6. Finn
Finn
The Escape Plan
I’ve spent enough time in the old-country to know how to ride. Horses, ponies, and sweet-mouthed mares.
A man can’t call himself an O’Shea without feeling the green grass of Ireland under his boots or crossing the sea to England to visit Appleby Fair at least once in his life.
And now that I’m in a race, I know it’s time to pick up the pace. That means I must choose my horses wisely to carry me over the finish line.
I knew she carried bad news the moment Saoirse entered the apartment. Sure, I was wasted the last time she came by, but I made fecking sure she’d never catch me like that again.
It’s fair to say that she’s not going to fancy me every time I present myself to her. Women’s moods move like the tides, influenced by the moon. Not even I can control that.
When she sees me, I want Saoirse Byrne to want me. The way fire needs to burn wood if it wants to keep the flame alive.
I kept my head when she gave me the news about her marriage to Maguire. That one’s a silver fox, sure, but he’s got nothing on me.
Saoirse needed a hug, needed me to be strong for her. “Whisht, storí. You’ve danced in the middle of my palm like the green fairy, I tell you. It’s not likely I’d let you slip through my fingers.”
Comforted, she returned home. She paused at the door, a smile lilting on her face. “I don’t want to go back.”
I said the right word to give her comfort. “Maeve.”
She nodded, and left.
We’re racing against the clock now. The stopwatch started marking the countdown when she told me about her wedding date.
I tell her to come to the apartment whenever she wants an update. I don’t tell her it’s so I can make sure she’s safe.
Because from here on out, we’ll never be safe again.
I’ve come to expect the sound of a cab stopping at the curb every morning at six. She comes here instead of attending Mass.
My tee-shirt sleeves feel too tight when I dress. I’ve gone up another size. All the testosterone flooding my system has got me pumping. I only have to hear that cab drive away for it to make me rock hard.
She enters and waits for me in the front room, like any good Catholic schoolgirl would. I’m already showered.
I checked under my nails for blood. Saoirse associates cleanliness with Godliness, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint her.
I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror and remember to wipe the smile off my face. That intense, manic grin is a dead giveaway. I’m playing to win and playing for keeps. And that’s no joke.
“Morning, darlin’.” I blow her a kiss and head for the kitchen. I know better at this late stage in the game to spook a jumpy foal. “Cup of tea?”
Her smile is everything. She’s fresh as a daisy, with her wiry hair pouring down her back and dressed like a modern-day Puritan. “Let me make the tea for you, Finn.”
Her willingness to do things for me is one of Saoirse’s finer qualities. I lean on the counter and watch her watch the kettle boil. “My Southie contacts came through. Donnell arranged a safehouse for us up in Boston.”
She’s smiling and nodding, my words are music to her ears. I go stand behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. She’s a wee slip of a girl, and she’s mine.
“Soon, Saoirse. Soon.”
But I’m not doing this so I can nuzzle her. In my pocket, I’ve got something I want her to wear.
She touches her neck when she feels the cold gold go around it. She pinches the locket and looks down to see what it is.
“A Claddagh locket? I didn’t know they made them.” She turns and presses a chaste kiss on my mouth. “Thank you, Finn. I’ll wear it until the day I die.”
The locket lies right where I belong. Over her heart and between her peaked breasts.
***
Getting fake IDs is a cakewalk. The process of extracting my cash out of the bank and turning it into Bitcoin is fecking tedious.
Nothing for it but to meet my contact at one of our pubs on Fourth Street.
It’s during the day, so Eamon won’t be up and about until lunchtime.
Sooner wished for than broken, my transaction is concluded when I hear the cheery tones of my uncle hailing me behind the counter.
“It’s the broth of the boy, so help me. Finn! Get over here.”
Not only is Eamon early, but he’s sober. I decide to take it as a good sign and give him a flash of the unbroken skin on my knuckles.
“It’s no broth I’ve been brewing, this time around. Next time, maybe.” I give him a closer look. “You’ve not got your usual head on you. Did Father O’Malley call you out on it?” I indicate toward the row of whiskey bottles behind him.
Eamon scowls. “And if he did, it would be no business of yours.”
He’s in a bind. It’s unnatural to see Eamon up about this early. “What’s cutting? And don’t tell me you’ve seen the error of your ways and gotten sober off it.”
Silence. He drums his fingers, then—“You’re putting the family at risk for a Byrne girl. Your father won’t protect you from this.”
Donnell must have talked.
“It’s protecting me you’ll be doing, won’t you, Eamon? For old times’ sake?”
He gives me the nod. “I fecking warned you, Finn. An O’Shea man asking about a Byrne lass is how wars are started.”
Standing, I give him a wink. “Lucky for us, we’re on the winning side.”
***
I’ve had to speed up our escape plan. This time, when the cab pulls away from the curb I’m not lying in bed with my dick in my hand.
I’m already sitting in the front room and staring at the door, barefoot, jeans, tee-shirt. Waiting with the GAA match playing on the telly.
She sees me silhouetted by streetlights. “Finn? Is everything all right?”
No, it’s not. “My fecking cousin’s got a loud mouth. Or a debt he wants to settle. And that means you have to leave before me. I’ve still got some loose ends to tie up.”
She pulls off her cardigan cuffs first so it’s not inside out. “Donnell wanted to settle a score?”
“Jesus. Would I trust someone with a score to settle? Debt. Donnell must have sold the news that I was passport shopping. Or the eejit got drunk and blethered about it at one of my uncle’s pubs. Either way, you’re running away earlier than we expected.”
I recognize the signs of an irate woman. Saoirse folds her arms and her cheeks redden.
“You don’t get to decide what happens to me! That’s literally the thing that I’m running away from.”
I should let her anger run its course, but I don’t.
“You’re running away from Declan Maguire, not from me, so don’t question my ability to read the signs. It’s getting dangerous, and that means you must go to Boston before me.”
Her rage spins out of control. She paces up and down the front room.
“When you talk like that, I can see no difference between Declan and you, so help me. Is that all I have to look forward to for the rest of my life? You follow me. You decide where I go. Where does it end?”
Saoirse doesn’t include her father in her litany of men who want mastery over her. That means that she’s already aware of the power shift from Patrick to Declan.
Talk on the street says it’s happening. Two influential families merging for domination over the five boroughs.
Not my fight. Saoirse and I are Boston-bound.
I don’t overthink what I say. I just say it, the same way I would soothe a jumpy mare. “You’re wicked smart, darlin’. It’s proud of you I am.” I glimpse over at the telly and watch some GAA.
Dissatisfied by my laid-back reply, she whirls around and stalks back to me on the couch.
“You told a stranger I was yours before I’d even decided. How is that different from Declan scheming about my future like he rules me?”
If it’s a face to face argument she’s wanting, I better be standing up for it. As an O’Shea, I was considered a man after my first bareknuckle fist fight.
And I was thought of as more than a man after the first throat I slit.
That’s when I moved into monster territory. But it’s not as a monster I want Saoirse to be thinking of me. “I’ll make you a cup of Barry’s tea. That’ll soothe your fears away, sweetheart.”
I’m halfway to the kitchen when she shoves me. I’d like to think I have eyes at the back of my head, but she slips under my guard.
“Grr! You’re not listening, Finn. You’d rather be watching your stupid sports. I fecking hate that!”
Catching myself on the kitchen counter, I pivot. She’s already trying to claw at my face. I manage to grab her wrists and restrain her.
“Let go of me, you great fool!” She fights me, kicking at my shins with her big boots.
I sweep her into my arms. She beats at my face and chest with her fists. It feels like hard stones pelting me.
If it’s the relentless side of me that she wants to come out and play, then I’m more than willing to show it to her.
Her small, fierce blows rain down on me. I walk to the bedroom and throw her onto my unmade bed. Her head hits the pillows, bounces and then flops.
Her hair comes loose from the white band. It’s an indication that I threw Saoirse hard enough for her clothes to fly off.
And that excites me.
I wait for her to calm down. I gave her a taste of what happens to those who rise up against me, so her surrender will be varnished with wisdom when it comes.
Only, it doesn’t. The girl’s head must still be spinning, but she’s already struggling to get up.
“Stay down, for the love of angels, Saoirse.” I’m laughing. No one has ever tried to come for me again after they experience my strength, but she wants a second helping.
The angrier she gets, the more I want her. And I always get what I want.
She kneels in the middle of the bed, trying to find her balance, fingers hooked and nails sharpened. Her hair hides her face so all I see are bared teeth and blood red cheeks. They look like blotches on her pale skin.
“Let’s be having you then, darlin’.” I motion for her to lunge.
I want this finished. The girl is meant to be at Mass, for feck’s sake. I can’t send her home with a smacked arse. If it’s being pinned to the bed that she’s wanting, then that’s what I’m going to give her.
But she freezes and backs away, all the way to the other side of the bed.
“You’re enjoying this…” Her cheek blotches blaze crimson as her eyes glance down.
I have to say that I am. And it’s showing on my body.
I’m that rampant. The head of my cock rears above the waistband of my jeans like a drowning man gasping for air.
And Saoirse can’t take her eyes off it.
Her fascination overrides her fury and fear. She doesn’t have to say it; I can smell the voltage charging our interaction.
That’s a chance I’ll be taking then.
Because she’s mine to take.
I stalk over to her side of the bed without bothering to adjust myself. She whimpers and scuttles back to the other side. I grab her before she can reach the door, and throw her back onto the bed.
“No,” she says in a way that doesn’t convince me. “I can’t.” She snaps and kicks and jerks, twisting away from my cock but still keeping an eye on it.
It’s the jerking that annoys me, because I want to kiss her. “Lie still before I make you.”
She simmers down and her cries get softer.
I unbuckle my belt, which gets her mewling again. I throw the belt to the ground without snapping or whipping it.
“I’m not your Da trying to spank you, Saoirse. This will only hurt once.” She tries to run again while I pull off my tee-shirt, but her dazed exit strategy tells me she’s curious enough to want to linger.
My hands pinch around her thin wrists like a vice. “Say you’re mine.”
I stick my knee between her thighs to push them open and pin her arms above her head. Time I gave her something else to think about. “Say you’re mine, storí.”
Her eyes screw tightly shut as I lift the hem of her dress and undo my zipper. I hold my kiss against her lips and wait for them to open. When it happens, my triumph surges.
Kisses aren’t meant to be ground onto and into a girl. I keep mine light, brushing my mouth over her lips like an afterthought.
Saoirse accepts my kiss, and then gives one back. It’s just a shy peck, but I relish it all the same.
“I’m yours, Finn.”
Time for me to etch her promise in blood.