His leg…
“You shouldn’t be here.” The words flew out of Finley before he could stop them. Kage could do whatever he wanted, and he’d chosen to come.
“I’m not letting you do this alone.” Kage squeezed Finley’s knee, the warmth of his touch somehow seeping through the thick fabric of his trousers.
“You weren’t supposed to find out. Who spilled?” He looked at Latif but the man shook his head. This operation was on a need-to-know basis so who the fuck— “Mat, you bastard.” Finley sighed, but he couldn’t be mad at his friend.
“I called him,” Kage said and caught the overhead handle as the van drove over a bump. “Your message sounded off, so I panicked when you were gone, and Jagoda wouldn’t tell me where you disappeared off to.”
“Fucking hell, Kage.” Finley wanted to straddle his man and kiss him senseless. He reached for his seatbelt.
“Don’t you dare.” Latif’s voice pierced the humm of the engine and Finley sat back, looking at his friend’s stern expression as he glared from the other side of the van.
“We’re just transporting empty boxes and playing our role. Let’s stick to the script so no one will get hurt,” Latif said in a voice that left no space for argument. “We’ll get those fuckers behind bars.”
Finley nodded and glanced at Kage, who was sporting a smirk and raised eyebrows. “The many faces of Latif, huh?”
“We’re almost there. I can see them.” Tom’s voice reached them through the sliding window to the driver’s cabin. “Prepare to—Fuck!”
The van swerved, and Finley grabbed onto a handle above his head.
“Bloody morons!” Something bumped the side of the van and they swerved again, this time far enough for the smooth street underneath them to turn into gravel, then something different altogether. Tom pulled them to a stop. “We’re stuck in the mud and we’re surrounded by the bloody Irish.”
Latif checked his watch. “The cops will be here soon.”
The lack of windows in the back prevented them from seeing what the fuck was going on outside. Latif was on his feet, heading towards the driver’s cabin but he pointed a short, pink fingernail at Finley and Kage in a silent “Don’t you fucking move” gesture.
“Let’s wait it out, they can’t open the door.” Latif looked through the partition and over Tom’s shoulder. “Is that a machete? Can’t they get guns like normal gangsters?”
Tom whistled low. “The other ones have guns and they’re headed our way.”
“This ride is bulletproof,” Latif said in a serious voice.
A shot fired into the side of the van, the loud, metallic bang startling Finley. He flinched and reached for the comfort of Kage’s hand.
“Fuck.” Tom turned off the engine and ducked instinctively just as Latif joined Kage and Finley at the back.
“Any moment now.” Latif glared at his watch.
A short sound of a police siren sounded right behind them.
“And here they are. Two minutes late.” Latif huffed. “Jagoda is paying them too much for this shit.”
Finley unstrapped himself and rushed to the door. “I have to see them. I need to—”
“Easy there.” Latif unlocked it and Finley jumped out like his legs were made of springs.
Ruckus consisting of orders from the police and protests from the Irish tainted the otherwise peaceful night around them.
Three police cars surrounded them, the blue and white lights of the quiet sirens blinding. Finley shielded his eyes with his hand, but the illumination let him see the men who killed his son. Gentle touch on his nape grounded him as Kage’s fingers stroked the exposed part of Finley’s skin. Rain drummed on the cars, the wet chill seeping into Finley’s bones as he took in the faces of the criminals.
“Fuck. They’re just kids.” Finley took a few steps towards them, watching the boys in their early twenties struggle against the handcuffs closing around their wrists. Max would have been nineteen this year. But those little shits had taken that away from him.
One of them wiggled out of a policeman’s grasp and headed for Finley so fast he didn’t register his dash towards a gun until it was too late. An ear-piercing bang split the air, and pain exploded in Finley’s arm. He acted fast, tackling the kid to the ground, sending them both skidding on the mud. Finley flipped him face down and held his knee between his shoulder blades. He pulled the kid’s hands back but let go as his right arm refused to cooperate.
“I got it from here.” One of the cops cuffed the kid and another helped drag him away, kicking and screaming. The gun glistened on the ground, the heavy rain pouring on it as it sank into the mud.
Pain and yelling.
