Home > Filthy Sex (Five Points' Mob Collection #4)(9)

Filthy Sex (Five Points' Mob Collection #4)(9)
Author: Serena Akeroyd

Forrest: Gotcha. I’ll be in touch.

Before I could read the second message, Ma’s hand reached for mine.

“It was twenty-five years ago.”

Guilt hit me. Like a fucking sucker punch. I closed my eyes and squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry, Ma. I forgot.” How the fuck had I when it was my living nightmare? Twenty-five years ago she’d been taken hostage.

Because of my fuck-up.

She shook her head. “You don’t need to be sorry. I know the family is piling too much on you.” Our gazes clashed and held as she whispered, “Brennan?”

That her defiance had disappeared, slipping away like sand in my hand, being replaced with a cocktail of guilt and shame, had me frowning with concern. “Yeah, Ma? What is it?”

“Do you ever—” She released a shaky breath. “Do you ever regret what you’ve done?”

I blinked, because I knew she wasn’t talking about the Aryans. About my letting her down.

What I’d done?

I’d killed for the family. Slaughtered for us, truth be told. My hands weren’t just covered in blood, my fucking soul was too. But that was nothing to what I’d be willing to do.

When you were born into the Irish Mob, there was but one route in your life—to follow in your father’s footsteps. To become a soldier for the firm.

I wasn’t like Declan who’d questioned his place in the Points, nor was I like Eoghan who’d tried to live his life in the regular army—not just an illegal one. I knew my place. Had accepted it a long time ago. But regrets?

“Yeah, I have regrets,” I told her softly, frowning when her manicured nails, the clean white tips, dug into my palm.

“When I was a girl, I used to believe that going to church was enough. You did something wrong, you went to confession. That was how it worked. It’s what your father believes.” Her brow puckered. “It’s what I believed but—”

“What have you done wrong, Ma?” Deciding to lighten things a little, my grin made an appearance and it turned rueful. “Apart from give birth to five knuckleheads?”

She’d normally have narrowed her eyes at me, but this time, those bright green orbs were wide with distress, and business aside, concern had me asking, “Is the therapist helping?”

My cellphone buzzed again, and I knew why. This time it’d be another of my buddies on my crew—Bagpipes. That he’d messaged at all was enough for me to know she was on the move. Which meant he’d be awaiting further instruction.

Mouth tightening, I ignored my phone, and gently coaxed, “You don’t need to talk to strangers, Ma. I’m here.”

“I-I can’t get clean, Brennan. I can’t seem to shake it off. Your father made it sound so easy, but sometimes, there’s no going back, is there?”

My brow puckered as I wondered where this was coming from.

She’d seemed all right on Sunday, the last time I’d seen her. A smile on her face, her hair neat and tidy even after cooking for all of us, her trim figure shown off in a blouse and skirt with low kitten heels that made her look ten years younger than her real age. She’d joked and chivvied us like usual, hugging Jacob, trying to get to know Seamus, teasing Inessa and Aoife... normal.

“Sometimes, no, there’s no going back,” I agreed, twisting my hand in hers so I could grip her fingers.

I had no idea what would make her feel dirty outside of what she’d endured during her abduction, but I didn’t think she was going to tell me. Da, on the other hand, she might. Father Doyle didn’t seem to have done the trick.

“Does Da know what’s on your mind?”

My cell buzzed once more, and her fingers clamped down on mine before she surged to her feet and darted over to the other side of the kitchen.

A kitchen she, with her pearls and chignon and designer dress, didn’t fit in at all. But I knew the homeliness of it comforted her. It reminded me of the one in our second cousin’s cottage back in the Motherland. We’d stayed there only briefly, but Ireland was in my blood as a result.

And not just because of the money we sent back to fund its freedom, either.

“It’s okay, Brennan. You’re busy. You need to deal with business.”

“No, don’t be—” I scowled when my phone started ringing, not just buzzing this time, and I picked it up, snapping, “Bagpipes, can’t you take the fucking hint?”

“She’s going to the stables, Bren. You told me to tell you if she went back there.”

My brows furrowed because I couldn’t fault the fucker for obeying orders.

Did Camille seriously have to go riding right this goddamn second?

“Shit,” I rumbled under my breath. “She got a death wish or something?”

“Or something,” he agreed. “Want me to bring Tinker over? Make sure things are copacetic?”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I leaned into my elbow that I stacked on the table. My brain raced as I thought about the best move to make.

Somehow, she maneuvered around Italian territory without getting into too much shit, so if I sent a bunch of Pointers over there to protect her, it might cause raised eyebrows and draw attention to her—the last thing I wanted.

The Famiglia might be fucked now we’d chopped off their Don’s head and had shoved their potential leaders off this mortal coil too, but that didn’t mean two more fucking heads weren’t about to pop up.

Goddamn Hydra.

Pushing a Bratva princess into Italian territory was a disaster waiting to happen. I had no idea why her father let her breach that uncharted border, but until she was mine, I had no rights over her.

A fact that was starting to piss me off.

My jaw worked as I asked, “What car you riding in?”

“The Beemer.”

“The one with the stolen plates?”


I dipped my chin. “Okay, follow her, but keep a low profile.”

“Can’t exactly do that when she’s on a fucking horse, Bren. What do you want me to do? Go riding with a bunch of five-year-olds?”

Despite the severity of the situation, my lips twitched at the thought of Bagpipes, so named for the size of his gut and an unfortunate incident on his wedding day with a musician, trying to blend in among a bunch of kids.

“She usually deals with tack, doesn’t she?”

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