Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
That last part isn’t bad. I expected it to feel like pulling teeth with him. Finn’s cocky and funny, but he’s not exactly a great conversationalist. Mostly he wants to make jokes and move on. Except when we’re alone, somehow things just flow. We never run out of things to say.
He tells me about his family, about his brothers, their wives, and his parents. He talks about his father like the man was a saint. “He kept everything together. My mother was the brains and he was the charm. Dad is the reason the Whelan clan is as important as it is.”
“Why are you so important, anyway?”
Finn glances at me. “We help the community.”
I bust out laughing, but he’s clearly not kidding. “You sell drugs. You blackmail politicians. What do you mean, you help the community?”
“We do sell drugs and blackmail important people, that’s true. We also kill violent bastards who beat their wives, give out turkeys at Thanksgiving, help needy assholes with their bills, run more than a few markets that sell goods at discounted rates, and practically manage half a dozen different charities that keep parts of this city running. We’re more than just monsters.”
I lean back and consider it. I twirl the murder glass ring around my finger. That’s becoming a nervous habit. “But you’re criminals too. I mean, I’d know better than anyone. My dad’s the worst of them all. He basically skims money from every single city construction project imaginable thanks to his sway with the unions.”
“Nothing’s ever that simple. We’re not just a gang of roving thugs. My brother genuinely cares about this city and the people he looks after. Anyone remotely related to the clan has a decent standard of living. He makes sure of it. And everyone else, if they’re not bastards or rivals, they’re given what we can spare.”
“Prove it.” I sit up straight, frowning. “Show me.”
“I’ll take you to the health clinic in Brooklyn or the shelter in Hell’s Kitchen. We have a dozen places just like those.”
“Do you think that good balances out the bad shit?” I feel a sudden eager flutter in my chest. Maybe this is how I can wash the stain off my soul.
“If you want to get theological, my answer is a resounding who fucking knows.”
“But it could, and maybe once this is all over—”
He looks at me, and I expect him to laugh in my face. I mean, what do I think I can do for people? I’m just some random abuse victim with no money, no education, and no prospects outside of my psycho killer husband.
But he only nods. “Once this is over, you can do whatever you want. I’ll make sure of it. You’ll walk away from this marriage with enough money to live and then some.”
I stiffen and look down at my hands. I forgot that was a part of the deal. Once I’m done helping him kill my brothers, he promised to divorce me. We’re not really married, remember? This is all fake. It’s all some bullshit smoke screen.
But if that’s the case, why the ring? Why look at me the way he does?
I shouldn’t feel so crushed. I smile and act like that’s totally fine. “You better add a few zeroes to that sum. I plan on doing a lot of philanthropy once I retire from murder.”
He nods, face a grim set. “As much as you want.”
My smile slips. Silence settles into the car. It’s the first time I’ve felt any sort of strain being with him. Why would I care though? This has always been the deal. I knew it from the start, and it’s not his fault I haven’t thought about it. I can’t blame him if I’ve been imagining myself living as his wife.
This was always fake.
A truck suddenly slows near the site entrance. Finn nudges my knee and nods in its direction. I lean forward as Redmond gets out, opens the gate, drives the truck through, and closes it again. We sit in stunned silence. Even though this is what we’ve been waiting for, it’s like neither of us thought it would happen.
“You ready?” he says, tilting toward me. “You still think you can do this?”
“Definitely.” I grab a walkie-talkie pair from the glove box and give him one. He gets out of the car and we test them. “This is Caroline calling Finn the dickhead, over.”
“This is Finn the dickhead, over.” He leans down to the window and rests his elbows on the edge. “I watch. You wait. When it’s time, I’ll say the trigger words, ‘Blow it now.’ Then you do your thing.”
I mime hitting the button with my thumb. “Make sure you’re already running.”
Nerves tingle along my spine. He walks away from the car toward the big fence, a hood pulled up over his head, a medical mask over his face. It’s impossible to identify him.