In Finn's Heart

by Roxie Rivera

  "Yes."

  Not wanting to push for more information, he decided to let it go. "I'll have that iced tea, if you don't mind."

  Her sweet pink lips curved upward. "Not at all." She tugged open the refrigerator door and rummaged inside. "Make yourself at home, Finn. My draft board and studio are down the hall to your left. The door is probably open. You're welcome to go inside."

  "Thanks." Wanting to see where she worked, he followed her directions to a spacious studio with the same floor-to-ceiling windows as the living area. One wall was covered with magnetic strips placed two feet or so apart. Drawings hung from the strips, tiny magnets holding them in place. He investigated them and realized it was her next book, laid out page by page from left to right, top to bottom. She had drawn and colored about one hundred pages of the graphic novel so she was halfway done.

  Unable to help himself, he started reading from the first page, hungry to find out if the half-demon Ellaria survived the fall from the cliffhanger ending. She had sacrificed herself to save her true love Raphael, the warrior angel who had fathered the child she lost in a prior book when his archangel brethren attacked her. In the final panel of the last book, she had jumped off the tallest building in the city, sacrificing and condemning herself to an eternal life in hell to free Raphael from God's wrath and Lucifer's curse.

  Finn ate up the words and the images, his heart actually racing a bit as he moved from page to page. Hadley had a real talent for storytelling and her gift for drawing was just as good. The vivid images on the page drew him into the world she had created.

  Even so entranced by her work, he didn't miss the telltale pitter patter of her bare feet coming down the hall. He greeted her with a grin. "This is fucking fantastic, Hadley. The wait was worth it."

  She laughed and handed him a glass of sweet tea. The ice cubes tinkled against each other as they knocked around in the dark liquid. "The next two pages are on my draft table."

  Curious to see how she actually put together her books, he wandered over while sipping his tea. It was sweet and cold and so much better than the watered down tea from the restaurant. He stood close to the elevated and angled desk where she created her masterpieces and stared at the images she had been coloring.

  It was a powerful scene in front of him. Raphael was choosing to return to his place among the archangels even though Ellaria had been freed from Hell as a mortal human. The grief on Ellaria's face punched Finn in the gut. He felt her betrayal and heartache at the way the man she had trusted and loved and given her maidenhead—and a source of power—turned his back on her now.

  He rubbed his chest. "That's just—ouch."

  "I know." She sounded sad as she stared at the page. "This one hit me right in the feels when I was writing it. I sobbed for, like, five hours after I finished the first sketch."

  "They get back together, right?" He couldn't believe how badly he needed to know that Ellaria got her happily ever after in the end. After everything the poor woman had gone through, she deserved a bit of fictional happiness.

  Hadley's mouth quirked in a teasing way. "You'll have to read the book and find out."

  "Tease!"

  She pinched his arm. "You know you love it."

  I'm starting to, he thought wickedly. Turning his attention to her work, he said, "So we talked about me trying to do my own comics that day we met at the arts center."

  "I remember."

  Did she remember the encounter the same way he did? "Tell me how you do it."

  She placed her glass on a stack of magazines on a bookshelf and joined him at her workspace. "I write the story first." She reached across him to grab a stack of printed pages bound together with a big clip, and when she did, her arm brushed against his chest. The slight touch set him on fire. "Here."

  He took the manuscript from her and saw that she had plotted out the story like a screenplay. He put his glass of tea in a safe spot and thumbed through the pages. "This is where I screw up, I guess. The comics I've attempted always stall halfway through and then I give up because it's too frustrating to keep fighting with it."

  "I used to do that when I was drawing in junior high. Dom took me to a comic convention that summer, and I got to sit in on a panel of my favorite writers and artists. They shared their tips and tricks, and I bought a whole bunch of how-to books and started studying how my favorite comics and graphic novels were structured and drawn."

  "I should try that," he said, feeling a bit dumb for not taking that approach. Trying to ignore the flare of jealousy licking at his chest, he asked, "Who is Dom?"

  "One of my older brothers." She reached for another bound stack of sheets, these thicker and covered in black and white sketches. "These are the basic thumbnails I do to design the book page-by-page before I do the real sketches and then the coloring."

  He exchanged the manuscript for the thumbnails. Wanting to squeeze in some recon, he asked, "How many brothers do you have?"

  She cast an amused glance his way. "Why? The big, tough Marine worried he might be outnumbered at the next Rivera barbecue?"

  Her smile did crazy things to him. His brain told him to wait, not to do it just yet, but his heart screamed for him to take a chance. She had that sweet look on her face that dazzled him. Fuck it. I'm going for it.

  "Depends on how many big brothers I have to dodge if they found out I did this." Taking a step toward Hadley, he closed the space between them and slid his arm around her waist. He gave a little tug, and she came willingly into his arms. Cradling the back of her head, he lowered his face and peered into those startling gray eyes of hers. I'm lost.

  And he was. The moment his lips brushed hers, he was gone.

  With a little whimper of need, Hadley gripped the front of his shirt and tilted her head, letting him have whatever he wanted to take. The touch of their lips was gentle and tender at first, but she lit a fire in his belly with that soft, kittenish noise. It had been a long while since he had kissed a woman, and he intended to make up for that tonight.

  You're only kissing her. That's it. That's all.

  That first year he had been sober, there had been so many empty one-night-stands and miserable, stilted, angry fucks. He had been searching for anything and everything to replace the craving he had for another beer or a shot of bourbon. He hadn't found it in any of those hotel rooms or strange bedrooms with women he barely knew because it didn't exist. There was no replacement for that craving. There was only acceptance and peace.

  Only kissing Hadley proved to be more than enough. It was more than he deserved. She was such a good woman, all sweetness and light, and too damned good for him. He eased his tongue into her mouth and felt the shy flick of hers. Smiling, he chased her tongue and made contact again. Her grip tightened on his shirt, and she pressed toward him by lifting on tiptoes. Her breasts rubbed his chest, and heat streaked right down to his cock.

  Deepening the kiss, he claimed her with as much intensity as he dared. A triumphant thrill raced through his chest when she wound an arm around his waist and tried to get even closer. The desire to lift her up and deposit her on that tall chair she used for drafting nearly topped him. He wanted to shove her dress up around her waist and see what sort of dainty little panties she was wearing. He would dip his fingers under the fabric to find her wet heat—and probably his tongue too.

  Flirting with danger had gotten him in trouble too many times in the past. He refused to ruin the start of something beautiful with Hadley by giving into his reckless impulses. There was plenty of time to do all the wonderfully dirty things he wanted do with her.

  But not tonight.

  As tenderly as he could manage, he lessened the power of their kisses. His tongue finally left her mouth, taking with it the sugary sweetness of her tea. He sucked on her lower lip and teased his teeth against the plump, soft flesh of her pout. Their noses nuzzled together as they shared a chaste, simple kiss, their lips lingering until he finally gathered the strength to pull away from her. They were both
breathing hard now.

  "Four," she said in a huskier voice. "I have four older brothers."

  He grimaced with exaggeration. "Not good odds for this Marine."

  "Well," she toyed with the point of his shirt collar, "you probably wouldn't have to worry about my two oldest brothers. Carlos has never been a hothead, and Marco would be so enamored with those green eyes of yours that he wouldn't even care that you took a kiss from his baby sister. But…Dom and Tres? No promises there." She abandoned his collar and played with a button now. "Dom was kicked out of three private schools and a public school before he was sixteen and ran away to join a doom metal band as a bassist. Tres went straight into the Marines after high school. He did eight years and then left to be Dom's bodyguard."

  "Not good odds," he murmured, thinking that a Marine and a doom metal bassist could probably whip his ass from sunup 'til sundown if they got ahold of him.

  She playfully patted his chest. "Luckily for you, they both adore me and wouldn’t do anything to make me cry."

  "Then I had better be on my best behavior and keep you happy."

  "Sounds like a smart plan," she whispered, rising up to kiss him one more time.

  Caressing her cheek, he asked, "May I see you again?"

  "I'd like that."

  "What are you doing tomorrow night?" Slow down. You're moving too fast.

  "I have this event thing," she said, biting her lip. "You wouldn't happen to have a tuxedo in your closet, would you?"

  "Actually, I do." He traced her jawline with his thumb. "A friend of mine got married at Christmas, and I decided to buy a good tux and have it properly tailored." He gestured to his prosthetic leg. "It's hard to get a nice fit off the rack."

  Her gaze lowered to his foot. "I bet."

  "Why do I need a tux?"

  "It's a fundraiser for the children's hospital. I go every year. It's my main charity," she explained. "The arts center is my passion and the way I help people directly, but fundraising for the hospital is hugely important to me." She smiled shyly. "I'd like it if you came with me."

  He couldn't imagine a worse way to spend a Saturday night than cooped up in some ballroom at a stuffy fundraiser, but he couldn't tell her no. She looked up at him with those big puppy dog eyes, and he would have promised her the moon. "I'd love to go with you."

  Because that was the point, wasn't it? He wanted to be with her. The where wasn't important.

  "Meet me here tomorrow night around seven?"

  "I can do that." Unable to help himself, he tasted her mouth again. She stroked his neck and rubbed his earlobe between her dainty fingers as he kissed her long and hard. Touching his forehead to hers, he exhaled roughly. "I really need to go."

  She swallowed audibly. "That's probably a good idea."

  Ask her if you can stay…

  He batted away the unwanted thought and moved away from her. Holding her hand, he followed her to the front door of her home. When they reached it, he laughed. "We still didn’t talk about insurgency battle plans."

  "There's always tomorrow or Sunday or…" She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'm sure we'll get to it eventually."

  Something told him they would probably keep getting sidetracked by more interesting things, but he liked the excuse of helping her with her book to maintain an open invite to see her. "Good night, Hadley."

  "Night, Finn." She stood in the doorway until he was inside the elevator. "Bye."

  "Goodbye." The doors closed, and he rode down to the garage level where he had parked. She had given him a strange look when he had chosen not to valet park, but he didn't like the thought of other people driving his truck.

  Still on a high from kissing Hadley and making a second date, he didn't even notice the man leaning against his truck until it was too late. He stopped abruptly, but he had already been seen. A shock tore through him at the sight of that fucking Russian mobster smoking a cigarette. He didn't know Kostya's last name. He only knew that the man was dangerous and deadly and probably the darkest soul he had ever had the misfortune to meet.

  "Finn." Kostya stubbed out the cigarette on the bottom of his shoe and flicked the butt across the garage.

  "Kostya." He sized up the mob henchman he hadn't seen since the night he had shot that cartel assassin to save his brother and Abby. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

  The Russian inclined his head toward the truck. "Let's take a ride."

  "Let's not."

  Kostya's icy glare chilled Finn to the bone. "I wasn't asking."

  Gritting his teeth, Finn stormed to the driver's side door and wrenched it open. He started the truck and waited for Kostya to fasten his seatbelt. He glanced at his uninvited passenger. "And where would his majesty like to go?"

  "Head toward Hobby Airport," the cleaner instructed.

  "Why?"

  "Because the boss wants to see you, and you don’t want to make him wait any longer," Kostya stated matter-of-factly.

  Pissed off but preferring not to get on the wrong side of the most powerful man in Houston, Finn left the parking garage and drove toward the airport to meet Nikolai Kalasnikov. He had never actually met the Russian mob boss, but he had seen him a few times. He had watched the silent, brooding man during the underground bare-knuckle tournament Kelly had been forced to fight in to clear their father's debts to the Albanian mafia. Kelly had gone up against the Russian's champion, a great big bear of a man called Sergei, in the final round.

  The silence grated on Finn's nerves. "So, how have you been?"

  Kostya made a sound that was close to a laugh. "Oh, you know, busy, busy, busy."

  Finn thought of the news stories about the cartel war happening south of the border. He had a feeling the Russians had one of their dirty fingers stirring that pot. "I bet."

  They settled into silence again. Eventually, Kostya spoke. "So, you and the Rivera girl, huh?"

  Finn's fingers tightened around the steering wheel until the tips went numb. "Don't."

  One word. A warning.

  Kostya kept his gaze focused on the windshield. "She's not the type of girl we would ever use as leverage. She's too high profile. Besides, her father has friends in interesting places."

  Finn hadn't been expecting that. Interesting places? He wanted to know more, but he wasn't about to ask Kostya. There were other ways of finding those answers.

  "Take this exit. We're headed about three miles from the airport."

  Ten minutes later, they turned down a quiet, mostly dark street in a sparsely populated area. He hadn't driven out this way much. He had gotten so used to houses being packed in tightly together that the acreage attached to the rundown houses and mobile homes surprised him.

  "That one," Kostya said and indicated a white house with a large building looming behind it. "Kill your lights."

  Finn did as told and pulled up to the building. There was already a black SUV and a luxury sedan waiting there. He turned off the engine. "Now what?"

  "Now we meet the boss."

  Finn didn't want to meet Nikolai, but he wasn't stupid enough to refuse. He didn't have a weapon on him, but he was certain Kostya had at least two, probably three, hidden away under his clothing. When they were out in the dark, damp night, Kostya gestured toward the door. Finn didn't like being followed, especially not by a man as dangerous as the Russian, but there wasn't much choice.

  When he stepped inside the building, he scanned the space for enemies and possible weapons. A pipe against the wall looked like a good bet, but that was only if these assholes didn't shoot him first. His gaze slid to Nikolai Kalasnikov and the two men who flanked him. The guys behind him were unremarkable looking goons, but the boss was dressed as immaculate as ever, his charcoal gray suit tailored perfectly to his tall frame. He wore a wedding band on the wrong finger, but Finn assumed that was something to do with their customs. He tossed a gold lighter between his hands and raised an imperious eyebrow. "You're late."

  "Blame that on the invitation I never received," Finn c
oolly replied. His focus shifted briefly to the long table next to Nikolai and the suspicious lump covered by a blue tarp. "What the fuck is that?"

  Nikolai pocketed his lighter and retrieved a small jar from his jacket. He held it up for Finn to see in the dim lighting of the metal barn. "Do you know what this is?"

  Oh, Finn knew exactly what it was. He eyed the crunched round rolling around in the jar. "It's the bullet I put between the eyes of that cartel bastard who tried to shoot my brother and his girlfriend." He cast an angry glare at Kostya. "The one your man there promised Jack he would dig out of the wall and toss."

  "To be fair," Kostya interjected, "I said I would take care of it. I didn't say I would destroy it."

  Nikolai moved to the lump on the table and jerked back the tarp. Finn's disgusted gaze settled on the frozen corpse of the assassin he had killed. "The Ghost," the boss said, his voice strangely distant. "He's not nearly as terrifying as I had expected. His name was Erwin Goode, in case you care. He was forty-four and lived in Mesa, Arizona when he wasn't killing people for the cartel."

  Finn's brain worked overtime to piece together the dog and pony show before him. Why the hell was the mob boss pulling out all the stops? "Is there a point to this?"

  "Just one more thing," Nikolai said and gestured for one of his men to get something. The shorter, younger of his soldiers retrieved a rifle from a worktable along the wall. Wearing black leather gloves, he held it up, and Finn went rigid. It was his gun, the same one he had used to fire that fatal shot. They had all the evidence necessary to have him found guilty of murder.

  "You broke into my storage locker to steal my rifle?"

  Nikolai gestured for the kid to put it back. "I needed you to know the score, Finn. You need to understand your position."

  "And what position is that?" His chest tightened so badly that his jaw started to ache.

  "You're going to be contacted by a representative of the Guzman cartel. He's going to offer you a job as a way of repaying your debt for killing their man here." Nikolai covered up the frozen corpse and the tucked the bullet back into his pocket. "You're going to take that job."