Shattered Hearts (Irish Kings #1)

3. Finn

Chapter 3

Finn

I can’t do this.

I pace the tiny, barren space and tug at my collar. My bow tie is choking the life out of me, and this stupid penguin suit feels like a prison cell.

When my father came to me with the proposal to marry Thomas Brennan’s daughter, duty dictated that I agree. Even if I’d rather drown in a vat of battery acid than say “I Do” a second time, how could I refuse? Especially when nothing would make my father happier than grandchildren.

The first time I got married, I didn’t bother to ask for the approval of my dad or anyone else.

I went rogue like the selfish prick I was at twenty-eight. Not caring about anyone or anything else, I married the only woman who made me feel more than just indifference. With Brianne, I was a different person, and I thought that was love.

Even now, I remember the roses in her bouquet on our wedding day—the same ruby red shade as the blood seeping out of her lifeless, dismembered body, the chunks of her corpse scattered on a filthy cement floor. Her severed left hand, wedding ring still on her finger?—

“ Finn .” Rory bumps shoulders with mine, offering me a beer. “I thought we agreed you were going to practice smiling.”

Rory’s golden-brown hair is perfectly styled. His hazel eyes blink at me. I’m so out of sorts, I take the can from him and try to down it unopened.

Darren reclines on a low settee next to the window, smoking a cigarette. Smoking isn’t allowed in here, but Darren does whatever the hell he wants. “If Finn knew how to smile, he would’ve shown us ages ago.”

Despite getting hammered the night before, Darren still looks better than the rest of us. He could be a movie star in that tux with his pretty-boy face and hay-blond hair swooping to one side, although he’s far too edgy for Hollywood. The wild gleam in his chemical blue eyes unsettles even hardened criminals sometimes when they get trapped in their glow.

“Both of you are wrong.” Cian adjusts his bow tie in the mirror, his emerald green gaze laser-focused on his reflection. “Blank and glum is Finn’s smiling face.”

Cian smooths down his tuxedo shirt and smirks, probably calculating how many women he can fit in his car and take home after the reception. And speaking of copious amounts of sex, every time I think about what I’m supposed to do tonight in the honeymoon suite of the Blackadder Hotel, guilt chargrills me on the inside.

Every man in the fucking family age fourteen to sixty-five is jealous of me. They’ve been pulling me aside left and right since we announced our engagement, congratulating me while licking their damn chops as if they hope I’ll be generous enough to share.

I’m marrying Harper Brennan, the “sexiest” Mob daughter there is. Of all the men she could have picked, of all the men she could have been arranged to marry, she “chose” me. I’m the lucky asshole who gets to change her last name to mine, but the truth is, we have no connection.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with her. She’s beautiful. Blond-haired, blue-eyed. Long legs. Intelligent. Vivacious, outgoing personality.

I’m the problem. Since Brianne’s untimely murder, the only thing that somewhat excites me is my job, and I’m practically married to it.

I hardly register my friends’ words with my thoughts spiraling in every direction.

The bottom line is I don’t want to get married. Not today, or ever again.

And especially not to a woman ten years younger, born the same year my mom and little brother died. She’s still starry-eyed, with her whole life ahead of her. Marrying me is like paving over a happy little flower with asphalt. Harper should be with someone capable of love, someone capable of appreciating her.

Someone like Cian.

Cian might be a manwhore who rarely sleeps with the same woman twice, but we all know he’s the kind of guy who’ll settle the fuck down for the right woman. I always thought Harper was that woman for him. In fact, I expected Cian to be the only person as messed up about today as I am. He doesn’t think any of us notice the way he’s watched Harper over the years, but we do. Not that Harper has any idea. When the priest asks for any objectors to identify themselves, I’m hoping he’ll stand up.

Judging by his chipper demeanor, though, it’s more likely I’ve misunderstood his attraction—his obsession—to her all this time. And as much as I dread and despise the fate barreling toward me like an undodgeable bullet, it’s too late to stop it.

After all he’s done to help me avenge Brianne’s death, I can’t let Shane Gallagher down. The modicum of peace I have in my life—knowing I put the man responsible for her demise six feet under—I owe to my father.

After burying the love of his life and his youngest son far too soon, my father has met with enough disappointment to last a lifetime without my disgracing the family name.

Without the guys here, I would’ve walked into a wall, fallen out of a window, or murdered one of these wedding assistants who keep popping in to check on us every five fucking minutes.

A hand drops onto my shoulder. With my nerves wound so tight, I almost whip around and dislocate Rory’s arm.

“Look alive, Gallagher.” He nudges me toward the door. “It’s time.”

The guys flank me, all of us moving like a pack of wolves down a long, drafty stone corridor.

Brianne’s funeral swirls through the background of my mind. Her mother’s anguished cries reverberated all the way to where I lurked in the shadows because I wasn’t invited to Brianne’s funeral. Her parents insisting on taking over the arrangements, and given my guilt over her death, me stepping aside and letting them.

By the time we pass through the door to the sanctuary, no sound remains but my slogging heartbeat.

“Good luck, buddy.” Cian gives me a cheerful slap on the back before disappearing with Rory and Darren, leaving me alone.

I gaze around the crowded pews as though I’m in a lucid dream. There’s my father’s proud face. Marnie Brennan, Harper’s mother, sits at the end of the pew nearest the aisle, her cheeks already flushed from the alcohol she drinks in copious amounts when she thinks no one is watching. She dabs at her eyes while guilt pierces my chest.

She’s right to cry. Her precious child is marrying a monster.

Much of this family’s dirtiest work falls to me, and the truth is, in a twisted, morbid way, I love it. I crave the release that senseless violence provides.

The world I live in is often ugly, but it’s the only world where I could ever hope for acceptance.

A chorus of creaks echo through this cavernous place as the congregation rises, and a classic orchestral melody plays.

Rory comes down the aisle first, arm in arm with a blond bridesmaid wearing a long green dress. Once they claim their places, Darren and another bridesmaid emerge, followed by Cian.

The music stops, then starts again. Thomas Brennan, a man I’ve reported to since I was a teenage foot soldier in training, emerges from the giant oak doors, a veiled Harper on his arm. Sweat drips down my back as my eyes land on the flowers clutched in her hand.

The bouquet is damn near identical to my first wife’s…mocks me. Even now, Bri’s there in my mind. I’m so excited to marry you, to build a life together , she once said. Those words burn the inside of my skull, like a parody of all my highest hopes.

In my head, the faraway music slows to a funeral march when Thomas settles Harper’s hand in mine.

As if from somewhere above, I watch myself ascend the stairs while clasping Harper’s fingers. The minister seats everyone and begins the ceremony. It’s like I’m viewing the television show that is my life with the sound on mute.

In these agonizing seconds that seem to draw on for an hour, I wonder if there’s still time. Time to scare the shit out of Harper so she’ll back out of this herself. I could tell her the story of Brianne’s death. Or I could take her out on an assignment with me, so she can see for herself the man she’s marrying.

A man who clips off the fingers of his enemies when he’s in a good mood. A man who knows how to slit the corners of a person’s mouth and stab them repeatedly until their facial muscles contract, creating a Cheshire grin the size of the Joker’s.

No act of violence is beneath me. Nothing too low or too brutal.

The minister drones on, prompting us when it’s time to speak. With a few inaudible mumbles, we complete our vows.

The minister smiles. “You may now kiss the bride.”

On autopilot, I lift the veil over Harper’s head. The instant I do, my whole world goes sideways.

Shock rips through my stupor. Time speeds back up.

Under the veil, the face that peers out matches my intended’s, but that’s not Harper fucking Brennan staring up at me with wide blue eyes.

Instead, I find her twin sister.

Riley.