The Finish Line

by Stewart , Kate

  He glances my way, his dark hair scattering in the summer wind. “Who in the hell are you trying to impress with those expensive ass suits, anyway?”

  “It’s called being a grown-up. You should try it sometime.”

  “We aren’t allowed to wear suits, your rules.”

  And that’s the truth of it because dressing up thugs in suits is an outdated tradition that may command respect—but also draws attention. It’s a uniform for men of a different breed with a completely separate agenda. We aren’t fucking thugs or anything like that breed, despite the fact we have to make thug moves on the regular. Our motives are entirely different. My corporate dealings give me an excuse to dress the way I want, and it’s part of my illusion. “You would be lost without your little black boots,” I jab, “and I have something better in mind.”

  He lifts a brow, cutting off another car as he shifts and guns the gas. “What are you thinking?”

  “You’ll know soon enough.”

  “Are you spending the rest of the summer here?” The hopeful lift of his voice rakes my chest.

  “Bet on it.”

  “Good, because in three months, I’ll be in my own foreign country,” he mutters.

  “Boston isn’t a foreign country.”

  “It is to me,” he says contemplatively. “I’ve never been out of Triple Falls.”

  The truth of that eats at me—but he was needed here—and I think his resentment is fading because he knows it’s the truth. Without him, we wouldn’t have made it this far this fast. He seems to read my thoughts.

  “I can skip it,” he offers up easily, too easily. “You know I can. Tuition is expensive and—”

  “No. The longer you stay in Triple Falls, the more you’ll remain a small-town thinker. School is a jumping point for you, it will be uncomfortable at first, but it will do you good, and deep down, you want to go. Sean will survive without you for a few years. And don’t worry about tuition, you leave that to me.”

  He gives a small dip of his chin.

  “Look at me, Dom.”

  His eyes cut from the road to me.

  “It’s your turn.”

  A brief flash of anticipation lights his eyes before he flits them back to the road.

  “While you’re there, you ease up on your part-time job, and that’s a fucking order.”

  “I’m being smart about it. And I have to admit,” one side of his mouth lifts, “what we’re doing feels good. It’s a rush.”

  “The best kind,” I agree, my own lips lifting. “Just pull back some, so you can focus.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” He gives me a mock salute. “How was Paris?”

  “Nothing new.”

  Dom floors the Camaro the second we’re on the highway, putting every bit of horsepower under the hood to work. I keep the paternal reprimand dancing on the tip of my tongue and indulge him, enjoying the ride as his brother. In the last year, since I’ve resided in Triple Falls more often than not, we’ve grown closer, strengthening the club while we set our strategy in motion.

  Like Sean and Tyler, Dom’s grown into his own man, maybe more so than the other two, a man I respect and admire. The fact that I still have to go back to France every six weeks to satiate Antoine and keep him at bay grates on me, but I’ve got my own reasons for being there. Our first international chapter continues to grow with the addition of a few relatives I managed to find who have proven their worth.

  And Exodus business is fucking booming.

  Studying my brother’s profile, I’m amazed at the change in his build, no trace left of the little boy who was terrified of the chickenpox. He’s become even more bold, fearless, cunning, and cocky to a point it’s now an ingrained trait. He knows exactly who he is, and that fills me with pride because when I was his age, I struggled with a little identity dilemma. He feels my watchful gaze on him and glances my way, his next question more of a demand.

  “Tell me about France.”

  “Nothing to tell. Don’t get curious. And don’t waste your time.”

  “What does he have on you?” It’s a subject he’s broached more than once that I’ve refused to entertain. But I have to give him something, or he won’t leave it alone.

  “My youth. He’s nothing but a resource, one we may need down the line. I have him under control, but let me make myself clear, my business with him has nothing to do with us. Not a single fucking thing. This is my shit to deal with, not yours. If you ever step in, we’re going to have a serious fucking problem. Leave it the fuck alone.”

  Dom’s nostrils flare as seconds tick past, and I hate that we’re already at odds. But I understand why he won’t let it go, and I would be just as adamant if I thought there was any threat to him. He wants to have my back, but I refuse to let him have it on this. I kick back in my seat, changing the subject because I don’t want him to know just how much this particular gamble weighs on me. Antoine’s becoming more predictable at this point, which makes his presence in my life less worrisome. “What’s the plan for tonight?”

  He grimaces and glances over at me.

  “What?”

  “Sean and I have plans.”

  “With who?”

  “This girl we’re seeing—”

  “One fucking girl?”

  “We treat her well.”

  “You really get off on that shit?”

  His jaw ticks, and I know we’ll never see eye to eye on this. He’s a different animal when it comes to women. For me, they’re an escape, a short-term refuge. For him, I’m not sure what they are. But I get the impression for the moment, they are toys, and that’s not the way I raised him to think.

  “Do your thing, brother, but mark my words, you’ll probably regret it one day. What’s going on with Tyler?”

  “Jarhead’s driving in tonight to hang. We’re lucky he’s stationed so close.”

  “Yeah, we are, but I don’t need a babysitter while you go get pussy.”

  He smirks. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m meeting Eddie at a bar downtown. We’re going to check on the price tag.”

  “New clubhouse?”

  “Something like that.”

  He shakes his head. “All work, no play. You’re fucking boring. Maybe it’s time for you to find a Helen of your own.”

  We exchange a long glance. “No Helen exists for me.”

  He shrugs. “If you say so. So, what’s next?”

  “We buy Boardwalk and Park Place and any other property Roman hasn’t already staked a claim on. It’s time to invest in some real estate.”

  “We’re really doing this,” Dom spouts with uncontained enthusiasm, briefly letting his mask slip. Over the last few years, he’s adapted an air about him that’s both intimidating and secretive, albeit necessary for our purpose.

  “We are doing this,” I agree, satisfaction swelling in my chest. “Just make sure you, Tyler, and Sean are free by midnight.”

  “What are we doing at midnight?”

  The buzz of the tattoo gun starts up again as Tyler fists off his shirt and takes a seat in the chair next to Sean. Dom walks over to where I sit, his arm slathered in light ointment, the dark inked feathers lined with smudges of blood through the clear wrapping. He, along with Sean and Tyler, requested extra heavy on the ink. A twitch of a smile graces his lips as he glances down at his arm with evident pride. “You can keep the silk ties, brother, this I can fucking work with.” He smirks, his eyes rolling over my new suit. “It’s a shame you can’t partake—”

  “Tobias, you’re up, man,” Jimmy, the shop owner says, waving me over to the waiting table he’s just sanitized. Dom follows me as I shrug off my suit jacket and loosen my tie.

  “Isn’t ink frowned upon at the country club?” Dom asks as I untuck my shirt and begin to unbutton it. Jimmy hangs the sketch in front of the two of us beneath a desk lamp, and I survey it carefully before nodding in approval and answering Dom.

  “Only if they can see it. And I fucking ha
te golf.”

  He carefully studies the raven, wings outstretched, his lit expression dimming noticeably as he scrutinizes the distinctly different tattoo. To any other Raven, it would be misconstrued as pecking order—an indication of my position in the hierarchy—but Dom’s too fucking smart, and he knows ego has nothing to do with it. I hoped I could get this part of it past him until we were all done getting marked.

  Dreading the inevitable, I curse under my breath as Sean and Tyler sense the shift in the air and stop their chatter, turning their attention to the two of us as Dom starts to bristle with anger. “Don’t start,” I snap at Dom in warning as he begins to pace in front of me.

  “That’s going to be your ink, man?” Tyler asks, eyeing the outline. “It’s fucking sweet.”

  “It’s fucking incriminating is what it is,” Dom says, refusing to back down. Tyler and Sean look over to me with drawn brows as I address my brother.

  “This is not up for debate.”

  Dom shakes his head adamantly. “No way, brother, we’re in this together.”

  Sighing, I lift my chin to the two guys running ink on Sean and Tyler, and the buzzing stops just before they clear the room to walk out front. When they both have lit cigarettes in hand and are safely on the other side of the door, Sean moves from his chair and lights one of his own, readying himself to get between us if need be. “All right, what the fuck is going on?”

  Dom’s dark gaze narrows on me as he lifts his chin. “I believe our brother is trying to deceive us with this grand gesture.”

  “It’s not deception,” I grab the bottle from Tyler that we uncorked an hour ago when I announced our plans. “This is a celebration, little brother,” I tip the lip of it toward him, “and you’re ruining it.”

  “Bullshit,” he snaps, anger seeping out of him. “This is your way of ensuring you’re the one who pays the bill.”

  “It’s done.” I cut my hand through the air. “End of.”

  “Not fucking end of,” Dom shakes his head as Tyler glances back at the draft of my tattoo in an attempt to figure it out. It doesn’t take long. “No, man, this is bullshit. If one goes down, we all go down.”

  Sean’s posture bows when he too gathers the truth of what’s happening and pins me with the same accusatory eyes. “What the fuck, man?”

  “You designed it this way,” Dom growls. “All of it was intentional.”

  Wordless, I take another sip from the bottle.

  “Whose name did you put the bar in today?” He prompts, refusing to let it go.

  “Mine,” Sean speaks up, his tone just as accusing, “he called me in to sign the paperwork, and Tyler now owns the land for our spot.”

  “Got the deed in the mail last week,” Tyler adds.

  Dom pulls it all together in a matter of seconds. “You’re using Exodus as the front, and you’re putting all the legit businesses in our name in case you get cuffed.”

  “All good business decisions,” I argue, “If anything happens to me—”

  “Fuck no,” he jerks the outline of my tattoo from where it hangs. “This might as well be a target on your fucking back. If there’s ever an investigation, all arrows will point to you.”

  “Which makes you the sitting fucking duck if we dip in the wrong bag and draw heat,” Tyler adds.

  “Which also means you’ll be the one doing the most time for racketeering,” Sean gathers, clear fury in his tone. “That’s why you wouldn’t let us in on Exodus.”

  Tyler speaks up next. “No way, brother, no fucking way, Tobias. We make these decisions together.”

  “Except this one he kept us out of because he knew we would never agree,” Sean adds, his fury apparent.

  “It’s done,” I snap. “So, there’s no point in arguing.”

  “Fuck that. You don’t get to martyr yourself.” Dom refutes, his tone lethal. He hates not being in the know, but mostly, he hates that he didn’t figure it out sooner. “If we fuck up, we go down together,” he declares adamantly.

  “That’s not the way we designed this, and you know it,” I remind him. “And you need to remember that we have other people’s livelihoods depending on us.” I look over at my brother. “I haven’t forgotten what hungry feels like, have you?” My argument stuns him silent, and I dig in, intent on making my point. “We have to be smart about this, things are about to kick up, and we need to be prepared for anything.”

  “Motherfucker!” Dom explodes, flipping a tray of ink over as he glares at me.

  I can’t help my grin. “You’re going to have to work harder to stay one step ahead of me, brother. You’re not quite there yet.” I glance between them, my gaze lingering for a few seconds on each of them. “And this is all speculation. Just do your job, keep your head in the game, and don’t fuck up.”

  The gin begins to warm me, the light buzz lifting my lips as they eye each other. “Have a damn drink and stop sulking like I just told you Santa isn’t real.”

  “He’s not?” Sean quips, but the delivery is lackluster, and no one laughs.

  I decide not to coddle them. Those days are long over.

  “I trust you,” I say emphatically, and all three of them snap their downcast eyes to me. I know that declaration is just as important to them as it is to me. “So, don’t let me down.” I lift my chin toward the two inkers in wait, and they stomp out their cigarettes before making their way back inside. I don’t spare a glance at the three of them as I take my place on the table. Tonight is about celebration, and I’m not going to let their fear ruin the faith I have in them. Nothing but exhilaration courses through me as the gun buzzes to life, and I feel the first prick of the needles in my skin.

  Minutes later, the music’s turned up, the mood lifting as they pass the bottle, and we resume our celebration.

  We finish the last of it huddled around the fire, piss drunk, with the future buzzing heavily between us. I gaze on at each of them as the familiar inkling comes over me. It strikes hard, the hairs on the back of my neck lifting despite my drunken state, and with its arrival comes the knowledge we are exactly where we’re supposed to be. It’s time to make our first move.

  It’s been a long fucking time coming.

  But for the first time in years, surrounded by my brothers, I embrace the present. When the chatter starts to die out, and they begin to pass out one by one, I shift my gaze up at the night sky, the image of the flock that inspired me comes to mind. Though pitch dark, I can see them so clearly, just as the pieces start to move on their own. Turning toward the newly built mansion, I see a single light on in the house and briefly wonder what kind of thoughts keep a man like Roman Horner up at night. Soon, I won’t have to wonder. Piece by piece, I’ll steal chunks of his kingdom from beneath him until it starts to crumble around him. And then, and only then, will I reveal myself as the thief responsible.

  “I’m coming for you, motherfucker,” I whisper vehemently, tossing another log onto the fire just as the lone light clicks off.

  My head splinters as the recollection of that night fades, and the heavy pulse of fresh hell sets in. Prying one eye open, I see Cecelia sleeping soundly next to me and wince through the invasion of morning light. Beau’s nails click on the hardwood announcing his entrance into the bedroom, and he nudges the hand I have hanging over the lip of the mattress, beckoning his new bitch to escort him out for his morning leak. Moving far too quickly, my body reacts, my head screaming obscenities as I usher him out of the room and through the back door to relieve himself. Shivering in the onslaught of cold, I’m slapped awake by one thought.

  One step ahead, Tobias.

  Alarm shoots up my spine as I rush inside and gather both phones before heading into the bathroom to check them for missed texts.

  Russell: New birds in the nest.

  The text was sent at eight o’clock last night. I feel slight relief knowing we’re covered with Tyler’s trained birds, especially since I wasn’t of sound mind. For me, blind trust is damn near hard to come by,
but over the years, I’ve tried my best to return it. Still, with so much to lose and flying blind, I’m in the worst imaginable position. I’m no longer in control or calling the shots, nor am I aware of every move being made on the daily, and it’s nearly fucking impossible for me to deal with that day by day. Blind trust is what I have to continue to give so I can navigate my way with Cecelia. But now? I’m not so sure I’m capable. Especially if Antoine’s planning on making a move. I’m just not sure of what his motive would be or what his intentions are, other than to keep tabs on me. But if he took the time to send someone—in lieu of a fucking phone call—chances are something’s brewing.

  Hitting a separate text feed on my burner, I see a message from one of the two birds I kicked to the curb after my run in yesterday.

  Oz: He’s working alone. He came to report and nothing more.

  You’re sure?

  Oz: Positive. He showed us his itinerary, and we cross-checked it with every single passenger on the flight and every other within days of his arrival. So far, everything checks out. We’re combing the sidewalks now.

  Wait for word from me.

  Oz: 10/4

  Furious with myself that I let my emotions and nerves get the best of me yesterday to the point I drank myself into a blackout; I switch phones to see the demand for a report on the idiot’s cell. I’m relieved when I see the message was sent only minutes ago. The order short and to the point.

  Quelle est la situation?

  I mimic the previous text.

  Pas de changement. No change.

  Anxiety slices through me as I will the fucking phone to go off with a reply. A reply that will ensure me more time for damage control with Cecelia.

  Adrenaline spiking, I wait with bated fucking breath and see Antoine’s response time has varied anywhere from one hour to five. It’s too soon to tell if Antoine’s onto me, so I shoot off a text to Tyler.

  I want two birds in the air. Now.

  His reply is immediate.

  Tyler: On it. Need to talk?

  I’ll let you know.

  Cursing the situation and the fucking disaster I made of date night, I summon Beau back into the house before creeping through the bedroom and softly shut the bathroom door. After a brief inspection with bloodshot eyes, I wash my face, brush my teeth, and rinse my mouth out before swallowing down a couple of Tylenol from her medicine cabinet. The reality of last night slams into me as I take one last look in the mirror. “Run for your life, Trésor.”