Chapter 45

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

FINNIGAN

Pulling the Bronco to the curb, I park at our spot. The little slab of concrete sidewalk where Cat fell in love with me. The place I decided beyond any doubt she was the last woman I would ever be with.

I promised her an eternity with me; a vow I will not break .

Not bothering to turn off the SUV, I slide from the driver’s seat and onto the street. Reaching across to cut the engine from the passenger seat, Conor calls after me, “Fuck, Finn. They’ll be here in five minutes.”

“And she could be fucking dead in five minutes ,” I retort as a painful realization creeps into my thoughts. I might already be too fucking late. She might already be dead. As much as I know storming the church alone is fucking foolish, I pop the tailgate and grab my bat. Next, I lift the lid to the storage compartment and pull out a Glock, which I tuck into the waistband of my trousers.

Joining me at the back of the Bronco, Conor extends his hand. “I’m not letting you go in there alone. So, are you going to give me a fucking gun or not?”

Without looking a him, I grab a second Glock and slap it into his awaiting palm before grabbing two magazines for each of us. Closing the hatch, I cross the sidewalk to the brick wall I have scaled countless times. When I climb over the wall, Conor asks, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“How the fuck do you think I got in and out of here to see Cat all that time we were sneaking around?” I snark. “Did you think I just rang the fucking bell and asked Father O’Flaherty to let me in so I could fucking rail his niece?”

“You’re a fucking dick,” Conor quips, following me over the wall.

The courtyard is empty, and we quickly make our way through the garden to the rear door that leads to the altar. Slipping inside, we’re met with the echoes of dark laughter.

“It isn’t going to suck itself, sweetheart,” a thick Russian accent sneers.

Relief washes over me—s he’s still fucking alive— as unbridled rage, like no other I’ve ever felt before, begins to course through my veins. Seeing red, I burst through the threshold to find the Pakhan, four men, and Father O’Flaherty at the pew in the rear of the church. No sign of Cat. I fire off a round, and it drops one of the Bratva standing in a pew beside the badly beaten Father. Rushing in behind me, Conor fires two shots, one grazing the man standing in the aisle.

Grunting, he reaches into the pew near Father O’Flaherty. My rage reaches boiling point when he pulls Catlin to her feet by her hair as he stands and shoves his gun under her chin, warning, “Another fucking move and this pretty little girlfriend of yours isn’t going to have a face.”

“It’s going to be okay, piscín ,” I inform her, my eyes quickly glancing from her to the two men pointing their guns at me and Conor. “Did they hurt you?”

She timidly shakes her head, and the Pakhan presses his gun firmly into her skin. My finger flexes against the trigger of my Glock as I struggle to pull the trigger, time seemingly standing still as I grapple with whether or not to shoot the Pakhan. The fear of him getting off a round if I miss and losing Cat is the only thing stopping me.

My brothers silently filter through the vestibule and into the nave, making the decision for me. Declan presses his gun into the back of the Pakhan’s skull, causing him to startle. Liam and Tristan shoot the other men.

“Always so fucking impatient.” Declan chuckles at me. Reaching around the Pakhan, Declan pulls the gun from beneath Catlin’s chin as he calmly instructs. “Catlin, sweetheart. Go to Finn.”

A torrent of tears are streaming down her face as Cat races down the aisle toward me. The Pakhan seethes and grows redder with every stride Cat makes toward me. When she is a few pews from me, he whips his head back, connecting with Declan’s face and breaks his nose. The crunch of the splintering bone carries through the church as the Pakhan raises his gun in my direction. His barrel doesn’t point at me but at Cat.

Losing her would be worse than losing my life.

Unaware of the danger she’s in, Cat continues to run toward me.

Shots echo through the church, each of my brothers putting a round into the Pakhan as Cat crashes into me. Enveloping her in my embrace, she falls to the floor. She sobs into my chest as I hold her. Tenderly kissing the top of her forehead, I whisper, “You’re okay, piscín . I’ve got you. We’ll never let anything happen to you.”

When she calms, I leave her at the altar with Conor. Dragging the barrel of my bat against the hardwood floor as I walk down the aisle, I reach the Pakhan—lying in an ever-growing pool of his own blood—who is struggling to breathe. His eyes widen when I shove the barrel under his bloody chin to garner his attention.

My nostrils flare as I stare down at the dying piece of shit at my feet. Gripping the bat with both hands, I raise it above my head. “This is for touching what’s mine.” I bring the bat down across his chest, and he lets out a pained cry as droplets of blood on his soaked shirt fly into the air. He crumbles beneath my second blow as I crack his ribs, and I snarl, “And that’s for what you fucking did to Quinn.”

Raising the bat again, I look over my shoulder to find Cat huddled against Conor. She closes her eyes and gives a tiny nod before turning into his embrace. I swing that bat with every ounce of strength I possess, and the barrel drives through his face toward the floor. “And that’s to ensure you never come for either of them ever fucking again.”

With my chest heaving, I drop the bat and meet Father O’Flaherty’s gaze. He glances toward the altar at Cat and back at me, instructing, “Go. Get her out of here. I’ll figure out what to tell the police.”