Page 54 of Bad Bishop

Sam gave me a once-over, lifting a mocking brow. “Coulda sworn Callaghan has skin in the game.”

I said nothing. Entertaining idiots wasn’t a part of my job description.

“This is how it starts.” Sam slid on his biker jacket, zipping it up.

“She’s just business.”

“So was Aisling, my wife.” He checked his Rolex, screwing a ballcap on. “Six kids later, and it’s safe to say my business turned into pleasure.”

I watched him retreat, feeling sorry for him.

Just because he got attached to a pussy didn’t mean it’d happen to me.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

TWENTY YEARS AGO

“Psst. Tiernan. Tierney. Over here.”

Lyosha whispered from behind a batch of shaved logs. Tiernan knew better than to humor him.

He was eight now.

Old enough to climb trees and chop them into logs.

Old enough to tear a rabbit’s fur from its body clean.

To crawl into darkened mining holes.

Old enough to fight, to shoot, to kill, to survive in the Siberian wilderness.

Tiernan drove his axe into a log, chopping it in half. He stood up and wiped his brow, glancing at his twin sister. Tierney was bundled in her coat, stacking the logs neatly, a silver curl of frost escaping her pink lips. Snow gathered on the tip of her lashes.

“Don’t be tempted,” he warned.

She shook her head, continuing with her work.

“C’mon, we can play marbles,” Lyosha coaxed, his face popping from between the logs, grinning widely. His eyes were icy blue, as pale as the landscape around them, and his hair was rusty gold, the color of a king’s crown. He was the pakhan’s son, and that fact didn’t go unnoticed; he received more food, more milk, warmer clothes, and was allowed to skip chores. Instead of working, he was taught physics and math, classical music and literature. Knowledge he eagerly passed on to the twins.

Alex always disappeared from camp around Novy God. Igor took him to Moscow to watch ballet and fill his belly with the finest food.

“Marbles?” Tierney paused, her interest piqued. Snow caked her hair and eyebrows. Months before, she’d lost a toe to the frost. Her brother had pacified her by promising her all the pretty shoes money could buy to hide the loss when they grew up.

“Well, not marbles as such. But I found some bullet cases in the forest.” Alex uncurled princely fingers, extending his hand in her direction. “We can use them instead. It’s almost the same.”

The twins knew they weren’t allowed to play. The punishment for such an egregious offense was a bullet to the head, and neither of them wanted to die, though they weren’t quite sure why.

By now, they knew how they were brought here. Knew Igor killed their mother, carved her stomach, and pulled them out. Knew they were Irish, that they had a father and a brother somewhere far away. Igor took pleasure in tossing pieces of the puzzle that was their lives in their direction, watching them scramble to put things together.

“Can’t,” Tiernan told Alex. “It’s against the rules.”

“Oh, fuck the rules.” Alex snorted. “Live a little.”

“If I live a little, I’ll die a lot.”

Alex laughed, juggling the bullet cases like a circus clown with balls.

“Suit yourself.” He popped a shoulder, swiveled, and sauntered into the open mouth of the white forest.