Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
My stomach twists. I feel like I can’t breathe. “Oh… does he…”
“I’m betting you know some of it already. I can’t tell you the extent, but there’s a history between him and your brothers. He never talks about it. I’ve tried to bring it up over the years, but he only gets angry if I press. I just want to make sure he’s not… taking that out on you.”
“He’s not.” I shake my head quickly. “I promise. I’ll tell you if something changes.”
“Thank God for that.” She sounds genuinely relieved. “You can come to me. I’ll listen and I’ll help if I can.”
I realize she was worried Finn might be abusing me because of how much he hates my family. A chill covers my skin and I quickly start washing again to cover my reaction.
She’s right to be concerned. I’m pretty sure that was his plan originally.
But something changed.
The sauna. His mouth on mine. His hands around my throat.
“Caroline? You ready to get going?” Finn’s standing in the doorway watching me. I look up and meet his gaze. I resist the urge to turn to Siobhan. I’m positive she’s studying everything I do right now.
“Let me finish cleaning up.”
“No, dear, you’re all good. This is almost done anyway.”
“Please, you can’t be in here alone.”
“Go.” She smiles and touches my arm. “You can do it all another time.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” On an impulse, I give her a hug. She doesn’t seem bothered and hugs me back. I’m not used to someone being that kind to me, and it’s a little overwhelming.
Finn touches my hand as we walk through the house. “What did you and my mother talk about?”
“You, mostly.”
“That’s refreshingly honest.”
“I mean, what else would it be? Sports? The weather?”
“My mom’s a huge Mets fan.”
“I am too. I guess now we have another topic.”
His grip tightens on my fingers. As we get onto the elevator down to the ground level, he leans in close.
“I spoke with Liam,” he whispers in my ear. His breath is warm on my neck. “We’re moving in three days.”
I open my mouth in surprise. His stare is intense and heavy. “Three days isn’t long.”
“It’s enough. The plan’s straightforward.”
“I know, but—” I breathe in deep. “Maybe I need more time to come to grips with murdering my brother.”
“No, you don’t. It never gets easier. We do this in three days or you don’t do it at all.”
I nod, watching the lights on the door panel flit through floor numbers. “Three days then.”
He releases my hand. We stand, shoulder to shoulder, racing toward the ground.
14
FINN
Icock back the slide of my favorite pistol. It’s freshly cleaned and oiled. The action is perfect, springy but solid, exactly the way I like it. I check the magazine and load it before going through the rest of my gear. My vest, my flashlight, a couple flashbang grenades.
There’s no such thing as a perfect plan. Everything falls apart under pressure. That’s the way of the world.
But this one’s solid, as far as they go.
I stand back and stare at my equipment. It’s simple. Nothing special. Weapons, armor, phone, radio earpiece. I’ll get Caroline’s things set up soon.
First, I lift an old, battered hammer, and hold it tight. The wooden handle is cold. There are ancient grooves and chips along its length. The head smells like iron. It’s solid when I whack it into my palm. I whack it again, harder, and again, until it hurts, and I remember a hot summer night, crickets screaming, fireflies buzzing in a long empty field, and Shane Flanagan’s happy smirk as he struck me twice in the arm with a hammer just like this one.
“I told you, that’s the fucking game,” he said back then, looming over me with a big grin. He was always massive. Even when we were kids, he was the biggest guy I’d ever met. “You lose a round, you get a hit.”
“What if I win?” I shoved myself back to my feet.
But Shane only laughed and smashed the hammer down against my shoulder. “You never fucking win.”
My fingers went numb after that which didn’t help with my aim. We were throwing rocks at cans propped on a fence. Whoever knocked over the most was the winner. Loser got the hammer. Over and over we went, five rounds in all, and I never beat him once, mostly because he made sure to focus on my throwing side. Shane cackled with delight each time he brought that hammer down, and the last time I finally felt something snap and pop deep inside my shoulder. I screamed and went down in the grass, rolled around, got all itchy, but all I could feel was my aching, throbbing collarbone. I remember Shane standing over me, looking disgusted.
“I thought you had balls, Whelan, but look at you. Fucking pathetic. You’re supposed to be the son of the boss. You’re supposed to be important. But now you’re just in the dirt like everyone else.”