The Absolution of Aidan(40)
“She lives two miles away.” How convenient once again. “Thank Christ for modern technology,” he boasts out again, like a stupid fucker who thinks he created said technology. Makes me fucking laugh, which, with the heaviness my head and chest feel, I needed.
Three minutes later, we’ve pulled up to the curb alongside a small, white house with a perfectly manicured lawn. Charming would be the right adjective to use. Hell, I don’t know. What does shock the ever-loving hell out of me is the new red F-Type Jaguar Sports car looking entirely out of place in this neighborhood. Don’t get me wrong, the area isn’t bad, but hell, every house on this entire block looks the same. They may all be different colors, but the style and shape are identical.
“Nice ride.” I twist my body out of the seat and snatch up the keys, locking the doors before acknowledging Roan.
“I bet Ryan bought it for one of them before he croaked.” I state knowing what I feel in my gut to be true. That piece of shit more than likely bought them off in every damn direction to keep them silent. Unless Anna and her mother are a couple of money-hungry bitches like my mother. Something tells me they’re not though. If they were, then they sure as hell would not be living in a house the size of my fucking bathroom.
“Cute little house.” I’m about ready to agree with Roan when we’re both damn near struck dead by the petite woman who barges out of the house with a goddamn rifle in her hands.
“What the fuck?” I say, pissed as fuck. “Jesus Christ, woman. Put that goddamn thing down,” I hiss. Damn it.
“Get the fuck out of here,” she booms in a voice louder than a little spitfire like her should be able to. She’s like a wild, little pixie. A beautiful one at that. Long, blond hair. Short, but toned legs. She has badass written all over her tiny, little body. If she put that goddamn gun down, she and I might become fast friends. Not in the sexual way, but in the I-have-your-back-and-you-have-mine kind of way. I dig this chick. Junior obviously wants her out of the picture, doesn’t want to claim her as family. Hell, I’ll be glad to claim her as mine. Don’t ask me why this shit is running through my head when she has a gun pointed at my goddamn chest. It just does. I can feel her pain from here.
Even though I see my entire life unravel before my fucking eyes. No raising my kid. No wishful thinking of having someone love me for me. Nothing. Then the little hellion cocks the hammer back. Fuck that shit. I may have changed my mind about her after all.
“Listen, I don’t know who you think we are. We promise you we’re not here to hurt you,” I point out.
“Really? Is that why my mother is lying on the couch right now with a busted lip? Haven’t you fuckers done enough? We don’t want the money anymore. Leave us the fuck alone.” Son of a bitch. Fucking Junior must have been here.
“Does the name Aidan Hughes ring a bell to you?” Lifting a brow, she doesn’t say anything at first. Then we both watch as she closes her eyes, takes a few short breaths, then lowers the gun and her head at the same time.
“I’m sorry.” She lifts her head back up, and I can see in her eyes speak the truth. Sadness emits out of her, like a unique variety of storytelling. I feel sorry for her.
“I swear, Anna, we’re here to help you.” I recognize the minute it all registers with her who I am and what I’m really doing here. A face can tell a thousand stories, they say, and this young woman’s expression tells it all.
“I’m Roan,” the pansy-ass motherfucker finally speaks. “You found your voice, dickface.” I nudge him in the shoulder as I stroll on past him toward Little Miss Pixie Stick.
“Mom.” Anna’s tone is comforting as we step over the threshold into the quaint little house.
“In the kitchen.” A delicate, yet muffled and soft-spoken voice calls out. Then I see her. This woman my mother hates. Her lip is swollen, her are eyes red-rimmed, showing evidence that she’s been crying.
“Oh, god.” She takes a step back, those sad eyes darting from me to Roan, then back to her daughter. She’s beautiful, like her daughter. Mid-forties, I guess. When we first started investigating this morning after I filled Roan in on everything, we wasted no time in finding out Ryan’s daughter’s name or her whereabouts. Our main concern was finding her. Our effort led us here. I know nothing about this woman standing before me. Not even her name.
Just like Anna, I see her recognition of who I am once she glances back at me. Obviously, they’ve seen pictures of me somewhere. I can find all that shit out later. My main goal right now is to get them to agree to leave with me. To get them the protection they need until we can figure this shit out.