41. Saoirse
Saoirse
Deeply, Madly, Truly
He holds a visit to my sister over my head like a hanging sword.
No more asking to go to the pharmacy.
No more arguments or protesting.
Just be a good girl and behave.
My world is upside down and inside out. Finn warned me at the start how it would be. He is the Prince of Lies.
It’s on me whatever I choose to believe. But if there’s a small chance that he knows where my sister is, I have to try.
I would do anything to see Maeve again. Endure anything.
I’m not going to leave until I see her.
But I’m full of questions. “How do you know where Maeve is?”
We’re lying in bed, like every other normal couple. Only we’re not.
He’s a king, and I’m another man’s queen. This can only end one way.
Finn lifts his arm, waits for me to lie on it and cuddle up.
“I asked around. Something I’m allowed to do—and you’re not.”
I get it. “Why did Patrick hide her away from me?” Maeve was all I had in the end. “It was beyond cruel for me to lose my sister and my lover at the same time.”
Finn’s practical about it. “That’s what it says in the Bible, doesn’t it? A woman must leave her family, and cleave to her husband.”
I can be practical too. “Are you suggesting that I cleave to Declan?”
He pulls me close to kiss the top of my head. His voice is a growl. He doesn’t like me mentioning my husband.
“Cleave to me. Forever.”
“You know I can’t do that.” There’s so much I want to know. “Seriously, Finn, how did you find out where Maeve is?”
He shifts onto his side, so he can watch me speaking.
“I asked Patrick. He wanted you to marry my da, but Connor turned down the offer. That left Declan. Patrick hid Maeve away. She was too young to be married, and I guess he didn’t want to leave her bargaining power up to chance.”
I can’t stop giggling. “Marry your da? It’s like one of those afternoon soap operas, I swear.”
He’s not amused by my suggestion. “That was their biggest mistake. To count me out because they thought I had no swag.”
He’s right. They should have let us marry. I would have three babies by now. Probably have a fourth on the way.
Finn would’ve gone straight, maybe running a construction business, perhaps helping my dad mend bridges with the hard men running other boroughs and cities.
The war between all the boroughs would be nothing but a story we told our children.
“Coulda, woulda, shoulda. It’s a grand shame.” I say it with a sigh. Not because I’m fed up with the whole she-bang, but because I understand it so well.
It’s the Irish American way to fall over one another trying to climb to the top of the heap and grab the gold ring, only to reach there and find out it’s brass.
Whenever Finn talks about us, it’s a statement, not a question.
“How long do you think it will be before Declan washes his hands of you, Saoirse?”
He’s keeping me here for himself, not for my own good. I have to remind myself. “You’ll both have to wait until I bleed.”
I can see that Finn doesn’t get it, so I tell him straight. “I have to bleed so… the man in Sunnyside can be sure I’m not running away with his baby.”
And so you, Finn O’Shea, don’t kill me in case I’m running away with yours.
This is so inconvenient, but there’s no other way. “But I have to go back, Finn. Two men are missing, remember?”
It leaves him thoughtful for the rest of the day. I don’t think Finn realized that he can fuck me as hard as he likes, but it won’t change anything if I’m already pregnant with Declan’s baby.
I listen to him call Mickey and apologize for falling off the wagon.
“It’s a mad lad I am, Mickey. It’s too late for me to change.”
They must have patched things up, because Finn asks me to come watch him train. It’s either that, or watching GAA on the flatscreen lying on the bean bag.
The first person I see seated at the table outside the cage is the man with the green shamrock tattoo on his hand. I don’t want to make it obvious, but I need to know if he got that message to Morag.
I must set up some kind of messaging system, so at least I can know what’s happening in Sunnyside.
The man nods and smiles. I do the same. “Hi there. What’s the biggest pay-out you’ve seen?”
He seems happy enough to talk to me, probably because he’s heading for sixty with a bullet and therefore in no danger of being libertied by a maniacal Finn.
“I’ve seen a man take over a hundred thousand dollars home in a grocery bag after a lucky bet came through for him.”
I’m never short of being amazed when it comes to what men consider to be fun.
“What was the bet?”
“He guessed, down to the exact second, how long the fight would last. Not many men can do that.”
I nod, already bored, but I need to say something. “You know I asked you to tell Morag that I’m here… because I saw you had the same ink.”
Shutters fall over the man’s eyes. “Aye?”
I shake my head. “Just forget about it. And please don’t tell anyone.”
“Sure. Mum’s the word.”
The two lads whom Finn pounded during the ‘friendly’ fight with Bronan’s son are nowhere to be seen. If I were to guess, I would say they’re probably halfway to Outer Mongolia by now.
A group of boys watch me closely while talking among themselves. They glance at Finn—he’s punching a bag so fast his fists are a blur—and then it hits me.
Are those boys daring each other to come over and talk to me?
Jesus wept. I can’t deal.
Isn’t the world a hard and dangerous enough place already without them trying to play with fire? And I’m not talking about real flames either. Goading Finn is the same as drawing a circle on the ground to summon the devil.
I keep an eye on them. They’re chaffing and looking at me covertly, giving each other pushes in my direction.
Not because they want to talk to me. They want to brag at the pub this evening about how they cheated death and tamed the dragon.
Fuckwits.
Three boys break off from the group and head my way.
I walk away from them faster than they can approach me. I go stand in the corner closest to Finn.
He holds the bag to stop it bobbing and smiles at me. “All right, mo chroí?”
Giving him the thumbs up, I smile right back. Not because I’m blind to the fact of how well he’s trained me, but so I can maintain the illusion that I am.
I want to see Maeve. She’s my sister and I love her. I don’t care how many hoops Finn wants me to jump through, I’ll keep jumping until Maeve and I are reunited.
***
Finn is suspicious when he comes downstairs.
The apartment is clean and a meal is prepared.
I’m dressed casually in pastels, shorts and a tank, and my hair’s pulled back into a ponytail at the top of my head.
He’s like a wild animal the way he senses domesticity and doesn’t trust it. He greets me and goes to shower. I can almost hear the cogs in his head turning as he tries to work out what angle I’m playing him from.
I understand why he would be suspicious. I haven’t been the best behaved houseguest.
“Can I start cooking the salmon?” I ask him through the door.
One of the self-help books I once read said that men need their privacy. They appreciate solitude when it’s given to them. So, I’m not going to barge into the shower room and disturb Finn’s head space.
He grunts in the affirmative.
I want to give Finn one perfect night. And it’s not just so I can ask to see Maeve.
I’ve realized that Declan is very one-note when it comes to nuance of character. He’s a business man who never had to work with his hands and felt blessed that he doesn’t have to fix the boiler or car.
Finn… is one of those mysteries wrapped in a puzzle and double-glazed with an enigma. And somehow, miraculously, he escaped being a typical Irish American archetype.
He’s uneducated, but street smart. That’s the Irish side of him.
But he’s ruthlessly ambitious and hardworking. That’s the American.
He’s loyal to a fault. I could phrase it another way and say he’s obsessed, but it is what it is. Somewhere in hell, a fire caught alight on the hour of our first meeting.
And it’s continued to burn in his heart for the last seven years.
That’s not something I can turn a blind eye to. Like fire itself, I have to learn to use it to my advantage.
Finn comes out of the shower naked. I get a flash of the man he is when I’m not around to watch him. A surge of motherly instinct taints my vision.
He’s a victim of his family circumstances, just like me. Feral boys become savage men. That’s a cycle neither of us have been able to break free from.
Flicking off the stove, I wait for him on the bed.
No matter how long he keeps me or how hard he loves me, every time we fuck it feels like it’s the last.
I carry the trauma of my public shaming with me everywhere I go. He left and carried on without me. Didn’t fight. Didn’t even linger for a fond farewell.
Maybe it’s time he knew what that feels like?
He knows what I want when I open my arms and beckon. But he doesn’t move to the bed to join me, but stays lying on the bean bag.
The way his limbs are splayed makes me think of how Lucifer must have looked after his fall from heaven.
Why does he test me at every opportunity? Making love should be divine, not a challenge.
Whenever Finn makes me jump through hoops, it lowers sex to the level of fucking.
“If I go there, Finn, then you must promise to take me to see Maeve tomorrow. Deal?”
He gives that cheeky smirk I’ve never been able to resist. “Sure.”
He flicks the towel away and lies there waiting. Like every other time, I can’t take my eyes off his erection. Talk about a challenge.
It curves like a scimitar sword slightly to the left, a thick, veiny diagonal slash along his taut abdominal muscles. I know he’s got lots of other muscles, all of them equally impressive, but I’m unable to look anywhere else.
My tongue darts out to moisten my lips. Maybe my mouth has gone dry because I’m wet where it matters.
He’s cast his spell over me with that magic wand. My legs feel like jello when I go to him. Looking at Finn, wanting him so intently, does something to my blood and water levels.
He stops me from crawling on the bean bag to join him. “No. Strip first.”
Does he mean strip-tease? Or just remove my clothes? He’s a red-blooded male, so I decide to strip and tease.
Turning my back, I pull the tank top over my head. Bending slowly, I hook down my shorts. Looking at him from upside down, I pout when I see he’s masturbating himself, so I slide a finger into my hole and join in.
“Is this what you had in mind?”
“It’s better. Hotter.” He pats the space beside him. “Wetter.”
The bean bag squeaks when I crawl on. He takes me into his arms. I can’t stop myself from stroking his tanned biceps and thick muscular thighs.
“Where do you get the time to lie in the sun, Finn?” I thought he lived down here when he wasn’t in the warehouse training.
“I go help the lads working construction.”
“Don’t provoke me,” I nibble his bottom lip with short, sharp nips. “I run all the construction around here.”
He pinches my nipple, not enough to hurt—definitely to thrill.
“You’re not the boss of me, Saoirse.”
That’s not what I meant, but I’m too turned on to get into it.
He’s tender with me. Most of the time before, there was hungry mouthfuls and greedy pressure. Now, we connect when we kiss.
I can feel it.
Eyes open, lips brushing skin, breathing in unison. I love him to the point of madness. No lies, all truth.
It’s so easy to love and feel loved when we have sex like this.
I reach for his cock and pump it. This is his weapon in our war of who loves the longest and the strongest.
And right now, I want him deep inside me.