Chapter 11 Caroline
CAROLINE
My mouth tastes like cotton. My pillowcase is damp, probably from drool. My head hurts so much the light feels like it has a personal vendetta against me and it’s stabbing me directly in the eyes. I groan, roll over, and look around blearily.
There’s a glass of water on the nightstand. I don’t know where it came from but I gratefully chug it down. I almost knock over two Advil, but manage to swallow those too. I curl into the fetal position and try not to think, because thinking hurts, but sleep’s not coming again anytime soon.
Something feels odd on my hand. I peer at it through sticky eyelids and frown at the ring. Since when did I start wearing a wedding band?
The day before slowly floods back and I groan.
I got married. That really happened. I said the vows in front of my family and the most powerful people in the city. I’m really hitched to Finn Whelan for the rest of my life.
Except his offer…
I shiver, refusing to think about it. I don’t want to remember the pool. I don’t want to think about the bottle of prosecco, because if I think about the alcohol, I’m going to want to puke, and…
I rush into the bathroom and just barely make it in time. I’m sweating, back arched, yakking into the toilet when I sense someone standing nearby.
Finn’s looking down at me with an amused smile. He’s in jeans, boots, and a tight gray shirt that shows off his muscular forearms. I’d enjoy staring at those arms if I weren’t so deeply mortified.
“How are you feeling today?”
I groan and flush the toilet. “Please, no talk.”
“Why not?”
“Noise bad.”
“You’re so hungover you’re talking like a caveman.”
“Me no think.”
He casually tosses me a hand towel. “Clean yourself up, brush your teeth, and take some more Advil.” He pops two pills from a container in the bottom drawer. “You’re coming with me.”
I don’t have time to argue. There’s no more puke, thankfully, but I’m feeling like a dried-out sponge.
I take the Advil for a second time and hope it stays down.
I suck water straight from the sink spigot.
I head back to bed, because obviously my psychotic husband didn’t actually think I was going to leave the house—
Except I find clothes laid out for me. And the sheets, blankets, and pillows are gone.
What the hell?
I could scream. I could also cry. This is so beyond crossing the line. But I don’t have the energy for any of that, and I’m still in my underwear. I pull on a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt before I shuffle to the steps like a zombie, intent on parking myself on the couch for the rest of the day.
Finn eyes me carefully as I lurch into the main room. “Feeling better?”
“No.” I move to storm the couch, but he steps in my way. “Please move.”
“You need food and coffee.”
I squint at him. “That’s true.”
“Nothing else is going to make you feel better. There’s a diner not far from here I really like. We’ll sit in a corner booth. You’ll start to feel human by the time we’re finished.”
I frown and look longingly at the couch. The glorious, beautiful couch. Nothing looks more perfect in all the world.
He’s got a point though. I haven’t been this hungover ever in my entire life, but lying around the apartment isn’t going to make me feel better.
“Fine. Food and coffee. But I’m not going far.” I don’t add that I’m pretty sure I’ll puke if it’s a long trip.
Finn ushers me outside. It’s a cool, beautiful morning.
There’s already a car waiting for us at the curb like he knew I was going to give in.
Or like he was going to drag me out whether I liked it or not.
The car takes us to a diner called Nino’s and I barely make it to one of those super bouncy seats.
The coffee is hot, strong, and the waitress refills it without me having to ask.
Finn orders eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, French toast, and waffles.
We don’t speak, which is good, because I don’t have the brain power to form coherent thoughts at the moment.
Eating and drinking helps. Not a lot, but some. Finn picks at the bacon but mostly watches me curiously. I try my best to ignore him, but I keep thinking about throwing an empty bottle at his head. A part of me wishes I had been sober enough to brain him. It’s just my luck that I missed.
“Are we going to talk about it?” he asks finally like he’s bringing up the weather.
I slowly put down my fork. “I was hoping we wouldn’t.”
“You can’t avoid it forever.”
“I was really hoping last night was a bad dream.”
He leans forward. “Do you feel like it was just a dream?”
“No,” I mutter, stabbing more eggs and shoving them into my mouth. The food is mediocre, but it’s plentiful and greasy, which is exactly what I need right now. “Why are you doing this to me?”
He laughs like he’s honestly surprised. “Because we’re one and the same.”
“Bullshit.”
“You know that’s true. Look at yourself. Look at me. I know how you got those scars, and you know how I got mine.”
I study him, frowning. My head’s throbbing, but it’s not as bad.
The Advil’s kicking in for sure. I drink coffee, trying to think of how to answer that.
But instead, another memory flits to the surface, only a flash of it.
Shane holding me by the hair, shoving my face into snow, laughing as he does it.
Mouthy bitch got me in trouble. I shake my head to get rid of it, but I swear I can still feel ice up my nose.
“Let’s say that’s true. Why the hell would I let you hurt my family? Why wouldn’t I just call the cops?”
“Because you’re going to help me.”
“No, I’m not.” I stare at him, bewildered. I wish I didn’t feel so terrible. “Stop being stupid. This is crazy.”
“It’s really not.” He tilts his head, lips pressed together in thought. “At first, I wanted to find out how I could use you. I wanted to see how I could hurt you. I figured, since we were getting married, I might as well start with the most convenient member of the Flanagan family.”
I blink rapidly. “That’s why you hired me?”
“I had some ideas. I considered drowning you slowly in a bathtub. Or tying you up in the kitchen and cutting you until you bled to death. Not very creative, I know.”
My heart races and I drop my fork. “Are you joking? It’s not funny.”
“But then I realized you must hate them as much as I do. Why punish someone who’s just like me? There’s no justice in that.”
I shake my head rapidly. “Justice? This isn’t justice. This is a nightmare.”
“They deserve it, Caroline. You know they do.” He leans in closer. “How did you get those scars?”
I open my mouth. I want to tell him to mind his own fucking business, but my mother’s face comes to mind, the way her lips twitched when I tried to get her to talk about this exact thing yesterday. How she’s never been able to admit it.
But I’m just as bad.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I look down at my plate. Soggy toast floats in runny eggs. My stomach lurches and I push it away. I drink the coffee to try to wash the sour taste from my mouth. It doesn’t help.
“We’ll do it together. One at a time. They’ll suffer the way you suffered, and in the end, I’ll give you freedom, true freedom. Your family won’t be around to hurt you anymore. You can have a life, Caroline.”
I swallow hard. My chest aches, my head throbs, and my stomach twists. I shouldn’t have had that second waffle. I cradle the coffee in both hands, not looking at him, but intensely aware that he’s looking at me.
“How would it work?” I ask very softly, in a very small voice, like if I’m quiet and tiny then it’s not real, then I’m not entertaining the idea of murdering my own brothers.
“I have plans. I’ll need your expertise, but I’ll take care of the dirty work. Unless you’re interested?”
I almost gag and quickly shake my head. “No.”
“Suit yourself. We take care of them one after the other. By the time anyone understands what’s happening, it’ll be too late. We’ll do your father last, just to make sure he knows he lost all of his precious boys before meeting his own end. Then you’re free to go.”
“Just like that? We do five murders and we get away with it?”
“I’m a Whelan, darling.”
“I told you not to call me that.”
“The police won’t be a problem.”
“What about your brother? Won’t he be unhappy when his allies are suddenly gone?”
Finn shrugs slightly. “He’ll get over it. Help me kill your father and your brothers. We can do this, Caroline.”
I feel disgusting. Something must be wrong with me. Another flash of memory: Dermot’s fist around my throat as Redmond’s belt rips into the skin on my back. The fuck you crying for? It’s only a game. You’re so fucking soft.
I curl into myself. I pull my knees up and hold my coffee cup tightly. I can’t seriously be considering this. “I want two things, aside from the divorce and the apartment.”
“Anything.” He sounds eager. His eyes are bright with excitement.
“First, we leave my mother out of it.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s a hard line. We don’t touch her.”
“Fine.” He waves a hand. “She’s not relevant to me.”
“Second, I want you to tell me why you’re doing this. Why you’re really doing it.”
His face changes slightly. The malice in his expression is horrifying. It must always be there, lurking behind the confident and nonchalant smiles, but seeing him utterly unmasked, even for just a brief second, really freaks me out. I nearly spill coffee down my front.
“I’m the youngest of my four brothers. When I came along, my parents were done with kids. They didn’t have time for me growing up. When I was ten, Dad sent me to a summer camp in Hudson Valley, and guess who has a beautiful, sprawling house in the countryside right near there?”
A shiver runs down my spine. I picture a long gravel road, lots of wild fields, a lovely forest with a brook through the back, and an incredible house filled with anger and spite. “I didn’t know that.”
“Every summer for five years, I stayed with your family. My father wanted your father to take care of me, teach me about our organization, and help me grow into a productive member of the Famiglia. You can probably guess what happened instead.”
I can’t meet his eyes. “My brothers were there, weren’t they?”
“I’m about Dermot’s age. It was all just boys being boys.”
“Oh, god.”
“I’d bet anything your siblings learned their craft on me and perfected it on you.”
I have to cover my face with one hand. I’m breathing fast and I can barely think. The air feels like lead in my lungs. The coffee is bitter and ugly. I put down the cup and hug my knees tightly, struggling to keep from crying, because if I start crying, I might start puking too.
He leans closer. His smile is back and now it seems sympathetic. “That’s why I want to kill them. For what they did to me. And that’s why I know you’ll help me. Because they did it to you, too, but you didn’t leave after the summer was over. No, you’ve been there your whole damn life.”
I bite my lower lip. I want to scream and cry. Sickness swells in me. A black, ugly bile in my soul. The scars go so much deeper than my skin. They crisscross my mind and ravage every piece of me.
The waitress comes over. She’s got blonde hair and looks at me curiously. But if she knows there’s a storm raging inside, she doesn’t mention it. All she does is refill our coffees and drop off the check.
When she’s gone, I struggle to compose myself. Finn’s patient. He’s almost kind. But I doubt he’s really got much humanity left.
Not if my brothers treated him even half as bad as they treated me.
“I’ll help,” I whisper, and this is wrong, so deeply wrong. I should be afraid of staining myself with murder, but if there’s a God in heaven, he’s been ignoring my desperate prayers for years. I doubt he’ll notice me now.
“Good.” He nods like we’re finishing up a business transaction. And maybe to a man like him, that’s exactly what we’re doing. “We’ll start planning tomorrow. I think you need a day to recover.”
I’m trembling, but not from the hangover. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“Just think about the hell they put you through and you won’t worry so much. Trust me, finish that coffee, and by the time we’re outside, you’ll feel better.”
He pays up front. I watch him make small talk with the fair-haired waitress.
He makes her laugh, and I don’t know how he does it, how he can go from planning the murder of five men to cracking jokes.
But that’s Finn, hiding behind lightness, softening the horror inside of him with a smile.
I study the way he moves, how easily he swipes his fingers through his hair, the effortless way he scans the crowd with that confident, knowing smirk.
The man oozes strength. His eyes meet mine, and his grin widens, which sends another trickle of excitement down my spine.
My brothers deserve what they get.
So does my father. Him most of all.
I know it’s true, and maybe I can live with myself if I try to be more like Finn. Maybe I can cover the darkness in me, just like he does.
I try to smile. It doesn’t feel wrong. I grin, sitting up straight, letting myself relax. He seems amused as he gestures for me to join him. I down my coffee and get to my feet. I glide across the diner, all lightness and joy.
“Ready to go home, wife?” he asks, casually putting his arm around my shoulders.
I should shrug him off, but I don’t. I like the way it feels. “Sounds good, husband.”
We step outside into the bright morning light together.
Despite the hangover, I feel better than I have in a very long time.