Page 187 of Bad Bishop

He stared at me, pure hatred radiating from his eyes.

“Go ahead.” He sounded surprisingly calm, having come to terms with his own demise. “One last answer before my forsaken soul ensures you join me in hell, lad.”

I chuckled wryly. “Don’t need your letter of recommendation. I have a saved spot there. My question is…” I stalled, bracing myself for the answer. “Did she bleed?”

“Huh?”

“Did she bleed when you raped her?”

“Oh, yes.” A serene, psychotic smile spread across his lips. “She did. From her face, from all the beatings. From her cunt, from plowing into her while she was dry and virginal. It was a thing of beauty. For one moment in time, she was an ugly, terrible mess—”

I kissed the cross pendant on my neck—for Lila, not for me.

Apologized to Mam in heaven.

And shot my own brother in the face.

Rolling him over with the tip of my loafer, I spat into the blood-gushing hole at the center of his forehead. I punched in a number and glued my phone to my ear, not removing my gaze from the corpse. The line picked up before the connection sound started.

“Lyosha, I need you to take the fall for something.”

His silence told me he immediately understood.

I’d long suspected Fintan was Lyosha’s mole. Everything made sense. Fintan needed the money to keep gambling without getting into more debt—and Alex paid that money in exchange for information to keep his finger on my pulse.

Fintan never gave up on alcohol and gambling. He simply sold all of my secrets and plans to the Bratva and used the money to pay for his addiction. This was how Alex knew about the most intimate details of my life—including when Lila shot me on our wedding night. How she stitched me back together. That I was falling for her.

This also meant Fintan gave Alex the heads-up before I came to Vegas to claim his life. If things were different, I’d be dead.

But me being dead was Fintan’s ideal outcome. He’d seize full control of the Irish operation, all the money and prestige, and there’d be no one to avenge Lila’s rape.

Fintan betrayed me in every single way possible.

“When and where?” Alex asked.

“I’m texting you the address now. It needs some tidying up.”

“I’ll bring my…cleaners,Koshchei.” I heard the curve of a smile on his mouth.

In the end, he was more of a brother to me than Fintan ever was.

EPILOGUE

TIERNAN

22 DAYS POST FAILED SELF-DESTRUCTION PROJECT

Fintan’s body resurfaced in Lake Mead, Nevada, three months later.

It was in pristine condition due to being kept in a Bratva freezer for the duration of his mysterious disappearance. Minus, of course, the organs I chopped off him.

The Bratva assumed responsibility for the death among the underground circles, claiming retaliation for Igor’s death.

“Killing Tyrone would’ve been redundant. He already died the day my father slaughtered his wife,” Alex had explained to his soldiers while they didn’t know I was on the other line. “Now, Fintan, who Tiernan actually loved. I got him where it hurt. We’re now even and ready to start doing business together.”

Now, I waited for my beautiful wife in my car outside of the community college she was attending. She breezed out of the doors, Nero strapped to her chest in a BabyBjörn. Her flawless face broke into a grin when she spotted me.

She quickly kissed her two friends goodbye, tossed her backpack across her shoulder, and speed-walked toward the Mercedes. A line of cars formed behind me, honking in protest of my double-parking. They could wait. Weather forecast said there could be a drizzle, and I wasn’t going to let my wife and son get wet.