Page 23 of Sinner (Priest 2)
I decide on a slice of the truth that doesn’t involve Zenny. “My sister killed herself because of a predatory priest. I’m sorry, but I’ve got too much baggage with the Church to handle the sisters directly. I’d be better off behind the scenes.”
Valdman takes a drink and smacks his lips. “Well, I can’t say that I’m not a little disappointed—I still think you’re the best man to be in the middle of it—but I can’t deny that’s a damn good reason to want to avoid the nuns.”
“So you’ll find someone else to work with them?”
“Yes.”
Thank fuck. “Thank you, sir. I promise I’ll do all I can to get this taken care of from my end.”
Valdman waves a hand. “I know you will. You’re a good employee, Sean, and I have total faith you’ll get this fixed.”
I’m glad someone does, I think.
That night, after checking on Mom at the hospital, I go to the club to let off some steam and to finish the victory lap I never got to take last night. I know strip clubs are generally considered seamy places, and there’s probably something so inherently dirty about transactional nudity that no amount of money can fix it, but this place comes close, because there’s a lot of money here. It’s exclusive, invitation-only, only open to members (yes, men and women) that clear a million a year. And besides, I like that it’s inherently dirty.
I’m inherently dirty and I have no plans to change that any time soon.
I get myself some Macallan and wander out of the bar area. The club is on the top floor of a downtown skyscraper, and while the lounge and dance areas are walled off from the windows, there’s a wide corridor along the perimeter of the club for members to take phone calls or simply look out over the city, which is what I do now. I cradle my glass in my hands and pick out the sharp lines of my own building a few blocks away. The lights are on in my penthouse, and I check my home app on my phone to see who the fuck is inside my penthouse, because the cleaning company should be long done for the day.
I pull up the kitchen camera feed and see the unmistakable lines of Aiden’s muscled, shirtless back as he digs through my fridge. Even in the slightly grainy feed of the camera, I see sweat gleaming on his skin.
I call him and he answers with a grunt.
“Stop dripping sweat all over my clean floor,” I say irritably.
“It’s not like you clean it yourself,” Aiden says. I hear the fridge door shutting and the clatter of a plate on the counter.
“And stop eating my food,” I tell him. “It’s fucking annoying to get home and have my fridge emptied out by a Neanderthal.”
“But you also don’t do your own shopping,” Aiden points out.
“Don’t you have your own place? With your own food and your own floors that you can get dirty any time you’d like?”
“I like the gym here,” Aiden mumbles over the beep of a microwave. “Plus it’s closer to Mom and Dad’s and the hospital.”
I don’t answer, and I don’t have to. Any mention of Mom is automatic ceasefire, and anyway, he’s right—on one of his trademark Aiden impulses, he bought some giant old farmhouse out in the country, and it’s a decent drive from the city.
“Don’t know why you bought that place,” I say, walking to another window so I can see in the direction of the hospital. It’s impossible to pick out from here, but it makes me feel marginally better to look at it, as if I’m still keeping an eye on Mom. “It’s huge and it’s not like you need that much room.”
“I like it,” Aiden says. “It’s quiet out there. You can see the stars.”
“You mean you like it until you want a decent gym or until you’re hungry.”
“That too.”
“I’m at the club. Why don’t you shower and come over?”
Aiden hesitates. “I think I’m going to head home tonight. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
I frown. Aiden hasn’t turned down a chance to visit the club since he got his own invite a few years back, and while I typically avoid noticing these things about my own brothers, it’d be impossible not to know that his physical appetites are as strong as mine.
“You sure?” I ask. “Might be nice to blow off some steam.”
“Another time,” Aiden says vaguely. “Have fun though.”
“Yeah. Will do.”
I hang up the phone and lean my head against the glass, deciding to put Aiden’s weird behavior in a box in my mind and close the lid. I simply do not have the time or the energy right now to deal with whatever’s got him acting strange. And it’s probably just Mom stuff anyway. All of us brothers are handling Mom’s cancer in various unhealthy ways, and I guess there are worse ways to cope than random acts of celibacy.
