Page 1 of Finn

Chapter one

Finn

The last thing any man who’s the leader of a criminal organization wants to do is admit when he fucked up, but I did. And it nearly cost a man—a man I’ve come to respect—his life and his woman’s life. That’s not something I take lightly. Being the head of the Monaghan family, the oldest Irish mob outfit in Boston, doesn’t make me exempt from making mistakes—and I made a big one. The MC I work with had been having a problem with the Italians, and I didn’t move fast enough. I’ve been putting plans in place to take care of the Cataldis well before they started shit with the bikers, but the time I thought I had has run out.

The relationship between the Black Roses MC and my family has been fruitful and very profitable for each of us. That’s why I’m headed to their clubhouse on a bright Monday morning instead of getting head from the blonde I took to a hotel after the underground fights my brother Eoghan runs. Sometimes, I like to go a few rounds in the ring, and last night, I demolished some gym rat who thought his steroid-induced muscles would make up for his lack of skill. It did not. It was the stress relief I needed leading up to the meeting at the clubhouse. The fight and the blonde.

Speaking of Eoghan, he looks a hell of a lot worse for wear than I do as we travel down the highway between Boston and Shine, Massachusetts, to meet with the president of the MC.

“You okay over there? You’re looking a little green around the gills, brother.” I attempt to swallow my laughter, but there’s no use hiding my smirk at his obvious discomfort. I may be driving a little faster than necessary, taking turns a little sharper, but I wouldn’t be the loving older brother I am if I didn’t give him all the grief I could.

“Fuck off,” Eoghan groans, trying to shift in his seat to find a more comfortable position with his blond head resting against the window. “Why isn’t Cillian with you again? I don’t see why you had to drag me out of bed at this ungodly hour.”

“It’s ten in the morning, you lazy asshole. And Cillian isn’t here because he’s been searching for Carlo Cataldi while simultaneously covering the casino. The man needs some sleep.”

“I need some fucking sleep,” he mumbles, closing his bloodshot blue eyes. My brother and I share the same eye color, but that’s where our familial similarities end. Eoghan takes after our mother with his blond hair that he keeps longer, whereas I have short dark hair that touts our Black Irish roots.

Carlo is at the center of the Italian problem I’ve let fester long enough. He was the one who took Ozzy, the Black Roses MC president, and his woman, Freya, hostage a few months back. Cillian would be here in a heartbeat if I’d asked, but my lieutenant has been burning the candle at both ends. Running the casino and finding Cataldi are vital to the future of our organization, and Cillian is as dedicated as they come.

My brother cocks his head then shakes it, sighing heavily. He is not a fan of how I’ve handled the Italian situation. If it were up to him, we would have gone in guns blazing months ago and taken care of them.

There has never been any love lost between the Cataldis and the Monaghans, but I can’t justify an all-out war with them. My brother would have preferred a show of extreme force, but we aren’t prepared for it—yet. Even though I’m only older than Eoghan by a mere fourteen months, I’m still the boss. I make the calls on this kind of shit, not him.

Thank fuck for that.

Since he isn’t commenting further, I let the conversation drop. We’ll just go round and round if I engage. After my fight and the subsequent fuck from last night, I’m not wound tight enough to give Eoghan the argument he’s looking for. Besides, I have more pressing issues weighing on my mind than worrying about my inaction with the Cataldis the last few months. Things not even my brother knows about.

When we pull up to the clubhouse situated at the edge of Shine, I wave at the prospect manning the gate and he lets us through. This is only the second time I’ve been to the clubhouse in the handful of years Ozzy and I have been doing business. Usually, they make their way into Boston for the night, and my brother and I show them a good time. But since this visit is more of a personal matter, I decided coming to Ozzy was the right call. It’s my way of showing the MC president the respect he deserves.

Knox, the club’s VP, meets us at the door after we’ve parked in the gravel lot and clasps my hand in a firm shake. “Good to see you, Finn.” He releases my hand and shakes my brother’s. “Eoghan.”

“Knox,” my brother replies. Eoghan is one of those guys that everyone likes to be around. He’s easygoing, at least until you piss him off. Knox, on the other hand, has always struck me as a man of few words who doesn’t need more than a look and a few grunts to effectively get his point across. It doesn’t surprise me when he doesn’t return my brother’s friendly smile.

Walking into the clubhouse, Eoghan spots Jude, one of the club’s enforcers, playing a game of pool with one of the other enforcers, Linc.

“Oi!” Eoghan calls with a wide smile.

Jude spins around and returns his smile with one of his own. “Fucking wanker. You didn’t tell me you were coming with Finn. I had to find out from this arsehole,” he replies, pointing to Linc.

“Last-minute decision. I call winner,” Eoghan says, walking over to the table and fishing a quarter from his pocket before slapping it on the table. Who the hell carries change these days? My brother, that’s who.

Jude and Eoghan have built a friendship over the years we’ve been doing business together. He’s even come out to Boston a few times to partake in the fight nights my brother sets up. When Jude came over from jolly old England, he’d just gotten out of the Royal Marines and hooked up with the Black Roses through an old family connection. His training in the service makes him one hell of an opponent in the ring. To my knowledge, he hasn’t been out our way since he shacked up with a little spitfire of a woman and settled down. Pity. His fights brought in a shit ton of money—especially if he was fighting one of my guys. The English versus the Irish is quite the old rivalry.

“I’ll let Ozzy know you’re here,” Knox says before disappearing down the hallway.

I take a moment to look around the clubhouse. Several of the brothers are milling about or sitting at the bar and nursing hangovers. I nod to the few I’ve met before and spot a picture on the wall with a prospect patch next to it. The photo showcases a young man in his early twenties with a bright smile. Cooper Reed. He was killed trying to protect Jude’s old lady, Lucy. A feeling of heaviness settles in my chest. The kidnapping didn’t have any confirmed connection to the Cataldis, but when Lucy was taken, she mentioned the pilot of the plane she was on spoke Italian. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the Cataldis were most likely involved. That kid was so damn young, but age doesn’t mean much in our world. Once you’re in, the enemy doesn’t give two shits about cutting your life short. It’s what we all signed up for, the score we all know too well. Doesn’t lessen the responsibility I feel toward his death, though. I should have handled this Cataldi shit when we knew what was going on after Linc’s old lady was taken and almost sold by one of Cataldi’s men. Fucking scum.

“Come on back,” Knox tells me before I can beat myself up more than I already have.

I follow the quiet man back through a hallway, and he opens the office door for me but doesn’t enter.

“Good to see you, Ozzy,” I say to the president of the Black Roses MC. We shake hands over his desk and the piles of paperwork strewn about. Looks an awful lot like mine.

“You too. Drink?” He points to the bottle of whiskey sitting on the edge of his desk. My lip quirks up, noting it’s the same whiskey we sent over here months ago.

“Please.” I’m never one to turn down a fine Irish whiskey, regardless of the fact that it’s barely eleven in the morning. “And let me know when you’re running low.”

He pours us each a couple fingers, and we get settled back in our seats on opposite sides of his dark mahogany desk. His office reminds me of my father’s, minus the skulls and old beer signs. Pictures line the walls. Photos of his grandfather—the man who started the club—and the generations of Black Roses who followed. Their club is similar to how our family runs things in that the firstborn son will inherit the leadership role when their father retires. Like the Monaghans, the Black Roses value family and loyalty above all else and proudly display and honor the previous generations.

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