Page 148 of Manacled Hearts

CHAPTER 36

EVELYN

“What do you mean?”

I shake my head, stirring the conversation away. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted you, but he threatened you too. All of you. After he messaged me, I heard you all talk about how you spotted him, that you thought it was a trap. It was the same location where I was supposed to meet him later, and it all sounded too good to be true. Why would he show himself there, just a couple of hours before our meeting, if not…”

“To kill us before he got to you,” Finnigan finishes for me.

“It sounds silly now, knowing that it was just his ridiculous confidence, but I couldn’t risk it. The thought of anyone dying for me was unbearable. I trust you, god, I trust you with my life. With Maya’s life!”

He softens at those last words. He knows I value her much more than I value myself.

“I understand, but please, for the love of god, never. Ever. Do that again. Trust me to protect you both. We haven’t exposed you to our ways because it wasn’t necessary for you to see any of that, but believe me when I tell you, as scary as Bartiste and his men sound, we are scarier. And more than ready to take them.”

I sigh, watching him with regret I struggle to hold back. “I can’t rationalize it more than I have. Not so deep down I know all of that to be true. But I think the fact that Bartiste has evaded you successfully scared me as well.”

“Evie darling, what we share with you is at face value, because you don’t need to know every single detail. You shouldn’t. But trust me when I say, Bartiste and his men have not evaded us successfully. We are being smart about how we take them down. Bartiste is hiding, but to bring down a kingdom successfully, you start with the army. We’ve been picking hard at it, and today our soldiers took down more than half of the one he brought here with him. Which is how we found out where Frankie was. Bartiste has experience in hiding, I can admit that no matter how hard it bruises my ego, but he is no longer smarter or stronger than The Sanctum.”

My shoulders fall on a relaxing sigh. So many people dead shouldn’t be a soothing thought, but alas, they could burn alive in a mass grave for all I care.

Finnigan leads me further in the penthouse, setting me down on the plush sofa, and leaves me to watch the clear, starry sky through the floor to ceiling windows. Water runs in the kitchen, then he returns with a first aid kit and a bowl of water, holding his hand out for mine. I wince when he unwraps the small wound on my bicep, but I can’t hold in the smile when pain skirts his eyes. It seems to hurt him more than me, and that does something to my little heart. We don’t speak as he cleans the gash. He focuses there and I focus on him, unable to stare anywhere else.

I don’t know how to process this. Good things don’t happen to me. Instead, everything I touch seems to crumble.

“Okay,” he says as he dabs the area. “I’m going to add a few adhesive stitches, but luckily, it’s a graze. Albeit a little deeper.”

I nod as he rises and disappears again, leaving me with my intrusive thoughts as I stare out the windows. I’m going to miss watching the horizon over the ocean if I do decide to return to Fleeton. This place calls for my soul. A brief time later Finnigan returns with a tray, a bunch of glasses clinking on it as he sets it on the coffee table.

“What’s this?”

He points to each of them as he rattles them off. “Whiskey, vodka, rum and coke, vodka lime, water, and orange juice. To cover all… needs.”

I puff out a stifled laugh, reach for the vodka lime and down half of it with a groan.

“What did you mean, Evelyn? When you said your soul was already stained before you came here?”

I didn’t think I would evade this line of questioning, did I? Hence the variety of drinks.

“Remember what I told you about how I lost my mom?” I wait for his answer, but he frowns in disbelief and nods. “Sorry, I guess I just don’t assume you hold onto everything I tell you.”

“I remember everything. Go on.”

“Maya and I were homeless not long after, but I did my best to keep an ear out for information about her murderer. I found out none of the men responsible were caught. When it comes to gang crime, they rarely are. The thing is… when you live on the streets, even in your car, you hear things. Homeless people are a wealth of information because people don’t pay them any mind. They’re almost invisible but hear so much. And sometimes they talk. That’s how, about ten months or so after we ended up on the streets, I caught wind of this guy, a young one, who was bragging about the night of his gang initiation. Same month, same place, the exact shooting that took my mother. He bragged about how they escaped murder charges, and how cool it made him. Raised his street cred.”

I pause as Finn wipes a hand over his face, releasing a staggered sigh.

“I followed that breeze for a while, until I learned more about him, the gang, who he was, and finally, I saw him. His face is still imprinted in my memory, but after that… I could barely sleep. He plagued my nightmares and pulled my mother into them too. It was always both of them, never just him. A grueling reminder of what he took from me, from us. Then one night, we were staying in this shoddy motel in the bad side of town. One of many, Maya was sleeping in the room, and I went out to get some food. Then our fates aligned, and I heard him…”

I draw in a deep breath and throw back the rest of the vodka sour. “He was in an alley, on the phone, smoking. All alone. Even through that darkness, I knew it was him. Nothing could have stopped me that night. Not Maya, not my dad, not the police. All I saw was shades of crimson, and all it took was noticing a rusty pipe on the ground. I grabbed it and ran toward him just as he ended the call. He didn’t even see me coming. It wouldn’t have mattered if he did. No one could have recognized him by the time I stopped. I didn’t even scream as I did it. Rage consumed me. I’m not even certain he was dead when I left. He looked dead. Felt dead. What concerned me the most was that I didn’t care. Still don’t.”

Looking at Finn, I expect to see more pity, but it’s just sadness gazing back.

“I’m sorry, darling. I really am. That shouldn’t have been the aftermath of your mother’s murder.”

“No. The police should have caught him. All of them. I shouldn’t have become a murderer and hated myself for it. But you see, Finn, I blamed you and your criminal world for destroying mine, when in fact… I’m projecting the anger and hate I have for myself. Because all I felt that night was a worrying sense of victory and satisfaction. No remorse. I’m no better, no different.”

He watches me calmly, no judgment staining his gaze as he quietly sips his drink, keeping a possessive hold on my thigh.

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