9. Finn
Chapter 9
Finn
When I reach Riley’s apartment, I zip into the alley behind the flower shop and race up the steps to her second-floor walk-up two at a time, all the while scanning the pavement below for anything suspicious.
Those thugs followed me into Chinatown. Who’s to say they aren’t still watching? I could lead them straight to Riley. Still, she’s safer with me than on her own. Besides, the cleanup crew I ordered is on their way. If anything happens, backup should only be two streets away.
I bang my fist on her door and wait.
Riley opens the door a crack, voice flustered and surprised, like she’s not planning to let me in. “You didn’t have to come up?—”
“Move.” I push into the place, forcing her back a few steps to make way for me.
“I’m not ready yet. Just wait downstairs.” When her eyes connect with my face, she gasps. “Finn?”
I ignore her, pacing past her to scan the layout of her apartment for security flaws. A short hallway leads from her front door into a modest living room furnished with thrift store finds. A faded couch and armchair, dinged-up coffee table, a warped shelving unit holding both a television and numerous books. To my immediate left is the bathroom. Next to the bathroom, an archway leads to her kitchen.
Riley follows. “What the hell happened to you?”
Turning right, I find another doorway on the wall beside me. I glimpse a writing desk through the open door.
Directly ahead of me in the far corner of the living room is the entryway to Riley’s bedroom. The sight of her bed makes me remember the last bed I was in, and how thoughts of her turned my cock to steel?—
“Hey.” She grips my forearm. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Still drunk on adrenaline, I can barely slow my mind enough to focus on her face. Fear glimmers in her eyes. And when a movement over her shoulder snaps my head up, I understand why.
A mirror hangs on the wall between her bathroom door and the kitchen archway. My own reflection caught my eye.
I could pass for a serial killer. My butterfly knife, smudged with blood, still protrudes from my clenched hand. My lip is split. There are cuts and a fist-sized bruise on my left cheek.
A dull drumbeat pulses in the back of my skull. When my last wife saw me like this, she wanted a divorce. Who was I to think anyone—any sane, normal, wonderful person—could really love someone like me?
I swallow hard and meet Riley’s gaze. The terror residing there reminds me that I’m a horrifying monster. Always have been, and always will be.
Bitter, aimless rage flares in the pit of my chest. I don’t know why.
This is who I am all the time. So why am I so ashamed standing here in front of Riley Brennan? Doesn’t make any fucking sense.
“Finn.” She shakes my forearm a little.
“A few streets over, some guys attacked me.”
“You mean, like a mugging ? On a Sunday morning?”
“No. Premeditated.” I wince. “I need to use your bathroom.”
I stride past her. If I can just clean myself up a little, maybe I’ll calm down enough to?—
“You can’t use my bathroom.” Riley’s in front of me again, her face bright pink.
She shoves her hands to my chest to stop me. At her touch, my heart flings itself toward her fingertips. But her horrified expression chills my blood to ice.
My stomach sinks. She’s so disgusted with me she doesn’t even want me to use her sink. “Okay. Then let’s?—”
“What I mean is, you’re hurt.” Riley drops her hands, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “Sit down. I’ll clean you up.” Without another word, she disappears into her bathroom.
In the meantime, I don’t move an inch. With my chest so tight and my brain so foggy, I can’t remember which way is up. Is Riley Brennan…concerned about me?
The fact that my brain has stalled on this question, like an overheating car by the side of the road, is a headache in more ways than one.
I’m being targeted by an unknown enemy. They could be mere seconds from breaking down her door and killing us both, and I’m standing here in a daze, hyperaware of the mattress in Riley’s bedroom and this strange, sick desire I have to sink my dick inside her. Being alone together in her space with the air fragrant with her lavender scent drives me wild.
When she emerges from the bathroom carrying an old Scooby-Doo lunchbox, I try to retake control of the situation.
“There’s no time for this. The fuckers who attacked me got away.” Except for one. “We need to get to the estate.”
Riley ignores me.
She nods at the armchair behind me that’s positioned adjacent to her couch. “Sit.”
I glare. Didn’t she hear me? “We’re leaving now . Don’t be uncooperative.”
“I’m being uncooperative?” She raises her eyebrows. “It will take less than five minutes. Just sit.”
Despite my irritation, I follow Riley’s instructions. Everything in me wants to throw her over my shoulder, dump her in a cab, and head back to the estate, but the reason I don’t is because Riley reminds me so much of Bri right now, it’s arresting. My last wife was the only woman to ever patch me up, and the notion that Riley wants to knocks me on my ass.
Damn her.
“I’ve treated enough people at the shelter to handle minor injuries like these.”
I resist the urge to gape while she applies creams, balms, and bandages to my cuts and bruises.
Instead, I focus on her knees pressed together between mine. I’m sitting in the armchair, and she’s perched on the coffee table in front of me with her lunch box full of first aid supplies.
Gazing at her knees should be less erotic than gazing at her open mouth, but not when I keep imagining pushing those knees apart and giving her pussy a good taste.
She’s wearing a brightly patterned sundress to imitate her sister. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to shove my hands under the soft material and explore.
Eyes up, jackass. “What shelter?”
“The women’s shelter where I work.”
The desire to kiss her surges in me like an oncoming storm. For the first time in years, I feel my heart beating, hard and heavy, like all the cement I poured in there to numb the pain of losing Bri has begun to crack.
Time to go.
I stand without warning.
“Finn, I’m not finished?—”
“I am. Time’s up.”
My expression must be rough because surprise mingles with fear in Riley’s upturned eyes.
Good. You should be afraid. Her terror will protect her from my darkness. My disappointment converts to angry satisfaction.
Her proximity, skillfulness, and compassion are toxic to me. They transform me into a wolf, fighting an animal instinct to pounce and feast on her goodness like I haven’t had a meal in years. Entangling myself any further with Riley will only snuff out her light.
“But—”
“Get your ass downstairs in the next five minutes, or I’ll make you.”
She narrows her eyes. “Is that any way to speak to your sister-in-law?”
God, this woman frustrates the fuck out of me.
I snatch her chin between my thumb and forefinger and force her face up, so that her startled eyes lock onto mine. “Talk back to me one more time, and I can’t be held responsible for what I’ll do to you.” The words pass my lips in a gritty growl.
My threat proves effective. She doesn’t say another word to me in the minutes that stretch from our leaving her apartment and our arrival back at the estate.
Finally. A threat that shuts her up.
I can focus on the task at hand. Riley, dressed as Harper, will see and be seen around the mansion to keep up appearances while I go talk to Shane and Thomas about the attack.
I’m honestly not sure which of us has the harder task.
The cab drops us off and we use the estate’s pedestrian entrance. The moment we pass through the mansion’s front door, Riley and I part ways.
Apparently, another one of her strengths is the silent treatment. If she wants to, Riley Brennan knows how to act as though I don’t exist. While she’ll be safer that way, I still have to bite back my annoyance as I march up the grand staircase to the second floor.
Forcing her out of my mind, I knock on my father’s door.
Shane Gallagher’s private office is stately, outfitted in dark wood and plush brown leather. The sort of place that’s impossible to get comfortable in. Every time I enter, I can’t wait to leave. But Dad must not have a problem with the décor since it’s been like this for as long as I can remember.
He doesn’t smile much, even when he likes someone. He’s pensive and stern, but I know he loves me. And in this line of work, love is rare. Aside from the fact he’s my dad, I owe him my life and my allegiance, among many other things, and I hate to bring him bad news.
He situates a cigar between his teeth, staring hard at my bruised-up face. “Rough first night together?”
“Funny.” Especially when you know she’s not my real wife. “I was attacked this morning. Four assailants. Killed one, wounded another. They took off before I got any information out of them, but I have reason to believe they targeted me. They moved in at the perfect moment, and they weren’t muggers. They didn’t take anything.”
Dad wastes nothing. Not time, not words, and certainly not money.
He goes for the jugular with his first guess. “De Lucas?”
The scar bisecting my face throbs at the mention of that name, like the ghost of the man who gave it to me is being summoned from the grave.
I swallow hard but shake my head. “Couldn’t have been. The guys weren’t Italian.”
“You’re sure?”
“One of them had the Celtic cross on his forearm.”
“Irishmen?” This clearly stumps Dad, same as me.
Mob enforcers do all manner of grisly jobs, which means our enemies are sometimes numerous. However, having a petty grudge against me isn’t enough motivation for someone to go up against the Kings. They would know attacking me means retaliation from one of the most powerful families in the city.
“I’ll put out some feelers.” He sets the cigar in an antique silver ashtray. “If there’s a bounty on your head, I’ll find out. For now, watch your back. And your… wife .”
I swear there’s a twinkle in his eye when he says that last word.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Don’t fucking remind me.
My father has good intentions, but his meaning lands like an anvil. I don’t need any reminders about what happened to Bri. With the ridiculous way I’ve been acting around Riley, though, I do need a reminder that I’m a dead man walking.
The curse of my gruesome past haunts me. I’ve removed myself from any hopes of future relationships or marriages because I know the truth. Any woman who comes into my life will be doomed to the same danger I court, day after day. I’ve escaped dying many times, but in the end, death will have its vengeance. On me, and on any person who gets too close.
I don’t want this for anyone. Not Harper, and not Riley. Their entanglement with me just puts them in more danger.
After Dad dismisses me, I exit his office, turn right, and head down the hall. Standard procedure stipulates that if you call a crew to clean up an unauthorized kill, you report on the circumstances to Thomas Brennan.
Even without this morning’s little workout, he’s a man I need to see. About the matter of my runaway bride.
When I enter, Thomas sits behind his desk, visibly worn out from yesterday’s events.
He takes one look at me and narrows his eyes, motioning with a meaty hand. “Your face?”
“I called the crew to pick up the guy who did this.”
“Rando?”
“No. The attack was coordinated. Three others. Irish. Dad’s looking into it.”
Thomas listens with disinterest before dismissing me with a wave of his fingers. While nothing would give me greater pleasure than leaving, I don’t move a muscle.
“Any news about Harper?”
His expression darkens, harshening his already grim features. “Not yet.”
Thomas passes those two little words like kidney stones. Clearly, Harper’s disappearance has him rattled.
“Maybe she got cold feet.”
“Maybe.” His fingers curl into a fist as he drops his hand hard on the tabletop in anger, grumbling to himself. “If I find out the little bitch stepped out on us with some Italian scum…”
Good thing Thomas isn’t in the running for Father of the Year, because he would’ve just blown it.
On that morbid note, I take my leave.
Back outside in the hallway, anger seeps through my blood like poison. The words of Thomas Brennan brought to mind other disgusting things people have said over the years, words I’ve tried to forget.
Did you hear about Shane Gallagher’s son? He’s marrying a Diamond girl. One of those whores.
I ball my fingers into a fist and squeeze until my knuckles ache.
Out of habit, I stride to the end of the hallway and duck into an alcove by the high window overlooking the garden grounds.
This used to be her favorite spot in the whole house…
My world once revolved around Brianne Vandercluft, and I still remember everything about her. When we met, she was a Columbia medical student by day and a private dancer by night, working odd hours at The Diamond Club.
Back then, Thomas loaned me out as a bodyguard for big clients, and I ran into her often. She wasn’t like the other women who worked there. Her goals in life, and the places she truly belonged, were worlds away from the glitzy debauchery of the Manhattan strip club scene. Anyone with eyes could see that.
I stumbled upon the secret of her double life entirely by chance.
From the moment I learned who she was, I couldn’t keep her off my mind. She was the runaway daughter of a soul-killing, old money, New York socialite family. As soon as she could, she cut ties with them and tried to fend for herself. After struggling for a while, she fell into escorting in order to support herself.
By the time we met, she had started the process of putting herself through school.
She captivated me. For both of us, despite our different backgrounds, growing up entailed so much suffering. Having someone as wonderful as her walking a path in life that intersected with mine made me feel like I’d hit the jackpot.
And yet, so many others just saw another dumb enforcer mixing business with pleasure by fulfilling some sex-fueled fantasy of marrying a stripper. How many times had I almost broken my knuckles on the faces of the motherfuckers who insulted her with their two-bit assumptions?
Visions of the life we lived together stalk me down the corridor toward the grand staircase.
I’ve only met Bri’s parents twice in my life, and on both occasions, they treated me like a disease that would—and eventually did—kill their daughter. They never approved of me. What loving parent could? Brianne was too special for a person like me. And if I hadn’t been such a prick…
The more my thoughts snowball, the heavier my feet fall on these oversized steps. If I’d just accepted from the beginning that we didn’t belong together, if I’d just listened to the protests of everyone around us, Bri would be alive.
But no . Because of the godforsaken chemical imbalance known as love, I thought I knew better, that no one understood what we shared. I actually believed there was something different about us. But we were just like every other couple who gets married thinking, love will keep our marriage alive.
And look what happened. Not only could love not save our marriage…for all the so-called love I had for Bri, I couldn’t even save her life.
No, I’ll never love anyone again. No woman deserves the death sentence of my affections. Most days, I keep her wedding band in my pocket to remind myself of that. A small, devastating memento of everything that can be lost if I’m not careful.
Bri was the best person I’ve ever known. She had grit and courage. Her strength and adaptability had seen her through countless dark times. If anyone could love me or fit themselves into the craziness of the Gallagher world, it would have been her. She gave us her best shot, but she never fit in here. And even if she loved me at first, by the end, all of that was gone.
Riley’s face flashes in my mind. Shit. She and I need to make our exit soon so I can ensure she gets to work on time.
I’ve reached the first floor. When we arrived, I think she headed toward the kitchen. Laughter stops me in my tracks.
It’s coming from the dining room. And it sounds like my friends.
Another voice is layered in among theirs. I don’t recognize the speaker until I drift into the room and see her for myself.
Wading into the room, surprise and irritation needle me. All my conversations with her devolve into silent nothing or a fight, yet Riley’s fallen into an easy rhythm with Rory and Darren.
My jaw goes rigid, teeth clamping together.
What the hell are Darren and Rory doing with those easy smiles on their faces, making eyes at someone else’s fake wife? Someone needs to teach them some fucking manners.
“Finn.” Riley spots me first, and I don’t miss the way the bright grin melts off her face the moment our eyes meet.
Don’t tell me one of my fucking friends is her type .
Fury swallows my spine, making all the muscles in my torso stiffen and bristle.
“We were just telling your bride here that marriage looks good on her.” Rory’s shit-eating grin kicks up a notch.
I focus on Riley’s unreadable face. “Well, stop telling her. We’re going to be late.”
“Where you off to?” Darren messes with some kind of battery-looking thing on the table. Knowing him, it’s probably a bomb.
“None of your damn business.”
“Our first date night as a married couple.” Riley’s cheeks pinken as the lie rolls of her tongue.
The moment we’re alone in the hallway that leads to the garage, I whip back to confront her. I spin so quickly, she walks straight into my arms. She pushes herself away from me as if I’m contagious, which only serves to piss me off more.
“What the hell?” Her blue eyes spark with anger.
“That’s what I was about to ask you.”
“What?” Her eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “Why?”
I grit my teeth. “What was that back there?”
“Uh, me pretending to be my sister?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “What do you think?”
“I think you were flirting with them.”
“I was not!” She’s so loud, I have to glance around to make sure no one heard her yell.
I push her into the wall with my palm over her mouth. “You’re going to blow your cover.”
Her fingernails claw into my forearm as she rips my hand away from her face. “I told you not to touch me.”
The heat of my anger weighs down my limbs as Riley and I trade glares. “I don’t want a rumor going around that my wife is easy.”
If her eyes were hot pokers, she’d run me through.
“Newsflash, Finn. Your wife isn’t easy. She’s MIA .” She drops her hands to her hips. “And you’re going to have the same problem with me if you keep acting like this.”
Exhaling hard, I close my eyes a second and try to wring the irritation out of my tone. “Okay. I may have…overreacted a little.”
The angry heat in Riley’s expression doesn’t cool off. Not even one degree.
I swallow, shifting my weight. “Look. Relax . You’re taking this too seriously.”
Her fiery eyes widen and then narrow. Shoving past me, she storms into the barn-sized garage.
Vaulted ceilings, recessed lighting, and casement skylight windows hover overhead. Instead of stables, sleek cars and motorcycles line the walls. Riley marches into the heart of the room like she knows exactly which car we’re taking. When I grab the key and an Audi A4 chirps behind her, she pivots and stomps in the opposite direction.
The sight is comical enough that I almost laugh, but there’s nothing funny about the way Riley summons my emotions. There’s nothing funny about the way her presence erodes my self control.
When we were in the back of that limo, headed home from the reception…it was a total accident. A simple bump in the road shifted our proximity. That’s all. So why do I feel like, ever since that moment, the near-constant weight in my chest has been redistributed?
It’s just lust. That thought alone calms me as I lower myself into the driver’s seat and turn the engine over. You need to get laid so bad, you’re thinking with your dick.
When Brianne left my life, sex did too.
Everything appealing about getting naked with someone and acting like an animal flatlined for me years ago. I’m a big enough monster as it is. I don’t need to become the kind that gets his wife killed and then turns around and gets off with other women.
I hate thinking about sex. But apparently my mental resolve and my body’s desires aren’t the same anymore. Technically, I am…deprived. Years of celibacy will do that to a man. Touch feeds me the most in my relationships with women, and in the absence of both, my body has gone hungry, starving for years.
I’ve been thrown together with a woman for the first time in three years. And now I keep searching for excuses to touch her.
Just holding her while we danced made me hard. And when she fell half naked into my lap? I came unglued.
Riley single-handedly resurrected my libido.
I suck in a breath when her lavendar scent floats over and up my nose. She’s running a brush through her long blond waves.
Resisting the urge to watch her like some sort of creeper, I focus on the road and switch lanes as we wind through the streets back toward her side of town.
In my periphery, she puts her hair in a ponytail.
Riley’s pushed herself so far away from me in the passenger seat, that if someone opened her door from the outside, she’d fall out onto the pavement. That’s how little she wants to be near me.
I want her to stop moving around. When she’s still, I can almost convince myself she’s not here. But the joke’s on me because she soon starts removing her makeup and reapplying it.
Her adaptability fascinates me.
Question after question pops to mind and dies there, never to be spoken.
Have you done this before? Have you filled in for Harper any other times? Why’d you leave the Gallaghers? Why did you agree to be my fake wife? Why do you work at a shelter?
Riley points to a squat one-story building, pressed up tight to the curb.
“Over there is fine.” Those are the only words she’s spoken to me since our little chat in the hallway earlier.
Part of me is impressed. Yesterday, I made her cry. Today, I’ve pissed her off to the point of her giving me the silent treatment. Twice.
I dip out of the lane into a loading zone space so she can hop out.
“What about?—”
“Text me. We’ll figure out a schedule.” Riley, already out of the car and closing the door, throws the words over her shoulder.
It’s my fault. I deserve her chilly treatment and much worse, but still...annoyance jimmies at my spine.
Riley breaks my focus, jogging straight through my sight line toward the women’s shelter.
Through the car’s tinted windows, I glimpse her interaction with the colleague who opens the door. Even from this distance, I can tell she’s a completely different person around people she’s comfortable with.
And the fact that I’m even one percent interested in who she smiles at—a woman who’s not my intended, a woman who will vanish from my life as soon as her sister returns — is a very serious problem.
From now on, I’m going to keep my guard up around Riley Brennan, the woman who saves all her frowns and silence for me.
It’s the only way to keep us both safe. This morning, I didn’t want us to be enemies, but I was wrong. This way is far better. Enemies know to be wary of each other.
Besides, a cordial relationship between us isn’t possible.
Not when she makes my cock this hungry.