22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
It didn’t take long to make the preparations. Out of habit, even when fleeing her own condo, Kathleen had packed handcuffs. Finn placed those and the flex cuffs he carried on the bed. Then he removed his uniform, all his guns and knives—everything he could use as a weapon—leaving only a single pistol.
He needed it to be as safe as possible for her; a band of uneasiness was already gathering in his stomach.
The entire time he worked, Kathleen watched him, sipping her fresh cup of coffee. He was getting better at reading her mood. He could tell she wasn’t pleased.
“It’s not perfect,” Finn said. “I’ll get you to cuff each wrist to the sides of the bed, and we’ll strengthen it with a flex cuff on each side. It won’t stop me, but it will slow me down long enough for you to put me down.”
Finn had intended his words to ease her mood, but it had the opposite effect. “Is this really necessary? You wouldn’t hurt me.”
His eyes flickered to her shoulder. He couldn’t see the flesh wound where he had shot her, but he knew precisely where it was. “I already did. And I will again under the right circumstances. You’ll be… you’ll be prodding at things I can’t control. The last thing I can…” His voice broke momentarily. “I can’t stand the idea that I might hurt you. I’d do anything to avoid that.”
Kathleen’s forehead wrinkled, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “But you want me to hurt you?”
“I heal fast.”
“That is…” Kathleen caught herself, exhaling slowly, her voice softer, “I don’t accept that.”
“It’s the truth,” Finn said. He couldn’t understand why she wasn’t comprehending the logic of it.
Kathleen set her cup down and moved toward him. Her hand rested on his chest, making him wish he hadn’t put on a new shirt.
She lifted her mesmerizing gaze to meet his. “Have you considered that I might not want to hurt you?”
Like lightning, understanding rippled through him and voiced itself as a surprised parting of air from between his lips. Finn knew what he felt for this amazing woman. He knew that though it wasn’t allowed for him to want, he did, and he would choose her again and again. He knew that tight band around his chest when he looked at her, the dread when she wasn’t at his side, the calmness and unrelenting warmth when she was… he recognized that was love.
But Finn hadn’t imagined, among all that revelation, that she might feel the same way for him. He wasn’t someone who deserved love. He was the Hound. He was someone to be feared.
Yet somehow, she didn’t. Somehow, she felt something for him, too. It wasn’t the thrill of the chase she felt. It wasn’t pity. It was far more complex than that. It was unsettling and uncomfortable, but none of that mattered. Finn was all in.
“There we go. I’m glad some things can get through that hard head of yours,” Kathleen said, as her eyes took in his changing expression, but her words were spoken with such a warmth that he knew it wasn’t an insult. The idea of her teasing him was pleasant but new. She rose onto her toes to feather her fingers through his hair.
Finn wrapped his arms around her lower back, drawing her flush against him, and the tightness in his chest eased. He could breathe again, and he leaned down to take in her scent as he rested his cheek against the top of her head.
They stood like that, her hands lowering to rest against his chest for what felt like forever and too short a time.
Kathleen was the first to move away. “Tell me what to do.”
Finn picked up his pistol, tightened the silencer attached to it, and held it out to Kathleen. “If I try to break free, use this. Aim for the chest, the center mass. You want to put me down quickly.”
Reluctance painted itself across Kathleen’s features in a sharp exhale and thinning of her lips, but she finally nodded, claiming the weapon from him. She glanced at it, reflexively checked that the safety was on, and ejected and replaced the magazine. Then she tucked the weapon into the waist of her jeans and moved toward him.
Finn lay face down on the bed, holding his hand to the frame at the head of the bed.
Kathleen clicked the cuffs into place.
“Tighter,” Finn said.
A pause betrayed her reluctance, but she did as bid until he could feel the metal biting into his wrist. Then she added the flex cuff to a second point on the bed’s frame. He tugged his wrist and nodded his approval.
Kathleen paused, her eyes on him. He had learned to recognize that gleam in her eye, a hint of temptation, of impishness. Yet this wasn’t the time for such things, and he sucked in a breath to tell her so.
Before he could voice the thought, she climbed onto the bed. Her knees settled on either side of his back, straddling him, one of her hands pressed on his back. Her weight wasn’t significant enough that she could hold him down, though he knew that wasn’t her intention.
It was a distraction. In subtle, plentiful ways, she had done the same since meeting him. From the time she asked for his name, read his inability to answer, and offered her own with a smile, to the way she knew when to touch him, to run her hands over his scalp. There were certain people in Command who were trained to do such things. For her, it came naturally, and he welcomed it.
The contact was a balm to his soul.
Finn felt her weight shift, her hand clasping around his other wrist, lifting it to the other side of the bed. The coldness of the metal as she tightened the cuff against his wrist, the bite of the plastic as she added the flex cuff. It felt small, like too little protection. But it was all he had to offer. That, and the gun.
He felt a feather lightness at his back and tensed until he realized she was stroking her fingers there. He wanted to tell her to continue, but they both needed the focus.
“I need you to stand by the door,” Finn said.
Kathleen’s breath rattled out in a sigh. The last of her feather-light touch traced over his back before the mattress shifted as she stood, obediently retreating to the door as he turned his head to watch.
She held the gun loosely at her side, her eyes on his. “Tell me how you joined Command.”
Finn let his gaze go unfocused as he thought about it. He recalled a flash of walking into Cloverton House with a blond-haired man, joking, and… nothing. He stretched, trying to recall what happened next, but it brought the pulse of a headache.
“Finn?”
He sucked in a breath. “I don’t… remember.”
“At all? Nothing?” Kathleen’s voice sounded strained, and it pulled his focus back to her. She gave him a fleeting smile when she noticed. “What about before?”
Finn remembered flashes. Dry, oppressive heat and a sandy endless desert. Explosions, screams. Gunfire lighting the night, his nostrils filled with the scent of cordite. Standing at attention. That same blond man in an officer’s uniform and a green beret.
He swallowed. “I think I served. I think I was a Green Beret.”
“Army Special Forces?” Kathleen’s gaze went unfocused. “That explains a lot about your skills. And it means you will have a record we can look up.”
His heart seized, tightening around his lungs. “No,” he choked.
“Finn?”
“They’ll know.”
“Command?”
Finn nodded, still breathless.
“Okay. We’ll leave that alone for now. But there are ways—physical records they won’t be monitoring for. We can talk about that later. If you’re comfortable.”
Finn could feel her eyes trace over him, trying to decide what to ask next. Or how to ask it.
“Can you tell me what they did to you?”
Agony. It seized all his limbs at once, and he strained against it, fought not to make a noise. Pain was weakness. He sensed movement nearby, a threat. No, not a threat.
“Stay back,” Finn growled, choking on the words.
He sensed her retreating, and he waited until the shock of the pain passed.
When he could focus again, his eyes fell on her. He could see her uncertainty, her worry. He fought for words, and they came haltingly. “There were injections. Days, weeks of agony. I came out of it feeling different. Changed. My senses were sharper—light and sound hurt me—but I was stronger, quicker. I didn’t need much sleep, and I healed quickly. But there were… side effects. Nightmares. Loss of memory. Confusion. Some lost their minds. They called it malfunctioning.”
His voice faded out. Finn remembered a face, dark skin, eyes full of wildness. ‘Do you see, Hound? They stole our souls from us. We are just shells. Do you see?’ And the same man, a week later, a blank slate, looking at him without recognition.
“They would send those who malfunctioned for maintenance, and they would come back as different people. They wouldn’t remember. I didn’t want to forget my name, even if I wasn’t allowed to use it. So I couldn’t ever malfunction. I couldn’t show weakness. I wasn’t allowed to show emotion. I couldn’t…”
Tightness seized his chest, radiating outwards. Finn had said too much. The Handler would know. He always knew. “You can’t know this. The Handler will find out. I will be sent to clean up the mess.”
She was in danger. She was in danger, and it was his fault. He had done this.
“Finn.”
She was calling his name. His real name. He couldn’t let them take it from him. He couldn’t let them take her. But they were holding him down. He strained against them, trying to reach her as they tore her away from him.
“Finn!” She was screaming. Fighting against them.
He applied pressure, strained—and one restraint gave way. He twisted, grabbing for the throat of the nearest Handler, squeezing.
Pain tore through his chest, the sound of the shot registering as Finn slumped, freeing the Handler. Pain was a great focus. He couldn’t let it show, or they would send him to maintenance.
“I’m not defective. I misunderstood the mission. I will complete the mission. I will. I will. I will.”
A ragged, strained voice called out, “Finn!”
It wasn’t like the voice of the Handler. It made him look.
No, not the Handler. Her. Her. Finn felt a noise of distress escape him as he saw the faint markings on her throat.
“Hey,” her gentle voice called to him, her fingers bracing his face, touching his jaw. He could feel her hand on his chest, pressing hard as she leaned over him, obscuring his vision until all he could see was her. “Where did you go? Come back to me.”
Finn blinked, refocusing, and the moment faded—but not the shuddering of his heart.
“There,” Kathleen whispered, her lips caressing his. “Stay right here, Finn, stay in this moment. Breathe.”
Her voice was soft and soothing, yet with his sharp hearing, Finn still detected a slight tremor that would be invisible to anyone else. He knew it as intimately as he knew her.
Fear.
He scanned the room for threats. The pistol on the bed he could take before she could—everything else had been removed. By him, he remembered—then his gaze fell on the red mark on her throat.
Oh.
It was him the fear was for. Finn’s throat closed, and he had to force the words out as a growl, “What did I do?”
Kathleen leaned back, her gaze lowered. “Nothing you didn’t warn me about.”
He closed his eyes. He’d done that to her. Fury seared through him, and he fought to keep it from showing.
“Finn?”
He exhaled, meeting her eyes. There was too much emotion for him to comprehend, much more than just the fear he had heard.
“I need you to sit up so I can look at the damage.”
Damage? It wasn’t until Finn sat up that he felt it. Pain blossomed in his chest.
“I’ll get some painkillers,” Kathleen said, but he caught her wrist.
The wince she gave told Finn he squeezed too hard. Fear that he had hurt her gutted through him as he released her quickly, giving a shake of his head. She frowned but said nothing further as she rushed to her bag for the first-aid kit.
It wasn’t safe for him to be here—for many reasons—but primarily because he was the biggest danger to her. He had to leave. Finn swung his legs to the floor and stood, tearing free of the second restraint around his wrist. Adrenaline slammed through him in response to the agony of the movement.
Kathleen brought the kit over, her gaze darkening as her eyes landed on him. “Sit,” she said. When Finn didn’t obey, her eyes narrowed. “I just shot you in the fucking chest, you idiot, at your request. Let me tend to you.”
The anger in her voice rushed over him. “I need to leave,” Finn said. “You’re afraid of me.”
Kathleen sucked in a sharp breath, shaking her head. “No, Finn. I’m afraid for you. Please. Let me help you.”
She was being honest with him; Finn could tell from her heart's steady, quick beat. He sank back onto the bed and heard her exhale slowly as she reached to help him take his shirt off. The fear in her eyes intensified as she gazed at his chest.
Finn followed her gaze downward. By the looks of things, the bullet had hit one of his ribs, which would have defrayed a lot of the energy. It had likely cracked the rib but hadn’t penetrated further. It was a simple matter of removing the bullet.
“Tweezers,” he said.
“Let me. I need to do this for you.”
He couldn’t interpret the tension in her voice, but her need was clear. He nodded. He felt the agony as she extracted the bullet, the sting as she applied the antiseptic, but he kept his gaze unfocused, holding himself still. He couldn’t let any sign of the pain show. It wouldn’t last, he knew. The rib would ache for a few days and be fine, and the wound would heal within a day.
Kathleen reached for a needle, but he stopped her. “Don’t bother. It’ll close too quickly to be useful.”
She frowned at him but obeyed, covering up the wound with an adhesive bandage. Her fingers pressed carefully over the edges, and her breath rattled out as she traced a path over a scar on his ribs, close to where the bullet hit.
“Do you remember how you got this?”
Finn shook his head.
He wasn’t sure what she made of that. She carried the first-aid kit into the bathroom, the sounds of splashing water following. She reappeared in the doorway, leaning into the frame. “What happens when they realize you didn’t complete your mission? That you didn’t kill me?”
“I will be sent to maintenance.”
“I won’t let that happen,” Kathleen said, voice turning hard. “I’m going to fucking burn them to the ground.”
Kathleen meant every word—it wasn’t a threat, but a promise—and he knew what her determination foretold. Her going against Command was a dream. She would lose and be killed. There was no question. If it wasn’t him, it would be a dozen other Agents.
Finn couldn’t let that happen, no matter what the cost. A need to act burned in him. “We need to leave here. Head to a new safe house.”
Kathleen looked at him from the doorway. “No, Finn. You’re not leaving, and I’m not running. That’s not how we do things.”
He weighed her words. “How do we do things?”
“We fight.”