Beyond Redemption

Chapter 1

It was dark. So dark that it seemed as if the surrounding blackness was an actual physical force trying to smother him. He felt as if all of his life, light, and hope were being sucked away, leaving him with nothing but this crushing despair. The only noise that could be heard was the sound of his own frantic breathing and it sounded like a deafening roar in contrast to the absolute silence around him.

Connor tried to turn and look for some way out of this enveloping darkness, but found that something was holding him tight. Claustrophobia and panic began to set in, causing him to thrash and fight against his invisible bonds. Opening his mouth, he tried to call for someone, anyone, to come help him only to find that he had no voice. His breath was coming even faster now and he couldn't shake the familiar feeling that he had been here before.

Very slowly, the oppressive darkness eased up as a light somewhere inside the inky blackness sprang to life. Connor squinted his eyes as the light grew brighter, illuminating the area around him. Soon he was able to make out the silhouette of a lone figure sitting in the center of the light. The person was seated in a chair with their shoulders slumped, head hung low in defeat. Connor tried unsuccessfully to call out to them, his voice coming out as no more than a mere whisper.

As if they sensed his efforts, the figure across from him raised its head and Connor's heart dropped when he found himself staring into Murphy's blood soaked face. Lunging against his restraints, Connor fought with everything inside him to get to his brother's side.

"Save him, if you can," a voice hissed mockingly from the edges of the darkness.

Connor jerked his head around, but there was no one to be seen. Turning back to Murphy, he saw his twin looking at him with pleading eyes.

"Help me, Connor," Murphy begged quietly.

Connor tried desperately to speak, to comfort his brother, but nothing came out.

"Tell me what I want to hear and I'll let him live," the voice came again.

Connor looked frantically around him, still unable to find the source of those chilling words. Glancing back at Murphy, his heart jumped into his throat.

He was terrified to find a man standing in front of his brother's hunched over form, a gun pressed to his head. The man turned slowly in his direction and Connor felt a white-hot rage when he was met with Maddox's smirking face.

"If you can't say the words, Saint, then you might as well pull the trigger yourself," Maddox taunted.

Suddenly, Connor found himself standing at Murphy's feet, the weight of a gun heavy in his hand as he aimed the barrel between his twin's eyes. He was no longer physically restrained but he may as well have been because his actions were no longer his own. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he tried to force himself to drop the gun. He used every ounce of will that he could muster but the weapon remained tucked firmly in his grip and he could feel his finger slowly starting to squeeze the trigger.

NO! Looking down he saw Murphy staring back up at him with wide eyes and Connor felt tears starting to roll down his face. There had to be some way to stop this, but the harder he fought against it the closer he came to ending Murphy's life. His finger squeezed tighter and tighter until at last, with a deafening bang, the bullet tore from the barrel at the same time a wretched scream was ripped from Connor's throat, his voice finally freed from its silence. The life left Murphy's eyes immediately and Connor watched in absolute horror as his twin's head fell forward, blood dripping from a hole in the center of his forehead.

"No! Murphy, no! God, no, I'm so sorry, Murph, I'm so fucking sorry!" Connor rushed forward toward his brother, but before he could reach him, Murphy lifted his head and glared through cold, dead eyes.

"You could have saved me, Connor. You could've stopped this, but you didn't. You killed me." Murphy's voice was unlike anything he had ever heard. Slowly, his brother stood and started stalking toward him, blood still flowing from the bullet hole in his head.

Crawling backwards on the ground, Connor tried to escape his twin's accusations. Glancing around him, he stopped when he noticed more figures starting to materialize out of the edges of the darkness. Rocco was the first to reveal himself, followed by Greenly, Romeo, then his Da. Joining Murphy, they all formed a circle around him on the floor, their dead eyes full of recrimination. Squeezing his eyes shut, Connor clamped his hands over his ears, trying to block them all out, but their voices continued to ring in his head. They were telling him it was his fault. He let them all die.

Unable to handle their accusations or the sting of his own guilt, Connor looked down at the gun still clutched in his hand.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed. Without a second thought he raised it to his temple and pulled the trigger.

Connor shot upright in bed, his breath coming in short rapid gasps. He looked down at the sweat soaked sheets, pooled around his waist before glancing wildly around the semi- dark room, his heart hammering in his chest. His gaze immediately sought out Murphy's bed on the other side of the room where he found his brother propped up on his elbows, staring back at him.

The obvious concern he could see reflected there in his brother's eyes had him dropping his gaze back to his lap. Running a shaky hand through his perspiration slicked hair, Connor waited, expecting his twin to say something to him. He was normally able to stay quiet enough that he didn't wake Murphy up with his nightmares but this particular dream had been worse than most and he could only imagine the sounds he was making in his sleep.

When the questions never came he looked back up to find that Murphy was still simply just staring at him. Not wanting to see the worry in his eyes any longer, Connor threw the sheets off of him and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Go back to sleep, Murph," he said quietly. "It's still early, no need for you to be up just yet." He was careful to avoid his brother's piercing gaze as he reached for the closest pair of jeans he could find. Sliding them on, he headed for the door.

Murphy didn't make a move to lie back down, he just watched in silence as his brother shuffled through their room in the pre-dawn light. He felt as if he should say something but he knew from experience that when Connor was feeling vulnerable, it was best to tread lightly. Murphy had thought that in the three weeks they had been in New York, Connor's nightmares had finally started to ease up, but judging by the haunted look he just witnessed on his brother's face, it seemed they were just as bad as ever.

Without a backwards glance, Connor stepped out into the hallway, closing the door on both Murphy and his concern. Moving across the hall, he slipped into the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. He stopped in front of the sink and turned on the faucet, cupping his hands under the flowing water. Bending down, Connor brought his hands up to meet his face, relishing the feel of the cool water as it washed away the drying sweat, snapping his sleep-fogged mind back to full awareness. He repeated the action several times before shutting off the faucet and looking up at himself in the mirror.

He could see the horror of his most recent nightmare reflected on his face and he closed his eyes against the images that were still floating too near the surface. This one had been much worse than any of the others and he was having a hard time shaking the residual feelings of fear. The memory of Murphy's dead, accusing eyes caused his heart rate to pick up and his hands to tremble as unshed tears stung his eyes. Desperate for a distraction, Connor pushed himself off of the small counter and moved over to the tub to turn on the shower. Stripping down, he waited until the water was a bearable temperature before stepping in under the spray. Winter was fast approaching and seeing as how the heat in the crappy little apartment that they currently called home was hit and miss on the best of days, the warm water felt like heaven as it flowed across his chilled skin. Rolling his shoulders, he allowed the cascade of water to slowly ease the tension from his body while letting his anxious mind drift to the task that the oncoming day would bring.

Today was the day. Today, after three weeks of planning and scouting, the Saints were finally ready to make their first strike against the illegal trafficking empire that had been built by America's favorite nice guy, Kennedy Dawson. Mr. Dawson was internationally recognized as a generous supporter of dozens of charities around the globe as well as running several of his own. On the surface, the man was a fucking angel, but in his off hours and outside of the public eye, the guy had a dark side that destroyed just as many lives as his good side helped. Between the drugs, illegal firearms, and human trafficking, Kennedy Dawson appeared to have no boundaries or morals when it came to his extracurricular business endeavors.

Upon starting this mission, he and Murphy had come to the realization that they shared a difference of opinion on the best way to move forward and eliminate this threat to society. Murphy, in typical Murphy fashion, was ready to jump right in, guns blazing, and go straight after the man himself. Connor, however, was quick to point out that, despite all of the damage and destruction Dawson had caused, the man had also done a lot of good. If they killed him, they would be taking away from innocent people in need.

The brothers had butted heads on the topic, Murphy insisting that the fucker needed to pay, but it hadn't taken much for Connor to make his twin see reason. After that, it had been decided that they would begin at the bottom and start by taking out the peons in charge of distribution. They were going to tear Kennedy Dawson's empire right out from under him, and if after they succeeded, the man still refused to abandon his corrupt ways, if he was truly beyond redemption, then they would destroy him completely.

With a plan in place, the Saints had gotten right down to work. Despite the fact that Mr. Dawson was living large in the upper east side of Manhattan, Connor and Murphy had decided it would be better for them if they set up somewhere a little more low key. The neighborhood of Brownsville was located in the eastern part of Brooklyn and carried a vicious reputation as being a ruthless slum. The area was made up predominantly of different types of public housing developments and had a strong history of violent crime dating back to the 1910s. It was perfect. Smecker had advised them against setting up in such a dangerous neighborhood but the thick population of drug dealers and street gangs, combined with the lack of police patrolling the area, made this the ideal place to begin their war.

Using his connections and support from the Catholic Church, Father Sibeal was able to provide them with the funds needed to get themselves a halfway decent apartment rented under one of Smecker's new identities. From there they began plotting their next move.

Over the last three weeks they had scouted the neighborhood using their powers of observation, ability to eavesdrop, as well as getting involved in a little undercover work to figure out who the heavy hitters were. Every lead they found seemed to point to the same man, a man by the name of Deion. They were unable to get a last name but that information alone was enough for Smecker to get Cooper and Tucker, his resources at the Bureau, to put together a file on the guy. They had everything they needed and now it was finally time for the Saints to reveal their presence in the ghettos of New York.

Connor rested his head against the cool tile of the shower wall and tried to ignore the fluttering of nerves in his stomach. He never used to get nervous before a hit, that had always been more Murphy's thing, and yet, the sick twisting in his gut was unmistakable. He was afraid. He had already failed so many people and he felt that if he had to suffer through one more loss, the weight of it would crush him.

It was because of these fears that Connor had forbidden Edwards to participate in the killing aspect of their mission and only rarely did he allow the kid to join them on the streets during their recon work. Edwards had voiced his displeasure on the topic many times, complaining that he was being treated like a child, but Connor held firm. With Edwards out of harms way, it was one less thing that he had to worry about. Now, if only he could convince Murphy to hang back as well, then he would be able to shed this uncharacteristic apprehensiveness that was plaguing him and exact justice like the fearless Saint that he had once been. But Connor knew that if he even dared to suggest that his twin stay behind, that conversation would probably end with Murphy's fist halfway down his throat. Murphy would never in a million years allow him to do this alone, but the thought of his twin in the line of fire once more made him physically sick.

What would happen when those bullets started flying? What if he couldn't keep his brother safe? What if tonight was the night that he lost the most important thing in the world to him? Connor pounded his forehead lightly against the slick tile, attempting to clear his head of these negative thoughts. His fear had become a distraction that they couldn't afford. He had to focus. He had to get his fucking head in the game if he was going to get them through this alive.

Pushing his anxieties down deep, he summoned every bit of confidence that he could muster and schooled his face into a mask of calm. We can fucking do this, he told himself with forced determination. We're going to fucking do this and everything is going to be just fine.

Straightening back up, he shut off the spray of water, which had started going cold on him, and stepped out of the shower. Goosebumps pebbled his skin as the cold air hit his wet body and he reached for a towel, quickly drying himself off before slipping his clothes back on. With a sigh, he opened the bathroom door, ready to begin the day.

Stepping back across the hall, he re-entered his room in search of a shirt to stave off the chill in the apartment and wasn't surprised to find Murphy's bed empty. He had known his brother wouldn't go back to sleep. Moving over to his dresser, he fumbled through the middle drawer before selecting a dark, long sleeve shirt and pulling it over his head. He made a quick stop at the nightstand by his bed to grab his pack of smokes, shoving them into the pocket of his jeans as he headed back out into the hallway.

On his way down the hall, Connor noticed the light streaming through the bottom of the door to the second bedroom. A familiar thumping sound was coming from inside and he smirked to himself, shaking his head. Without bothering to knock, he reached for the handle and pushed open the door. Edwards' eyes darted briefly in Connor's direction but the kid didn't take any more of his focus off of the punching bag that he was working relentlessly in the corner of his room.

"Well, you're at it mighty early this morning, aren't ya?" Connor asked, a hint of a smile in his voice. With how rarely Edwards had been allowed to leave the apartment, it had become a pretty common thing to find the young man in here, pounding away all of his frustrations and excess energy.

"Couldn't sleep," Edwards replied in a steely tone, his response followed up by two jabs and a cross that were slightly more aggressive than they had been previously.

With a sigh, Connor folded his arms and leaned heavily against the doorframe. He could feel the anger radiating from that side of the room and felt the urge to say something to relieve the tension. "Look, I know you're fucking pissed at me for making you stay behind tonight, but that was part of the deal when we agreed to let you come with us." The only indication that Edwards had even heard him was the increase of force behind his punches.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Connor tried again, "We're not doing this to punish you, we just don't want to see you get hurt, is all. It's for your own good."

At that, Edwards' head snapped up and he stepped away from the punching bag, his chest heaving from exertion. "For my own good, or for yours, Connor?" he questioned harshly.

Connor was taken aback by the sharp tone and fire in Edwards' narrowed eyes. He was unprepared for this anger from the normally easygoing young man and he had to work to reign in his own temper. He understood why the kid was upset but he didn't need this right now, there was too much other shit he had to worry about today.

"You staying behind is for both of our sakes," he answered calmly. "As long as you're here, you're out of harms way, and Murph and I don't have to worry about trying to protect you."

Edwards ran a gloved hand through his dark sweaty hair, his agitation obvious. "I saved your lives and got you both out of prison. I think I have more than proved my ability to handle myself," he argued, his voice slowly rising in anger.

Letting out another sigh, Connor pushed away from the doorframe and took a step into the room. "You know we appreciate everything you've sacrificed for us, that's not what this is about. We're grateful for what you've done, but that doesn't mean I'm going to repay the favor by allowing you to get yourself killed."

Edwards shook his head in exasperation. "I don't need you to protect me, I'm not a child!"

"Then stop fucking acting like one!" Connor shot back, his patience finally spent. "I've made the decision and you throwing a temper tantrum isn't going to change that."

Edwards shrank back, dropping his gaze to the floor and Connor immediately felt like an asshole. Running a hand over his face, he let his fingers thread through his hair, pulling slightly in frustration. "Please," he implored, lowering his voice several notches. "Please, just understand why I'm doing this. I know you can handle yourself but that doesn't mean I wont worry about you. It's fucking bad enough that I have to worry about something happening to Murphy every time we go out there. I can't handle any more. How am I supposed to do my job if the only thing I can think about is the possibility of losing another friend." Connor paused and took a deep breath, trying to keep his emotions in check. "I wont lose anyone else, Josh, so please, just stop fucking fighting me on this."

Edwards watched Connor with wide eyes. Very rarely did the brothers address him by his first name, usually preferring to simply call him by his last. It was a sign that Connor was attempting to reach out to him on a more personal level. He was begging him to understand and accept that this was how it needed to be. As much as Edwards wanted to keep arguing, he knew he had to let it go for now. He could see the unconcealed pain in Connor's eyes and Edwards knew he had to drop it. He understood that Murphy and Connor were both still grieving for their friend, Romeo. He was also aware that the brothers had lost several other people before that, including their father. He realized that him being so closely involved with their work probably struck a raw and very painful nerve. He would let it go and do as Connor asked this time, but he knew he would not remain content to sit around much longer. He was getting antsy.

Dropping his gaze, Edwards relented with a small nod of his head. "Fine," he said, his voice quiet and deflated. "I'll stay here."

Connor could see the disappointment on the kid's face and stepped over, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "But just cause you have to stay here doesn't mean we won't need your help. We're going to need you to be ready in case things go south. I need you prepared for anything, you understand?"

Edwards nodded and Connor patted the side of his neck affectionately before turning and leaving the room, closing the door on his way out. It wasn't but three seconds after the door had latched that Connor heard the thumping sound of Edwards' fists resuming their work on the punching bag and he shook his head in amusement. For how even-tempered the kid usually was he certainly seemed to have a lot of pent up aggression.

Connor continued his way down the hall until he reached the living room and took a moment to glance around the sparsely furnished area before turning to his right, walking through the arched doorway into the kitchen. Murphy was sitting at the small table there, one foot propped up on an empty seat and his elbow draped over the back of his chair while he worked his thumbnail between his teeth. The darker haired twin was staring blankly into the steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of him, seeming to be deep in thought, but when Connor walked in he glanced up quickly, offering him a tight smile.

"Everything alright with the kid?" Murphy asked quietly. He had heard the raised voices and didn't have to guess very hard as to what the argument had been about.

Connor nodded as he stepped over to the counter and set about fixing himself a cup of the coffee that Murphy had brewed. "Aye, he'll be fine. He's pretty upset about the whole thing but I would rather him be alive and mad at me than be dead."

"Hmmm," Murphy hummed in agreement. He knew that Edwards was getting frustrated with his forced seclusion but it was obvious that Connor wasn't budging on the subject. Murphy personally felt that the young man had more than earned his chance to get his hands a little dirty. He deserved to see some action, but it was obvious that Connor felt very strongly about this, which meant that Murphy would back his twin's decision without question.

He waited until Connor collected his cup of coffee and took a seat across the table from him before bringing up his next question. "And what about you? You doing alright?"

Taking a careful sip from his steaming cup, Connor relaxed back into his chair, fixing his brother with a guarded look. He knew that Murphy was referring to the dream but that wasn't something he was really willing to discuss, even with Murphy. "Aye, I'm fine," he replied casually.

"You wanna talk about it?" Murphy questioned gently, not wanting to push too hard but hoping that if he gave him the opening, Connor would choose to confide in him.

"Nothing to talk about, Murph. It was just a stupid dream."

Murphy nodded and looked back down into his cup, still chewing away anxiously at his thumb. "I knew you were having 'em back when we were in Boston but I thought they had gotten better. You still having a lot of them?" Connor just gave a little non-committal shrug and Murphy tried not to feel hurt that his brother wouldn't open up to him. He knew his twin well enough to know that since their escape from Hoag, something had been bothering him. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do about that though.

That was one of the many differences between the twins. When Murphy was feeling something, you knew it immediately. He wasn't capable of hiding his emotions. He wore his heart on his sleeve, right where everyone could see it. Connor on the other hand, if something was bothering him, he was much more subtle about it. He would often bottle it up, uncomfortable with the idea of people seeing his emotional insecurities. Murphy was always the exception to that. Connor didn't usually hide himself from his twin and the fact that he was doing so now had Murphy more than a little concerned.

Ignoring the ache that this emotional distance had put in his heart, Murphy decided to change the subject and allow Connor the space he desired. "Smecker called while you were in the shower," he announced softly, finally dropping his thumb from his mouth. "Said he was going to be stopping by sometime this morning."

Connor arched an eyebrow as he dug his pack of smokes out of his pocket, removing one before sliding the pack across the table to his brother. "He's coming here?" he asked in disbelief, flipping his lighter open and brining the flame to meet the end of his cigarette. "Brave man," he added when Murphy nodded.

After their original move from Boston, Smecker had kept himself pretty much separated from the Saints, leaving the brothers to do their work. The former agent would call every few days to check on their progress and maybe occasionally set up a meeting somewhere if necessity called for it. However, aside from the day they moved in, the man never ventured too far into this neighborhood. The brothers knew it was best that way, lest they draw unwanted attention to themselves. Despite the fact that he no longer worked for the Bureau, Smecker still had a look about him that just screamed Fed and in these parts that was enough to draw some unfriendly eyes.

"Aye," Murphy agreed as he lit his own cigarette. "But he said it was important. Said he had something to give us that we would be needing for tonight."

Connor nodded and had to force down the returning feelings of anxiety that came with the mention of their evening plans. He had to fucking keep it together. Hoping that it would help him get his head on straight, he reached for the thin folder that was sitting in the center of the table and flipped it open, scanning the information inside.

"You've already fucking looked at that thing a hundred times, Connor. You're not going to find anything new in there. We've got our plan worked out. We're ready for this," Murphy reassured confidently.

Ignoring his brother, Connor continued to look over the file. Deion Marcus, it read at the top of the first page, Age: thirty-four years, Race: African American, Gender: male, Weight: 230lbs, Height: 6'5". Big motherfucker. Marks: tattoo-demon right forearm, Occupation: unknown, Precautions: violent, Remarks: known gang leader. The rest of the paper was taken up by the man's rather lengthy arrest record and criminal history.

In the top corner was a photo of Mr. Marcus' mug shot, paper clipped to the inside of the file. Slipping the picture out from under the clip, Connor held it up and took a moment to memorize the bastard's face one last time. The man in the photo wore an expression that matched his equally violent and appalling background and Connor shook his head in disgust. Despite his nerves, he couldn't wait to deliver this asshole.

Returning the photo to the folder, he continued to thumb through the pages, skimming the detailed information on Deion's leadership role in the East Brooklyn street gang known as the Red Spade Demons. This particular gang was one of the largest players in drug distribution in New York City, servicing neighborhoods all through out the five boroughs. Normally, dealing in the territory of another gang would have created enemies and ignited gang wars, however, the Red Spades were being allowed to spread their filth wherever they pleased without interference. Something this large would have required groups of gangs working together, forming alliances to create this extensive system of distribution.

Not only would this set-up take the cooperation of multiple street gangs, but would also require a large supply of product. That was where Kennedy Dawson came in. While Dawson's illegal shipments eventually made their way all around the country, it seemed that the billionaire was using New York City as a home base of sorts. Everything got shipped, and a good portion of it distributed, right here in the city. By taking out the top runners in the Red Spades, the Saints would be dealing a major blow to Dawson's local business while hopefully getting the information needed to move up to the next level in this pyramid of corruption.

The sound of something heavy slamming down on the table startled Connor out of his thoughts and he looked up to see Murphy unzipping one of the two black duffle bags that were now covering the table top.

Glancing over at his brother, Murphy motioned to the second bag with a nod of his head. "You don't need to read that stupid fucking file anymore. No more waiting around. Today is the day these fucks start answering for their sins."

Connor could see the gleam of excitement in his brother's eyes as Murphy began laying out the contents of his duffle and he couldn't help the small smile that slipped onto his own face at his twin's enthusiasm. Stubbing out his smoke in a nearby ashtray, Connor reached for his bag and pulled the zipper. Tugging it open, he looked inside and, oh, what a beautiful sight it was. Staring back at him were two, .45 caliber, double action, black, Beretta 92FS's fitted with genuine walnut grips, complete with twenty round magazines and high performance sound and flash suppressors. They were fucking glorious.

A quick stop in with their trusty arms dealer on the way out of Boston and they had been good to go. The man had been more than eager to, once again, hook them up with his finest merchandise. After congratulating them on their 'release' from prison and setting them up proper, he had wished them the best of luck and seen them on their way.

Connor's smile widened as he took a gun in each hand and pulled them from the bag. He had to admit, it felt really fucking good to feel the familiar weight against his palms as he once again held his weapons with a purpose. He took a moment to savor the feeling before placing the guns on the table and beginning the tedious job of disassembling them, cleaning every nook and cranny and assuring himself that they were in perfect working order, ready for action.

Completely immersed in their task, the brothers didn't even take notice when Edwards entered the kitchen and took a seat at the table, watching the pre-game ritual with a longing in his eyes. It wasn't until a loud knock at the front door sounded through the apartment that Connor and Murphy finally looked up and took note of their surroundings. Judging by the bright sun filtering in through the small kitchen window, it was approaching late morning. Flashing his brother a look, Connor pushed away from the table and walked out to the living room to answer the door.

Looking down through the peephole, he smirked to himself before turning the locks and pulling the door open. When the person waiting on the other side passed through the opening, Connor's smirk turned into a light chuckle as he got a better look at the uncharacteristically casual attire that graced the man's thin frame.

"What? No Armani today?" he teased good-naturedly. "I didn't even think jeans were a part of your wardrobe, Smecker."

Removing his sunglasses, Smecker rolled his eyes and shot the younger man an un-amused look. "This isn't exactly a suit and tie neighborhood you boys have set yourselves up in here."

Connor shrugged. "We go where we're needed." He grinned at the man one more time before leading the way into the kitchen.

As they stepped through the doorway, Murphy looked up and Connor could see the same look of amusement written on his twin's face as he took in the former agent's simple jeans and sweatshirt. "Lookin' sharp there, Smecker," Murphy deadpanned, trying desperately to hold in his humor.

Smecker fixed the Irishman with a withering glare that, back in the day, probably would have sent any rookie scurrying away in fear. However, in this case, it only caused Murphy to lose his fragile composure, dissolving him into laughter.

Connor was quick to join in, followed by a light snicker from Edwards and Smecker shook his head in mild annoyance, the barest hint of a smile forming at the corner of his lips. "I'm glad to see you boys are taking this so seriously," he said sarcastically, taking a seat at the table. He waited a few moments for the laughter to die down before getting down to business. "Everything ready for tonight?" he asked, glancing back and forth between Connor and Murphy.

"Aye, we're all set," Murphy responded confidently. "The Red Spade's are having a meeting at Deion's place over in East Flatbush. There'll be a lot of higher ranked members there so hopefully, after tonight, we'll have severely crippled their operation and ability to function. Our goal is to find out where and when the next shipments are coming in so we can strike before the product hits the streets."

Smecker nodded thoughtfully. "Is Edwards suiting up as well or is it just going to be you two?"

Edwards opened his mouth to respond but Connor was quicker. "The kid's staying here."

Smecker raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that? It wouldn't hurt to have a third man to watch your back."

"He's staying the fuck here," Connor repeated, his tone letting everyone know that this wasn't up for discussion.

Looking across the table, Smecker noticed the downfallen expression on Edwards' face. He glanced questioningly over at Murphy who simply stared back at him, silently backing his brother's decision. Shrugging his shoulders, Smecker nodded. "All right then, it's your call, if that's how you want it." Sighing, he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "We need to talk about the pennies."

"What about them?" Connor asked, looking confused.

"I know you feel they are important, but I need you to consider not using them for the time being." When Connor started to protest Smecker held up a hand and continued. "Now just listen for a minute, hear me out. You have to think about this from the perspective of someone who is trying to keep you boys from going back to prison. As of now, nobody knows where to even begin looking for you. My resources tell me that the Marshal in charge of your case has hit a bit of a standstill. He has lost your scent and he's looking for absolutely anything to get himself back on the right track. If you use the pennies tonight, everyone will know who is responsible and it will bring him right to you. He will be hot on your trail before the bodies even cool."

Connor looked over, catching his brother's eyes, silently questioning him. Several moments passed before Murphy gave a slight shake of his head and Connor nodded in agreement to whatever had been decided. "No," he said, turning back to Smecker. "We're using the pennies. We want Dawson to know exactly who's coming for him. I understand it will attract unwanted attention but that just means we'll have to be extra careful."

Smecker rubbed his hands over his face before dropping them heavily into his lap, fixing Connor with a pensive expression. "You know what will happen if they get you back into custody, don't you?" He looked from Connor over to Murphy and when neither brother responded, he continued, filling in the blanks. "You'll both be locked safely away in a supermax with no hope of escape. In case you haven't heard what those places are like, allow me to enlighten you. Trips to a supermax are one way only, once you go in you don't come out. They will hold you for an indefinite period of time. You can expect to spend twenty-three hours a day locked in an isolation cell, the one hour of exercise time you will be granted will be spent alone. You will have limited human contact, even with prison staff, your meals served through a slot in the door. No visitors, no phone calls, and you can damn well guarantee that you will never be allowed to see each other again. It's the kind of place that will make a man crazy."

Connor had to work hard to suppress a shudder at the thought of him and Murphy being locked away and left to rot like rabid dogs. He couldn't allow that to happen. And yet, it was important that people remembered why the Saints did this. They were freeing tortured souls, sending them to their judgment and it served as a warning to all the evil-doers in the world. Looking up, Connor found everyone watching him, waiting for some sort of response. "We'll just have to stay alert and be extra cautious to ensure that doesn't happen." He glanced to Murphy as he said it and his brother gave him a nod of acceptance.

Smecker ran an agitated hand through his hair, exhaling loudly. "You certainly don't want to make things easy on me, do you?" Shaking his head, he relaxed back into his chair. "Fine, it's your call to make. But just remember that helping the Saints is as much my mission as killing these cocksuckers is yours. I'm only trying to ensure that you stay out of prison long enough to fulfill your task."

Connor and Murphy both nodded. "We appreciate it, Smecker," Murphy said quietly.

Smecker gave them a small smile and shrugged. "Anyway, the main reason for my visit, I have something I think you boys will want for tonight." Reaching down into a bag that was slung over his shoulder, he pulled out two identical brown packages, handing one off to Connor and the other to Murphy.

Connor gave the man a quizzical look but Smecker simply motioned for them to open them up. After a quick glimpse in his brother's direction, Connor tore his way easily through the brown paper covering the items, Murphy following suit. His eyes widened in shock and a grin split his face as he threw the paper aside and took in the soft wool of a brand new, black pea coat and the beautifully polished wooden beads of the rosary that came with it. Looking over, he saw that his twin had gotten the same thing and they both smiled at each other. Connor picked up the rosary, admiring the fine craftsmanship before placing it around his neck and reaching for the coat. Grabbing the article of clothing by the shoulders, he held it up for inspection. As he shook the coat out, a piece of paper that had been tucked away in the folded wool slipped out and floated gently to the ground. Setting the coat down, Connor bent in his chair and snatched the paper off the floor. Straightening, he turned it over in his hands, scanning the message that was written on the other side.

Boys,

I knew how much your old ones meant to you so I had these made. They came all the way from Ireland so now you can keep a piece of home close to your heart. I want you both to know that your Da would be so incredibly proud of everything you boys are doing. I am planning on heading back to Ireland in a few days but if you lads need anything at all, Smecker knows how to get in contact with me. I will be sure to let your Ma know that her boys are doing all right, you know how she gets to worrying. Be careful, take care of each other, and I'll be in touch.

Sibeal

Connor read through the note a second time, a sad smile on his face, before passing it off to Murphy who was watching him curiously. Reaching a hand out, Connor caressed the soft wool of his new coat and couldn't help pang of homesickness that the item kindled within him. He wasn't an idiot. He knew that he would likely never see his homeland again. Him and Murphy would be spending the rest of their lives running, fighting, and hiding. It would be foolish of him to think they could ever go back. He wouldn't risk the trouble that would bring down on his family. But that didn't mean he didn't miss it. Ireland would always hold a special place in his heart, but what they were doing now was more important than his desire to feel the comfort and safety of home. Besides, even if they did return, their Ma would likely kill them both anyway.

When him and Murphy had returned home after spending nearly nine years in the states, Annabelle MacManus had been elated to see her sons again. Unfortunately, when the murder of father Douglas McKinney pulled them back to Boston, they had left so abruptly that they hadn't even taken the time to let her know they were leaving. The woman was probably furious with them. She would string them up by their ears if they ever showed their face there again.

He smiled fondly at the images that thought created. He and Murph may have been well into their thirties but that woman still scared the shit out of them. Connor knew their Ma would never actually threaten their lives but he wouldn't put it past her to try and bend them over her knee like she did when they were kids. At this point though, Connor would gladly risk getting whacked across the ass if it meant he could see his family and the beautiful rolling green of the Irish countryside again.

He looked up as Murphy passed the note back to him and he could see a similar longing in his twin's eyes. They made eye contact briefly before simultaneously reaching for their new coats and sliding their arms through the sleeves, both nodding in satisfaction. They fit perfectly.

"He wanted to make sure you had them before tonight." Smecker spoke quietly, breaking through the moment.

"Thank you," Connor said sincerely.

Smecker nodded. "No thanks necessary," he assured. "I should be on my way." Standing from his chair, he fixed them all with a sober expression. "I'm only going to ask you this one more time, whatever your answer, I'll leave it at that. Are you sure this is the way you want to go about this? I understand your reasons for wanting to start at the bottom and work your way up to the Big Dog, but there are risks that go along with that plan. It's obvious that Dawson has many resources, and while we are not sure what exactly he is capable of, I can guarantee he will not hesitate to fight back. He won't go down easily and he is going to know just who to bring his fight to." He looked back and forth between the brothers to make his point. "You're no longer anonymous vigilantes. Your faces and names are all over the media and you can't expect to be able to hide behind masks to protect yourselves this time. By not taking him out while you have the element of surprise, you're giving him the chance to bring this war to you."

Murphy watched his brother closely, waiting for his response. He still wasn't entirely convinced that this was the best route to take but Connor had made some valid points. In the end, Murphy had agreed. He trusted his twin's judgment and if Connor felt this was the right course, he would back him. He watched as Connor silently pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it up, taking a long drag before raising his eyes to meet his. Murphy stared openly back at his brother, allowing him to see his acceptance of whatever he decided.

"We'll go ahead with the plan," Connor spoke up after a several moments of contemplative silence.

Smecker nodded. "Alright then, I'll let you boys get back to it," he said, motioning to the guns still covering the tabletop.

Connor and Murphy both gained their feet, intending to walk the man to the door. Passing through the living room Smecker reached for the handle on the front door and paused, turning back to the brothers. "Be safe and call me when it's done," he said, waiting for Connor and Murphy to both nod in acknowledgment before pulling open the door and disappearing down the hallway.

The rest of the day passed by at an agonizingly slow pace and the brothers spent the time quietly, each off in their own head. By the time the sun had set and the hour of action finally rolled around, Connor's lungs ached from the two packs of cigarettes he had smoked and Murphy had just finished rechecking his weapons for the fifteenth time.

The anxious energy that had filled the small apartment for the majority of the day had shifted, turning into an air of murderous intensity and focus. Connor stole random glances at his brother as they both stood in the kitchen, adjusting their shoulder holsters and giving their firearms a final once over before sliding them into place. Murphy looked up after sliding a knife into his boot and gave a curt nod. It was time. They both kissed their new rosaries before tucking them into their shirts and grabbing their coats off the table.

Edwards was waiting for them on the couch in the living room and when they walked through on their way to the door, he stood to his feet and approached them. He wanted to argue and yell at them for making him stay behind but he knew that wasn't what they needed right now. He settled for giving Murphy a light pat on the shoulder and a quick nod in Connor's direction. "Watch your ass's out there. I'll be standing by, call if there's a problem."

Murphy gave the young man's arm a light squeeze. "We'll be back soon," he said encouragingly. Turning to Connor he took a deep breath and met his twin's intense gaze. "You ready, brother?"

Reaching for the doorknob, Connor pushed away all his doubts and nerves and forced a dangerous smile onto his face. "Aye, let's fucking do this."

Murphy mirrored his brother's expression and they both slipped out, closing the door quietly behind them.

Chapter revised 2/6/18