34. Finn
Finn
Seductive Surrender
To be fair, I’ve been looking forward to disarming Saoirse using my unlimited supply of Irish charm.
But it won’t be easy this time around.
She’s been a rat in a maze and a rat in a cage. But we’re both aware that she’s a rat in a trap now.
It’s likely she’ll fight like one.
It’s out of her comfort zone I’ve ripped her. She’ll be torn between fear and outrage once more.
“How are we going to get her out?” It’s Feargal I’m asking.
He just stands there with his hands in his pockets. “I dunno, Boss. I never thought beyond getting her here. I can’t stay long—left my official phone back at Sunnyside—only brought the burner.”
A kick from inside the trunk. “Feargal, you fucking traitor! I’ll fucking kill you for this.”
“She’s right.” I’ve thought it through, but there’s a lot of room for error. “If she gets out of here, your Maguire prestige is gone.”
Feargal shrugs. “We’ll have taken over Fourth Ave by then. There’ll be no need for me to stop what I’m doing.”
“Good lad.” I pat his shoulder. My soldiers are aces. “Wanna help me haul her out of there?”
“If it’s all the same to you, Boss, I’ll leave it. I have a lot of respect for Saoirse Byrne. She’s much admired.”
Admired. It’s a grand way of describing her. “Better step back then.”
Feargal moves away and leaves. If she’s going to be vicious, I’m going to smack the sauce right out of her. How we start is how I plan to continue.
I use my left hand to open the trunk which leaves my right hand free for control.
Saoirse uncoils from under the blankets. Like a striking snake, she lashes out at me.
Fists, not nails. She’s got something hard wrapped around one hand. It connects with my face as she straightens out.
It’s surprisingly fucking sore. Not quite a knuckleduster, but close enough for it to register.
I find it more unnerving that she attacks me in silence, like she’s already accepted her fate but wants to go down fighting anyway.
I grab the crown of her hair, but she’s got so many pins in there. The thick tresses make it hard for me to get a fistful.
She breaks free and ducks away. I forget that her eyes are more accustomed to the dark than mine. All I see are her pale lower legs as she wiggles under the chassis.
“Give it a break, Saoirse. Do you have any idea how much engine oil is on the ruddy floor?”
No reply. I wasn’t expecting this type of reaction. First, she’s fire. Now, she’s ice.
What the fuck?
I can smell her fear, and yet she chose to fight anyway. The SUV trunk door is still open. The interior reeks of piss and her perfume.
No wonder she doesn’t care about her dress getting ruined. It’s already messed up.
She’s in my kingdom and Saoirse knows I rule with an iron fist.
Nothing else for me to do but go in there and get her. She sees my arms reaching under the chassis and scooches to the other side.
Clever. No way I can fit myself in the same space.
I use my phone. “Bring three strong lads in here. We’ve got a situation on our hands.”
They come in. “She’s under the car. Won’t come out. I need you boys to corral her on three sides so she comes out on mine. Yeah?”
I manage to get a grip on one of her ankles this way. She kicks, but I haul her out.
“Cheers, mates.” They hand me paracord and I tie her wrists and feet, slicing through the cord using a penknife when I’m done.
I gag her too after one of the guys fetches a couple of bandanas out of my closet.
And that hard band she hit me with? A string of pearls wrapped around her fist. I pocket them.
She’s light enough for me to carry downstairs. The woolen shawl slips off her shoulders and drags on the ground. “You’ll be safe with me, storí.”
Saoirse mumbles something that sounds like a ‘huh’.
Her glaring eyes roll up, in case I have difficulty understanding the scorn behind her huff. She writhes and gives muffled moans of protest all the way down.
I place her on my bed. Gently.
She squirms and sits upright, the glare still firmly in place.
Perhaps I should’ve thought this through more. Going into the bathroom, I check my face.
The cheekbone where she punched me with her fistful of pearls is bruised under a deep cut made by the gold clasp.
My tee-shirt is stained with engine oil, so I change it. It’s too early in the game for me to be flashing skin.
“It’s always with the fecking face and you, Saoirse.”
Pouring antiseptic on a cotton swab, I press it against my left cheekbone. I go stand in front of the bed, lean over, and pull the gag off her mouth.
Amazingly, she’s quiet. Her lips pressed together in an angry line.
“You should say something, Saoirse. This is real. It’s happening. So, speak.”
“I’m sworn off you, Finn O’Shea. It’s not risking my immortal soul for the likes of you I am, so help me.”
Heavy. She doesn’t see religion and obsession as a two-way street. I kinda thought they were.
“That’s a shame.” I decide to keep the chat light. “Time for some tea, wouldn’t you say?”
“No.” Her attitude is starting to remind me of a brick wall. “And don’t bother offering me an alternative. I won’t let you seduce me with booze either.”
I spark the hob under the kettle after shaking it to check there’s water. She’s got to eat and drink sooner or later.
Hungering is in the Irish blood. It completes us. If you don’t have an appetite for something, you stand for nothing.
“You plan to go on a hunger strike, Saoirse?”
She shakes her head and shifts a bit to make herself more comfortable.
“Nope. Your place is filthy. I won’t risk eating or drinking anything that’s made in it.”
She’s right, but I’m in no mood to acknowledge it. “Suit yourself.”
One thing I’ve learned about Saoirse—and women in general—is that she can’t leave the matter unresolved. If I leave her hanging, she won’t be able to stop herself from filling the gap.
Silence reigns while I pour tea and add a dash of milk to it. After checking the cabinets, I find an open packet of unsalted peanuts for a snack.
Come on. Speak. She’s never been one to sulk before.
But when I check the time on my phone, I see that two hours have ticked by. Besides shifting her body and giving the occasional small sigh, Saoirse is quiet.
She seems content to watch me snack and drink tea while I scroll on my phone.
Fuck this. I’ve got the rest of my life to wait, but I won’t miss out on my training while doing it.
There are two twenty-pound dumbbells stacked in the corner. Standing in front of the mirror, I start curling them.
We make eye contact using the mirror.
“What do you think you’re saving me from this time, Finn?”
I don’t let her know I just won this round. She spoke first.
“If it’s you I’m trying to save, Saoirse, don’t you think that you’re in a better position to tell me about the danger?”
I’ve got to keep the rest of my people in play in case Feargal’s cover has been blown. They’re there to feed me information about how Maguire reacts to this.
She scrunches her face with frustration. “You’re no one’s savior, Finn, so stop trying to act like this isn’t all about you.”
Sassy. I like it. Silence from my side will help her let it all out.
True to form, she continues.
“This makes you my captor, not my savior. Declan would never hurt me for the same reason I would never leave him.”
I don’t turn around, continue pumping my biceps. “You’re both worried about your immortal souls?” She needs to think that I’m engaged, that I’m listening.
She takes a deep breath, like she’s explaining to a child. “Yes. So, let me go back there and face the music.”
I’m rolling my delts, but Saoirse must think I’m shrugging, because she continues.
“Maybe it’ll be good for me to unplug in Connemara. I’ll definitely be safe from whatever fallout goes down after Dec finds out that you’re The Ghost.”
That gets my attention. Maguire shunting off his wife to live with her maternal grandparents in the old country.
“The way I see it, that makes you a coward.” I don’t pull my punches. “Fucking Connemara? What’s the thinking?”
Just a small nudge to keep her gabbing.
She tries to kneel, so she can screech at me from up high, but I’ve got her trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. She struggles and then gives up.
“The thinking is that I don’t want to be with the man who’s actively trying to destroy my pride!”
I pretend to be confused. “If Maguire’s booting you over to Connemara, don’t you think that he might be the one trying to destroy your pride?”
Everything she wants to say seems to stifle her. Saoirse splutters for a moment, words forming in her throat but unable to get out.
“I… I… You…” Deep breath. “I picked up the pieces of my life after you dumped me and now you want me to pretend that never happened? What the fuck do you think I am? A game of fucking Jenga!?”
She looks up beseeching. “That’s what it felt like. You pull me apart block by block until I crash down.”
Do I have to remind her? “I’m the Prince of Lies, Saoirse. You know this. If I gave you an explanation, you wouldn’t believe me.”
Her voice catches on a sob as the grim reality of her new world dawns on her.
“So, I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t?” Her head bends like a rain-blasted flower. “Six years ago, were you lying then? When you promised that you would never hurt me? When we swore to be together forever?”
My dominion over Saoirse is like a yatcha cage fight. The moment I sense vulnerability, I go in for the win.
Time for me to close the distance between us. I drop the weights, move to the bed. She flinches when the dumbbells clang.
Lying down, I begin loosening her bonds. “I’d be lying now if I said you aren’t my reason for living, storí.”
Her ankles are free, but she doesn’t try to kick me. I keep layering on the persuasion.
“I couldn’t risk losing you again. When I heard you were in danger—with the hip flask and your medicines—I made my move. To save you… to save us.”
I massage her wrists as the cords drop. Taking possession of her hands, I kiss each finger better. When my mouth reaches her baby fingers, I suck them whole.
Her body reacts, even though she tries to hide it. Goose bumps. Freezing and then releasing her muscles.
We’re all just animals at the end of the day.
“Why were you so careless, mo chroí? You’re surrounded by enemies in that house. I brought you here to give you a break from the constant siege mentality you live with every day.”
She brings her hands to her chest and rubs the wrists.
“I’ve been keeping secrets for six years, Finn. Do you have any idea what it’s like to live a permanent lie?”
I sit up, matching her actions by wrapping my hands lightly around hers.
“Of course I do.” Gathering my arms around her, I offer her my chest to cry on. Her tears feel damp against my skin.
She’s a wreck, but I’m her lifeboat. “I’ve had to pretend for six years that I don’t love you anymore, Saoirse.”
A small gasp as what I just said sinks in. She stares at me, probably to check that I haven’t changed into someone else.
But this is my strategy to bring her back into my fold.
I tap her nose. “Let’s get you out of that dress. I’ll get one of my guys to run it down to the dry cleaners. It’ll be ready when it’s safe for you to go back home.”
“W-when I go back?” She has questions. “But how can you say you still love me when I hate you so much for what you did?”
I’m more Irish than I’m American. That’s a fucking easy question for me to answer.
“The world’s got enough hate to keep us well supplied with it. But don’t you find it gets tiring?”
She succumbs, like I knew she would.
“Yes…”
I jump off the bed. “Grand. Let me run you a shower. Get you cleaned up.”
She hesitates. I get it.
“I promise to spray the shower down first. Clean it up.”
She smiles, relieved. “Thanks.”
I’m going to shower with her. And I’m going to fuck her too.