staring down the sun

[33] cross my heart and hope to...

He can taste the blood. But he doesn't dare close his eyes.

Hell, he's been through worse. He glances over at his brother, noting the places his face has been cut and bruised and battered. Could be just another fucking bar fight...but it's not.

Another fist blows against Connor's nose, and he can feel more blood trickle out of his nostril. The sting squeezes his eyes shut for a split second before looking back at the politician. Naturally, Connor can't help but smile, nor the smart-ass comment that falls out of his mouth. "Ye know we can't vote for ye, yeah?"

A slight chuckle escapes Hawkins as he wipes his hands with a handkerchief. Connor feels a weird sense of pride seeing MacManus blood staining the pristine piece of cloth. He attempts to shift in his confined seat, his wrists rubbing against the handcuffs chained to the metal chair.

Hawkins crosses his arms and leans against his desk, a smug smile curling up his mouth. "You have two options. Join Obsidian and you can continue your vigilante lives ridding the world of evil. Or go back to prison."

The boys look at each other with no visible reaction, and they can sense Hawkins growing impatient, but he manages to keep his mouth shut. Murphy shakes his head. "He means rid the world of anyone he thinks is a threat." He looks at Hawkins, a reserved anger laced in his voice. "We know ye were just using us, and that ye framed us for Beck's murder."

Hawkins chuckles, keeping that suave, politician bravado on the surface. "You're right. You two lads were a huge help in cleaning house these past several weeks. And that thing with Beck? I told your girl I can make it all go away...as long as you accept my offer."

Connor narrows his eyes, and Hawkins grins, turning on that stereotypical used-car salesman attitude as he continues to sell his offer to the boys. "See, you still get to kill the 'bad guys,' but you don't get to be the heroes either. I do have an image to maintain, you know. And it can't look like I'm involved, so..."

Murphy's eyebrows press together. "So ye'll keep saying we're the bad guys."

"It will be the longest manhunt in history. The FBI will keep playing it off as, 'Well, shit, these guys are good; we just can't catch them!' And when you're done—maybe you feel like you can't do it anymore because, let's face it, you're not getting any younger—you can go back into hiding and live out the rest of your saintly lives in retirement somewhere. I hear Ireland's nice..."

Connor scoffs. "Yer lying."

Hawkins just laughs. "I'm a politician. Of course, I'm lying, you son-of-a-bitch. Did you really think I'm going to just let you go? No, the FBI has to have their victory eventually." He rubs his hands together and then holds them out, gesturing weighing the options. "So either you two leprechauns go back to prison now, or you continue your holy mission for a while, and then you go back to prison."

The suited man paces around the room, straightening his tie as he keeps talking. "Unless you join us, fully commit to our mission."

"Yer nothing more than a suit wanting to control people," Connor replies roughly.

The statement pushes a slight smile across Hawkins' face. "That's all anyone wants: control. The problem is that most people don't know what to do with it once they have it."

"So ye take it from them?" Murphy asks in a flat tone.

"No, I help them. I know what's best for them, what's best for this country. Because I'm a patriot. Which is more than I can say for you two Micks."

Connor sees Murphy's jaw clench in the corner of his eye, and without faltering, he calmly reminds his brother, "Filleann an feall ar an bhfeallaire."