddy McCafferty’s firstborn son. He was disowned when he killed family, but your blood is still true.”

“Which means what?”

“You’re a Flaherty and a McCafferty, all in one. That old prick needs you.”

“You’re insane,” I breathe. Does this change things? I don’t fucking know, but it’s information to parse out later, assuming I’m alive.

“Enough.” He slashes his hand through the air. “The senator and I had a nice chat. Bring me the girl, or I’ll be forced to do things you wouldn’t like, hm? Get rid of those fucks and come home.”

With that, he stalks away, and bewildered, I stare after him. Why is he leaving? That was too easy.

Either way, I know my course, and this changes nothing.

∞∞∞

After he’s gone, I drop to the couch and rub my face. Truthfully, him leaving me here without so much as a whipping, leaves me on edge.

What’s he planning in that diabolical mind of his?

“Fucker,” I mumble, rearranging the letters only to pause on the picture I refused to look at when he tossed it my way.

Designed for maximum effect, I knew I’d be playing right into his hands if I did.

Now my fingers are stiff as I pick it up and turn it toward me. The tiny baby screams at the camera with a mottled face and dark eyes.

For a moment, I search the features, hoping I’m wrong. So, he is looking for her. But he hasn’t found her because this picture is from the day she was born. She’s at least four now, and he’d be showing me those images if he had them.

But he’s on the hunt. What can I do? How do I head him off at the pass?

By staying the course. It’s my only option. If I fuck up his world before he gets to her, she’ll be fine.

With that in mind, I roll over on the couch and try to sleep through the racing thoughts that keep me on edge all night.

With the morning light, I change into a clean pair of pants and a shirt before ordering another rideshare. It’s not ideal, but I don’t have my ID. I can’t rent a car, and I have to do this alone.

My priority is John, but Roman and his threats linger. I wouldn’t put it past him to hunt me down. If I’m going to finish this, I have to be alive.

These thoughts send a chill down my spine. I do not want to be one of the damned that he picks up and hunts through the trees like a fucking animal.

∞∞∞

When I was sixteen, I ran away. Full of helpless rage and desperation, I caught a bus out of town with a hundred bucks and my backpack.

I made it sixty miles before John tracked me down. Back then, although no picnic, his punishments weren’t as severe until the day I made the stupid mistake of thinking I could escape.

I don’t remember where Mom was, but she certainly wasn’t around to save me when John drove me out to the farm.

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