Page 160 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

She’ll finally get her wish. She will indeed become my next plaything. Unfortunately for her, however, it won’t be in the bedroom. It will be in my concrete chamber of horrors underneath Play.

There, I will paint her with my very own palette of pain.

My phone vibrates. I pray to God it’s Jaine. I read over my messages from earlier. Will she remember the punchline, I wonder?

Padraig:I thought rather than call you so you could just ignore me that I’d send a message instead.

Padraig:Do you want me to tell you a joke?

Padraig:I’ll tell you it anyway.

Padraig:What do you call an Irishman with a bad case of chickenpox?

Tears prick my eyes when I see that she’s typing.

Jaine:A lepper-chaun.

I laugh-sob as I message straight back.

Padraig:You remembered. I reckon it’s because the old ones are always the best.

Jaine:You reminded me at the time that your ma said if you haven’t got anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all, hence why I’m going to ignore that last message about old being best.

Padraig:Ouch.

Jaine:Sorry, not sorry.

Padraig:Jaine?

Jaine:Yes.

Padraig:Come home, darlin’.

Jaine:That’s part of the problem, Irish. I don’t have a home anymore.

Guilt.

Me. My family. We’re responsible for that. If she’d never met me, Ace would still be alive, and she’d still be happily married. She’d never have had a confrontation with Sophia. Instead, she’s pretty much on the run with a Sicilian price on her head.

I don’t tell the others she’s made contact. I doubt she’d appreciate them lighting up her handset or asking her countless questions.

Instead, I stick my phone in my pocket, then set off for the only place in the world where I can ever truly clear my head.

St. Peter’s Church, Upper East Side, New York

I’ve driven rather than caught a cab. I’m hoping that in the unlikely event our enemies show up again, they’ll find it much harder to shift an armored SUV than Jaine’s hog.

Speaking of hogs.

I take in Jaine’s new ride that’s parked outside the church. Eoin bought it for her as a gift. Dylan said he had considered getting her another classic but thought that would be demeaning to the crushed one. Instead, he opted for a new one in the same all-black finish.

I wonder if he’d ever consider getting on the back of it. Not that I was ever on the back of the old one. I frown to myself, concerned that this will be me for the rest of my days. Comparing what Jaine and I did to what they’ll do.

Maybe I didn’t think this through? Maybe I should have fought for her? But why would I want anyone else to suffer like I am? More so, my own brother.

She loves him. He loves her. Just because my own situation is potentially about to change doesn’t mean I should start moving the goalposts on him.

I appreciate that they’re having problems again. I have no idea what they are. I won’t pry, as it’s none of my business. I gave him my blessing. I can’t simply take it back.

---