Chapter 29 Caroline
CAROLINE
We spend a few days in that hotel room. The doctor does a good job patching Finn up and even leaves a few baggies of Percocet for him to take. But he just ignores the drugs.
That first afternoon is the hardest. He’s in a lot of pain, but I do my best to take care of him. Finn’s not the kind of guy to stay in bed, so I have to force him to take it easy. “I’m fine,” he snarls every time I make him sit back down.
“You’re not. You can’t even raise your arm.”
“I can, see—” He gasps in agony when he tries to lift it up.
“You deserved that.”
Eventually though, the healing takes over. He’s still bruised and battered, but by the time we check out, he’s doing a lot better. We leave together and he drives back to the city in a rental sedan, steering with his left hand while the right is kept in a sling against his chest.
“I won’t be able to move around much for the next few weeks,” he says through gritted teeth. “Nobody can know I got shot.”
“Dermot would put it together.”
“Exactly. Even if I had the best excuse imaginable, he’s still smart. I don’t want him looking in our direction. Not when the job isn’t over yet.”
He stares straight ahead as he says it. My guts flutter and I’m strangely disappointed. We hadn’t talked about moving forward until now and the conversation from when he was high kept playing through my head. But he might not even remember what he said.
“What are we telling people?”
“The flu. Picked it up on this trip. It’ll wreck me. Keep me nearly bedridden.”
“It’s late summer.”
“Exactly, bad luck. Happens all the time.”
“Okay, that’s doable. You don’t think Dermot will be suspicious though?”
“He might, but we’ll deal with that if we have to.”
We make it back to the apartment without issues. I help Finn change his bandages. He stares grimly at the ugly bruising and the clean stitches in the mirror as I turn on the shower and get him set up.
I want to say something. Remind him about what he said that night. If we talk about it again, maybe there’s a way to find ourselves back there.
But he was just high. That whole falling for you thing was only the drugs talking. Even if I wish it weren’t.
I move to walk past him but he turns. We nearly collide.
He grabs my wrist and there’s something he wants to say.
I touch his chest, looking into his face.
I want to apologize, beg his forgiveness, swear I’ll never, ever do something like this again, so long as he doesn’t get himself killed, because I’m falling too.
My phone starts ringing in the other room.
His jaw tightens. I don’t move, my heart racing. I want it to stop, but he tilts his chin in that direction.
“You should get it.” He lets me go.
I hesitate, but he’s right. We don’t want anyone asking questions. I leave the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind me, and answer right before it goes to voicemail.
“I hope your little vacation was good, Caroline.” Malachy’s voice is clipped and strained. It sends my heart into overdrive. “I’m guessing you don’t even know Dermot was attacked.”
“What?! Is Dermot okay?” I’m probably overacting, but Malachy doesn’t sound like he notices.
“Get home right now. We need to talk.”
“Okay, but, Dermot—”
“He’s fucking fine.”
Malachy hangs up. I lower my phone, feeling sick. My pulse is out of control. I’ve never heard Mal so enraged before and I’m terrified of what I’m going to find if I go.
But I can’t just refuse. And it’s not like they’re going to hurt me. They’re not that stupid, right? If I come back here and Finn notices a bruise, there’d be hell to pay. The Whelans would never let my brothers touch me like that.
Unless Mal doesn’t care anymore… and Dermot somehow knows it was us who attacked that poker game…
I pace back and forth while Finn’s in the shower, my mind racing all over, but I don’t see any other way. I can’t refuse to show up. That’ll only look terrible.
When Finn gets out, he stands in the doorway to the bathroom wrapped in only a towel, water glistening off his muscular chest. I try not to look at the bandage over his bullet wound.
“You’re right. You have to go. But you’re not going alone.”
“You can’t come with me. That’ll be even worse.”
“No, but I’ll be close. If something bad happens—” His jaw tightens in anger. “You’ll send me a message.”
“You’re hurt. You need to stay here.”
“Fuck that.” He struggles to put on a shirt, obviously swallowing a lot of discomfort. “Give me a minute to get dressed and then we’ll head out.”
“Finn—”
“No more playing nurse. I’m going to be sitting in the car outside that fucking house in case those vicious bastards decide to treat you like a punching bag again. Do you understand me? If they lay a hand on you, I swear, Caroline, I’ll come in and finish this today, to hell with the consequences.”
His gaze is fierce and defiant. And I swear, I’ve never felt like I could love him more than right in this moment.
“Okay,” I say, voice very small, as a flood of relief rushes through me. If Finn’s nearby, this might be okay. I can get through anything with him at my side.
“Then we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”
The house is strangely dark. It’s not usually so grim.
I pause in the entryway and listen for any sign that people are home, but it’s totally silent.
“Hello? Mal? Mom?” Nobody answers. I drift into the kitchen, but it’s abandoned.
I trudge around to the back, a nasty feeling rustling around in my stomach.
I hear them in Dad’s office. I hate that room so much it repulses me. I have to force myself to take one step after the other toward it.
Too many bad memories in this place.
But Finn’s nearby. He’s sitting around the block in the car in case I need him. I touch my phone to reassure myself. All I need to do is tap his name and he’ll come running, guns blazing.
I knock on the door lightly. They usually make me wait, but this time it suddenly wrenches open with so much force I have to take a step back in surprise. Mal appears with a gun pointing at my face, and my mouth opens to scream, but nothing comes out.
“Oh, it’s you.” He lowers the weapon. “Get in here.”
I groan and put a hand over my heart. “Holy shit, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
He grins at me. It’s lopsided and manic. “I almost blew your fucking brains out, actually.”
The office is cramped. Dermot’s there on a couch typing on his computer. He barely looks up at me. Dad’s behind his desk, standing with his back to us. He’s wearing rumpled clothes and looks like he hasn’t shaved for a few hours. Mal’s about the same. They all smell like a farm.
“There she fucking is,” Dad says, looking over his shoulder. He seems pale and twitchy. “I wanted her here days ago.”
“She was on some stupid vacation.” Mal sneers at me and shoves his gun back into his waistband. “I told you that already.”
“Did you? I have more important shit to keep track of than my worthless daughter.” Dad grabs a glass and slams it back.
He’s drinking whiskey this early in the day?
I frown to myself and realize they’ve all been smoking too.
The place stinks like an ashtray. Dermot’s got energy drink cans at his feet.
“Want me to fill her in?” Mal glances at me. I stay near the door, not sure what the heck I’m seeing right now. My family is usually put together and very proper. They’d never smoke indoors and drink before noon. But here they are, like they’re going insane or something.
“Fill me in about what?”
Dermot looks up for the first time. His stare is haunted. “I was right. Shane and Redmond were murdered.”
I have to act surprised, but it’s not hard. I really am shocked he’s just saying it out loud like that. I shake my head like that can’t be true and turn to Dad for confirmation.
He glares back at me. “Listen to your fucking brothers,” he murmurs.
“Dermot’s right. Shane and Red were likely killed.” Mal begins to pace. He lights a cigarette as he goes without bothering to look at Dad for approval. It’s so bizarre I don’t even know how to handle it. “Dermot came to me after Red died. He had some issues with the whole accident theory.”
“Didn’t make sense,” Dermot says, tapping at his laptop.
“That’s what he insisted, anyway, but I tried to reassure him. Who would possibly want to kill our family? We’re at the height of our power. Our enemies are weak and our allies are strong. There’s no way they could get two of our own damn brothers.”
“But they did,” Dermot adds, pausing for a moment. His eyes are hollow. “And they tried to get me, too.”
“This is a lot to take in.” I shake my head and rub my face. “Who did it? Did you go to the police?”
“God, listen to her,” Dad says disdainfully. “The fucking police. As if they could do anything.”
“No, Caroline, we didn’t go to the police. We’re dealing with this in-house.” Mal takes a drag and flicks ash into an empty whiskey bottle. “We don’t know who did it, but Dermot was smart. He seeded some rumors. He put himself out there and set a trap.”
“He paid for shooters without family approval,” Dad snarls, clearly not happy about it.
Dermot ignores them both.
“The attack looked like a robbery. Those happen at high-stakes poker games, especially the shady ones. Except Dermot swears it felt all wrong, and the survivors of the attack all corroborate his story. The robbers weren’t there to steal shit.
They were there to kill him.” Mal finishes the cigarette and lights another.
He’s practically twitching. “We have assassins coming for us. They poisoned and beat Shane to death. They used a bomb to finish off Redmond. What are they going to do next? Drop a fucking piano on my head?” Mal resumes pacing, faster this time.
“Our brothers were fucking brutally murdered, and we don’t even know who did it. ”
Two feelings hit me. First, there’s relief.
I believe him when he says he doesn’t know.
There’s no way they’d put this bit of theater on for my sake.
If anyone suspected me, they’d just beat the shit out of me until I confirmed it.
But second, a cold, sick, creeping feeling tickles the back of my neck.
This room reeks of paranoia.
Dad’s watching the windows like someone might attack at any second.
Dermot’s smashing at his computer as if he can hack his way into fixing the problem.
And Mal’s unraveling.
I’ve never been in more danger in my life. Even if they don’t suspect me, they’re unhinged and running right against the edge. These men would happily kick me until I’m bloody on a good day. But they’re far from their best right now.
“Then there’s you.” Mal turns to me slowly. He blows out smoke. It hangs like a haze in the air. “You disappeared, Caroline. We needed you here.”
“I was on a trip with my husband. It was a little honeymoon.”
“Must be nice. You two are getting along.” Mal stalks toward me. I back away, hands sweating. I touch the phone in my pocket, heart racing into my throat. “But he’s not really fucking family.”
“We’re in trouble, and you weren’t around to help.” Dad’s staring death at me.
Mal jabs his cigarette in my direction. “You’re a loose fucking end. You’re a goddamn liability. Why the fuck are you still alive, but Shane and Redmond aren’t?” He jerks toward me. I shriek in alarm when he grabs my arm. The cigarette darts down, arcing through the air toward my skin—
I catch his wrist with my other hand. I’m not strong enough to stop him, but I think he’s so surprised he stops himself. I’ve never stood up to Mal, not once in my entire life, but I lean into him now and meet his gaze, lips pulled back in a snarl.
“Careful, you asshole. You almost burned me.”
“I’m going to do worse, you uppity, worthless bitch.”
“Yeah? What do you think my husband will say about that?”
He pauses. For the first time, Mal seems uncertain. “What’s he got to do with any of this?”
“You think my husband won’t notice bruises? Burn marks? You think I won’t tell him? He’s a Whelan, you idiot. So go ahead, put that cigarette out on my skin. If you were worried before, you sure as shit will be terrified then.”
Mal doesn’t move. He stares at me, visibly struggling against the idea that I have any defense against him. He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t pull back either.
Until my dad speaks up.
“Stop bickering, you two idiots,” he says like we’re having a friendly sibling spat. “We need to come together.”
Mal eventually pulls back. He’s still watching me with pure shock and confusion on his face. “He’s right. We shouldn’t fight.”
I say nothing, only hug myself and glare at him, while inside I’m burning with a righteous hate and fury, but also with a strange, newfound power.
I’ve never been able to make Mal back down before. Not once, no matter what I said or did, no matter how much I begged and pleaded, Mal always followed through with his threats.
Now, I have leverage. I have protection.
He can’t hurt me without suffering for it anymore.
I want to laugh in his stupid, nasty face, but I’m pretty sure that’ll only make him lose his mind and kill me.
“We’re going to inform the Whelans about this problem,” Dad says, ignoring Malachy as my brother lights another cigarette. “Dermot’s putting together all the evidence he has. We’re going to ask for their help.”
“Good idea.” I’m shaken, but I do my best to keep my voice steady.
“They have resources we can use. I want you to talk to your husband about this problem too. See what he has to say. Maybe use your influence to help the family. You want to help the family, right, Caroline?”
I almost laugh in his face. Nothing sounds worse. “Of course I do.”
“Good, then make sure this is a priority for them. Declan’s been busy lately, but I want this to be top of mind.”
Oh my god. These bastards. That’s why they called me here.
They want to use my influence over my husband to get what they want. They don’t care about warning me. Which makes sense—they didn’t actually call until the attack was already days old. I’m an afterthought at best until they want something.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Do this for me, Caroline. Prove you’re useful.”
I nod once. I hate him so much, it’s terrifying. “I’ll try, Daddy.”
His lips curl. “Good girl. I always knew you had the family’s best interests at heart. Go ahead, go talk to your husband for us, and make sure the Whelans take this seriously.”
I back away to the door. I want to scream and laugh. You stupid fuckers. You sick, stupid bastards. I’ll talk to my husband, all right.
I’ll tell him to keep on killing you all.
Mal shoots me a look as I go. It’s pure loathing. He’s twitching as he pours himself another drink, and I can smell the stink of fear in the room, hanging over all three of them like a cloud.
They’ve never been more vulnerable.
And now I know what we have to do.