Aspen washed his blades with a special soap he claimed prevented rust and released the plug, letting the water get sucked out of the sink before he placed the knives on a towel he’d laid out on the counter. “I have nothing to say to him.”
“What?” I’d completely forgotten what we were talking about, distracted by Aspen’s nimble fingers and the way he worked the blades.
“Your doc. I have nothing to say to him.” He held up a knife to the light and it sparkled like a fucking diamond. It was as precious as a gem. Completely black, the blade was made from Honyaki steel, a Japanese metal that was incredibly sharp and thin, and each knife had cost him around five grand.
“Ye don’t need to say anything to him. He has enough things to say without ye ever needing to speak a word.” I laughed at my own joke. “Seriously, though, mate, talk to him. Be around him. He’s mind-blowing. Not like any other bloke I’ve ever met.”
“Maybe.” He twisted another knife in his hand, holding it up to the light as though searching for scratches.
“The way his hole sucks me in.... Can’t believe Rowen’s right for once.” I snorted. “That twit is never right.”
Aspen chuckled and shook his head. “Careful, he might hear you.”
I waved a hand at him. “Nah, he’s doing his thing to Reed.”
He turned to look at me again, mouth pursed. “I’m not sure if sharing with Rowen is a good idea.”
I nudged him with my elbow, and he punched me on the arm. It hurt, too. The bastard. “Why? Ye jealous? Think I forgot about ye?”
“Oh yeah, I amsotorn up.” Aspen grunted and crossed his arms over his sweat-soaked tank top. It was a damned fine look for him.
I shrugged and grinned. Shouts of pain met our ears as they floated from the torture room to the kitchen. There was only a wall between the rooms. “We should get back in there and have some fun with him. Get some answers. I want to get home and fuck that pretty hole. Ye know, ye probably could, too, if ye say more than two words to the cute bug.”
He gave me a nonchalant stare. “I’ll think about it, all right? Let’s go.” He grabbed his knives and slid them back into the brown leather case he usually kept them in before he zipped it up and carried them out of the room. I followed him back into the torture room where Rowen had just finished hitting Reed in the gut with a baseball bat.
Rowen swung the bat onto his shoulder and shook his head. “He’s not saying a word. He’s as thick as dog shite.”
“Thick or smart, depends on who ye ask.” I laughed when Rowen passed me the bat, and he walked toward the wall, leaning against it with one hand. He took deep breaths, murmuring low prayers. I rolled my eyes because I never understoodwhy. Sure, Ma had taken us to church every Sunday and preached about God a lot to us, but we’d all grown up in the same house, and Eamon and I weren’t as devout as Rowen.
“You go home,” Aspen said gruffly, close to my ear. “I’ll keep an eye on Reed tonight. Think about me while you’re fucking the little professor.”
I wanted Aspen to talk to Vail, to enthrall him with his quiet presence, but Aspen was a patient man, the kind who waited until the right moment to attack. He’d hold out until I bluntly told him to join in—but I wasn’t quite sure what to make of Vail yet. Would he be interested in three of us? I thought he would. Aspen was almost as irresistible as me.
Rowen was still murmuring prayers. I ignored him as I patted Aspen on the back and headed out. “Come on, ye twat.”
Rowen glared but followed me from the room and down the stairs. We locked up the building on the way to the Expedition and didn’t talk until we were in the SUV.
“Vail can’t know what happened here.”
I snorted. “Ye think I’d be telling him Killough’s business? I hope ye don’t plan on blabbering a thing. He studies us for a living.”
“Of course not,” Rowen said with a sigh. He fell back against the seat and stared down at his hands.
“Want me to drop ye off at the church?” I asked seriously. I might give him shite about it, but Rowen was still my brother. Adopted, but still mine. I would fuck anyone up if they messed with him. “I can wait for ye.”
He glanced at me and nodded. “Aye, that’d be good.”
We stayed silent as I drove toward the church Rowen usually attended. Father Shay Kelly was the mob’s own personal priest, and he listened to so many of their confessions—not mine, I never went—that he knew all the Killough Company’s secrets. But between his priesthood and loyalty to the Company, he wasn’t going to tell a soul. He grew up in the same crowd, and one of his best friends, Rourke Tormey, had done terrible things for Sloan. I doubted Shay would ever open his mouth.
7
ROWEN
The churchI regularly attended was only a few blocks from the Exotic Virtue, the whorehouse owned by the Killough Company. The neighborhood around it was old and falling apart, but the church was tall and the windows gleamed under the glint of the streetlights. The stained glass image of Jesus stared down on me from the front of the church walls, his all-knowing gaze twisting my insides.
I took a deep breath. It was late, but I’d called Shay and he’d agreed to meet me here. He didn’t live far from the church, and on occasion even slept in his office. I assumed this was one of those nights.
As I headed toward the tall, arched wooden door, it swung open, and I paused when I saw Father Shay standing there in his priest robes and wearing a friendly smile. He was so different from the other priests, young and wise beyond his years. He had dark hair and thick, black-rimmed glasses, and the light from the church surrounded his head like a halo.
