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She stands as I go to move past her, putting a hand on my arm. “It’ll be okay,” she says quietly. “Really. Finn can handle this.”
“I hope you’re right.”
She shrugs, still smirking like she knows something I don’t.
* * *
That night,Genna’s sitting on the couch drinking a beer with my dad, yelling at baseball on TV. I do my best to ignore them both. My mother’s upstairs, blaring some Bravo reality show reunion while she does yoga. I’m caught in the middle obsessively reading articles about McLaren’s death, none of which come close to suggesting it was a murder.
Which it obviously was.
I mean, what kind of fuel can make a car literally explode? I saw the pictures—that level of destruction isn’t the sort of thing that happens to normal engine failure.
And yet nobody in the media is suggesting it was anything other than a freak accident.
Something happens on the TV, and both Genna and my dad start shouting.
Genna and my father seem to be getting along rather well, or at least she likes that he plies her with beer and doesn’t mind her cursing, and she seems to appreciate the fact that he doesn’t speak, like, ever. I’m anxious, shifting back and forth in my seat, which is when the bang at the door makes me leap to my feet like someone put a gun to my head.
“Who’s that?” I ask, looking around, picturing the FBI and the CIA.
“Why don’t you check?” Genna says, head tilted.
Dad grunts.
I walk over, hands shaking. I think about Lucas, wondering if he’s back for more punishment.
Instead, I open the door, and it’s him.
Finn stands there. Wearing a dark suit and slacks, no jacket, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat to show off his chest, his sleeves rolled to the elbow to show off his vein-riddled forearms. I take a step back in surprise. The man’s a specimen, a prowling jungle cat, a bundle of power and intensity, and when he steps into my meager, tiny childhood home, it’s like an alien’s come down from another dimension, glowing with an infernal light, bestial and beautiful all at once.
My breath catches in my throat.
“Hey, Finn,” Genna says. “Took you fucking long enough. Thanks for the beer.” She slugs the rest and hops to her feet.
“I need a second with my wife.” Finn hasn’t stopped looking at me and I can’t tear my eyes away.
This man murdered Clive McLaren. He probably did even worse since we’ve been apart.
And now all I want to do is throw myself at him.
“I missed you,” I say, whispering.
“I missed you too, love.” He steps closer. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Genna’s been keeping me company.”
“She hasn’t been too much?”
I tilt my head. “She’s always too much.”
“Hey,” she complains.
Finn touches my cheek, ignoring her. “God, I missed you so much.”
And he kisses me.
It’s like waking from a nightmare into the most perfect dream. When his lips press to mine, my spine ignites with excitement, pleasure rocking down into my core, desire spilling over like I’m overflowing with it. I whimper into his mouth, hugging myself against his body, desperate to feel every inch of him.
