Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I keep seeing her in the garden. So fucking beautiful and fresh. She staggered into me and looked like she wanted to smash my lips with hers or maybe start screaming for help. The perfect reaction to my touch. Horror, need. Revulsion and want.
The subway clatters around me. An old man panhandles. I toss money into his plastic jug. He seems happy. Must’ve been a lot.
I stare vacantly as the stops flicker past. An old woman coming home from a long shift watches me nervously. I smile at her; she shrinks away.
The night is hell. I fight my way through it. My head’s a storm, and I don’t know how to quiet it. I don’t even know where I’m going until I’m on his doorstep, body trembling, mind a racing storm. When I hit the buzzer, I know this is a huge mistake. I know how deeply lost I am right now.
But there’s no going back for me.
“Who the fuck is waking me up at two in the morning?” Finn barks through the intercom.
“It’s me.”
There’s a long pause. “Cormac? Seriously?”
“I want to talk.”
“You know I’m getting married tomorrow, right?”
“Now, Finn. Buzz me through.”
There’s another pause, but finally the door unlocks. I push it open and step into his foyer. My brother’s house is in Riverdale, still technically in the Bronx, but tree-lined and rich as fuck. Not my kind of place. His decorations are expensive but tasteful, and the hallway is dark with one single light on upstairs. I hear him grumbling with annoyance as he comes down the steps in sweats and a t-shirt, glaring at me.
“This better be important,” he says, stopping at the bottom step. Some of his anger fades. “You look like shit.”
“I’ve been drinking.”
“You smell like a whore’s taint.”
“Been worse.”
He cracks a slight smile and gestures for me to follow. We head into the kitchen, modern and clean, where he brings down two glasses and cracks a bottle of the good Irish stuff. It’s warm and strong.
“I’m guessing you didn’t show up here to give me a pep talk.” Finn watches me carefully, leaning against the counter, keeping the island between us.
“No, I didn’t.” I stare at my glass, trying to figure out what I want. It’s so painfully obvious, but also impossible. To say it out loud would be like the ultimate betrayal.
But this is my brother. This is Finn, my youngest. He’s always been the best of us. Not soft, far from soft, but the kindest, warmest, most level-headed. Still not entirely sure of his place in the organization, but always trying his best to find it. Lost and adrift but earnest and loyal.
A good man. The sort of man I’d want my feather to be with.
“You know, Dad was pretty suspicious when you came to Philadelphia with us.” He talks like this is no big deal. Like we always have this kind of conversation. “I told him that it was nothing. That you were just scouting out the city for some future work.”
“Did he buy it?”
“Probably not.” He swirls his drink. His voice is soft, but his face is hard. “Are you going to talk about it now? Or are you going to keep pretending like nothing’s wrong right up until the last second?”
This is a mistake.
It’s such a bad fucking mistake.
I take a long drink. The alcohol only stokes the hell inside me.
“The Marinos are going to need someone to run their local business,” I tell him, struggling to keep my voice level. “I think Dad was going to ask Seamus to do it. But I’ll make him give it to you.”
Finn’s eyebrows raise. “I figured that job was basically mine already.”
“It’s not. You know how Dad operates.”
He laughs bitterly. “I’m fucking aware. Can’t get good, important work without proving yourself. Can’t prove yourself without good, important work either. Stuck in a goddamn shit-loop eating shit sandwiches at every turn.”
“Seamus is good and reliable. That’s why he’s the first choice. Declan’s got his own stuff going on. And you know me.”
“Sure, you’re too busy—” He mimes strangling someone. “So why would Dad listen to you?”
“Because he needs me more than he admits. I’m the grease that turns the wheel.”
“More like the blood.”
I stare at him, not smiling. He’s not wrong. “It’ll be a big job, bigger than anything you’ve gotten to this point.”
“What do you want in exchange?” he asks, speaking very slowly.
My brother’s a good man, but he’s also ambitious. He’ll do anything to prove himself, and this is the perfect opportunity. If he manages this transition, it’ll show our father that he’s ready for more responsibility. That means more power. More money. More trust.
I feel the words like poison in my throat. I open my mouth, but I don’t know if I can make them come out.
It’s not too late to turn away. I could make some excuse. Tell him some stupid lie he won’t believe, but it would be enough to save face.