Page 81 of Arranged Scars
“Do this for me, Caroline. Prove you’re useful.”
I nod once. I hate him so much, it’s terrifying. “I’ll try, Daddy.”
His lips curl. “Good girl. I always knew you had the family’s best interests at heart. Go ahead, go talk to your husband for us, and make sure the Whelans take this seriously.”
I back away to the door. I want to scream and laugh. You stupid fuckers. You sick, stupid bastards. I’ll talk to my husband, all right.
I’ll tell him to keep on killing you all.
Mal shoots me a look as I go. It’s pure loathing. He’s twitching as he pours himself another drink, and I can smell the stink of fear in the room, hanging over all three of them like a cloud.
They’ve never been more vulnerable.
And now I know what we have to do.
30
FINN
Exercising with a gunshot wound isn’t easy. If I were smart, I’d probably stick to rest.
But there’s no fucking way I’m going to be able to sit still for the next three weeks of healing.
Only Seamus knows the truth. Not the full details though. I had to tell someone on the inside, just in case shit goes sideways. Fortunately, he didn’t ask too many questions. Just laughed and told me to enjoy the painkillers. He’s been shot enough times to know how this goes.
Our story’s simple. I have a bad flu for a while and after that, I’m on a business trip overseas. That’ll account for three weeks hiding out.
Which I fucking despise.
I float on my back and kick my feet. Above me, the afternoon sky is speckled with floating, fluffy clouds. One looks like a duck. Another’s like a car ripping through a mountain. It’s peaceful in the pool today, even though I really shouldn’t be doing this. But the bandage is waterproof and the sling keeps me stable, so it’snot that bad. I do a weird, awkward backstroke, gritting my teeth against the occasional painful jolts.
This is my fucking fault. I never should have gone into an operation half-prepared. I knew from the start that it was a massive risk, but I got greedy. I wanted to take down Dermot too badly, and that blinded me to the holes in the plan.
Worse than all that, I put Caroline at risk.
I deserve the pain and worse.
After a while, I notice her sitting in the chairs near the sauna. She’s in a black bikini, dark against her skin, with her hair up and her sunglasses on. Caroline’s watching me, or at least I think she is. Her lips are pink and pressed together, and she doesn’t look happy as I paddle my way over and awkwardly climb out with one arm.
Her eyebrows quirk when I stand in front of her. Water drips off my body. She tilts the sunglasses down.
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” she asks.
“You should see it when I get hard.”
She snorts, trying not to smile. “Hilarious. But you’re still an idiot.”
I sit down at the end of her chair. She watches me, moving her feet out of the way. I’m cold but it feels good.
“I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”
“You got shot.”
“Really? Hadn’t noticed.”
“Most people would still be in the hospital. Speaking of which—” She bends sideways and produces a medicine bottle. “Time for your meds.”
I grunt unhappily but don’t fight. Right now, my biggest risk is infection. Swimming in a pool probably isn’t helping with that much. I dry swallow the pills and lean back on one hand with a sigh.
