then her eyes met Cash’s. “He left me that picture out of spite.” Her tone turned bitter. “His only rule. We always ate dinner as a family, even before you boys came along.”
My grip on Cash’s leg grew tighter, and the muscle under my hand was taut, so tight that I thought it would pop like a vein in the head.
Tears slipped down her cheeks in a controlled flow. “He left me with that memory because he knew it would hurt me the most. He stopped eating dinner with me first.” Her hand balled into a fist and she lifted it, like she was going to slam it against the table, but instead it made no noise when it made contact with the wood. “I lost my boys, my husband, and my lover. He never came back for me, either, did Patrick Flann.”
“He thought you were dead,” Killian said. “Then he was forced into joining the priesthood to atone for his sins. To be able to have the right to see us. Everyone was punished. You. Patrick. Me.” Killian stabbed a finger at his chest and then looked at his brother. “Even you.”
“But you couldn’t remember. You couldn’t seem to remember anything that we lost. All you saw was the great Ronan Kelly. You dedicated your life to him, to his cause, without question. You were his perfect specimen—an animal that would attack on command. You’re still fighting for a cause you can’t win. A cause that he gave you to take on because he knew you’d do it in her honor.” He nodded toward Saoirse. “You’d do it because you would remember the worst of her, because all you believed was the best in him.
“He told you she died of an overdose to give you something worthy to fight for while the rest of it was as dirty as sin. He made it okay to kill and steal because he put it in your head that the original cause was honorable. He gave the animal steak to chew on, telling it that it needed to eat, and blood was part of the hunger.”
Killian stuck a finger to his chest again. “I remembered, though, Cash. I remembered leaving the hospital, being told that my mother had died of an overdose. That we would be starting a new life soon. I remembered her screaming about a headache, but she was not unresponsive. I remembered the day Patrick Flanagan showed up and stood watch out of guilt.
“I remembered the conversation between them. He wasn’t allowed to see us unless he made a promise to never touch another woman again.” Killian stopped for a second, trying to catch his breath. “Even though Molly warmed Ronan’s bed every night.
“I pieced it together after I lost my legs and you went to jail. I pieced it together because I was fucking allowed to think about it, Cash! You never would. You would never even consider him anything less than a hero! The end always justified the means.” He wheeled himself back, showing Cash his legs, legs that would never work again. “What’s the cause now, Cashel? What’s it worth? The price on these?” He punched his leg.
The door creaked open, and the woman from the pub peeked her head inside a second later. Her eyes narrowed when she noticed how Killian breathed heavily, how his wheelchair was positioned, and the set of Cash’s face. It hadn’t softened. If anything, it had hardened.
“Should I get the gun?” she said in all seriousness.
“You get a gun,” I said, “and we’re going to have problems, you and me. I’ll put an arrow straight through the wrist holding up the gun and not think twice about it. I’ll aim higher if it comes to it.”
I narrowed my eyes against hers, and after a second, she stepped inside, taking a seat between Saoirse and Killian.
The room became quiet, no one speaking, no one moving, all eyes on Cash. He hadn’t spoken a word the entire time.
Then he cleared his throat. “You sit before me, both of you, and tell me that my mother lives, and my brother knew it, but no one told me until today. Until I came here searching for answers to questions that were given to me by an enemy. You treated me worse than the dead.” He tapped the table a couple of times. He stopped. “Consider me dead then. Get out. All of you. Now. Or she will need a gun.”