CONOR

THREE DECADES AGO

DREAMS – THE CORRS

I slipped the candy cigarette between my lips and, when I looked in the window of the convenience store, crowed, “Look, Da, I’m just like you.”

Tucking the paper bag under his arm, Da handed the clerk a twenty, then peered at me, grinning as he scuffed his free hand over my hair. “Don’t let your ma see. You know she don’t like me smoking.”

When I scrunched up my face and tried to pretend I was inhaling, Junior, smirking, muttered, “Now he really does look just like you, Da.”

Da scowled at my oldest brother, and we all recognized that scowl. It had Junior hunching his shoulders, glancing away before he got that smirk knocked off his lips. 

Quickly, he slouched over to the door. 

“Why you always gotta make him mad?” I grumbled as I hurried after him. 

Junior sneered, “I just have to breathe and he gives me shit for it.” 

It wasn’t like I could argue because he was right. 

Every one of Da’s boys managed to get him angry. Well, apart from Eoghan, and that was only because he was still more interested in toddling around the house than speaking. But none of us pissed Da off more than his firstborn. 

“You just don’t know how to work around him,” I mumbled. “I wish you did. He’ll be all pissy on the ride home now.”

“He’s always pissy with me.”

He sounded so miserable that I had to cheer him up. 

“Not always. Today, it’s just ‘cause you can’t shoot in a straight line.” I nudged him in the side. “I know you got it in you though, Aidan. I know you can do it.”

“I don’t want to do it, Kid. Don’t you get that? I don’t want to be Da’s heir. I don’t wanna learn how to shoot, and I don’t wanna have to kill—” Before he finished that sentence, he broke off to clear his throat. “It doesn’t matter. Just, you don’t know how fucking lucky you are, Con. No expectations, no standards. You can just be fucking you.” He shook his head when I made to argue. “He’s coming over.”

“What are you two talking about?” Da demanded, his suspicious gaze crawling over our expressions. 

I reckoned we must have looked shifty because he didn’t stop with the scan for a good thirty seconds. That was a long time, trust me.

“I was just telling him about what my tutor taught me today.”

Da’s lips quirked up in a grin. “You learned a lot?” He scrubbed a hand over my hair again. 

“I did. We were talking about this thing called the Y2K problem.” I sighed wistfully. “I really hope all the computers in the world crash like the experts say they will.” 

Da snorted. “Destructive little fucker.” 

“What’s the Y2K problem?” Junior questioned. 

Neither my da nor my brother were all that interested in computers so I tried to figure out how to make it easy on them. “People are worried none of the computers’ll be able to deal with going from 1999 to 2000 on the eve of the Millennium. They think they’ll start showing 1900 instead of 2000, and that’ll mess with everrrrrything–”

“Fucking computers. They’ll be the death of us,” Da grouched as he opened the door to the store. 

Even though I was used to him doing it, I watched him step out first, check the area, then gather nods of assent from the four guards watching us before he held it wider so we could leave too. 

Da might be allowed to slap us for doing stupid shit, but no one else was permitted to hurt us. Things were tense at the moment because he was having some problems with the Italians so he was more on edge than usual. 

I didn’t know how you could have a problem with the people who’d invented pizza, but I was pretty sure Da’d get into a fight with a leprechaun who was offering him a massive pot of gold. 

He was just difficult. 

The car was waiting for us, the engine running—we never shut off cars, just in case there was a bomb set to explode upon triggering the ignition—and as we stepped outside into the cold night, that was when I heard it. 

A soft sob. 

It was barely audible over the noise from the engine, but I had good ears. Too good sometimes. 

Twisting around, I blurted out, “Da, did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” 

“Someone’s crying,” Junior mumbled, stepping away from the path toward the car and down the alleyway beside the convenience store where we’d stopped to pick up some magazines for Ma. 

She was in the hospital and we were supposed to visit her tomorrow. 

I’d asked what was wrong with her, and Da had just called it women’s problems. Brennan said she wanted a break from Da and, for some reason, Junior had laughed at that. 

Either way, I didn’t know which was true but I could think of nicer places than a hospital to get away from Da. 

“Junior, where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Da snapped when Aidan headed down the alley, his boots clicking against the wet sidewalk. Da wafted a hand to tell his men to stand down, and to me, he groused, “Stay here, Conor.”

Of course, I didn’t listen. 

Whatever happened would end up with Junior getting a busted lip for disobeying; that was the only reason Da hadn’t sent his guards after my brother—disobedience wasn’t tolerated. 

I shuffled after him, wanting to stop that from happening—Aidan couldn’t help it that he and Da saw the world differently—and that was when I saw him, crouching on the ground in front of a lump. 

The lump moved. 

My eyes flared wide when I saw her boobs jiggle and she—

I reared back when it registered that she had no clothes on.

None at all.

Top or bottom.  

It was freezing out here, freezing. 

Aidan was shrugging out of his jacket and shoving it at her but she was sobbing and—

Bleeding. 

She was bleeding. 

From everywhere.

Her pale skin had slashes in it, and she had bruises on her face and her body, and there was blood between her legs and everywhere. 

So much blood. 

Everywhere. 

Da strode over just as Aidan was dragging off his gloves to give to the woman, and when his hand went to Junior’s shoulder to grab a hold of him, he stilled. 

“Grainne?” He hesitated, his eyes squinting as he stared down at her. “Is that you?” 

A couple things hit home. First, that was as Irish a name as was possible. Was she the daughter of a Five Pointer? Second, was that Da clearly knew her. Was this beating… a punishment? 

When he made no move to do anything, just stood there watching as Aidan tried to put her fingers into his gloves, I hurried over, feet thudding, and demanded, “Da, we gotta help her.” My hand grabbed his and I tugged, hard. 

He scowled at me. “I’m going to help, Conor.”

“Oh.” Clinging to him, not wanting to let go, I tightened my fingers around his. “Why is she bleeding down there?”

His jaw clenched. “Grainne, who hurt you?”

“John,” she slurred. 

“John, who?” I asked, then eagerly, I explained, “My da’s the scariest man in New York. He’ll make sure John pays for what—”

“Kid, shut up,” Aidan hissed. “John… She means a john. She’s a… She sleeps with guys for cash.” 

“People do that?” I knew I sounded doubtful. Why would someone pay to sleep with another person?

“Some do.” His wary gaze drifted over to our father. “How do you know her, Da?”

Rage lit up his features at Aidan’s question. “Watch your mouth, boy.”

“How do you know a hooker, Da?” Junior insisted, clearly angry enough that he’d lost his sense because Da looked like he was about to punch him. 

“F-wank.” 

I blinked at the girl’s slurred answer. Fwank? What the heck was fwank? 

“Frank?” Aidan enunciated, his relief clear. “Our uncle? You know him?”

Da was silent a second before he muttered, “She used to be his side piece.”

“What’s a side piece?” I questioned, but no one answered me. 

Grainne started sobbing as Junior unapologetically rumbled, “I was watching out for Ma.”

“You don’t need to do that. That’s my job,” Da sniped, but he mirrored Junior by crouching in front of Grainne, and asking, “You know the fucker’s name?”

“Jus’ lemme die. I wanna die. Lemme die—”

“No!” I cried. “You can’t let her die!” It didn’t register that I was sobbing, but big fat tears blurred my vision as I continued, “Da, you have to help her! You have to!”

Da hissed, “Conor, shut your mouth.” 

Sniffling, I obeyed, but only because he leaned forward and started to shuffle Grainne around and into a position where she was standing. 

Every movement must have hurt her because she sobbed each time. Sometimes, she even screamed or cursed, and that was how I knew she was in excruciating agony because no one swore at Aidan O’Donnelly Sr.—unless they had a death wish. 

Junior helped prop her up, and the three of them staggered down the alley, with me darting out in front of them so I wasn’t left behind. 

“We need to get to Bellevue,” Da groused at Jonesy, his guard, who dipped his head to tell Michael, our driver. 

I watched as my brother and father helped Grainne into our car, and the second she was weeping miserably in a heap in the backseat, that was when Junior jumped in beside her, and when I should have too. 

But I didn’t. 

I wanted to know why Da stayed back, wanted to know if I could find out what a side piece was. 

“Don’t say a fucking word about this to Frank, do you hear me?” 

Jonesy was shrugging. “You know me, Boss. I don’t say shit to no one.”

“Good. Tell the others I’ll have their balls if they utter a fucking word.” When he saw me looking, my eyes bright with curiosity as I wiped my nose on my cuff—men didn’t cry, especially not in front of the guards—he ordered, “Conor, you keep your trap shut too.”

“Why do men do that to ladies, Da?”

“She ain’t no lady,” Jonesy said with a snort.

I scowled. “Shut up! She is! She ain’t a boy, is she?”

Da heaved a sigh and clapped a hand to my shoulder. As he squeezed, he muttered, “Women pay for the sins of man, Conor. Remember that, boy. It’s why we protect and cherish them. Always.”

Staring up at him, wide-eyed, I nodded. 

Never realizing that those words would be the only lesson I’d ever learn from the sadistic psychopath who was my father, and it was one I’d live my life by…