Page 16 of Finn

"They know."

"And they're still helping us."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Yeah. They are."

Pops studied me for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smile crept across his face.

"Your father would be proud of you, brother. The way you've stepped up. The way you protect your own." He reached over and squeezed my shoulder, his grip still strong despite his age. "He'd be real proud."

I didn't trust my voice enough to respond, so I just nodded.

I left Pops and went to check on Jessica. The hospital smelled like disinfectant and artificial air, that particular sterile scent that always made my skin crawl. I'd been here too many times in my life—when my father was shot, when my mother had hergallbladder out, when one of the prospects wiped out on a wet road and broke his collarbone.

Now I was here for my cousin.

I'd gotten the call yesterday. She was awake. Responsive. The doctors said it was nothing short of a miracle—the swelling in her brain had gone down faster than expected, and she'd opened her eyes three days ago. They'd kept it quiet until they were sure she was stable.

I pushed open the door to room 412 and stopped.

She looked small in that hospital bed. Fragile in a way I'd never associated with my cousin, who'd always been fire and sass and trouble. Tubes snaked from her arms. Machines beeped softly in the corner. Her dark hair was limp against the pillow, and her skin had that pale, papery quality of someone who hadn't seen sunlight in too long.

But her eyes were open. And when she saw me, she smiled.

"Finn." Her voice was barely a whisper, rough from the tube they'd had down her throat.

"Hey, Jess." I crossed to the bed and pulled up a chair, taking her hand in mine. Her fingers felt like bird bones—delicate, breakable. "How you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck." A ghost of her old humor flickered in her eyes. "Oh wait. I did."

I tried to laugh, but it came out strangled. "Jess..."

"Don't." She squeezed my hand weakly. "Don't do the guilt thing. I can see it all over your face."

"I should have protected you. I should have?—"

"You came." She cut me off, her voice thin but steady. "That's what matters. You came for me."

"Of course I came. You're family."

Her eyes glistened, and she blinked hard. "Shank?"

The name sent a spike of cold fury through my chest, but I kept my voice even. "Locked up. Him and Savage both. They're not coming back from this."

"Good." A tear slipped down her cheek, but she was smiling. Relief. Pure, bone-deep relief. "Good."

I reached over and wiped the tear away with my thumb. "He's never going to touch you again, Jess. None of them are. I swear it on Dad's grave."

She nodded, too tired to speak. Her eyes were already starting to droop—the doctors had warned me she'd fade in and out, that her body needed rest to heal.

"Get some sleep," I said, standing. "I'll come back tomorrow. And the day after that. Every day until you're out of here."

"Finn." Her voice caught me at the door. I turned back.

"Thank you." It was barely a breath, but I heard it clear as a bell.

I nodded once, not trusting my voice, and stepped out into the hallway.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I walked toward the elevator. My throat was tight. My eyes burned. I'd been carrying Jessica's broken body in my mind for weeks now—the image of her hooked up to machines, the sound of Pops telling me she might not make it. All that helpless rage, building up inside me with nowhere to go.