Shattered Hearts (Irish Kings #1)

21. Finn

Chapter 21

Finn

Thomas Brennan growls just before swinging a steel pipe at Troy’s kneecaps. The god-awful cracking extracts a howl so loud, I have to turn the monitor’s volume down. Exhaling hard, I drop my finger on the pause key.

I’ve been down here in the basement all day, watching recordings of Thomas interrogating Dipshit Sullivan. Since I was too busy forgetting my place with his daughter to participate, I missed out.

I thought analyzing the footage for clues would take my mind off things. Why the fuck did I think that? Seeing Thomas Brennan only reminds me of his daughter and how she deserves a better father. Seeing Troy Sullivan, it’s the same shit. I just think of Riley.

I hit play.

Work, Finn. Focus on work.

This is the third time I’ve watched the footage of this session. My favorite part is coming up.

“Why do you keep. Coming. Back?” Thomas pummels Troy on every word he enunciates. By the time Thomas finishes his sentence, Troy’s out.

Guess that right hook is hereditary.

Fuck! I slam my fist on the spacebar to stop the video again. Can I go five seconds without thinking about her? I’m not myself today. Maybe I can’t stop thinking about her because I know I’m going to see her later. See her and say…what?

My brain is a blank white page.

I rewind the video footage by five seconds to watch Thomas go one more time. But on this next pass, his words hit my ears differently.

Why do you keep coming back ?

Does that mean…have Thomas and Troy crossed paths in the years since the Red Hill debacle? I understand from what Riley told me that his showing up a few nights ago was the first time she’s seen him since she ended things between them. But just because Riley hasn’t run into him at all these past few years doesn’t mean her father hasn’t…

I’m clicking into the archives to do some research when my phone vibrates, nearly buzzing right off the desk.

It’s Cian. I catch the phone and answer before it hits the floor.

“Finn? Where are you?” The urgency in Cian’s tone jerks me out of my stupor.

“At the house. What’s going on?”

“We’ll be there in five minutes. Get Rory.” Cian’s deep exhale causes the cell’s microphone snuffle and snap. “I’m with Riley. We were attacked leaving her job. Managed to take?—”

I’m on my feet the second I hear I’m with Riley . “Is she hurt?”

“No, I got to her before they roughed her up too bad.”

My spinal cord’s been replaced with lava. In a fraction of a second, I’m molten with rage, my mind racing like a missile-powered roller coaster.

I’m going to break my hand on the face of the motherfucker who hurt her. I’m going to crack my brass knuckles in half crushing through that fucker’s skull with my bare hands. And then I’m going to kill all his friends, just for fun.

“How many?” Fury scorches the bottom of my feet, prompting me to move faster. I’m out the interrogation office door, jogging down the darkened central corridor of the cell block.

“Two on the street. Not sure how many were waiting in the wings.”

I explode into the stairwell that leads up to the mansion’s first floor. “Were they Red Hill boys? What did they look like?”

“A giant guy and a scrawny one. Didn’t clock any tattoos.”

Still sounds like a match. “Where are they now?”

“Dead in an alley by Riley’s job.”

My feet skid to a halt on the top stair. What the hell is Cian talking about?

“Why were you at Riley’s job?”

“She had work, and she asked me to drive her.”

Those words hit me like a semi doing eighty miles an hour.

I’m with Riley. Riley’s job. She asked me to drive her. I’m with Riley.

My racing mind courses faster. Suspicion sours the inside of my mouth, welding my jaw shut. Why the fuck are Riley and Cian together right now? Since when do they even talk to each other? Why is she asking him for favors instead of coming to me?

I’m with Riley. Like taking a bullet square in the chest, the crux of this situation punctures me. The thing that makes me want to decapitate someone right now is that Cian said I’m with Riley . He doesn’t think he’s with Harper. He knows he’s with Riley, which means he knows our secret.

He knows. He has to.

Riley…let him in on it.

I throw the door to the main hall open with such anger, a group of staff people nearby shrink against a wall.

“Get Rory.” Cian’s voice recaptures my attention.

My fury could drive me to hit Cian the next time I see him. “Why?” I stamp down the hallway toward the garage.

“Weren’t you listening?” Cian’s snark has me squeezing my phone too hard. “I managed to grab a cell phone off one of the assailants. Rory should be able to hack it.”

The echo of Cian’s voice changes. I can tell he just pulled into the lot. I head in that direction, breaking left down the mansion’s main hallway. Getting Rory can fucking wait. My first priority is making sure Riley’s okay?—

“Where’s the fire?” Like a jinx, Rory wanders out of the kitchen, shake-mixing one of his famously disgusting homemade health drinks.

“Follow me!” I don’t give him an explanation.

With Rory in tow, I race around the next corner and fly into the garage, running past the fleet of parked cars toward the Audi R8 in Atlantic Ocean blue whipping into a space by the entrance.

Cian’s out of the car almost the same second he cuts the engine. He’s coming straight toward us, already engaging Rory about the phone in his hand, but I bypass them both and book it to the passenger side of Cian’s car.

Gratitude and relief melt into my rage and urgency as I rip the door open. I’m insanely grateful nothing worse happened to Riley today, but the thought of her having a connection with another man makes me want to kill . The last thing I need is a reminder of how bad a choice I am for her. Especially in comparison to ladies’ man extraordinaire Cian.

I crouch down at eye level with her, taking in her scattered, shaken expression. It’s about as easy as eating glass.

Riley didn’t so much as flinch when I threw her door open. I scan her for injuries. Fresh red bruises color her wrist and forearm. One of those bastards put his hands on her. Hurt her.

I hate Cian for killing that fucker. Because now I can’t.

Cuts and scrapes pepper her hands as she twists them in her lap. I never knew I could feel so many things at once.

Rage. Relief. Numbness. I can’t even speak.

I want to lift her from Cian’s car, gather her into my arms, carry her upstairs, and fix her myself, but all I can do is kneel there in front of her, immobile. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” She nods but refuses to meet my eyes. “Move, please.”

Those two little words rip me right down the middle, like a torn sheet of paper. She wants me to get out of her way so she can get out. That’s all. So why do I feel like I’m dangling on a cliff and she’d rather watch me fall to my death than spend another second with me?

Guilt and vitriol roil together inside me as I force myself to step away from the door so she can climb out.

“This way.” A woman’s voice startles me.

When did Esmeralda get here? As one of the nurses in the Gallagher Medical Unit, Cian must have called her to check out Riley. That smug bastard thinks of everything.

Riley takes a step toward Esme and staggers. My arm wraps around her in a nanosecond. She still won’t look at me.

Her gaze darts between the nurse and Rory and then finally settles on me as she pitches on her tiptoes and smiles. “Don’t touch me.”

The gesture seems intimate to anyone watching, but Riley’s laced her low voice with venom.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize she’s not happy with me.

Desperate fear and uncontained anger metastasize through my body. Worse than Riley’s rejection is the clear and full knowledge that her rejection is my fault. This is all my fault. Yesterday, I was selfish, thoughtless, brash, and careless. And today, I was so mortified by my actions, so caught up in my own bullshit, I forgot about her.

I forgot who she is. That she has a life and a job and idiots coming after her. That I’d agreed to have her back. I left her all alone to fend for herself in this awful situation she didn’t ask for. Moving in with me was my idea. The whole point was to keep her safe, and I’ve failed her. All I’ve done is take advantage of her.

We may be back to square one, but damn if I’m not going to put on a show for the others.

Careful not to hurt her, I slide both arms around her, pulling her close and leaning down to whisper. “Oh, I’m going to touch you, angel. We’re acting, remember?”

Her startling blue eyes widen, and her soft gasp ignites a fire in my core. My lips coast over her neck. Over her jaw. Over the corner of her mouth. Her posture relaxes, hands sliding up to grip my biceps as that cold indifference in her gaze wars with desire. She wants to hate me— should hate me—but her body says otherwise.

I nip at her lip and suck on it, teasing her, tasting her. Kissing her softly, I stroke her disheveled hair. The motion is meant to comfort her, but I’m the one who’s comforted. Relieved that she’s okay and standing before me in one piece.

She could’ve been hurt much worse. Could’ve died.

Disgust, viscous and foul like rotting sewage, clogs my chest. Everything about me puts lives at risk. I’m the one they should have cut to pieces. Not Brianne.

And I should have been the one protecting Riley.

I have nothing to say for myself, no excuses to offer. I just want to take Riley upstairs and sit at her feet until she tells me what I have to do to make this right. We’re pretending. This isn’t real. We’re in the fucking mother of all messes, but I…I don’t want to let her go.

A throat clears, and I glance up to Cian’s raised eyebrows. Right. He’s probably wondering what the hell I’m doing getting involved with my fake wife.

I can’t care less about what he thinks, but Riley needs medical attention, and I need to hunt down the fuckers who hurt her.

Forcing myself to step back, I gently pry Riley’s hands from my arms and plant a kiss on her bruised wrist.

Her lip quivers. “You’re not playing fair.”

“Never claimed to.” I kiss her cheek. “Go get checked out. We’ll talk later.”

It takes everything in me not to run after her as she and Esme walk across the garage.

Rory drops his hand on my shoulder as Riley and Esme slip out of sight. “Finn?”

“Come on.” Cian locks the car and shoves the keys in his pocket. “Let’s go report to Shane.”

By the time we get to my father’s office, I’m so wracked with dread and remorse, my jaw won’t even open. As much as I hate that Cian was there instead of me, I’m glad I don’t have any talking to do in this meeting.

The three of us facing my dad’s desk usually reminds me of our childhood misadventures, of all the mischief we made and the trouble we got into gallivanting around the estate as boys. The only person missing is Darren.

“Some guys attacked me downtown.” Cian sets the cell phone on Dad’s desk. “I took out two of them and managed to get this.”

Every impulse inside me wants to throw Cian against the wall and demand he reveal everything he knows. It’s obvious he knows a lot, If he’s keeping our secret this well, it’s obvious he knows a lot. Not only has he kept Riley out of this story, but he’s also kept out Harper’s name. Why isn’t he admitting Riley was with him? Surely he’s aware my father and Thomas were the ones who convinced Riley and me to go along with this little act.

Dad takes a puff from his cigar and surveys Cian. “Was anyone with you?”

I know that look. It’s a test. Is Cian going to admit he was with Riley? Or will he throw out Harper’s name? Maybe he’ll lie through his teeth and insist he was alone.

“I, um,” Cian’s gaze meets mine, “was picking up Riley from her job since Finn was busy.”

Rory’s jaw drops. “Riley? You mean Harper? And since when does Harper have a job outside of?—”

“No, he means Riley.” My father sighs, then fills Rory in with the details of why Riley’s impersonating her sister.

Rory leans back in his seat, not saying a word until Dad finishes. “Shit…that’s…complicated.”

Complicated is an understatement. “You have no idea.”

Dad studies me for a moment, and I can’t help but wonder if he knows there’s something going on between Riley and me. He saw us kiss at the wedding…then at the reception.

If he suspects anything, he doesn’t mention it. Just tells us we might as well let Darren in on our secret, too, before getting back to business.

“The encryption on this thing is no joke.” Rory whistles as he handles the phone. “I should have it unlocked soon, though. Hopefully by morning.”

Dad opens his mouth to say something when the cell phone rings, vibrating against the wood of his massive desk. The caller ID captures all the attention in the room.

Boss.

The answer to this mystery is reaching out to us.

Shane accepts the call and puts the phone on speaker. He listens while the person on the other end of the line yaks away.

“ Say something !” The voice on the phone rumbles loud enough for all of us to hear.

“Enzo De Luca.” Dad sets his cigar in an ornate ash tray. “It’s been a long time.”

My scar pulses so hard, white spots mar my vision. I feel the cold, bitter slice of Matteo De Luca’s blade as he slashed my face. Even now, the gunshot echoes in my memory. The way it rang out—clear as a bell—when I put a bullet between his eyes.

I don’t come out of my intense flashback until after the phone call has ended. Dad’s dispensing orders, but my world stopped on its axis the instant I heard the name De Luca . That name binds my whole body into knots too tight for even air to slip through.

“Get all the information you can off that phone.” Shane tosses it to Rory. “Cian, call a cabinet meeting.”

“Done.” Cian and Rory disappear. Their eyes settle on me before they turn away altogether. Probably wondering if I’m okay.

“Finn, my boy.” Dad taps his cigar, the embers falling like snow. “The time has come.”

A chill whips through me, brisk enough to freeze blood. I’ve awaited this moment for three years. My time to die. Only, what should have been simple is now more complicated than anything I’ve ever imagined.

I didn’t save Brianne. Murdering her killer was the bare minimum I could do to repent. The very least I could do was avenge her with an execution of my own. But the horrified defeat on Matteo De Luca’s face when I gunned him down gave me no consolation at all. There was no feeling better after Brianne’s death. I didn’t deserve that.

Not after what happened to her.

Not after my careless, selfish, stubborn idiocy put her in an early grave.

No, killing the man responsible for her murder did next to nothing to lessen the weight in my chest, to ease the crushing guilt that desecrated my already broken heart. I had nothing to live for. And if I didn’t think suicide too sweet an outcome for a monster like me, I would have blown my brains out right after I did the same to Matteo.

Instead, I returned to life as an enforcer, waiting on edge, knowing that when the De Luca family eventually rebounded from the death of their don, they would seek me out to have their revenge. More than expecting it, until now, I’d been prepared to welcome whatever ugly end they had planned for me.

They couldn’t do any worse to me than they’d done to Brianne. And I deserved worse than what they did to her.

Imagine my horror when my father told me I should marry Harper Brennan. Marry a young, vivacious woman like that to a dead man like me? I acquiesced, but Harper got away from our terrible fate on her own. Or so I’ve been thinking all this time.

The fact that the De Lucas attacked Riley and Cian tonight, the fact that Enzo De Luca told Shane himself it was time for me to pay for what I did to Matteo, puts our entire situation in a new light.

The De Lucas killed Brianne as a means of revenge. I killed the head of their family, who sanctioned her execution. Years went by. I remained at the top of their hit list. What would be the cruelest way to force me to suffer for my crimes?

Destroy all hopes of marital bliss, again , by kidnapping my wife-to-be the day she’s supposed to meet me at the altar. And naturally, when they saw that kidnapping Harper didn’t stop my wedding day or my “marriage,” they came after Riley and me to try again.

From the perspective of those dumb bastards, it makes perfect sense. And it was a good plan too. Nothing terrified me more on our wedding day than knowing Harper might be in danger so long as her future was intertwined with mine. If I’d known on that very day that the De Lucas had kidnapped her, that they were harming her because of their hatred for me…nothing could have gutted me more.

Either that, or the De Lucas figured out Harper skipped town, Riley is posing as her sister, and now they’re after Harper. Hell, maybe they’re after her and Riley.

My worst nightmare is repeating itself.

I want to terrorize my father’s office, to tear the place apart in sheer frustration and fucking fear. Riley thinks Harper just got cold feet and disappeared. But what if that’s not the case?

What the fuck am I going to tell Riley?

Sorry I wasn’t there for you today. By the way, both you and your sister’s lives are in danger.

What if Harper’s already dead? What if I get another box with a severed hand inside? My mouth dries.

Enemies closing in on all sides.

The Red Hill boys are up my ass for no reason, coming after Riley and me, and now the De Lucas have returned?

Attacking my friends and the woman I…

I scrub my hand down my face. Now is not the time to analyze my affections for Riley. There’s too much shit going on to let that distract me. My first goal is to keep Riley safe. The second one? Locate her sister.

“You need to warn Riley what’s coming. Once we have a meeting, I’ll task Cian and Rory with locating Harper.” My father’s husky baritone echoes my thoughts exactly. “On the chance that Enzo isn’t aware, let’s not let news of Harper’s disappearance spread outside of our circle. So for now, the only people who should know Riley’s pretending to be her sister are Thomas, Donal, Cian, Rory, and Darren.”

A prudent decision.

I only manage a single nod when a shoulder brushes mine. In walks Donal and Thomas.

Dad gives me one last look before blotting out his cigar. “You’re dismissed.”

Somehow, I stumble out of the office. I stand there for a few minutes, stuck in a nosedive. Like a fighter jet going down, thoughts, concerns, and contingencies spiral violently through my mind.

What if they have Harper? What if they get Riley too?

I visualize that package…that haunting brown square box that Brianne’s severed hand arrived in. I can’t get a package like that again. How many times can I die inside before my body gives out?

How will I explain everything to Riley?

She’s probably back in my suite by now. All I have to do is walk down the hall and go inside and see her.

But I can’t. With this much rage actively burning through me, I’m this close to being set off. I need to go calm down before I see her. We have a lot to unpack, and I don’t need to lose my temper.

Instead, my listless feet roam the estate grounds to prolong the inevitable. I do two laps around the gardens. I never go to the garden, but this evening, I do. I need to get away from this house and other humans for a little while.

The night air does me good.

By the time I return to my suite, my rage has decreased by a quarter, and I actually feel like I’m ready to get some things off my chest.

“Riley?” I kick off my shoes by the door and venture farther inside, but I receive no reply. We’re back to the silent treatment.

I pad toward my den, but when I round the corner and glance toward the couch, my blood pressure spikes.

Riley’s made up my sofa with a pillow and a blanket from her apartment.

She’s planning to sleep on the couch. With just a pillow and blanket, Riley Brennan is telling me to fuck off.

I don’t know what I expected, but I guess I deserve this.

We obviously can’t sleep together again. It wouldn’t be wise for a whole slew of reasons. As proven by Bri, any woman who gets close to me dies. And I don’t deserve Riley anyway. Even for a short time. Besides, I’m still technically supposed to marry her sister. The list goes on.

Fuck. Unwise or not, as long as Riley’s under my care, she won’t be sleeping on my couch. She’ll be in my bed, nice and close where I can protect her, even if I’m not allowed to touch her.

My libido wars with my sense of logic. Once I find her, I just want to rip her underwear in two, drive into her until she’s screaming my name, and continue to fuck her until we?—

Stop, Finn. Stop right there. Riley’s in danger, and so is Harper. You need to have a serious talk with her, not lust over her like a sixteen-year-old at prom.

A sharp gasp catches my attention.

Behind me, hand over her heart, Riley stands barefoot and bare-legged, newly emerged from the bathroom and obviously headed to bed. Bandages cover her cuts and bruises. A fresh round of guilt stabs me in the chest like a pitchfork.

I guess she wasn’t expecting me to find her here. I startled her, but nowhere near as much as she startles me standing there and looking like that .

A tsunami of lust draws up inside me. So much for my little pep talk.

About-to-go-to-bed Riley arouses me. Enormously.

Her freshly washed hair, a blond wave breaking over her slight shoulders. Her soft, soapy skin, her braless breasts peaking beneath an oversized t-shirt.

A wild heat makes my neck and shoulders ache. My cock throbs awake.

How am I supposed to have an important conversation with her when all I want to do is bend her over the couch and fuck her into next week?

Setting my jaw, I shift my weight. “We need to talk.”