Chapter TWELVE

MITCH FOLLOWED Finn out into the backyard. The party was in full swing, and most of the guests were a little worse for wear due to the volume of alcohol being consumed, and whatever else it was they were inhaling or snorting or shooting up. The late-afternoon summer sun beat down, hot after the chill of the air-conditioning indoors. It was a typical Sydney summer day, but a slight breeze coming from over the river prevented the heat from being too stifling. Mitch had managed to avoid drinking too much—sipping on a few beers and discreetly draining his bottle or swapping with someone else when no one was looking to keep his alcohol consumption low—but he was grateful for the bottle of water he snagged as he passed by an esky filled with ice. Sunlight reflected off the surface of the pool, and the faint hint of chlorine filled the air, mixing with the scent of barbecuing sausages.

Mitch sat across from Finn at one of the outdoor settings and smiled. A warm flutter filled his chest as the corner of Finn’s mouth rose and his eyes crinkled. It wasn’t often Finn smiled, but when he did, it lit up his whole face, reminding Mitch of his age. The more serious side of Finn looked older, more mature and sensible. At twenty-three, the carefree, fun-loving Finn should have been seen a lot more.

Mitch drank from his bottle before gesturing to the half-empty bottle in his hand. “You want one?” he asked as he stood.

Finn shook his head, indicating the nearly empty bottle he held, but instead of drinking, he started picking the label off with his thumbnail. Small bits of white, green, and red paper floated to the grass. By the time Mitch had returned with another bottle of water, Rocky had joined Finn at the table.

The brothers really were chalk and cheese. But it wasn’t the physical appearance that stood out. It was the demeanor that differentiated them. Both of them had fair hair, Rocky’s buzzed and Finn with a longer style. Both had tattoos, but Finn’s were usually kept mostly covered by his shirts. It was only now that he was wearing a casual T-shirt that his full sleeves were on display. Mitch could only imagine what was hidden under his clothing, but the tattoos Mitch could see were much more refined than Rocky’s crude drawings. Mitch had the sudden desire to see the full extent of Finn’s markings and had to tear his eyes away from Finn’s golden skin before his fascination became too obvious.

“Rocky.” Mitch nodded at his boss as he took a seat.

“Mitch. How’s it going?” Rocky slumped back into the chair, legs spread-eagled, and nursed a can of Woodstock.

“Good. Nice party.”

Ginger walked past with a couple of other women. A brunette with masses of hair in long waves running down her back paused in front of them. She tucked one of the long tresses behind her ear and peered at Finn over her sunglasses. When Finn looked at her, the unease of jealousy caused a lump in Mitch’s throat, but it didn’t last as Finn’s gaze slipped past the girl and he locked his blue eyes on Mitch. Mitch’s breathing slowed, and he found himself unable to look away from those crystal-clear irises that rivaled the color of the summer sky above. The girl moved on.

“You should ask her out,” Rocky said, eyes glued to her retreating butt.

“What?” Finn frowned.

“That girl. Cherie. She’s obviously got the hots for you.” Rocky slurped from his can. “Have a chat to Ginger. She’ll get you Cherie’s number. Or better still, corner her today before you leave. I saw the way she looked at you, so I’d say you’re pretty much a shoo-in.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Finn continued to drop small pieces of paper to the ground as he worked away at the Heineken label. He looked up suddenly, met Mitch’s gaze, then addressed Rocky. “I met Lucky like you wanted.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“I’m not exactly sure what it was I was being asked to do and why I needed to speak to him.”

“You don’t need to know why.”

“Seriously, Rocky, he told me nothing. Just that the guys won’t be available to operate CMC for a few days and you want me to hold down the fort.”

“And that’s exactly right. You need to step up. We need a Cummings at the wheel when I’m not around.”

“But what about Stack? He’s your 2IC. Why isn’t he doing it?”

“Because I need him elsewhere, and like I said, it won’t be Stack taking over the place eventually. It’ll be you.”

Finn paused, and his Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed deeply. “I’m still not sure what’s going on. Why do you need Stack? And Blue? Surely you’ve got other people you can trust to do whatever it is.”

“Not for something this big. And it’s safer if you’re not closely involved, so stop asking so many questions.” Rocky cast a glance at Mitch, and Mitch shrugged. It wouldn’t do to appear too keen to hear the details of what was going on, but he wished Rocky would say something, give him anything—just a whiff of what was planned to go down.

Finn snorted. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s ‘need-to-know,’ and I don’t need to know.”

Rocky grinned. “Good boy. You’re catching on.”

“I suppose Mitch doesn’t need to know either.”

“Spot-on. So you’ll shut up about it if you know what’s good for you.” Rocky levered himself out of the chair with a grunt. “I’m going to find Ginger. You boys play nice now.”

Once Rocky was out of earshot, Mitch shuffled his chair closer. “What was that all about?”

“Fucked if I know. Some deal’s going down, and that’s all I know.” Finn looked pissed off.

“Like he said, maybe he’s keeping you out of the loop for your own protection?”

“Bullshit!” Finn snapped. “He’s keeping me in the dark because he likes control. If he wants me involved in the running of the Furies, then he needs to be prepared to open up. I’m family, for Crissakes!” Finn threw back the rest of his beer, which was no doubt warm by now.

Mitch wanted the information as much as Finn, if not more, but decided not to push it. Particularly since Rocky stood by the doors that led into the house, deep in conversation with Pete. He’d corner Pete and get what intel he could from him. As if knowing Mitch was thinking about him, Pete lifted his eyes, and studied Mitch for a long minute before looking away. Rocky reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag before throwing an arm around Pete’s shoulders and leading him into the house. Fuck! Mitch wanted Pete sober, not flying. He turned back to Finn, who was watching Rocky and Pete too.

“Maybe leave it for now and try again later,” Mitch said. “Rocky might be in a more receptive mood.”

Finn gave a humorless chuckle. “He’s the one getting stoned, and I’m the one who can’t be trusted.”

“Listen, how about getting something to eat. You haven’t had much all day and—”

Finn stood. “I’m not a goddamn kid. I don’t need looking after! I wish you’d all stop trying to be my protector.”

“—and the barbecue smells great,” Mitch finished, speaking to Finn’s back as he stormed off.

Urgh. Can this day get any worse? Reporting fuck all was not going to go down well at headquarters. He needed to get things moving.

Mitch rose and abandoned his empty water bottle, gave a regretful look at the door where Rocky and Pete had exited, and hightailed it down the side of the house where Finn had disappeared.

FINN STORMED out of the house. How fucking dare he try to tell me what to do?

He was sick and tired of Rocky pushing him around, and fed up with Mitch treating him like a child. How bloody embarrassing to have the man he dreamed about, had hot sexual fantasies about, think he needed continual supervision and protection. For God’s sake, Finn was a grown man, and it frustrated him no end. What did he have to do to prove he was a capable adult?

Finn had calmed down somewhat by the time he stalked the length of the winding driveway. The wall of green hedge ended, providing a glimpse of the road beyond the wide-open gates. Thank goodness the automatic gates were open because he hadn’t had the presence of mind to press the button to open them before he fled the house.

He walked through the opening and stopped at the Range Rover, which was parked a short distance away, automatically dropping his hands into his pockets to seek out the keys. Fuck! He didn’t have the keys because he wasn’t even allowed to drive himself around. He had a driver. He had Mitch.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

A jolt of pain traveled from foot to hip after he kicked the tire.

“That’s not going to help, you know.”

Finn spun and glared at Mitch, who luckily wasn’t smiling—because if he had been, if there’d been even a hint of a smirk, Finn would have walked right up to him and wiped the smile from his handsome face.

He took a deep breath. “Not now, Mitch. I’m not in the mood, and I don’t want to hear it.”

“I don’t know what’s put such a bee in your bonnet or what that whole thing was about, but there’s no point stewing over it. You know Rocky. You know how he thinks, and you can’t let it get to you. Don’t give him that power over you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mitch folded his arms across his broad chest. God, the guy looked good in a tight T-shirt, the tattoos on his biceps standing out in sharp relief on the defined muscles. “You think I don’t know how people like Rocky operate?” He raised a brow and studied Finn, obviously waiting for a response. Mitch quirked his lip, just a small lift at one corner as the silence stretched.

“Jesus, Mitch. Don’t look at me like that.”

“That’s a lot of ‘don’t’ from you today. You don’t want to hear what I have to say, then I don’t know what I’m talking about, and now I can’t look at you however I’m supposedly doing it. I’m having trouble keeping up with what I am allowed to do. I can’t even suggest we get something off the barbecue when I’m starving.”

Pop.

The sound was sudden and harsh and unmistakable. Maybe others would think the sharp sound was a car backfiring, but Finn immediately knew it was gunfire—loud and distinctive. A second after the gunshot, Finn was on his back on the ground. The relatively soft grass on the verge of the road cushioned his fall, but Mitch’s solid body holding his firmly in place knocked the wind out of him.

“Don’t move.” Mitch’s voice was a stern whisper, his breath hot against Finn’s ear. “Stay down.” The urgency was evident in his tone, and Finn stilled immediately.

His heart beat a rapid tattoo, his fingers tingling from the rush of adrenaline to his extremities.

A car accelerated, the engine roaring. Another shot.

Mitch panted against Finn’s throat, the sound harsh even to Finn’s ears, which were still ringing from the gunshot. Finn’s own breathing was labored, his mind in a mess, trying to work out what he needed to do—obey Mitch or get as far away from danger as he could? He struggled for a moment, his body trying for flight in a natural response to the situation, but Mitch’s weight kept him pinned to the ground.

The car roared down the street, tires screeching as it took the corner too fast. The sound faded, and the resulting silence made it all seem like a strange dream—frightening commotion one minute, peaceful calm the next. Finn blinked against the sharp brightness of the sun, aware of the screech of a cockatoo flying overhead. Someone down the street was mowing their lawn, the sound of the machine a constant drone in the distance.

Finn looked at Mitch as he rose on his hands, using his arms to support his weight and finally freeing Finn to take a proper inhale. He sucked in a breath. “I… ah….”

Mitch’s face was close, his brown eyes full of worry.

“Are you okay?”

Am I okay? His limbs still tingled, and it was hard to catch a breath. He was light-headed and confused. And he was hard. Hard? Oh Jesus! Lying on his back on the grass with Mitch pinning him down, his hips held down by Mitch’s pelvis pressing into his own. A groan escaped.

“Finn?”

Finn looked into Mitch’s eyes, saw the answering confusion, and looked away quickly. He couldn’t hold Mitch’s gaze, too afraid Mitch would see what was bubbling through him—not pain, not fear, just plain unadulterated lust. He struggled to move, to get out from under Mitch, but all the movement did was rub his erection against Mitch’s groin. As hard as it was to deny his body the friction it craved and to stop moving, he stilled.

“I’m fine. Just let me up.” His voice was hoarse as he growled at Mitch and pushed at his chest.

Mitch struggled to his feet. “Sorry. I’m so sorry, Finn.” Mitch scanned the surroundings before holding out a hand, and when Finn responded with his own, Mitch grasped his wrist and hauled him up. “Are you okay? I don’t think you were hit, but that thump on the ground could have done some damage.”

“You think?” Finn quirked a brow and brushed himself off, wincing slightly as the action pulled at his shoulder. Mitch saw the flinch and immediately had his hands on Finn, examining his upper arms and shoulder.

Finn shook him off. “For God’s sake! Don’t touch me!” The last thing he needed was Mitch’s hands on his body and Mitch’s attention on him. Not while he was still sporting a hard-on.

Mitch’s gaze dropped to his feet. “Sorry.”

“And stop saying you’re sorry!”

Finn turned to the gates, the sound of boots running up the driveway drawing his attention. Rocky, Peter, and Stack appeared. Finn’s eyes widened. Not because of the presence of the three men, but because Rocky and Stack were holding handguns.

Any remaining erection disappeared in an instant. Finn knew Rocky was involved in illegal shit up to his eyeballs, knew he mixed with people most likely even worse than himself, but up until now, Finn had managed to stay out of the way of guns. It might have been naive, but he liked to ignore the darker aspects of the Soldiers of Fury and just pretend they were bad guys who did a bit of stealing, dabbled in a little extortion, and traded a few drugs. Finn snorted at his own ridiculous thought process and bit back the burst of hysterical laughter that wanted to escape.

Things had definitely escalated well beyond the petty crime Rocky had been involved in when Finn was a teenager and lived at home. There was no point trying to keep his head in the sand. But on the positive side, it reinforced Finn’s idea he was doing the right thing.

While Finn stood and battled his guilty conscience and rising panic, Mitch was a man of action. He strode over to Rocky and the guys with a hissed instruction to put away the weapons. “This is a suburban street, for crying out loud. Get rid of the guns and do it now.”