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“Oh, lots, I think. Derry brought it up.”
“Any hack with Google can find out the answer.” He ruffles the back of his hair. “I’m not sure if I’m impressed or annoyed you haven’t bothered.” He sighs. “Car accident. Faulty brakes.” His voice drips with derision on the last two words.
“The O’Malleys had something to do with that?”
“They did. Look, Kimmy. It’s complicated. It was a long time ago.” His face is shuttered. “I got my revenge.”
For the first time since we started talking, I lock my gaze with his. “Did it make you feel better?”
He chuckles but it’s devoid of humor. “I’m probably supposed to give you some bullshit answer about how it wasn’t what I thought it would be. Right? I think that’s what you’d want me to say. But it feltexactlyhow I thought it would. I balanced the scales. I set things right.”
Balanced the scales. Is that how I’ll feel when I know who murdered Chad and why? Will killing whoever it is, assuming they’re still alive, give me a sense of rightness?
This time, when I go around Finn, he lets me. He follows me out of the bathroom. “I know he hired you to get close to me.”
I stop and whirl on him in the hallway. “Yes, Finn, because the world clearly revolves around you.”
“I’m glad we agree.”
Sashaying back, I trail my finger down the front of his shirt and pitch my voice low to say, “If that were true, I’d be doing a pretty terrible job. And I’m good at everything I put my mind to.” I glance up under my lashes. “You see. If I were trying to get close to you, I’d have done it by now. I’d be like a second skin. Every time you took a breath, you’d breathe me in like oxygen. Every time you went to bed, you’d feel me pressed up against you. At night when you dreamed, you’d dream of me.”
He angles his head so his lips almost touch my ear, like Derry’s did earlier. Only this time, when the shiver races through me, it’s not followed by revulsion.
“I know what you’re doing, but I can’t help being intrigued by you.” He smirks. “My brother knows me well.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“The fight’s about to start.” Lorcan is at the end of the hallway, his voice echoing toward us.
I flinch as though scalded, and Finn chuckles. Tension radiates off Lorcan. Seeing him there causes an ache to spread across my chest. I want things I shouldn’t.
“The fight.” The words are forced out of his lips.
“Yeah.” I turn from Finn. “I heard you. It’s about to start.” With that, I stride past Lorcan, avoiding his gaze. He tries to snag my arm, but I sidestep him.
“Come on, brother.” Finn’s mocking echoes in the corridor. “Is that all you’ve got?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
To anyone else, it seems like I’m focused on the fight in the cage, but I’m not taking in any of it. From time to time, Finn inclines his head in to murmur a bit of strategy in my ear, and I nod along while his words run right through me. The rage in me is bottomless, unending, and it’s directed at Lorcan. It’s irrational, I understand that much. But I can’t figure out how to contain it. His face in the hallway, his part in reselling the women and children, the way he’s so engaged in the fight as though what’s happening between us doesn’t mean anything—all of it keeps my anger boiling below the surface.
During every round, bar staff come to the first few rows to gather drink orders. The three of us pound beer after beer as though there’s enough alcohol to drown out the tension.
When they cart the final unconscious, bloodied man out of the ring, Finn claps his hands in response to his betting prowess, and I stand up, ready to be done with it.
“What no autograph from the winner, a selfie, nothing?” His eyes laugh at me, and he chugs back the last of his beer.
I stumble, and Lorcan’s hand snakes out around a seated Finn to steady me. With a yank, I free my elbow but almost fall face-first into Finn’s lap. As he rises from his seat, he helps stabilize me.
“Easy, tiger.” He drops his empty cup to the ground.
“I thought I was a cougar.”
“Tiger, cougar.” He makes a dismissive motion with his hand.
“What the hell are you two on about?”
“Private joke.” I avoid Lorcan’s probing gaze. Let him stew on that.