Then I open them again and stare at the small warehouse photo, trying to convince myself I made the right choice.
???
I sit on the hard chair, heart hammering against my ribs as Finn paces the small metal room like a caged animal. He’s in a foul mood tonight… shoulders tense, jaw clenched, eyes wild with that unpredictable edge that makes my stomach twist. The dim bulb above us swings slightly with the boat’s gentle rocking, casting long, ugly shadows across his face.
I swallow hard and try to keep my voice steady, pointing at the photo of the small warehouse I’d chosen. “Th-this one,” I say, my finger trembling as I tap the image. “Look… there’s a guard. See? wearing what looks like a uniform. That means it’s important, right? Something worth protecting.”
Finn snatches the photo from my hand so roughly the corner tears. He barely glances at it before tossing it back onto the table with a sneer.
“You think I give a fuck about some half-seen guard?” he snaps, voice dripping with mockery. “This is on you, little orphan. You’re the one picking which of Sinclair’s toys I get to blow up. How does that feel? Betraying the man who gave you a home?”
His words hit exactly where they’re meant to. Guilt surges through me, hot and nauseating. Soren did give me a home… even if it was built on blood and fear. He protected me when no one else would. And here I am, pointing at one of his warehouses like I have any right to decide its fate.
But underneath the guilt, something new and sharp bubbles up, anger. I’veneverbeen violent, never hit anyone in my life. I’m the picture of innocence; except for the way Sorentouchesme. I’m supposed to be a “good boy.” Quiet and obedient. Yet right now, staring at Finn’s smug, taunting grin, I have this sudden, violent urge topunchthat look right off his face. My hands twitch in my lap.
Finn leans in closer, breath hot and sour against my cheek. “We’re gonna make a nice little video for him when I get back.”
He makes an explosive sound with his mouth and gestures wildly with his hands, miming a blast. “But first… I’ve got a call to make and a warehouse to blow up.”
Then his mood shifts again, fast and terrifying. He straightens up and says, almost cheerfully, “Time to sleep, little orphan.”
I nod quickly, relief flooding me.Thank God. Maybe I can actually rest. But then I see him pull out a syringe from inside his jacket, the needle glinting under the swinging bulb.
My heart slams into overdrive. I scramble backward in the chair, but there’s nowhere to go. “No…wait, please, I’m tired, I’ll sleep on my own, I swear…”
Finn lunges. I try to fight, I really do… I shove at his chest, twist away, kick out with my legs… but I’m weak from days of barely eating, and he’s stronger than he looks. He grabs my hair with one hand and yanks my head to the side, exposing my neck. I claw at his arm, gasping, but it’s useless. The needle bites in. The burn spreads fast, cold and chemical, dragging me down into the dark again.
Finn’s voice is the last thing I hear, low and creepy, right against my ear. “Sweet dreams Christopher. I’m gonna find out who you really are.”
Chapter Nineteen
~ He’s Got to Go ~
Mitch
I’m sat in the back corner of this dingy bar on the outskirts of the city, the kind of place that smells like stale beer and old cigarette smoke even though smoking’s been banned for years. The lighting is shit, just a few weak bulbs hanging over scarred wooden tables, and the handful of patrons keep to themselves, nursing cheap whiskey and staring into their glasses like the answers to life are floating in the amber liquid.
It’s been five days since Finn disappeared. Five fucking days of radio silence from our little brother, and every single one of them has felt like a noose tightening around our necks.
We know Sinclair’s men are out there looking for all three of us. This can’t just be about the shipment Finn stole. It’s too much heat, too personal. James and I have been laying low in a shitty motel on the edge of town, paying cash, and switching burner phones. If Mr. Sinclair gets his hands on us, it won’t be a quick death. It’ll be slow, creative, and painful; we both know it.
James and I haven’t said much tonight. We’re sitting in silence, both of us nursing warm beers we barely touch. The weight of the last couple of weeks sits heavy between us. We knew shit would hit the fan the second Finn got jealous over those drugs. They weren’t even our clients. Finn just wanted to expand, stumbled on a corner that was already buying Sinclair’s product, and threw a fucking tantrum when he saw the S.S. stamp. We didn’t need to expand, we had a nice, steady profit. But no… our stupid kid brother wanted to be a big shot.
James runs a hand over his face and sighs deep, the sound exhausted, when his phone suddenly rings… the one he only keeps in case Finn calls. He told the crew not to use it, to call the burner I have instead.
James frowns and looks at me. I nod once, answer it.
He picks up, keeping his voice low. “Hello?”
I watch his face carefully. His eyes go wide almost immediately. “You did what?!”
The anger in his hiss tells me everything.Finn’s fucked up again. Fear pricks sharp through my gut because whatever our little brother has done automatically paints a target on James and me too.
James closes his eyes, voice dropping even lower. “Finn, youfuckingidiot… please tell me this is a joke.Please…”
He gestures urgently for my burner phone. I frown, confused, but hand it over anyway. I watch as he taps something in, his face draining of colour. Then he passes the phone back to me. It’s an article that was pushed outjust minutes ago… one of those live local news feeds that pops up fast in a city like this. There’s a photo of a warehouse by the docks engulfed in flames. It’s not massive, but it’s enough to destroy. The report says nearby dock workers witnessed the explosion but didn’t see anyone entering or exiting. They think there were no human casualties.
I look at James, mouth forming the silent question:What the fuck is this?
