AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He put the combination in again, slower this time; the same shuddering happened and it didn’t budge. “Hurensohn,” he muttered, tugging uselessly on the base of the lock. One more try, then he’d call it a loss. Felinus would probably throw out the duffle and clothes anyway, but Issac would have liked to re-donate the blanket, rain jacket, and some of the toiletries that hadn’t even been opened yet.
He heard the door open and close as he tried again. For a moment he thought it was Dimitri, but there were too many feet. Maybe the janitors had come a bit early.
Whoever it was, they paused at the other end of the aisle as Issac tugged uselessly on the stubborn lock.
“Kacke,” Issac swore, letting go of the lock and taking a step back.
“Language, lad,” a voice said and Issac felt himself go cold as he turned his head slowly towards the three men standing a few yards away. Finnegan Ian O’Riley had gotten old too, but there was no mistaking the face that had haunted Issac for fifteen years. “’Ello, Issac. Let’s have a chat.”
Issac’s eyes shifted from Finnegan to the man on his right, who Issac was sure was named Jake and had been a teenager the last they saw each other, then to the man on his left who appeared to be in his early twenties. Both were big, both with hard eyes fixed on Issac. Boots thundered behind Issac as he bolted for the door.
One of them grabbed the handle of Issac’s bag from behind and pulled hard. Issac had expected it, barely pausing as he let his shoulders go slack. Straps slid away and there was a crash of metal as the man fell backward into the lockers.
Issac could hear the other one still moving. Echoes made it hard to tell where he was until the man came around the corner of the last row of lockers. Without hesitation, he shoved his shoulders into Issac’s middle, lifting him off the ground. The world blurred as Jake almost stood straight then slammed Issac back down with enough force that Issac felt himself bounce; all the air knocked from his lungs.
For what felt like an eternity, Issac couldn’t feel anything as he tried to draw in air; his vision tripled as the light spun above him. Then it all came crashing over him at once and he gasped painfully as his head, back, and chest exploded in agony. Something had to have broken on one of the impacts. He twitched his body to try to draw in another breath, but he couldn’t make himself move from the floor.
“Issac, Issac, Issac,” Finnegan said, tutting as he drew closer. “Now why would ya do something like that? Bad enough ya lied to yer Uncle Fergus’s face about yer Da and wouldn’ talk to ‘im. Now ya try running from yer Uncle Finnegan?” A boot rested on Issac’s chest, pushing him back to the floor as Finnegan’s face and two ghostly doppelgangers danced above him. “Now why would ya go breakin’ our hearts like that?”
Issac clawed weakly at the boot on his chest, somehow still able to feel the pain of his nails scratching at hard leather. “You- know- why,” he choked, making himself hold the eyes of his parents’ killer.
“Do I,” Finnegan said, raising an eyebrow. “All we know is yer Da was suppose to wait for Fergus to call but he never answered. You, your mum, and him just disappeared and fifteen years later, almost to the day we called for him, ya turn up on the arm of some fecking Italian, all buddy buddy with ‘em and the Russians. Yer Da running out on us damn near broke Fergie’s heart, but you? Denying ‘im and yer Da like that? Ya tore it from his chest.”
“We didn’t disappear,” Issac spat, his sneakers scraping against the floor as he tried to get some sort of traction. “You killed them. You shot them both in the back in the alley next to our home like a fucking coward.”
Rage flared in Finnegan’s eyes as the boot pressed harder into his chest and a gun was leveled at Issac’s face.
Issac felt himself stop breathing, both from pain and the fear of a barrel pointing at him but he didn’t look away. He met those angry green eyes with his own rage. If Finnegan was going to kill him, fine. He’d die. But Finnegan was going to do it staring Issac in the eyes and not in the back of the head like he had his dad. Issac wanted Finnegan to see the hate he had for him every time he closed his eyes.
But he didn’t pull the trigger. Instead, the gun lowered, and Finnegan smiled. “Poor lad,” he said in false pity. “Someone has filled ya head full of stories. I’d never hurt yer Da. Despite our… disagreement on how ya should be raised, Lukas was like a brother to me.”
Issac swallowed thickly, feeling his eyes prickle with unshed tears. “What do you want,” he asked, struggling to get each word out as his chest screamed in pain. Dimitri should be on his way and Issac had seen one of the Russian muscle cars in the parking lot on his way here but didn’t know if they had noticed him. He needed to somehow draw attention to the gym, preferably before Dimitri got anywhere near it.
“I dunna how ya got yerself tangled up with the Italians and Russians, lad,” Finnegan said, “but I’m here to take ya home. Ta yer real home. We’ll sort out all those stories ya got in yer head and fix it all up.” His boot left his chest and Issac saw him look in two different directions. “Bring ‘im.”
Issac tried to get to his feet on his own, but the moment he moved his head, the world spun rapidly and he couldn’t breathe as he fell back again, vision going white as his head hit the ground.
A pair of hands grabbed at his arms and he felt himself being pulled up. “Fecking hell, he doesn’t weigh anything,” someone said, their accent that odd mix of the city and Irish. Issac’s legs gave out from under him and the hands were the only things keeping him from going back to the floor.
“Carry ‘im,” Finnegan’s voice was distorted as Issac hung limp in those hands, the pain too much to try finding his feet.
“Right, Finnegan,” a second voice said, and Issac felt fingers wrap around his ankles as the first hands hugged his arms to his chest.
The cold air and darkness were the only indications Issac had of being moving, leaving the bright warmth of the locker room. Vaguely, he heard an engine running and he drew in the biggest breath his lungs and ribs would allow him.
“Get off of me,” he shouted, turning the spike of adrenaline that came with the volume into twisting and kicking to try to get away. It was hopeless to think that he could break the grip of the man holding him to his chest, but one foot did slip free as he managed to shout again.
“ISSAC,” Dimitri shouted.
Turning his head, Issac could see Dimitri running before Finnegan stepped between them and lifted his arm. “NO!” Issac kicked out as hard as he could and felt his foot make contact as Finnegan jerked forward a step. A pain like being stabbed lit up his chest as the gun went off and Finnegan swore.
“Finnegan,” the man holding Issac said.
“Get in the car,” Finnegan snapped.
Issac was shoved roughly into the backseat. Someone was already there to grab him and push him down towards the floor and another was in the driver’s seat. More gunshots went off. Finnegan swore loudly about Russians as more noise filled the night.
Issac could just see a pale, freckled, painfully young face look back at him before the car doors slammed and it turned forward.
