Chapter 27 Finn
FINN
Iyank the ski mask over my face. Liam casually straps on a bulletproof vest and pulls on a hoodie. He glances at me and laughs. “You look fucking stupid.”
“Shut up, idiot.” I shove his mask into his hands. “Put it on.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He yanks it over his face and strikes a pose. “I bet it makes me look dashing.”
I decide to ignore him as I do one last check of my gear. Rifle, pistol, grenades, extra ammo, ceramic-plated vest, and black bags for grabbing loot.
The van hits a pothole and I almost lose my balance. “Sorry!” Caroline says from the driver’s seat. “I’m not used to this big thing.” She keeps her eyes on the road as I exchange a look with Liam. He shrugs, unconcerned, and I shuffle forward so I can talk to her in a low voice.
“You sure you’re good with this?”
“My job’s easy.” She glances at me in the rearview. “Seriously, I’ll be fine.”
“When we come out, don’t hesitate. The second we’re in the back—”
“I know, I know. Drive like crazy out of the city. We’ll keep a low profile for a few days.”
“My family already knows we’re taking a trip. As far as they’re concerned, I checked into the hotel an hour ago. There are several well-paid employees who will say they saw us enter our room.”
“What’s my alibi?” Liam asks with a frown.
“You’re carrying our bags,” I say.
He laughs and nods to himself. “I like it.”
“Seriously, focus up. The second Caroline stops at the poker house, we’re going straight in. You know the plan?”
“I’m on it.” Liam slams a magazine into his rifle and pulls the slide to load a round in the chamber. “Locked and loaded.”
I sigh and sit back. We’re two minutes away. I don’t like the way this is coming together, but I have to admit, the plan’s solid. Only I wish we had more time to prepare.
A lot can go wrong tonight. Liam says there isn’t too much security at these events, but he’s going off second-hand information.
Even though Liam’s good at his job, people aren’t always perfectly reliable.
If there are more soldiers tonight than usual, or if just one little random stupid mistake happens, this can all blow up fast.
There’s one target though. Dermot Flanagan.
That sadistic prick. I rub my wrists where I still have old, faded scars from when he tied me up with old LAN cables and left me in the basement for ten hours.
I swear, a mouse crawled over my face in the dark.
I still fucking hate rodents to this day because of him.
I screamed myself hoarse and nearly sawed my own hands off trying to escape.
In the end, he let me out himself, laughing like it was some big hilarious joke the whole time.
I keep that night centered in my heart. That’s the reason I’m doing this. Every time my resolve slips, I go back to those days.
They deserve what they’re getting.
But that’s not really my problem.
I watch Caroline drive. She’s locked in and ready. I love the way she concentrates with her entire body. This is the right thing, getting revenge, but did I need to drag her down with me?
She was innocent before me. She says she was always like this, but that’s hard to believe. I’m turning her into something vicious.
A monster just like me.
“Time to go,” she says, pulling the van to a sudden stop.
“Be careful.” I pull my mask up, lean over, and kiss her hard. She kisses me back.
“You too. Don’t get hurt.”
“I’ll be careful too, don’t worry,” Liam says, throwing the back doors open and jumping out.
I give her one last look before following.
She stays where she is. If another car comes, she’ll circle the block and park again. If we come out and she’s not here, we’ll run north and she’ll pick us up on the way. That’s the idea, anyway.
I push her from my mind and follow Liam.
The building looks abandoned. The windows are boarded and covered in graffiti.
But the bars look brand new and I swear there’s a small camera perched under a window sill looking down at the stoop.
The front door looks new and it’s definitely one of those special heavy reinforced security models.
Which doesn’t matter, because Liam straps a black canister to the frame beside the handle, yanks off the top, and backs away.
I crouch, gun raised, as the grenade goes off.
The door slams inward. Wood splinters and dust patters down around our feet as I storm forward into a shockingly nice foyer.
The floor is hardwood, and decent paintings are hanging on the walls.
There are crystal glasses on a side table, all of them filled with champagne.
A mirror’s broken into a dozen big shards.
A man steps forward. He’s burly, wearing black, one arm over his face and the other slowly raising a gun. “Drop it! Down on the ground!” I scream at him, but he doesn’t react. I pull the trigger and my rifle bucks, hitting him straight in the chest.
The security man grunts and goes down. Blood bursts from the holes in his chest. I kick him in the face, knocking him sideways, and Liam’s right behind me as we storm into a large, wide-open back room.
At some point, whoever bought these houses must’ve gutted the insides and ripped down their interior walls.
Instead of a narrow single row home, it looks like at least four of them have been stitched together.
The place looks like a Las Vegas casino filled with card tables, waitresses, bodyguards, bouncers, men lounging around big TVs, and women draped in their laps looking bored.
I’m shocked for a split second as I scan the faces, trying to find Dermot, but there are too many people.
“Everyone on the fucking floor!” Liam yells, shooting at the ceiling.
Girls scream. Bodies drop down. Other people fall out of their chairs trying to run.
The place erupts into total chaos. Fuck, this is bad, this is really, really bad.
Liam’s yelling at people to calm down, waving his gun around, and I’m desperately trying to find Dermot.
All I need to do is spot him, take a few wild shots, and make sure one catches him in the head. That’s all we’re here for.
Gunfire erupts from somewhere at the far end of the room.
There’s more screaming. Two waitresses go down, both riddled with bullets.
Liam kicks a table over, gets behind it, and very casually returns fire.
He’s shockingly calm under pressure. More people stampede nearby, several poker players trying to rush past me toward the door.
No Dermot. No fucking Dermot.
“Gotta move,” I shout at Liam. “He’s not here!”
“Look around. I got this.” Liam’s grinning as he shoots. At the far end of the room, more soldiers are piling through a back entrance. I count four, six, twelve, and more.
This is all wrong. There shouldn’t be that much muscle. The organizers specifically don’t allow soldiers hanging around during the games. They provide security, and it’s usually on the light side.
I fling myself sideways. Bullets rip the air around me as I desperately look for Dermot.
One idiot tries to hit me with a chair but I shoot him in the face.
His brains explode backwards, splattering a girl behind him.
She stands, frozen, sobbing. I knock her down, mostly to keep her from getting her head blown off.
More guys try to get away, crawling like slugs. Several are huddled under a table.
No Dermot.
I kick my way through, but the muscle’s starting to push forward as the crowd thins.
We’ve been lucky so far. They’re actively trying not to kill anyone, even though they’re doing a bad job of it.
Otherwise, they would’ve rushed us and we’d be dead already.
I kneel, fire, take down two armed soldiers, but more are coming behind them.
And that’s when I see him, standing in the middle of their protective cordon, grinning and shouting orders like a conductor in front of his orchestra.
“Motherfucker!” I scream and fire, but his soldiers get in the way. I only caught a glance though, but I’m positive it was him. I hurry back, falling away as the attackers return fire, and end up pinned down beside Liam.
“What’s the plan, boss?”
“He’s here.” I unclip a grenade from my belt. “Dermot’s here. He’s with the shooters.”
Liam grabs my arm. “He was waiting for us. This is a fucking trap.”
“I don’t care.” I taste dank, humid basement air. I feel the mouse scurrying around my body. My pants are wet from piss and my arms are wet with blood. “He’s dead.”
“Finn, damn it—”
I throw the grenade. It goes off a second later.
Bodies break to pieces and there’s more screaming as I jump the table and start shooting.
I’m killing, killing, a death god in his element, mowing down shooters like they’re straw targets.
Blood, bones, brain matter, and body gristle splatters the walls and drenches the floor in slick gore.
I scream, kicking one man in the face, bashing another with the butt of my rifle.
I reload, shoot a third point blank, struggling to find Dermot—
Something sharp and painful rips into my shoulder.
Another punches into my chest. I gasp, staggering back.
Another smashes my stomach, knocking the wind from me.
I see him twenty feet away, teeth showing in a snarl, and I try to raise my gun, but my body’s not responding.
Blood pours down my forearm, soaks my fingers, and makes the trigger slick.
There’s something wrong with my muscles. I can’t make them work.
“Come on! Run!” Liam grabs me back as bullets scream in the air. I stagger against him, the rifle falling from my numb grip. I try to pull my pistol but I can’t make my hand function.
We scramble over corpses. Liam throws another grenade over his shoulder.
It goes off, but I doubt it kills anyone.
The smoke and fire it makes covers our escape though.
I smash sideways, tilt and nearly trip, stumbling to keep up.
I’m breathing hard and I’m much more fucked up than I realize. Blood’s dripping from my fingertips.
The night smells fresh. I gasp for breath.
The van’s there, waiting, and Liam practically throws me in the back.
Shooters appear and Liam’s yelling at Caroline.
She’s yelling back as the tires peel out and the van lurches forward wildly, swerving into a parked car, swerving into another, before righting itself.
Bullets punch through the back panels and smash straight through the other side.
Caroline keeps going and I’m thrown against the wall of the van when she takes a hard turn.
“Stay down,” Liam says, yanking at the straps of my vest. “How bad is it?”
“Don’t know,” I say through gritted teeth. He gets the vest off and I look down.
No blood. No holes. I was expecting something nasty, but the ceramics held. Thank fucking God for that.
“Just this one.” Liam fumbles with a medical kit and shoves several gauze bandages against my shoulder.
I clench my jaw in pain. Caroline’s staring at me wildly in the rearview mirror. “How hurt is he?” she asks, voice strained by worry.
“He’ll be fine. Keep driving.” Liam stays calm as he works on me. “Vest took the bad shots. This one just winged him.”
“Winged me? Hit my fucking shoulder. Nearly blew my damn arm off.”
“You’re being dramatic.” Liam’s grinning. His face is streaked with blood. I doubt it’s his. “That was one hell of a show in there, huh?”
I snarl in pain as he pushes more gauze on my bleeding wound.
“What do we do?” Caroline asks, still driving fast, but more under control now. “He needs a doctor.”
“No, can’t risk it.” I shake my head hard. “We’re on vacation, remember?”
She groans and curses. “What the hell are we going to do?!”
“Follow the plan. Get us to our next checkpoint. We ditch the van, go to the hotel, and stitch me up there. I’ll survive.”
“Finn, I don’t know—”
“Hey. Caroline.” I inch toward her and reach out. I touch her arm. “You can do this.”
She takes a deep breath and blows it out. “Yeah, you’re right. I can do this. You just got shot, right? No big deal.”
“Not even the first time,” I say with a sigh as Liam jabs a syringe into my arm. “What the fuck is thaaa——”
I moan as he injects me with painkillers. Good, strong opioids hit my system.
He’s grinning big. “There you go, boss. Enjoy it while it lasts.” He pats my cheek.
I smile back. “Love killing with you, bro.”
“Same, bro.”
“What did you do to him?” Caroline asks, but she sounds very far away. Did she jump into the pool again? “Liam, is he going to be okay?”
I’m not sure what they’re talking about anymore. I’m floating on clouds and I don’t have a damn care in the world.