I guess I should be happy, right?
But I’m not. I’m fucking miserable.
And because life just loves to fuck with me, the minute I get home, I’m confronted with yet another clusterfuck of immense proportions. Sitting pretty in my foyer, just waiting to shove the branding iron up my ass—sans lube, I might add—is another mandate from The Society, reminding me exactly who the fuck is calling the shots.
Fuck this night!
I’m so fucking over it already.
Chapter 19
Finn
After last night’s events, I twist and turn in my bed, trying to think of a way to get out of the mess I’m in. As hard as I try, nothing comes to me. All I end up doing is staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, reliving that one night from last May, which turned out to be a catalyst for my current state of affairs.
Because of that one moment—that one fatal mistake—my life is in shambles.
Not only am I being blackmailed by the boogeyman, but because of them, I met the only girl on God’s green earth that has ever meant something to me. No matter what anyone says, ignorance is bliss. If the foul-mouthed Southie never landed in my crosshairs, if she didn’t piss off The Society somehow, then I wouldn’t be feeling like I’m being backed into a corner, ordered to choose between her life and mine.
When dawn arrives, laying the sun’s early beams on my face, I instantly curse out at it. I hate the fact we’re going to have yet another sunny day in Ashville when all of me feels nothing but dreary desolation. It’s September, for fuck’s sake. A time upon when the trees should be shedding their aged leaves, letting them fall to the ground to remind us that nothing lasts forever. Although, it’s not like I really need the reminder.
I pull my arm over my eyes, trying to shield them from the sunlight, but it’s no use as my mind is already fully awake. Shit! Who am I kidding?! The chaos that is my mind hasn’t stopped for even a minute. It’s working double time, not showing any signs of slowing down since I got home from my disastrous first date with Stone.
Not that all of it was bad. Most of it was pretty fucking incredible, actually. It was just that last bit at the end that was a mean soul-crusher.
Fuck!
I can’t continue to think about this shit, or I’m going to lose my goddamn mind.
I sit up and hold onto the edge of my mattress as I place my bare feet on the oak-finished floor, latching my eyes onto the other SNAFU in my life—the little black box sitting on my nightstand The Society was kind enough to send me.
Being a sucker for punishment, I pick it up and open the lid, revealing a brand-new phone inside, nicely wrapped in its pristine packaging. If anyone came in and saw me now, they would assume I had just bought the piece of shit and hadn’t had time yet to fiddle around with it. But they would be wrong. I have no intention of even touching the damn thing just yet. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d bury it in the Oakley woods and let that be the end of it. But I’m not so fortunate.
Inside the black box, right beside the phone, is the third letter I’ve received from The Society. And if I cave in to their demands, it looks like it will be my last.
The masochist in me clutches the black stationery, its golden lettering revealing their final command.
Fuckers!
I swear, when Linc and Colt finally figure out who is behind this society bullshit, I’m going to beat them into a pulp, skin them alive, and make them swallow each and every letter they’ve sent me with the intention of ruining Stone. I’ll only stop when I’ve made sure they feel as powerless as they have made me.
Fuckers. The lot of them!
I shove the letter back into the box, unwilling to have it in my hands for another second, and walk over to my closet. I fall to my knees and hide it at the far corner in the back, placing some old football gear in front of it, just in case someone snoops around.
“That’s the end of that,” I grunt, wiping my hands on my sweat pants, feeling filthy just by having touched the damned thing.
These assholes gave me a week. By my count, that’s how long Linc and Colt have to get their act together and find something that we can use to finally get rid of these bastards once and for all. I’ll even help with the research if it speeds up the process. However, if nothing comes out of it, if we still can’t find shit about the members of The Society, then I guess I’m fucked no matter what decision I make.
I’m too screwed-up right now to think that far ahead, though. My jumbled mess of a brain is still trying to play catch-up to my mangled heart. Let me lick my wounds for a few days before I’m forced to make a decision, one that will impact either my life and the guys’, or Stone’s.
After a quick shower, I run downstairs for some breakfast, but I hesitate for a second upon seeing my dad at the kitchen table, reading his newspaper. Mom is trying to feed my brother Calvin’s one-year-old boy, getting more orange goo on her silk blouse than into little Noah’s mouth.
“Morning,” I mumble, after gaining the courage to enter the room.
“Hmm,” my father mumbles as a reply, his eyes never wavering from the sports section.
I walk over to my mom, bending down to kiss her on her cheek before making myself a plate.
“Everyone missed you yesterday for Sunday dinner,” my mom says in between the plane noises she’s making at Noah, trying to convince the little guy to open his mouth and eat the pumpkin mush.
“Sorry,” I answer, taking a seat at the table, stuffing my mouth with delicious, crispy bacon.
“Why couldn’t you come again? It’s skipped my memory entirely,” she adds inquisitively, acting as if she didn’t have the foggiest notion as to why I was out last night.
She’s acting all clueless and aloof, which are two characteristics that have nothing to do with my mother. Nothing gets by Charlene Walker, including the reason for my absence last night.
Sunday dinners are a big deal in the Walker household. The whole family gathers for the best southern cooking, which is usually prepared by Mom and our in-house cook, Martha. It’s the only time during the week where everyone gets under the same roof to eat, drink, and meddle in each other’s business.
Trust me. I didn’t miss out on anything by ditching dinner. I’ve had twenty-two years of my share of Walker drama. If I missed last night’s performance, then I’m sure I’ll get the highlights next week, even though each dinner feels more like the same rerun to me.
I stuff another forkful in my mouth, hoping she will get the hint. But even if she does, she isn’t going to drop it.
“Finn, sweetheart, slow down. Tell me, how was your night?”
“It was fine,” I retort with a lukewarm smile.
“Just fine? I’m sure you can do better than that. I mean, it isn’t every day that my youngest starts courting a girl.”
“I’m not courting anyone. And by the way, who says courting nowadays? This isn’t a reenactment of Gone with the Wind, Momma. So don’t go all Scarlet O’Hara on me now. And besides, I thought you said you couldn’t remember what I was up to last night. It’s a sin to lie, Mom,” I tease, pointing my fork toward her.