DO NOT OWN! Reviews are welcome! Also, NOTE: According to the movie timeline, and my story is in 2006, the boys are about 32…

CHAPTER 3: Narrator

It was raining. Meegan couldn't sleep when it rained, or when she was mulling over a dead man's last wish. Especially when she still didn't know that man's name. She was curled up, head on the edge of a pink pillow and under a quilt worn from winter after Boston winter. Meegan… alone, sad, scared. These were feelings she was not used to. She rolled over and looked at her alarm clock. Four in the morning.

Two hours ago Meegan was running from sirens, clutching a Celtic cross in her hand, the words 'shepherds we shall be' repeating in her head, breath coming hard and heavy as her feet on the pavement. She hadn't remembered to grab her cut of the night's profit from Nick, or her gloves from the alley. When she realized she was the only witness to a cold-blooded murder all of that seemed so trivial. And that got impossibly more complicated by the commission she had been given. 'Find my sons', he said. Find his sons.

She imagined telling his sons what happened, imagined returning the rosary to them, apologizing for not beating the shit out of the creep that shot their father. Then again… he was an awfully unsettling man. Maybe he didn't know his children. That didn't change her mind, though. She would find his kids. And with that decision she reached peace and she fell asleep.

Meegan watched the news night after night, trying to figure out who this man was. She read obituaries every day hopeful she would find his picture, and perhaps there would be a name next to it. She had been searching for three days and she almost gave up hope until she saw a small notification and a feeling came over her… this was him. Her eyes flashed to the clock. It was three and the funeral had been at two. Meegan read which church and quickly remembered where it was.

She ran the mile to the church in eight minutes. Panting and coughing she was about to burst through the front door. Then had a feeling she should go through the back. These feelings were coming frequently and now she could read them faster. She didn't know what they were; it was like being psychic.

Meegan entered the church from the back door and hid in the dark behind the velvet curtains that led to the altar. Candles were burning, the lights of the church were on, the casket was there, and he was lying peacefully inside it, but no one came to mourn. A pit opened in her stomach.

"Miss? Can I help you with something?" A voice asked behind Meegan. She was surprised, but she had killed the natural reaction to jump years ago. She turned to see a puffy-eyed priest. A million questions ran through her head. The cross weighed heavy in her pocket. The man in the casket was deeply religious; the priest probably knew his most intimate details. But 'start simple,' she told herself.

"Who is this man?" She whispered and pointed to the coffin. Whispering seemed appropriate. The priest shifted his blue eyes from her face to the man in the casket like he was deciding to tell her or not.

"Il Duce. He was an assassin. Father of The Saints." Meegan stopped breathing. She just stared at the young, light-haired priest. A million more questions ran through her head, but then something clicked. She pulled the long strand of wooden rosary beads from her pocket and put it around her neck. She held the Celtic cross and looked open-faced at the skinny priest.

"He gave me this."

He looked at the cross. Then the priest put his hand on the top of her head, and closed his eyes. "God, you have blessed this woman. Let me guide her to your other disciples so that she may do your work." She waited. He waited.

"Come with me." He said taking off, and stopping abruptly at the foot of the cross behind the pulpit. She followed him slowly, somehow knowing what she had to do. She knelt at the foot of the cross, thinking she had to say something, but not knowing what. Then she stood and kissed the foot of Christ.

It seemed like slow motion as she and the priest turned to each other.

"Where are his sons?"

Meegan walked slowly home. She couldn't go alone. She couldn't see these boys by herself. She went through the list of her friends and relatives in her head, wondering who, if anyone would go with her. If only Liam was around. Liam always brought her comfort. And loved her. Gave her the name 'Good Friday'. But her brother had been in Iraq for the last six months. He was the reason she always walked around with one hand in her pocket and would stare people down as they walked by. 'Look dangerous,' he would tell her and people on the street never messed with her.

Then it struck her like lightening. The only person she was scared of in this world other than the McManus brothers was Bridget Kelly; the girl she almost killed. Bridget was the best fighter she ever faced. Meegan had postponed the fight three times so she could go through more training and to ward off her fear. Then, during the fight, Bridget wouldn't stop. To get her to quit Meegan had to almost murder her. Every time she delivered another blow to Bridget's temple it was the scariest moment of Meegan's life. She didn't want to kill Bridget. Bridget was a good woman. And… Liam would never forgive her if she killed his lover.

So, yes she would ask Bridget, and Bridget would go with her.

"You sure this is the right fucking place?" Growled Bridget through a wired jaw, wearing a brown leather bomber jacket cut perfectly for her body. Meegan was wearing the same jacket but it was just a bit big on her. She was planning on building her shoulder muscles this winter.

The hotel was on the edge of Boston, more of a tourist hotel than anything. It was nice, but not too nice. Its mediocrity spoke anonymity; perfect for The Saints.

Meegan didn't say anything, just gave Bridget a dirty look. It had been like that since Liam and Bridget met in high school. "So I'm to understand this is the hotel room of the infamous Saints? How do you fucking know where they live?" Her S's hissed through the wires. She looked pissed as hell. The pain made her cranky. Meegan put her in that pain. What made it worse was they both signed up for it.

"A priest told me."

Bridget shrugged and lifted her eyebrows. Meegan had the weirdest adventures when she was left on her own. And that worried Liam, so Bridget usually kept an eye on her. Since the fight they hadn't spoken.

"Knock again." Suggested Bridget.

As Meegan lifted her hand the door opened. Both Bridget and Meegan were taken aback. Two of the most beautiful Irish boys they had ever seen stood in front of them. They were wearing their usual Saints gear: jeans, black t-shirts and the crosses. They were so handsome. Meegan had their wanted posters in her closet. It was a secret, but she lusted after The Saints for years. Seeing them in person was making her weak in the knees, and she was guessing even though Bridget was in love with her brother she was ogling the boys too.

"You girls want something?" Asked Connor. "We're in mourning here, so if there's nothing you want you can go." His face was so opened and pained; blue eyes shining with anger and hurt. Meegan wanted to give them comfort because while Connor was very forward Murphy was standing in the back, staring at the ground. They looked completely lost. So Meegan unzipped her jacket.

"Your father sent me," she said pulling the rosary out and letting it dangle over the plain white t-shirt. The boys gave each other a knowing look. Murphy couldn't believe this was happening.

"Well alright then." Said Murphy with glowing eyes. Connor stepped to the side to let Meegan in, watching her as she went. Then Murphy watched Bridget as she glided by, admiring her red hair and white skin. These girls were pure Irish for sure.

"Wait," said Connor before the girls left the hallway. "Sorry, but as a formality we have to search you." The girls didn't say anything before assuming the position up against the wall. They were usual suspects.

While the girls looked at the wall Murphy looked to Connor and smoothed his hair. Connor nodded, as if to say, 'you look good.' Connor did the same. Then Connor put his hands on Meegan's warm sides, and trailed them down to her hips, brushed her thighs, and circled her ankles, leveling his face with her ass. Connor smirked at his brother as they did the same thing.

Then Murphy's hands came around and reached into Bridget's jean pockets, while Connor reached into Meegan's back pockets resisting the strong urge to squeeze her tight, round booty.

"You find something you like?" Asked Bridget a bit perturbed at how Connor was taking his time on Meegan. Murphy perked up and opened his mouth.

"Why do you sound like that?"

"She broke my jaw." She said, motioning to Meegan with her head.

"Alright ladies, you're clean." Connor said finally. Then he and Murphy gave each other one of their infamous looks, and each pulled out a set of handcuffs.