AN: Gosh, I've taken forever to update. This is because I haven't been near a computer in ages. The story continues in my little red book though, so hopefully not such big gaps in future. Enjoy!

Thanks again for reading and reviewing!

"Three nights please," Brady grumbled instead of a greeting to the smiley woman behind the counter. She didn't go for a key, or look at her computer. She just said: "That's grand, darlin'. You sound local, are ye local?"

The Irish. They did like to talk. "That I am. Been away a while."

"Oh, how long?" she asked, still not showing any sign or intention of doing any work.

Brady sighed, "Nearly thirty years."

"Oh, aye?" she prompted, clearly expecting a more detailed story than that.

"Yeah, I married a girl from Belfast, good catholic girl, but she didn't want to move so far from her Ma, so…"

"Living in Belfast for thirty years with that accent? Can't have been easy."

"No," said Brady coldly, "so, do you have any rooms?"

"Oh, sure, double?" She finally looked at her computer.

"That'd be grand."

"For three nights? That'll be a hundred and thirty Euros, payable on departure, but I'll need to take your credit card now, Mr…?"

"Brody," he said, handing over the credit card he'd achieved through questionable means.

"Welcome back to Dublin, Mr Brody," she smiled, finally handing over the key.

Brady grunted, before following the sulky looking teenager who picked up his bag and dragged his feet, up to the bland hotel room.

Another hotel room. Another night with no contact with his wife and family and no chance of a reunion. Another night staring at four blank walls, fighting the urge to murder the skinny boy who destroyed his life.

Padraig or Steven would do. Probably both would be the most satisfying. Padraig for showing Cheryl into that room, and Steven for being Steven. For ruining his son, for not doing as he was told, for being so bloody attention grabbing, for worming his way into Brady's head, like an obsession.

And he'd been so close. He'd had Steven so scared and vulnerable beneath him, naked except for the marks from Brady's fists. And he'd seen what his son loved about the boy. He was vulnerable and skinny, but there was something so strong about him too. And that concoction – the face, the body, the heart, the strength – they were intoxicating, and still Brady craved them.

But Brady had run. The look in Cheryl's eyes had been enough, and he burned with shame to be caught like that by his own daughter, to be caught out in such a lie. So he'd grabbed his bag, done up his fly and run, from the B & B, from the town, from the country, only to arrive here, an empty hotel room in a city he hadn't been to for thirty years.

He needed to relieve some tension. He couldn't stay here, in this blank hotel room with just his right hands and thoughts of Steven for company. He hadn't yet been brought that low.

He changed his shirt and went out. He knew where he could go to find some pathetic boy with no dignity, someone easy to manipulate. The city might have changed in thirty years, but some things would always stay the same.

It took a few goes to get lucky. He may have kept himself in shape, but he couldn't hide his age completely, and he couldn't help going for a certain type. Skinny, fairer haired, too young for him. He guessed it wouldn't be much good if it didn't help him forget about Steven. Best to go with what his body wanted.

Eventually he spotted someone likely; young, quiet, in need of guidance, clearly unsure of himself and battling his needs against his good Catholic upbringing. If he'd had more time, this was exactly the type he would train up, use when he needed without fear of being discovered, but only once he had complete control. But tonight, he didn't have the time for such luxuries.

Brady knew how to get what he wanted, how to get the innocent to do his bidding. He'd had years of practice. It was a mixture of charm, kindness and the right sort of pressure that could make the unloved, hopeless, confused boy follow you anywhere. Brady took this one back to his hotel room, giving instructions to follow after counting to a hundred; he didn't need people knowing his business after all.

He strolled up to his room, left the door on the latch (he didn't want the boy dawdling in the corridor or waking people up by knocking) then kicked his shoes off before dropping onto the bed. First he'd have the boy suck him off. With a mouth full of cock, Brady could imagine the nose a little smaller, the eyes a little lighter. But that would be just the beginning . He'd need careful handling this one, a firm hand to push him in the right direction, to get him to behave. He thought about those wrists, held and pressed against the mattress, fists clenched in fear and anger.

No, that wasn't what he wanted. It was complete control he craved, not Steven's fight and back chat, and this boy was the right type. He wasn't going to give him any problems.

Brady stood and went into the bathroom to wash his face. He just needed to get rid of that image so he could hate Steven, that was all.

As he splashed, he heard a knock on the hotel door. Stupid kid. " I told ye just to walk in," he called over his shoulder and dried his face.

The door opened and Brady allowed himself a smirk of satisfaction. "Sit on the bed," he ordered, as he checked his appearance briefly in the mirror, before striding into the bedroom, feeling like King of the world.

"I'd rather stand, if it's all the same to you," Brendan greeted conversationally.

Brady good mood slipped away.

"Or were you expecting someone else?" Brendan continued, smugly, "someone skinnier perhaps? Mousy haired? The guy that was counting in the lobby until I told him to get lost?" Brendan smirked, "Yeah, he ain't coming."

Brady cleared his throat, hoping he didn't look as unnerved as he felt. "So what are you doing here, Brendan?" He asked, his mouth was very dry.

"Oh, I just thought I'd check on my old Dad, seeing as you didn't even give us a phone number. Been busy, yeah?"

Brady sniffed, "Yeah, something like that, son."

Brendan glowered at him, "You don't even know what that word means. Son. It means nothing to you."

"Everything I've done, I've done to protect you and our family," Brady protested.

"Liar!" Brendan growled, not shifting, but tensing, like a snake ready to strike, "you did it for you, for power, to keep everyone in your miserable life on fucking strings, and to keep me as miserable and as fucked up as you."

"Bit of a drama queen, now, are ye?" Brady interrupted with contempt.

"But it ain't gonna happen! The cycle stops here. My sons are going to grow up to be whoever they want, they'll grow up loved and protected and at their own speed. And I'll be making sure you never come anywhere near them. I'm gonna let them make themselves happy."

Brady smirked, "What, like you with your Steven? A proper pair of poofs now, are ye? What, is it weddings next?"

Brendan's face flinched, and Brady knew he was hitting the right buttons. "Yeah," he continued, "I thought so. He doesn't love you, does he? You know he came to me of his own free will? Gave you up without a second thought, like he couldn't wait to be rid of you."

Brendan's punch landed on his cheek with no preamble, almost knocking him off his feet. He knew he was getting to Brendan now.

"He's a soppy little gobshite, isn't he? I had him in tears and pleading in minutes."

"Shut up," Brendan growled, clasping his hands together, as though holding himself back.

"What, can't handle the truth?" Brady laughed, "That your precious Steven opened his legs for me like the good little whore he is?"

Brendan let his fists free, and every moment Brady laughed through it, even when he fell to the floor.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?" Brendan shouted, as Brady felt blood seeping from his mouth.

"You came here to kill me, didn't you?" Brady laughed, "well, we're not exactly inconspicuous now, are we? You'd arrested within hours." Brady clutched his side, and spat his own blood onto the hotel room floor. "What a good Dad you'll be then."

Brendan glared down at him, moments passing as he thought through his answer. "You're a wanted man," he said, "I'll just hand you over to the police," his voice was disappointed, but serious.

"Except there's the little matter of what Michael Houston said to me." Brady countered. "The police can't figure out why that lad abducted me. I think they'd love to close a few of those holes, like, for example, your connection to Danny Houston? Pulled out of a river round your way, yeah?"

Brendan growled. Brady could see him trying to play it cool, and he almost grinned at the internal struggle.

"Then we're back at plan A, aren't we?" the younger man said.

"Maybe," Brady replied, grimly, "but not today. In the meantime, you won't be passing on my details to any third parties, will ye, son?" He emphasised the last word, arguably just to annoy him. Brendan glared at him, but Brady just met his glare. "Good bye, Brendan," he announced.

AN: Started chapter with intention to kill of Brady, but he managed to talk himself out of it. He may not have a first name, but he's a clever bastard. x