Let Me: An O'Brien Family Novel (The O'Brien Family Book 2) (11 page)

His death should have given me peace. It should have―I don’t know―made me feel safe, free―
something
. But as crazy as it sounds all I can think is that he got off easy. All those boys he hurt before me, all those lives he destroyed―all the fear he caused, instilled,
scarred
people with, he deserved more.

For years, as sick as it sounds, I fantasized about getting him alone. More than once I envisioned myself pouring gasoline over his body, lighting a match, and watching him burn. Pneumonia? Seriously? Dying the way good, old, decent people do. It’s not right, not fair. Not after what he did.

But did I ever get him alone? Did I ever take him out to that imaginary field that only exists in my mind? Did I ever light that match that cooked his body?

I didn’t.

But I should have.

I wanted to more than once.

And I would have, had it been Wren he hurt.

I lower myself to the bathtub floor, bending my long legs so they fit. All those years I could have acted, I never came close. Never jumped into my ride to find him. Never tried to figure out a way to actually do it.

Norman Kessler was nothing more than a vegetable after my brother found him and made him pay. For more than a decade, he was under complete care, incapable of walking or feeding himself. He was a drooling, scrawny bastard in adult diapers, who ate his calories through a fucking straw.

Yet I was scared to death of him. Me. The same guy built like a wrecking machine who kicks ass, takes names, and who people fear. Around him I was that same terrified little kid who he hurt.

Like I said. He’s the one who got off easy.

Way easier than me.

CHAPTER 12

Sol

I shouldn’t be doing this
, I think to myself. I think it’s my voice of reason speaking. But that other part―the one who likes the way Finn is kissing my neck tells reason to shut up, that we deserve a little fun, and reminds me how sexy his tongue feels dragging along my skin.

Our lips crash against each other, his hips jerking as he fumbles to remove his seatbelt. The moment he’s free, he pounces, pressing his body against mine so my back is shoved against the side door. “I have to get inside,” I say, between breaths.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, giving my earlobe a nibble. “Come back to my place. Sleep there. I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

I groan, considering he claimed he’d keep his hands to himself the first time we said goodnight―the first time I told him I had to get inside, I’m thinking short of tying him to the bed―which when it comes to Finn sounds very appealing―no way are either of us going to behave if we return to his house.

“Finn,” I say when he unsnaps my bra, gasping when he tugs on my nipple.

“Yeah?” he rasps, slipping both hands beneath my shirt to play.

That rasp―the way his tone drops when he’s turned on?—how have I not had sex with him yet?

Don’t call me a tramp. Please don’t. I’ve only slept with three men. One was a guy I dated for over a year who broke my heart when he dumped me for someone else. The other two . . . well, they were idiots, too.

Finn isn’t an idiot. He’s sweet and, and . . . he unsnaps my jeans, slipping his hand in. I jump when he touches me in just the right spot. It’s then he pulls away, slumping in his seat and breathing hard. “Too much?” he asks.

It’s not. I’m ready to do more. But Sofia is waiting for me. “I have to check on my mother,” I say.

My phone rings. I jump again when I see it’s Sofia calling. “Hey,” I say, trying to pull my shirt down, as if she can see the half-naked position I’m in.

“Hi, Sol. Are you having a good time?”

I glance over at Finn, who apparently can hear her. He laughs when I answer, “Oh, yeah. Totally.”

Her small voice gathers an edge of affection. “I’ll admit, I adore him,” she says.

I try not to laugh when he puffs out his chest, not daring to admit that I feel the same way. A few weeks, that’s all it’s really been since we started seeing each other―even though I kept telling myself I should keep my distance. But I can’t. Not from Finn. And truthfully, I don’t want to.

We’ve gone out a lot; to dinner, a couple of movies, we even hit a few bars with friends. I meant to keep it casual, intended not to get too physical, and promised myself I wouldn’t fall for this guy. But then the casual became a little more intense, the small petting sessions turned more passionate, and . . . who am I fooling? I totally stumbled and face-planted over Finn.

It’s like I can’t breathe until I see him.

We’re not inseparable, not with all his training for his upcoming match―and especially not between my internship and my poor mother. But when we see each other, we make it count, and it’s like we haven’t been apart.

“Sol?” Sofia asks.

But Finn’s already back on my side, nibbling on my neck. “Yes?” I ask, hoping she can’t tell how hard I’m fighting back a moan.

Sofia’s voice falls to whisper. “My mother just arrived. She says she can spend the night. So if you’re not ready to come home, you don’t have to.”

“What?” I say, glancing at Finn. He lifts his head, frowning. I realize he didn’t hear Sofia and thinks something is wrong. Maybe it’s the shock my expression carries, and maybe it’s also the nervousness I suddenly feel. This is my opportunity to be alone with Finn―intimately alone―not in a car, not on Teo’s couch hoping he doesn’t suddenly arrive home―and not in the parking lot of his gym, those times I’ve managed to stop by to say hi.

He sits up, taking my hand in his. For all the touching and kissing we were doing, this gesture seems more personal, and endearing, reminding me of why Finn is so different from all the other guys I’ve been with. He does things like this―touches me in a way that shows me he cares. “What’s wrong?” he mouths.

“Sol?” Sofia asks, again, as I shake my head. “Can you hear me okay?”

“Yes, I can―sorry,” I assure her, my body warming as I say what comes next. “If Tía can stay, let her know not to wait up for me.” My eyes meet Finn’s. “I may not be coming home.”

“Oh,” she answers. “Um. Well, I didn’t mean you should―that you have to . . .”

I can hear her growing flustered, rushing to probably warn me against doing what I plan to do. But my attention stays on Finn.

His eyebrows arch with surprise before lowering, his blue eyes sizzling the way they do when his hands wander.

I press the phone against my chest, trying to block the sound. I’m not sure if it works, Sofia might still be able to hear me. But right now, I don’t care. “Is that okay?” I ask. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

He doesn’t answer, but that grin and that dimple are answer enough. As I lift the receiver, I realize Sofia is still speaking. “I’ll be okay,” I assure her, when it’s clear how worried she seems. “Don’t worry. I’m in good hands.”

It’s my last remark that will have her beating her head against the nearest wall. But Sofia has always been like that: scared for others. She knows firsthand how cruel life can be. She doesn’t want me to know that side of life―and its lack of mercy. But while I haven’t experienced what she has, I know that cruelty isn’t what I sense in Finn. When I look at him, all I see is that happiness that’s long escaped me. So at least for tonight, I’m holding tight to that happiness and not letting him go.

He bends to kiss me. The contact is brief, but he draws it out to let me know how much he wants me. I hold his stare, enough to let him know I want him, too.

With one hell of sizzling grin, he shifts back to his seat, cranking the engine as he yanks his seatbelt back on. He waits for me to click my seatbelt in place before pulling away from the curve.

“Sol,” Sofia says, the poor thing still hanging in. “If you need a break from your stress, you’re welcome to stay with me and Killian.”

I bite down on my bottom lip, trying not to laugh because she’s all but begging me not to have sex with Finn. “Sofia, I’ll be okay. I promise I will,” I assure her.

“Hey, what happened to me being your favorite, Sofe?” Finn calls out as he drives.

At first I’m not sure if Sofia hears him, until she says, “Be careful.”

She disconnects then. Although I was initially giggling like a silly kid, her final words kill my giddiness, reducing it to a distant memory. Maybe it was her tone. There was a definite sadness to it, like her heart was breaking. But why would she sound like that? Sofia likes Finn as much as she claims.

“Hey,” Finn says, his hand massaging my knee. “I meant what I said, we don’t have to do anything. We can stop whenever you want to.”

I nod because I don’t know exactly how to respond. When he says he’ll stop if I tell him to, I believe him. If I didn’t, I certainly wouldn’t be alone with him. But again, it’s been a while since I’ve had sex.

It’s not like I couldn’t
have
sex. It was there for the taking if I wanted it bad enough. I live in Philly. An invitation for sex only requires a trip to the nearest bar and a “hello” if I’m being honest. How many times did I hit the clubs with my girlfriends and have guys point-blank ask me, “Do you want to fuck?”

Finn’s not asking me―well, not in
that
way. If he was, I’d be running for the hills. But he’s definitely ready to do a lot more than touch me. Yet as much as I was, too―Sofia, my darling and loving Sofia―is making me doubt whether I should. Funny, considering she didn’t say much. But what she said was enough, and very much sounded like a warning.

Finn slips his hand over mine, drawing my attention to our entwining fingers. My hands are slender, reminiscent of Barbie doll hands compared to Finn’s. His are
huge
, his knuckles rough and calloused from hitting too many heavy bags and even more faces.

“Can I ask you something?” I say to him.

“Yeah, sure,” he answers

“What’s the worst you ever hurt anyone?”

It’s not an easy question to ask―and probably too personal, but I can’t help wanting to know. For as much pain as he inflicts in the octagon, and for as brutal as he’s rumored to be, how can he hold me with such tenderness? It almost seems impossible for someone so vicious to be this gentle.

He takes a breath, using the intersection we reach almost like an excuse to keep his focus on traffic and away from me. “In the octagon?” he asks.

I tilt my head when I realize what he’s saying. Finn has a rep for taking on guys outside the cage. From what I hear, he’s just as fierce on streets. Yet I can’t help thinking those fights are the ones he most likely regrets. I don’t want to make him feel bad, that’s not my intention. But I do want to know more about this man I adore.

“Yes, in the octagon,” I clarify.

He loosens his grip, probably concerned about scaring me. I give his hand a squeeze, assuring him I don’t want him to let me go. He glances at me briefly, meeting my soft smile, yet this time, he doesn’t return it.

“You’re not going to like what I have to say,” he answers quietly, rolling to a stop at a light.

My other hand covers his. “Tell me anyway.”

It takes him a long moment to answer, but I stay silent and give him the time he needs. “At my first professional match, I broke my opponent’s jaw.”

Um. Whoa.

He waits for me to respond. When I don’t he adds, “Like me, this guy had fought in a few amateur bouts. His manager or trainer―whoever he was―was moving him up slowly. Like Kill did with me. See, Kill was pushed pretty damn fast. When he lost his mentor, he thought he found a good manager in that asshole Gil. But Gil shoved him into matches Killian wasn’t ready for. Some he won, but just barely. Others could have flat out fucked him up for life. So Kill wouldn’t allow me to sign up for a fight on two weeks’ notice―like he was duped into doing. Before each match, I get a full training camp, and because of it I’m better prepared and able to dominate more fights.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to understand where he’s headed.

“The thing is, this guy wasn’t ready like I was. We had about the same amount of experience and were supposedly evenly matched on paper. But when I stepped into the ring with him, I knew he wasn’t ready for me.”

I edge closer to him, wanting to erase that distance I inadvertently created. “How did you know? Did he look scared?”

“No. He thought he should be there, too. But he wasn’t standing like someone prepared to take a blow. His arms were up, ready to strike, but not to protect. It’s like all he knew was offense. No defense there whatsoever, even when I charged.”

“So what happened?”

“I nailed him with an uppercut and a hard right. My left hand is weaker than my right―still strong, but not as sharp. I felt his jaw pop with the first strike. But after years of training, I didn’t just hit him once. It’s been ingrained in me that one punch follows the next, and the next after that.”

So he inflicted more damage as a result. Shit. That much is clear.

“If he hadn’t gone down, I probably would have hit him a few more times―because that’s what you do, you keep going until you hear that bell or until the ref hauls you off.” He shakes his head. “But even though I’ve had several fights and knew I should keep swinging, I couldn’t. I knew something was wrong.”

“Was he okay after?”

Finn’s voice lowers in a way that tells me he’s remembering. “No. He had to have his jaw wired and he never fought again. I’m assuming he realized he wasn’t ready for the UFC and probably never would be.”

“Did you ever talk to him about it?” Although, my brain told me to stop speaking, my mouth kept going anyway. “Sorry, that’s probably a stupid question.”

He pulls into a residential block, parking in front of a classic brick Colonial. “It’s not stupid,” he tells me.

He releases my hand and cuts the engine, both of us unsnapping our seatbelts in unison. I turn to face him, knowing he’s not done speaking. He angles toward me, his arm sliding across my shoulders. “If you break down what I do,” he says. “I’m basically paid to beat people up. It’s a professional sport―like football―something that sells out big arenas. Except unlike football, there aren’t guys running for a touchdown or trying to catch a ball.”