Page 92 of Arranged Scars
I can tell by Finn’s expression that he’s having the same thoughts and he doesn’t like the answers.
34
CAROLINE
Finn paces across the kitchen. He’s been like this since we got home, except for the first ten minutes when he insisted on looking me over from head to toe in case I had any wounds I didn’t know about. It was overprotective and annoying, but I appreciated it.
“How the fuck did that happen?” Finn’s vibrating with anger. He grabs a bottle of wine and pours two big glasses. “There’s no way we got caught. And there’s no way they knew.”
“Dermot’s not an idiot. Cormac’s good, but he might’ve missed something.” I accept my glass and try to steer him to a chair, but he can’t seem to sit still. “It’s possible we triggered something or maybe Liam did.”
Finn considers it. “That’d make sense actually. Dermot could’ve been watching the whole neighborhood.”
“Why attack though? Why do that?”
“I have no idea.” Finn glares at me unhappily. “But we need to find out.” He looks like he wants to say more, but we’re interrupted when the doorbell rings.
Neither of us moves. I stare down the hall, heart suddenly racing. “Who’s that?” I ask slowly.
He considers, already reaching for a random drawer and drawing out a pistol. I stare at it. Since when did he keep loaded weapons around the house?
“I’m not sure, but let me answer.”
“What if it’s Dermot? Maybe he came here to finish us off?”
“I don’t think so. Shooters wouldn’t knock.”
“Please, Finn. Be careful. I don’t like this.”
He walks to the door. I follow after him, buzzing and terrified. He looks at the security window and turns on the exterior camera?—
Malachy stares back.
“He’s alone,” Finn says, panning the image to make sure, before opening the door.
My oldest brother looks bad. His eyes are bleary like he hasn’t slept and his clothes are wrinkled. Mal is usually in such good shape. He keeps himself perfectly groomed and exercised at all times. But now, it’s like he’s falling to pieces.
“We need to talk,” Mal says, glancing over his shoulder. “Privately, please.”
“What do you want?” Finn doesn’t move to let him in.
“Something happened tonight. It’s better if we don’t talk about it out here.” Mal’s face tightens in anger. “I would’ve called you to my place, but I don’t trust it.”
Finn steps aside, lets Mal enter, and tosses me an odd, confused look. I greet my brother and lead him into the kitchen where he pours himself a big drink without asking.
“What’s going on? What happened?” I stand across from him, keeping the island between us. I’m very aware of Finn staying right at my side like he plans on throwing himself in front of me in case Mal decides to pull a gun.
But Mal stares into his drink. “Dermot’s losing his fucking mind. He hired a private security firm and tonight they shot up some random fucking car. One of them is dead. I don’t even know how it all happened.”
I resist the urge to look at Finn. “That’s crazy.”
“Apparently, some algorithm identified the vehicle as being suspicious, and instead of talking to whoever was waiting inside, he decided to have his people open fire. It’s a fucking nightmare of a mess.” Mal pours a second drink and it finally dawns on me that they had no clue we were even waiting behind the wheel.
It’s hard not to laugh. I barely control myself. Dermot was right—his algorithm really did identify a problem—but Mal is so paranoid and angry that he can’t see it. I bet none of them can. They probably aren’t even asking why a bunch of random civiliansshot back.
“That’s pretty bad,” Finn says carefully. He steps closer to the island and picks up his drink. “But I don’t know what that has to do with us.”
Mal’s look is pure loathing. “You think Iwantto be here? But I have nowhere else to turn. Dermot’s going insane. I think he’s coming for my position. Why else would he hire security? Why else would they shoot first? He’s gearing up for war.”
