CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - FINN
Consciousness comes slowly, but there is a rhythm that keeps time for me.
My head throbbing. My heart pounding. The ticking of a clock somewhere in the darkness, the sound of footsteps, the ring of a phone.
Where the fuck am I?
“Issy,” I whisper. I remember that much. They got her.
No. I brought her to them.
To Caleb, through this stupid fucking game I’m not even fuckin’ playing.
“Oh, don’t worry about her,” Caleb says.
I try to open my eyes. Fail. Then try again and see a sliver of blurry light.
“I’m gonna take real good care of Izett, Finn Murphy. Don’t you worry.”
“Issy,” I say.
“What?”
“Her name is Issy, not Izett.”
“Right. Issy Grey. So powerful. So special. So tough.”
“She could kick your ass.” I get a boot to the face for that, and spit out blood. “I could kick your ass too,” I say. Because fuck it. If this asshole is gonna kill me, let’s get on with it. I’ve been a dead man walking ever since I shot my father a few months ago.
“Not like this you can’t,” he says.
“No shit. So why don’t you cut these ties off and make it fair.”
He kicks me in the back of the head this time. My ears begin to ring. “No one ever said the fight was fair, Finn. You know that better than anyone.”
I don’t answer. Why bother?
“You know what I don’t understand?”
I don’t answer that either.
“Why you didn’t just step into his boots when it was all said and done.”
Now I’m curious. “Who?”
“Your old man. He was handing this over to you on a fuckin’ silver platter. And you walked away.”
I close my eyes, trying to figure out what he’s talking about.
“You came to Denver. You gave it all up to start over, and where did it get ya? Right here, under Declan’s thumb.”
“Obviously,” I croak. “I didn’t realize Declan and my father were basically the same fuckin’ guy.”
“They are? Is that right?” His enunciation is sloppy. They ahhh. Iz zat right. He’s got a prison drawl, I realize. More commonly known as… thug. “You sure about that?” Caleb asks. “Are you really sure about that? Because you sure as fuck came here lookin’ for something, Murphy.”
I sure as fuck did.
“Does it have anything to do with this?” Caleb holds up a phone. My phone. The burner phone. “You don’t need to answer that. I already know. Did it ever occur to ya, Murphy, that you’re not the only one playing this game from both ends?”
What?
He’s lying. This is a trap. Don’t answer him. He’s lying.
“Yeah, I knew,” he says. “I always knew you was dirty, Finn. I always knew you and your old man were playing for the other side.”
What?
“You never fooled me,” he says, tapping the phone to his shaved skull. “I had you pegged as a double the minute I met you back when you was four.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I wheeze.
“Little fuckin’ do-gooder. That’s what you were.”
I laugh. And it hurts. My head, my ribs, my heart.
“Always telling me, ‘Not supposed to lie, Caleb. Not supposed to steal, Caleb. Not supposed to hit people.’ Well, fuck you,” he says, spit coming out of his mouth with his words. “Just fuck you. You think you’re better than me?”
“Honestly?” I manage to croak out.
“What’s that?” he asks, bending down, like he wants to hear me better. “You got somethin’ to say?”
“It don’t take much,” I whisper.
“What?”
“To be better than you.”
He stands back up. Grits his teeth. Sets his jaw. Draws his leg back, the steel toe of his boot aimed right at my teeth when…
Yelling somewhere else—some other room, some other floor, whatever. It’s loud, it’s shrill. “It’s Issy,” I manage to moan.
“Yeah,” Caleb says. And even though I can’t see his face, I can feel his smile. His evil, diabolical smile. “It’s Issy. Let’s go watch, shall we?”
I want to ask, Watch what?
He cuts the zip ties around my ankles, pulls me to my feet, and then I have to concentrate on not smashing my face into the wall, or falling down the stairs and breaking my neck.
When we get down there all the fuzziness fades. The world comes back to me in perfect fucking clarity like a wind rushing across my face in the cold, winter night.
Issy is in the center of the room wearing a white gi with a white belt, facing down a huge man who towers over her like a giant. She’s bleeding from one eye. Her lip is split, and someone has duct-taped wrist and ankle weights to her arms and legs.
“Come on, Issy,” Caleb shouts. He pushes me down onto the floor, steps on the small of my back, pinning me underneath his boot, and yells, “Fight for your life! Fight for your future! Fight for your man!” And then he drops his voice several octaves. “Because if you lose—” Everyone goes silent. It’s like a fuckin’ movie or something. A cross between Children of the Corn and Fight Club. They are desperate to hear his threat. “I’m gonna kill him right in front of you.”
Which is pretty uninspiring if you ask me. How he ever got these assholes to do his bidding, I’ll never know.
But he’s not done. Because he adds to that. “And then you and I will have a little private time together.”
I look over at Issy. Meet her eyes as she meets mine. We touch each other’s souls.
But then we diverge.
Because she nods yes and I shake no, and…