5. Saoirse
Saoirse
Eyes in the Dark
The blood-stained boy haunts me. Finn O’Shea stalks my dreams like a monster, turning my nightmares into sick and twisted fantasies.
He’s in my blood like a disease, pumping through every heartbeat.
I whisper his name into the dark, like the devilish secret that he is.
“Finn. Finn O’Shea.”
It’s not the Finn part of his name that I must keep a secret, but the O’Shea. He’s forbidden, off-limits, and more dangerous than a girl with my limited experience could ever begin to comprehend.
And yet my body yearns for him.
I have to bite my knuckle to reel in the sighs. “F…” I daren’t say his name out loud. “Inn.” The word comes out like a grunt. He’s turned me into a primitive version of myself, speaking in whispers and soft moans.
A girl too overwrought and overwhelmed for me to begin to make sense of it.
I let him hold me so close that someone else’s blood got transferred onto the sturdy linen of my dress. I couldn’t unbutton it fast enough when I got home, dropping the dress into the laundry basket with one shivering hand while scanning my white underwear to see if it soaked all the way through.
“F…” I whisper his name into my pillow, tossing and turning on the bed and drumming my feet on the footboard.
He’s leaning over me, taking possession of my mind one smile at a time. And I—I stand there and let him, because he calls me his storí.
That was my Mam’s word. It feels like such a long time since I was made to feel special and cherished. And I’ve never had the chance to experience danger before.
Finn gives me both the danger and the endearments.
And it thrills me to the core.
Mam used to call me her little changeling, because I was dark and slender enough to slip through a keyhole when I was a child.
She was half-right. I’m definitely changing. And it’s happening so fast it’s frightening.
There’s malice in the way I’m doing it.
I walk to the compost heap every morning to watch Declan Maguire’s white orchids rotting on top of it.
When I get there now, I see the bright orange pollen has turned the lawn clippings yellow. The once proud stamen droops and withers.
“I’ll have none of you, so help me.” A whisper that only I can hear. “I have red roses wrapped in tissue and neatly pressed between the pages of my Bible.”
I know my feelings for Finn aren’t holy, but they’re sacred nonetheless. I’m an Irish filly galloping for the finish line and leaving everything red in my trail. Roses, blood, and plump lips kissed by his greedy mouth.
But first, I need to share some information with someone. “Psst. Liam. Over here.”
Liam’s duties have got him patrolling the estate perimeter. Da doesn’t want him standing at the gate until the soldier’s face has healed.
He looks resigned when he strolls to the back of the hedgerow to join me. “All grand, Miss Byrne?”
I make my point. “You’ve been selling information about me to Finn O’Shea.”
He shrugs. “If you didn’t like it, Patrick would be asking me the question.”
“That’s not the information I’m after, Liam.” I’m just relieved it’s not Declan sniffing around me. I don’t like the glint in his eye when it alights on me. “I want to know the extent of what you’ve told Finn.”
Liam gives me a measured look. “You’ve never once run to your Da with a story, Saoirse. Maeve too. Why is that?”
I beckon him to walk with me. The restless energy that drew Declan’s attention to me glows like embers in the dark. “Da’s heart’s not in it since Mam passed. He’s a relic. So, how are you communicating with Finn? Social media? Online gaming?”
Da thinks that texts are the only way of sending a message. I swear he would ask the soldiers to use public payphone booths if he could. The man’s a dinosaur, lumbering towards his own inevitable extinction event.
Liam says the name of the online gaming chatroom he scans to find paying work. “Everyone does it, Saoirse. Loyalty doesn’t earn much at the end of the day. Finn put out feelers for you on the same night the O’Sheas took care of the Fourth Street barman who’d been watering down the whiskey.”
So, it was barman’s blood splattered on the boy breezing through the chapel. I should be amazed at how easy it was for Finn to infiltrate my goldfish bowl existence, but I’m not.
This isn’t a simple affair of the bloodhound and the fox. Oh, no.
This is the alpha wolf gathering the pack after smelling a delicious scent. Me.
“Was it money that encouraged you to tell Finn about me, Liam?”
Liam shakes his head, doesn’t even have to think about it.
“No, although the money he offers for information about you is grand.” He stops, eyes down, feet planted, aware he just gave it away that Finn still stalks me.
“I’d rather not be saying no to a fella like Finn.
He’s mental, you realize. Makes your Da and Declan look like tabby cats by comparison, it’s the truth I’m telling you. ”
One of Da’s soldiers just told me everything I need to know about my new status quo.
But it doesn’t make me feel like a victim. I feel like prey.
“Tell me something about your family, Liam, something I can repeat if anyone asks me what our chat was about.”
He doesn’t even have to think. “Tell them I apologized about the roses. And that my mind hasn’t been in the game lately, because my cousin Feargal got pinched by the law.
And he asked for Muslim food in jail, because it’s prepared outside the nick and tastes better.
But Father O’Malley heard about it and gave Feargal an earful. ”
The detail in his cover story tells me that Liam’s in this to win it. “You tell them I will say a prayer for Feargal the next time I attend Mass, yes?”
He doesn’t leave, but loiters. “Finn asked for your Da’s schedule. Enquired how often you visit your Mam’s grave. And how often you get sent to the bakery.”
I’m curious. “Really? And no one even thought of lying? Or saying no when he asked?”
Liam backs away, as if I’ve reminded him that I’m toxic.
“You’ll learn soon enough, Saoirse. It’s easier to say yes to Finn O’Shea. God help you. If he wants to put the hurt on you, he’ll do it and smile. Every one of his transactions is backed by O’Shea power and the boy’s own relentless behavior.”
That’s got me asking questions about myself. What have I done to attract such a man to me?
“What was more important when you told him, Liam? The money, or the self-preservation?”
He’s already turned, but I catch the rest of his words as he stumbles away.
“You only get one life to live, Saoirse.”
I must dig my fingernails into my palms to stop the trembling. One life. My life. And the men in it choose to treat me like a possession, not a treasure.
There’s no debate. I find Rian. “We’ve run out of blaas. Please drive me to Damian’s bakery.”
In the car, Rian cocks his head. “Patrick on the warpath, is he?”
I shrug while struggling to suppress my emotions. “Why would he be? But he likes the bread fresh, don’t you know?”
We stop on the red line, and, like a rev counter, I tick over. My anger is contained, barely. The smile on my face? Entirely artificial.
“See you at the parking lot.”
Rian drives away, doesn’t even check in the rearview mirror to see if I go inside. But I do, just like the good daughter I’m masquerading as.
I’m heading up to the apartment above the bakery before the assistant has time to give me the nod. His voice cracks as he calls out.
“Nice day for it, Miss Byrne?”
“Oh, you have no idea.” My boots stomp on the stairs and echo off the flock wallpaper.
His voice steadies. “I’ll have your blaas ready for you when you leave.”
The door’s open a crack, but I kick it open wider. I’m actually here to write a strongly worded letter, but I’m lucky enough to catch Finn at home. Did I say home? I meant lair.
He’s lounging on the couch, dark hair falling over his eyes like a curtain, split knuckles exposed as he clasps a fifth of Slane whiskey loosely in one hand.
The top button of his faded jeans is undone. The white cotton of his beater undershirt has stains on it. Rusty brown stains.
For the first time, my fury conquers my fear.
Finn takes one look at my face, grins, and grunts. “Heh. That’ll be the door you’re closing behind you.”
I check myself. What I have to say mustn’t have an audience.
I cradle the doorknob and press my face against the door panel as it clicks shut. This will be easier to get out if I don’t look at him. “I’m old enough to know the difference between devotion and ack—acquisition.”
“Turn around, darlin’. Let’s be seeing your pretty face.”
The way he drawls is whiskey-enhanced. He’s using the cadence and speech patterns of the men I was surrounded with while growing up. Violent, dominant men. Men who take submission as their due and never seek to question it.
I keep my face to the door and my hand on the knob.
“You searched for me like I was waiting to be found, Finn. You… You paid those close to me for information. That’s not… That’s not winsome behavior.”
The fifth falls to the ground with a dull thump as he ejects himself towards me. I’m reminded of a game I played as a child.
The one where I had to keep my face front while the other kids crept behind to tag me, one silent step at a time, until… Gotcha! Whereupon I would shriek and turn around and try to catch them.
I manage to suppress the shriek when he spins me around. I think I’ve been training for this moment all my life.
His expression surprises me. Is he laughing? “You’re treating me like a target, Finn.”
His breath is like a furnace as he exhales fresh whiskey fumes in my face. He ignores my accusation. “Winsome? Winsome is it now?”
When I try to push him away it only makes him come closer. His rock hard body is all strength and force. I touch his skin and feel burned.
His fingers feel rough when he pinches my chin, coaxing me to look up. “I didn’t win you, Saoirse. You’re not a pony at the county fair raffle.”
This is starting to feel like my last stand. “That’s not what winsome means…”
He moves back to the couch and pulls me with him. The cushions smell like blood and sweat. His sweat. I find the scent extremely arousing.
Finn sits and pulls me onto his lap. God help me, but I want to grind myself onto him. What am I like?
“Ah, lass, I wasn’t schooled by the dear nuns at St. Mary’s. It’s my kisses that brought you here, be honest. And if it’s more of that you’re wanting… ” His hand loops around the back of my neck like a noose.
If I give in now, I’ll be giving in forever. Wriggling out of his arms, I stand up.
Finn shrugs and slumps over the couch, but it’s not a surrender. “I must always know where you are. Always.” He picks up the dregs of whiskey sloshing in the bottle and toasts me with it.
That’s as close to a confession that he’s ever going to get. “That’s not your right.” I still belong to me Da.
“Rights don’t apply to me… To us.” He’s slurring, but the glimmer in his eyes is razor-sharp.
I make a dash for the door and run downstairs. There’s many a thing I must know before I get lost in Finn’s obsession.
***
If Liam is selling information to Finn, then he’s definitely selling it to Declan Maguire too to double his profit. But he’ll be more direct about it. Declan doesn’t give off gamer vibes and he’s definitely not on socials. It’ll be done face to face, and paid for in cash.
Two bouquets, two different men, two families; but I have to know if they have the same objective.
If I’m to use my time away from Finn effectively, I need to juggle balls with one hand and tame the tiger with the other. It’s been three days now that I’ve kept him in the doghouse. If he craves me that much, then I hope my absence is a punishment.
“Liam.” Da’s soldier stops and pivots when he hears me, waits for me to catch up.
“You’re a good lass, Saoirse, for keeping our story straight and not peaching on me.”
I value his information, but I have one eye on his safety too, for both of our sakes’. “And the same to you, Liam. How many more lads are on Finn’s payroll?”
“They wouldn’t dare.” He hesitates, and I catch it.
“Because they work for Patrick? Or because they’re in Declan’s pocket.”
He flashes two fingers down low. The second one. Declan’s pocket. My quest to map the Byrne operation for my own personal gain is full steam ahead. “Why is that, d’you know, Liam?”
He gives me a look. “The white orchids. The ones you dumped for compost.”
“Yeah. What of it? I wear my ring inwards in honor of Mam.” All the Byrne soldiers know how much I miss her. She was the only one who could soothe Da’s paranoia and make him laugh at our troubles. “I don’t want—or need—Declan Maguire’s ruddy orchids.”
He blurts out the words. “He wants you, Saoirse. The clock’s ticking on the announcement of your engagement.”
Mother in heaven. I stumble away, shaking my head when Rian offers me a lift.
I don’t know where I’m going…
I walk blindly into the entrance hall, and freeze when I hear Declan and Da shooting the breeze.
“So, it’s a wedding we’ll be having in two months at the Maguire compound, Declan? It warms the cockles of my heart, so help me.”
“Steady on, Patrick. You must transfer your soldiers over to me first as part of the deal. Both our families must grow stronger from this marriage, or else, what’s the point? Ah, Saoirse and me—what a fine pair we’ll make.”
My worst fears just got confirmed.
***
Feck strategy. I miss Finn. His absence is worse than his pursuit. When I visited Mam’s final resting place this morning, I found white heather on her tombstone tied with the same red ribbon as the roses.
White heather. A gypsy’s favorite. Good luck and protection.
Is that what Finn offers me?
Step by step, I return to the bakery apartment. Why? I keep asking myself, but there’s no answer other than the quickening of my blood whenever I think of his lean, muscled body and youthful face.
I choose Finn over safety. I’ve played it safe my whole life.
I know what he is. I know what Declan is. And I choose the most dangerous one out of the two of them.
Because at least with Finn, my cage has a door.
He’s here, waiting. Knowing that I’d come back.
I push the door open of my own free will.
“Finn, we’re out of time.”