Page 67 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

“What else could I say? He’d have come after me otherwise, and you know it! He’d know I was safe if I was with you. I’d rather he thinks the worst of me than for him to be dead.”

More silence. Both of us now lost in our own thoughts.

Dancing with death makes you say things you wouldn’t normally. You can’t live with your regrets if you’re dead, so when the grim reaper comes calling, people tend to want to clear the air and get everything off their chests.

Jaine didn’t die.

In hindsight, it would have been far better for everyone concerned had she left her confession unsaid. She and I can’t ever act on it. Not just because I’ve verbally agreed to a contract with the Ruoccos but because I refuse to be my own brother’s undoing. He may have wronged me, but two wrongs don’t make a right. Plus, he and Jaine share Fin.

He will always hold the trump card.

I’m still reeling from the revelation but rejoicing in it too.

We were meant until we weren’t.

But we are.

Our love was written in the stars until it wasn’t.

But it is.

I went to Sicily and stuck my head in the sand, existing with my wishful thinking, foolish hopes, and pipe fucking dreams, not realizing that Jaine had married and fallen in love with my own brother.

We share a past. He can offer her a future. I can’t. At least not now, and maybe not ever. As much as she loves me. As much as I love her. Jaine Jones will forever remain my end game that never will.

That’s what karma delivered to me for cheating on her and losing her in the first place.

I drive to my apartment, then park the SUV in the car park underneath the building. I look at Jaine, but she’s just staring straight ahead.

“Jaine,” I say her name three times before she eventually turns to face me. I try to prize the blood-covered rifle from her hands, but she refuses to let it go. Finally, I manage to convince her to stick her balaclava and gloves in her jacket pocket and leave her jacket and rifle in the car.

She’s in shock.

Who can blame her? I’m sure she needs to psych herself up when she’s about to shoot someone in cold blood as her alias, regardless of how many times she’s carried out the act.

As much as she’s dressed for the part, it wasn’t her weapon or her engraved bullets. She wasn’t on a job.

She went outside to have a quiet shoot and to give herself time to think, and it turned into Armageddon. She’ll want to be with her babies right now. She’ll want to inspect them to make sure they both still have ten fingers and ten toes, but she’s stuck between a rock and a hard place.

She didn’t want to give her identity away today and with even more reason. It’s not so much that the family would have found out. She must know she won’t be able to keep it a secret for much longer. It’s that the people orchestrating the snipers may have witnessed her unmasking.

If she already has a target on her back, it would be nothing compared to the size of one she’d earn if she were ever revealed to be the surreptitious sniper. She’d immediately have a price on her head. She’d be lucky to survive twenty-four hours with the countless enemies she’ll have garnered over the years.

She can’t go home. If they are still out there watching and waiting, they’ll see her arrive in the middle of the night. Questions will be asked about where she’s been. And that may lead them straight to me.

If Sophia finds out that she’s been here? Well, that doesn’t bear thinking about. She’s already issued a veiled threat toward Jaine.

Padraig’s Apartment, Hudson Yards, New York

She’s been in the shower for the best part of an hour. I know she has a strict routine that she follows after she’s carried out a hit. Even though that’s not what this was, it’s my guess she’s following the same process. I know she uses bleach and whatnot and has her clothes incinerated.

She can’t do that this time as she’s got nothing else to wear.

As much as I’d love to see her in my shirt and jeans, I’m not sure Eoin would feel the same way, so she can’t turn up at home dressed like that. He’ll already suspect that something’s gone on between us, even though it hasn’t.

And it never will.

He may have betrayed me, but I would never betray him. He married her then fell in love with her. How can I blame him for that?

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