Chapter 43

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

FINNIGAN

Sitting in front of the main stage of The Onyx with Conor, I sip my glass of whiskey as I repeatedly turn down offers for lap dances and trips to the Champagne Room. Not only is it not what I’m here for, I’m also not interested. The only woman I want rubbing her tits in my face and grinding— preferably pantyless— over my lap is Catlin.

Conor, on the other hand, is currently wearing the perfume and glitter of about ten different strippers and is impatiently waiting for the pretty little brunette on stage to slide onto his lap.

Her ass overtly swaying with every step, Mandy saunters over to the two of us with a tray of drinks. “Sorry, Finnie.” She helps herself to my thigh and takes a seat as she places our drinks on the small table between me and Conor. “But you haven’t let a woman touch you since the two of you got here, and considering you’ve fucked half of them, you look suspicious as fuck.”

“Told you,” Conor chimes as the petite brunette climbs from the stage and slides over his thighs. “I’m just blending.”

Knowing they’re both right, I place my hand on the small of Mandy’s back and uncomfortably rub it over her hip as she sits on my thigh.

“Fuck, Finnie,” she snarks. “Could you be any more awkward? Most married guys come in here so hungry for pussy they can’t keep their hands off the talent.”

“Trust me, that man gets more pussy now than he did when he was single.” Conor laughs into the perky tits spilling against his face. “But fuck, if I had a girl who was as fucking hot as his, I’d be inside her all the time, too.”

“For fuck’s sake, Conor,” I huff as the girl on his lap whispers something into his ear. A devilish smirk spreads across his face as she slides from his lap.

“Keep it in your pants, big boy,” Mandy teases. “Because she’s the girl. The one dating the Russian.”

“Oh, fuck!” Conor huffs. “You couldn’t have shared that before she offered to let me fuck her?”

“It’s a revenge fuck,” she informs him. “Her boyfriend blew her off tonight, so now she wants to fuck some stranger to piss him off.”

“Cat isn’t expecting me until nine,” I inform him, glancing at my watch. “I’ve got at least five minutes before we need to go. That should be more than enough time for you to take her for a ride at least twice.”

“Fuck, if that’s all it takes you, no wonder Cat’s always eyeing me up,” he teases, just to piss me off. And it works. “Besides, I’d rather go home and wank off to Cat so I can call you and tell you all about it.”

“Good plan,” Mandy chimes. “Because I’m pretty sure any men stupid enough to stick his cock in her will be dead by the morning.”

“I will beat the ever-loving piss out of you if you so much as think about wanking to Cat when I take you home,” I snarl as we walk toward the exit.

“Bring it on, Finn,” he smirks. “Because I’m totally thinking about it.”

Fuck, no wonder Declan used to beat my ass all the time.

When we step from the club, my phone immediately dings and lights up with three missed calls from Catlin. “Fuck. I forgot that place has no reception.”

The phone rings through to her voicemail when I try to call her back. Swiping through my contacts, I try William and am met with his voicemail. This time, I dial Cat again, my heart racing, and I bark at Conor, “Get in the fucking truck.”

“Fuck, bro. Of all people, Cat isn’t going to lose her shit because you’re a few minutes late.

“Get in the fucking truck,” I shout. “Something isn’t right.”

Turning over the engine to the Bronco, the Bluetooth kicks on as I’m sent to voicemail again, “Hey, you’ve reached Catlin. Leave me a message and I’ll?—”

“Try Owen,” I roar at Conor, shoving my phone at him as we peel from the parking lot. It goes to voicemail as well, so I demand, “The apartment.”

It rings a handful of times before Conor ends the call. My fingers grip the steering wheel until my knuckles are white, and I race toward the apartment where I had left her.

“I’ll try her again,” Conor insists, swiping through my phone.

It rings twice, and she finally answers, “Hey, sweetie.”

My heart is still racing. Something isn’t right. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Her answer is curt. No woman is ever okay when they say they’re fine.

“You didn’t answer my ca?—”

She interrupts and reiterates herself, “I said I’m fine.”

“Where is Owen?” I press, unease coursing through me. “Or William?”

“Finn, stop,” she replies. “I told you I was going to church .”

“I’m sorry, kitten,” I feign an apology and stomp on the accelerator.

Her tone softens slightly, and her voice cracks when she says, “I’ll call you when I’m on my way home.”

The call abruptly ends, and Conor shifts in the passenger seat. “What the hell, Finn? She’s at church with Father O’Flaherty. She’s fine.”

“She’s not.” I shake my head and veer through traffic at grossly unsafe speeds. “She has never called me ‘sweetie,’ and she said she’s at church.”

Conor stares at me in complete confusion for a moment. “I’m so fucking lost right now.”

“ Church ,” I emphasize the word. “It’s her safeword. She told me to stop and used her safeword. She’s in fucking trouble.”

“Fuck!” Conor exclaims, swiping through my phone. “I’ll call the others.”

“There isn’t time.” I pull down the block that runs along the convent. “Because I’m not fucking waiting.”