Page 244 of Intense
Arthur shakes his head, but it’s too slow, too calm, and I lose it. My fist collides with his jaw, the crack satisfying, the blood better. He staggers, and I hit him again and again, until Conan’s iron grip clamps onto me from behind.
“Finn! Stop! He’ll be no good to us dead!”
I thrash against him, my blood boiling. “He took her from me! He knows where she is!”
Arthur spits blood onto the ground, smirking through his broken lip. “I don’t. I don’t even know who the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit!” My voice shreds from my throat. I surge forward again, Conan holding me back by sheer force. “Tell me who told you to come. Who are you working with? Tell me who gave the fucking order! Who has my fucking wife, Arthur!”
Arthur’s smirk falters. For the first time tonight, his mask slips.
“Finn. This ain’t me. This has nothing to do with me. I’m here to meet.”
He stops. His face drains of all color.
“Who?” I grab his throat and slam him against the brick wall.
“The one person in my life I never thought would betray me,” he mutters, eyes flicking to the ground.
Silence falls heavy. My stomach twists. Whoever he means, the weight of it crushes the air from all of us.
The disfigured guy crashes into my mind, and I release my hold.
No. There’s no fucking way. We’re not just dealing with our ghosts of the past.
We’re fighting the dead, literally.
“Say his name, Arthur.” My tone is deadly.
This is going to kill Conan.
Our father’s death was for nothing. A fucking setup that’s lasted years.
“James,” Arthur says quietly. Almost like it hurt him to say it.
I press my hand against Conan's chest to stop him from killing Arthur with his bare hands. New rules have just come into play.
“You fuckin’ cunt!” Declan smashes his fist into Arthur’s nose.
I clearly tried to tame the wrong brother here.
“Our father fucking died as penance for Conan killing James. If James never died, you motherfuckers set this up. You murdered our father for no reason. You’ve gone against everything,” I seethe, coming nose to nose with him.
“If I didn’t need you to save my wife, I’d cut your head off your shoulders and fucking stomp your brains out. But that can wait. Because you’re going to get my wife back to me,” I tell him, my voice deadly.
“O-okay. Okay, fuck.” His voice shakes.
There’s a bang on the door behind us; Drago grabs the scruff of Arthur’s neck, and he looks like he might piss himself.
I shove the door open, the creak echoing through the stone halls.
And then I freeze.
Rowan.
He’s sprawled on the floor, pale, blood soaking through his shirt. My stomach drops, the world narrowing.
“Fuck!” Conan rushes forward, dropping to his knees.
