“Careful with those guns. They’re mine,” Corbin said, glaring around at us from just beside my elbow. My heart leaped. The fecker was sneaky and quiet, and I hadn’t noticed him coming out of nowhere to judge me with his squinty gaze.
“Why are we using your guns?” Jamie asked. “The boss has plenty stashed around here.”
“For good luck,” Corbin said, tone flat. I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Maybe, like me, he didn’t exactly trust other people’s weapons. “Damn it, Jamie, ya don’t need that.” He pointed at Jamie’s pocket.
Jamie stood and crossed his arms. “But I might! Ya don’t know. What if I do? What will ya tell my ma when you see her? If only I’d let Jamie have one measly hand grenade, he would be alive to eat a meal with ya, Mrs. Shannon, but alas, I’m a dickhead who won’t share his best weapons.”
Corbin opened his mouth, but his phone rang, and Jamie gave me a triumphant smirk while reaching down into the trunk to pull out a Glock.
“Ye look like ye’re smuggling a sex toy in yer pocket.”
Jamie glanced down at his side and groaned. Two men who I’d occasionally seen around protecting the house carried in a black, hard-plastic weapons case, and this one was full of much more familiar weapons that we normally took out with us when we went to feck shit up. Aspen and I decided on hefty gray SIG MCXs, which were damned close to submachine guns with their long, curved magazines, and we smirked at each other as we each slung a strap connected to our gun over one shoulder. I slid the Desert Eagle into the waistband of my trousers at my back while Aspen shook his head at me.
“Ye gonna lecture me about gun safety? That’s Rowen’s job.”
“Might as well do it up right,” he said with a shrug. “Don’t look at me.”
The front door flew open, and we all swung around in that direction. Aspen and I raised our guns, but Corbin waved his hand at us, and we pointed them at the floor again. A young bloke I didn’t know came in the front door. He grinned around at us as he trotted over like a friendly dog. One thing I did know, he had to be Irish. His hair was the type of bright ginger you didn’t see much, and he was skinny enough that he would’ve looked frail if he wasn’t all muscle.
“Who’s this one?” I asked. He seemed familiar the longer I stared, but I couldn’t place him.
“Finn McCorkell. I was supposed to be in the area making sure that everything was settling down after that Reyes dying, you know, being a pair of eyes for Mr. Killough, but with you back, I was told to get my arse over here.” His Irish accent barely shaped his words, as if maybe he’d been in the States most of his life. Finn nodded around at us. He was more a boy than a man with a baby face and wide green eyes that were far too kind.
I hated this. Aspen and I glanced at each other.
“Ye can guard the house,” I said sternly. “No sense dragging a boy out to do a man’s job.”
“Mr. Shannon said I could go with you!” Finn pointed at Jamie, who spun toward us with his eyebrows raised.
“That I did. Problem?” Jamie glanced at me with a damnably charming smile stuck firmly on his face. “See, someone respects me around here. Did ya hear that? I’mMr. Shannon.”
“Don’t let it go to yer fat head. He’s fifteen!” I waved a hand at the boy. “No wonder he’s calling ye Mr. Shannon. He probably thinks ye’re his teacher!”
“M’not. I’m twenty-one!” Finn pouted, which made me adjust his age downward by another year.
“It’s fine,” Aspen said. “Everyone starts somewhere.” He shrugged at me, clearly saying without words that it wasn’t our call to make.
“He can be the lookout,” Jamie said, smiling at Finn.
“Sure, look. I don’t have time for—”
“We have a location at a dock and need to get there,” Corbin said, interrupting our squabble. He stared at the boy. “Why are we taking this one?” He jabbed a finger at Finn. “Cillian’s right.”
Jamie groaned.
“I’m Finn.” The boy stuck out his hand.
Corbin ignored the friendly gesture, and the boy wilted on the spot, shoulders slumping. “What is he, sixteen?” Corbin shook his head and crossed his arms.
“That’s what I said or close enough.”
“I work for Mr. Killough,” Finn whined with a real frown that twisted his round face. “I keep an eye on things. I’m good at it. No one ever asks me why I’m standing around somewhere doing nothing.”
“We don’t have time for this!” Corbin said, tone creeping toward furious. “Get armed and roll out, all of ya. There’s a van out front, and I’m bloody well driving it.”
No one argued with him as we finished grabbing gear—even Jamie put a bit of hustle on it. Aspen glared at Finn, and I felt the same way. I wasn’t excited about bringing an unknown element with us. Worse than taking Fallon on this job, this was. At least I knew what Fallon could do to protect himself if he got boxed into a corner.
We trooped out of the house together. I sighed as I took a neck gaiter and set of black nitrile gloves from Corbin, who handed them out to all of us. Yeah, it would be better if our faces weren’t seen, but it was bloody hot in Florida. “Why are there even criminals here in this humid state?” I asked.
