13. Chapter 13 Finn
Chapter 13: Finn
I 'd thought I was dead as I lay there in the dirt choking on my own blood. But I'd survived. My body beaten and lacerated, but I’d gone straight to Declan Maguire. I needed answers. Needed to know what the fuck had happened, and what we were going to do to get Cara back.
Declan seemed surprised to see me. As I stood there in Declan's study, my hands clenched into fists at my sides and my jaw aching from how hard I was grinding my teeth, I realized with a sinking feeling that I wasn't going to get any fucking answers at all.
"The fuck do you mean, we're not going after her?" I demanded, my voice a low, dangerous growl. "She's your fucking daughter, Declan. Your flesh and blood. How can you just leave her with those animals?"
Declan sighed, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers in front of him. He looked tired, I noticed distantly. Tired and old and so fucking weak, nothing like the fearsome boss I'd grown up believing him to be.
"It's complicated, Finn," he said, his voice heavy with a weariness that set my teeth on edge. "The Sokolovs... they're not just some random thugs. They have power, influence. Connections that run deep in the bratva. If we go after them, if we start a war over this... it could be the end of us."
I stared at him, my brain struggling to process the absolute bullshit coming out of his mouth. "The end of us? Are you fucking kidding me? What about the end of Cara? What about what those sick fucks are doing to her right now, while we stand here with our thumbs up our asses?"
Declan's face hardened, his eyes going flat and cold. "Watch your tone, boy. You forget who you're talking to."
"No, I know exactly who I'm talking to." I stepped forward, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. "I'm talking to a coward. A pathetic, weak-willed old man who's willing to sacrifice his own daughter to save his own skin."
Declan surged to his feet, his face flushing an ugly red. "You shut your fucking mouth, Finn. You have no idea what you're talking about. No idea the sacrifices I've made, the deals I've brokered, to keep this family safe. To keep Cara safe."
"Safe?" I laughed, the sound harsh and jagged in my throat. "Is that what you call it? Handing her over to a bunch of sadistic rapists.”
Declan's nostrils flared, his fists clenching on the desk in front of him. "I did what I had to do. What was necessary, to prevent a war we couldn't win. The Sokolovs... they would have destroyed us, Finn. Wiped us off the face of the fucking earth, and Cara along with us. At least this way, she has a chance."
"A chance?" I shook my head, a bitter, incredulous smile tugging at my lips. "A chance at what, exactly? A chance to be raped and tortured over and over again until there's nothing left of her?" My voice broke on the last word, the images in my head too horrific to contemplate.
Something in me snapped. Cara, was not going to be lost to me forever, just because her own father was too much of a fucking coward to fight for her. I reached for the knife at my belt, the one Cara had given me for my birthday last year. The one she'd had engraved with the words " My shield, my strength." Declan managed to get one shout out for help, before I lunged. In one smooth motion, I drew the blade across Declan Maguire's throat.
For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. Declan's eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open in shock as a thin red line bloomed on the pale skin of his neck. Then the blood came, a vivid crimson gush that sprayed across the desk, the walls, my face and hands.
Declan made a sort of gurgling noise, his hands coming up to clutch at his ruined throat. The life already fading from his eyes as he slumped back in his chair. I stood there, breathing hard, the knife still clutched in my fist. I felt curiously numb, detached, but beneath that numbness, I could feel something else growing. Something hot and bright and fierce, a rage so pure it was almost holy.
Declan Maguire was dead. The man who had been my boss, my mentor, my fucking surrogate father for as long as I could remember... was nothing more than a cooling slab of meat, his lifeblood staining the plush carpet of his study.
And I had killed him.
Dimly, I became aware of shouts and pounding footsteps in the hallway outside. Declan's men.
The door burst open and half a dozen soldiers spilled into the room. They took one look at the scene in front of them - Declan slumped in his chair, his throat a gaping ruin, and me standing over him with a bloody knife - and went still.
"What..." One of them, a grizzled veteran named Seamus, stepped forward, his gun wavering slightly. "What the fuck have you done, Finn?"
"What I had to do." I said, my voice steady. I turned to face the men, my shoulders squared and my chin high. "Declan Maguire is dead. Cara is now our Queen. So, we’re going to war, lads; and we’re not going to stop until every last one of those Russian bastards is dead or wishing they were."
For a heartbeat, there was silence. The men stared at me, their expressions unreadable. I could see the gears turning behind their eyes. And then, as one, they lowered their guns. Lowered their heads, in a gesture of respect.
"What are your orders?" Seamus asked, his voice gruff but unwavering. "Where do we start?"
I felt a slow, savage smile curve my lips. The rage was still there, burning in my gut like a banked fire. But now it was tempered by something else, something colder and harder and infinitely more dangerous.
Purpose. The sort of pure, unadulterated purpose that came with the knowledge that you were doing what you were born to do. What you would gladly die to do, if that's what it took.
"We start," I said softly, "by painting the streets red with Sokolov blood. And we don't stop until Cara is back in my arms, and every last one of those animals is rotting in the ground."
The men nodded, their faces grim and determined. They knew what was at stake. Still, they were with me. Ready to follow me into hell and back, if that's what it took to save my girl. Our Irish Queen.