Page 74

His thumb grazes my cheek. “It’s a very pretty package, I’ll give you that. I highly doubt that’s all that’s underneath.”
“You like what you see?”
Finn’s lips quirk up. “Very much.” He moves away, and cool air rushes against my body. “But I’ve screwed my brother too many times in too many ways to do it to him again regardless of how attractive the package might be.”
Now he’s farther away and my head is clearing, I’m not sure I like the implication behind his words. “I’m not some object you can pass around. I get a say in who I’m with and what I do.”
He chuckles. “Oh, I’m well aware.” He rounds his desk and shuffles some papers, organizing them. “I’m probably more than you could handle anyway.”
“Not to mention you slept with one of my best friends last night.”
“Wasn’t the first time that’s happened. Carys and I go way back.”
“As evidenced by the scar on her chest.”
He pauses his sorting and presses his fingers into the wooden desk. Looking up, his eyes are steel again. “What happened between us back then is none of your business.”
“She’s my friend. I look after my friends.” Guilt pricks at my insides. I also gather evidence on them for an ongoing investigation.
“You’ve been spending too much time with Lorcan.” He opens the top drawer of his desk and takes out a piece of paper. Handing it over, he says, “You know who I look out for?”
I take the paper from him, scanning the handwritten list of names and wait for him to continue. Sometimes I swear he likes the sound of his voice better than anything else.
“Me.”
Glancing up, I frown. He’s lying, and the only person he’s fooling is himself. “And Lorcan. Whether you want to admit it or not, you care.”
His bulky shoulders rise. “Lorcan needs saving from himself. He doesn’t know when to let things go.”
“You do?”
With a chuckle, he shakes his head. “Nah. If I was Lorcan, I would’ve killed me by now. He wants proof, vindication, to be right. Sometimes you gotta pull the trigger and deal with the fallout.”
The whisper doesn’t always become a roar.
“Watch your back. Some people on that list don’t even like a whiff of trouble.”
I nod and fold it several times, shoving it into my back pocket. I cross the room to the door and reach for the handle. Before opening it, I half turn to him. “You know, you see Lorcan’s hesitation as a weakness. But he doesn’t want to believe you killed your father. He doesn’t want that outcome.”
Finn laces his hands together and places them behind his head. “That’s the thing. You can’t let it be about what you want. You gotta let it be what it is. No emotion. Raw facts.” Releasing his fingers, he says, “Go get him what he wants.”
Yanking open the door, I start down the hall to my rooms. I need to photograph this list. Finn’s words echo in my head. Part of me can’t help wondering if Lorcan’s right, if maybe Finn killed their father. Coming to that conclusion doesn’t protect any of us. Given the impending war with the Zhangs, a split could kill us all.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It’s been almost two weeks of me checking into the people on the list, dropping by to check on deals, trying to ferret out how each connection feels about the death of the patriarch in the Donaghey family. Lorcan double-checked my names and confirmed Finn gave me plausible leads. While I’ve been doing this, Lorcan and Finn have been escalating the war with the Zhang organization. They’ve been sabotaging shipments, interfering in the transfer of women and children. The Zhangs haven’t been able to execute any meaningful replies. The Donaghey brothers are a brutal force when they’re working together.
When I enter Lorcan’s office, his shirt is halfway over his head as he strides from the treadmill to his desk.
“What’ve you got for me?” He tugs down his shirt and drops into his chair.
I toss photos and notes onto his desk. “Pretty much nothing so far. No one seems overly sad or overly happy about the change in leadership here.” What I don’t say is how they fear Finn, his temper, his vengeance.
Lorcan laces his fingers together and taps his thumbs against his lips. “How much are you pushing?”
“Enough.”
He makes a noncommittal noise, and his frown deepens. “At what point do I say, ‘fuck it, he did it?’”