Page 84 of The Warlord

When I lowered the gun, I was grateful. My hand had started to cramp, and a shaking hand would’ve given me away. Finnan snatched the book from my hand, leafing through it immediately.

“Motherfucker. Mother-cocksucking-fucker!” He turned to Torin. “You’d better start talking, gobshite.”

“Finnan, please.” He backed away a few paces, and I stepped to the side, slumping against the nearest wall. The adrenaline that had been zinging through my system had waned, and I was left feeling weak and lightheaded. I had just talked my way out of this clusterfuck of a marriage arrangement, but I hadn’t been able to save Grayson.

When I felt eyes on me, I glanced over to find him staring. He blinked his eye once—slowly—then shifted his attention back to the two men in the center of the room.

“Why?” Finnan growled, pulling out his gun and holding it to the other man’s head. “Why, you cocksucking bastard? Why would you do this to the clan? Why would you do this tome?”

“I had no choice.”

“No choice? You had no fucking loyalty to the clan?”

“You don’t understand.” He backed up another step, and Finnan followed him. His expression was murderous, but underneath the anger was hurt. Betrayal.

“I understand that my own brother chose to fuck me up.”

Brother?

I felt the word hang in the air, then watched it ripple through everyone else in the room. Nobody else had known. Not even Grayson, whose one functional eye had widened in disbelief.

“Finnan, what do you mean, brother?” Caolan asked.

“Half-brother,” Torin supplied, placing emphasis on the first word. “We shared the same father. My mother was his whore.”

“You’ve been more than a half-brother to me, and you damn-well know it,” snarled Finnan. “So start fucking talking, or Iwillend your life, half-brother or not.”

“I can’t.”

Finnan stepped closer still, herding Torin against the wall. The muzzle of the gun was pressed so hard to his temple that it dimpled the skin—mottling it. “Are you trying to protect thatfuck, Mannix King? Are you his bitch now?” His finger moved to the trigger.

“Please, Finnan, believe me when I say I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this, but I got in too deep and… and… they threatened to hurt… her.” He pressed his lips together.

“Threatenedwho?” This question came from Quillen. “Who did they threaten?”

Finnan’s arm began to shake, and he pulled back, dropping it to his side. Stepping away, his eyes were on the floor, his expression lost.

“Finnan,” Keir called, stepping up. “Finnan, you can’t let this slide. He’s our fuckingrat. He’s been telling a rival clan when things are going down, so our shipments and consignments are taken before we can get there. He’s fucked with the clan, are you’re going to let him go?” The Chief was yelling now, his anger flaring to life.

There was a communion between the pair then—some unspoken conversation. Eventually, Torin said, “If I didn’t do what they wanted, they were going to go after her to get the money I owed.”

It looked as if the words hurt Finnan more than the betrayal. He stared sightlessly for a moment before telling Keir, “Take him away.”

Keir nodded, then jerked his chin at Caolan, who helped haul Torin from the room.

The rest of the clan started talking among themselves while Orin and Quillen went to Finnan. They spoke in hushed voices, and I saw this as my chance to escape with Grayson.

Using the distraction, I hauled Grayson onto his feet and helped him out the door. Leaning his substantial body weight against me, I beelined to the car Torin had escaped with and propped Grayson against the rear quarter panel to open the passenger door. Once he was inside, I ran around to the driver’s side and got in, having no idea where we were going to go.

Only knowing that I was free.

Thatwewere free.

TWENTY-SEVEN

GRAYSON

“Fuck.”Holding out my hands, I tried to stop being thrown around the backseat of the car while Sloane was behind the wheel, but since I wasn’t buckled in, it was a losing battle.

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