I’m so tired, I can’t even be thankful.
Brody follows Finn inside and shoots the chains above my head. They crash to the ground as I jump out of the way. As anticipated, the release creates jolts of pain that zing along my arms and spine, stealing my breath.
I drop to my knees, groaning and spitting blood on the ground.
Brody kneels beside me. “Con, you okay?”
With gunfire raining down, we roll under the table. I don’t have a weapon, so I stay down. Also, I don’t think I could lift a toothpick if someone offered me a million dollars.
Finn eliminates two more guys, and Brody ends a third.
After that, silence reigns as Finn strolls right out the front entrance, into the potential line of fire.
Dude is wild.
He reappears a minute later. “Clear!”
Once we scoot out from under the workbench, Brody helps me to my feet.
I stumble a little, still tingling all over, and manage what I bet is a hideous smile. “I owe you, bro.”
Brody grins. “This was payback for New Orleans. You saved my ass then. Consider us even.”
Finn nudges one of the Russians with his foot before grabbing the guy’s gun. “You look like absolute hell, Connor.”
“It’s nice to see you, too, Finn.” With monumental effort and a significant amount of pain, I manage to raise my hand high enough to shake Finn’s. My limbs feel foreign and wobbly.
The scowl on Finn’s face shifts as he laughs, the bastard. He accepts my hand and does the shaking for both of us. “Let’s not make a habit of this.” Finn eyes me pointedly. “But when Brody said‘take the Porsche’ was your ‘Mayday,’ I wasn’t going to let him come alone.”
The emotion overwhelming me could be from lack of oxygen, and I blink rapidly to shoo the tears away.
So awkward.
Who knows. Maybe they’re burning because, in some strange way, our late mother just saved my life. We’ve never needed to rely on the code before, and I can’t help but wonder what Brody told Finn. Did my brother explain that the word Porsche in “take the Porsche,” stands for Portia, our mother’s name, and not the German automobile?
I guess it doesn’t matter. Brody and I know.
I meet Finn’s eyes. “I’m really sorry for all the shit I’ve caused.” I don’t bother making up some bullshit story that he won’t believe anyway. “I went rogue, thinking my way was the only way. There’s no excuse for me.”
Brody pats my back. “There never is, Con.”
Finn looks like my admission of douchery might topple him over. With wide eyes and a slack mouth, he leans back against the workbench. “That was…uncharacteristic. But I appreciate it all the same.”
Uncharacteristic? Maybe.
I’m not the same man I was even a few days ago, and going forward, I anticipate more of this strange, un-Connor-like behavior. They can figure that out on their own, though.
Cat.
The will.
I beeline for the desk, searching the drawers for Eduardo’s amended document. I find the papers right where Belinski claimed they would be.
The fucker really didn’t expect me to get out of this jam alive.
Asshole.
I walk back over to Brody and Finn. “Belinski went to Eduardo’s funeral, to stand by his man. But this,” I skim through the papers until I spot the wet signature, “is Eduardo Ricci’s amended will, which names Cat as his heir.”
