13. Tamara
TAMARA
His gaze rakes across me and Finn, taking in our disheveled clothes, and the blood on Finn’s collar and chest, his brows lowering as his complexion darkens.
I hear the click of his finger on the trigger of his gun almost before I see him raise it.
He’s fast, but I’m faster.
My gun is already aimed at his temple before he can finish the maneuver, and I have no doubts that my bullet will reach its target first.
“What’s going on, Finn?” he asks without taking his eyes off me.
“Lower your weapon, Connor.” Finn’s voice is a growl. “Now.” The finality of that last word raises goose bumps on my arms and neck.
“You’re bleeding, and she’s holding a fucking gun. Forgive me for not listening to you right now.”
“I know how it looks.” Finn’s eyes don’t waver from Connor’s, but his voice has lowered a notch. He’s trying to keep the peace. Trying to protect me like he promised.
But I don’t need his protection. “Let me pass.”
“You can shut the fuck up.” Connor’s eyes snap back to me. “I was speaking to my brother.”
Brother?
Was this mentioned at the meeting? I can’t remember, or maybe I stopped listening when Finn walked in, but either way, they don’t look like brothers.
“Don’t speak to her like that.” I’ve never heard such steel in Finn’s voice before. “Lower your weapon and let her pass.”
“Or what, Finn?” Connor’s upper lip curls into a snarl. “You’ll shoot me yourself?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
I glance at Finn, needing to see his expression, to understand that he’s serious.
And that’s all it takes. In that split second that I take my eyes off Connor, he lunges forward to disarm me, and I react the way I always do when my life is being threatened.
I shoot him.
It’s a subconscious decision. A reflex that has been ingrained into my psyche for as long as I can remember. But I have the presence of mind to remember that he is Finn’s brother and shoot his weapon hand instead of shooting to kill.
The bullet goes straight through his hand, through a carton of equipment, and lodges in the closet wall, creating a mini cartoon-style explosion in the plasterboard. Blood splatters my face and clothes as his gun hits the floor with a dull thud.
Time slows down.
I stare at the bloody hole in his hand, my brain playing catch-up, my heart trying to escape my chest. I shot Finn’s brother. I let my guard down for a moment, let him get back under my skin, and everything turns to shit.
The world speeds up again, whirring around me and rearranging itself into an order that I don’t recognize.
Leonid doesn’t want a war against the Irish. What did he tell Victoria: I can handle the Irish. When this is over, they’ll be licking my ass.
Not fucking now, they won’t.
But a million times worse than starting a war with the Irish mob is knowing that I shot Finn’s brother. When he looks at me now, all he will see is the hole in his brother’s hand because I felt threatened and acted on impulse rather than allow him to diffuse the situation.
Connor slides his other hand, the hand that isn’t dripping blood onto the floor, down to his pocket, and Finn and I both react together.
“Don’t!”
His gaze flits between us both and settles on me. “You might’ve fooled my brother, but you won’t get away with this.” His words are laced with pain, the skin around his mouth pulled tight, but there’s no mistaking the menace in his tone.
I don’t expect to get away with this. I understand the consequences of my actions, and I’ll face whatever Leonid throws my way when he hears about this.
But right now, the closet walls are closing in on me, and I can’t bear to see the disappointment in Finn’s eyes, so I need to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret even more.
“Stand away from the door.” I hold my gun steady.
“Ha!” Connor’s mouth twists into an ugly shape that bears even less resemblance to his brother’s smile. “You think we’re going to let you walk out of here just like that? I wonder how your Pakhan will feel about having his pleasant evening ruined.”
“You heard her.” Finn’s voice is like gravel. “Stand aside, Connor.”
My heart lurches sickeningly when I glance at Finn and find his gun trained on his own brother.
“Finn, what are you—”
“Go!” He doesn’t look at me, and I don’t know if he’s angry, hurt, or filled with self-loathing at taking my side over that of his brother. “I won’t say it again, Tamara.”
Something icy slithers down my spine. If I don’t do as he said and get the fuck out of here, my legs will collapse, and Finn and his brother will settle this their way with zero input from me.
Connor doesn’t stand aside, so I push past him, my shoulder hitting his as I reach for the door. I don’t look at Finn. The air inside the closet that smelled of sex minutes ago, is now filled with tension the consistency of gloopy soup.
I stumble out of the closet aware of Connor’s blood on my face and clothes.
I can’t risk going back through the foyer, so I follow the corridor until I reach the building’s rear exit, and out into the starry night.
Outside, I bend double and grip my knees to stop myself from face-planting the ground.
I retch, and steaming yellow bile hits the ground at my feet, splashing my boots.
When my legs stop shaking enough for me to walk, I wipe my face on my jacket sleeve, and head to the road where I wave down a taxi to take me to the Port of Chicago.
My subconscious takes over while my brain and my heart battle it out.
My sister is missing, and now I’ve lost Finn too. I’d convinced myself that I didn’t need him, that he was fun but that’s all it was, a temporary distraction that should never be confused with anything deeper. Because there’s no room for anything more in our lives.
But the emptiness in my chest now when I stare out of the rear passenger window of the taxi is unbearable. It isn’t something I can rub away or replace with hugs for Gianna and Leonid’s dogs. It’s a Finn-shaped hole that shouldn’t be there.
The Calumet Harbor, when I arrive, is painted stark white from the floodlights.
I spot a guy in a bulky hi-vis coat with the word SECURITY printed on the back in bold white font, who doesn’t appear to be guarding much.
The authorities have either concentrated their resources on the Iroquois Landing following the previous incident—as if lightning strikes twice in the same place—or they’re deliberately lax tonight because they’ve been bribed to do so.
My suspicions are confirmed when I spot activity at the opposite end of the dock from the security guard and recognize the writing on the side of the ship in the process of being unloaded.
The Russian ship.
My body is still operating on muscle memory, fueled by the ache in my chest, and the knowledge that I’ve already fucked up so there’s no point holding back.
These aren’t the same men who bought me and my sister, but they are the same kind of assholes cut from the same putrid cloth.
The smell of the container we crossed the ocean in, mingled with the disgust I’d have seen in Finn’s eyes when I shot his brother if I’d looked, floods my senses making it hard to breathe.
There’s only one way to relieve it and hopefully save my sister at the same time.
I don’t even try to hide. I march along the dock in full view of the security guard if he happens to turn around and do his job, my hands in my pockets.
The Russians, comfortably protected, don’t look around until I’m close enough to see the serpents coiled around their necks.
When the first one spots me, he slides a hand down to the holster around his waist, as my bullet enters his chest. His body jerks backwards, alerting his peers to the problem heading their way.
I feel no fear as they all abandon the container being winched off the ship. I pray that Ivana will be safe, and that Finn won’t cry over me. Tears sting my eyes as I pump bullets into the men with the fastest reactions like this is a video game where you take down the closest opponents first.
Then I hear the roar of a motorcycle engine and squealing tires, and the Russians falter, torn between taking me down and holding fire until they can identify the latest intruder.
Too late.
The bike screeches to a halt beside me, and a familiar voice yells, “Get on!”
I don’t hesitate. I run and grab Finn’s hand as he pulls me onto the pillion seat, accelerating back along the dock and skidding between storage units and out of sight of the Russians.
I don’t look back.
I wrap my arms around Finn’s waist, rest my head against his leather jacket, and close my eyes. My brain is empty. Perhaps it shut down when I put a bullet through Connor’s hand and is mercifully giving me a reprieve before the shit hits the fan. I don’t even have the energy to question it.
All I know is that I’m still alive because of Finn.
Because he saved me from myself.
And I have no way of ever repaying him.
We drive through the city, weaving through traffic and not stopping at red signals.
I allow my thoughts to drift, beg for them to carry me away to somewhere men like the Petrovs don’t exist, where I don’t need to carry weapons, and Ivana and I can rewrite our history to something golden and filled with smiles and laughter.
But the feel of Finn’s back beneath my cheek keeps me grounded, and I dread the moment he’ll stop the bike, kill the engine, and say goodbye.
I don’t open my eyes until I feel Finn’s body relax against me. When I do, I discover that we’re in an underground parking lot, in a private bay close to the elevators.
“Tamara?”
He takes my hands and removes them gently from around his waist, and it feels like I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
My body starts to tremble violently with the aftershock of what I’ve done, and I crumple against him, no longer able to keep myself upright.
Then he slides his leg over the saddle, removes his helmet, and scoops me into his arms without a word, and I don’t fight it.
My arms wrap around his neck, and I rest my head on his chest, burying my face against his warm leather jacket, as he carries me into the elevator and up to his apartment.
I don’t move when he carries me over the threshold like we’re a newly married couple. I can’t even think beyond the moment, his steady heartbeat all that’s keeping me awake while darkness threatens to claim my vision and drag me down into the blessed relief of unconsciousness.
Finn doesn’t say a word. He sets me down gently on his bed, pulls the comforter over me, and vanishes into the ensuite bathroom. I hear the faucets being turned on in the tub, the sound of running water, the sweet aroma of mangoes drifting through the open doorway.
I close my eyes again.
It would be easy to stay here and pretend tonight didn’t happen.
But living a lie won’t bring Ivana back.
It won’t heal the hole in Connor’s hand caused by a bullet from my gun.
It won’t stop the subsequent war between the Ivanovs and the Irish.
And it won’t make Finn love me. Not that I know what to do with his love. If that’s what this even is.
Maybe I doze off, I don’t know.
But when I open my eyes again, Finn is kneeling beside the bed, smoothing my hair away from my face with his hand.
“Sorry,” he whispers, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
My eyes dart around his bedroom. For the first time in my life, I didn’t orient myself before I shut down, and panic courses through my veins.
“I should go.” I sit up and shove the comforter aside.
Finn’s hand finds mine and holds it gently. “You’re not going anywhere, mo féileacán. You’re staying here with me tonight, so that I know you’re safe.”
It isn’t an order. He isn’t threatening me if I try to leave. It feels like Leonid taking me and Ivana under his wing all over again.
“Your brother…”
“Let me worry about Connor.” He gives me a small smile. “There’s a tub full of bubbles waiting for you in the bathroom.”
I blink, weariness making my limbs feel heavy with the adrenaline crash. I nod once. “Okay.”
Finn carries me from the bed to the bathroom.
He sets me down on my feet and removes my boots first and then my clothes, slowly, making a pile on the tiled floor behind me, making sure my weapons are visible and within reach.
He crouches in front of me to tug my panties down over my hips, leaving me standing naked in front of him. But he doesn’t touch me.
He scoops me into his arms again and lowers me gently into the foamy water.
“Hot enough for you?” he asks as my shoulders sink beneath the bubbles.
“Yes.” The water feels silky on my exhausted body. The aroma of mangoes is like inhaling an energy drink or a shot of caffeine, and I can already feel the buzz in my veins. “Thank you.”
He shrugs and straightens. “You don’t have to thank me for anything, Tamara. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
My gaze follows him to the door. “Finn?”
His smile when he turns around to face me, thaws my frozen heart just a little, and I don’t need to ask why. “Because I love you.”
Then he leaves me alone in the bathroom with the door ajar.