Gino.
Nick.
Almost the entire family and their thugs are plastered to the board, captions and stats in Fin’s scrawly script under each grainy photo.
Fin is looking into the monsters that held me captive and you can bet your ass I’m going to find out why.
After reading about their most recent activities and last known whereabouts, I decide I’ve had quite enough and it’s time to leave, except when I turn away from the wall to do that, I get a clear shot into the other open door and my stomach drops to my toes.
Feet.
I see two very big bare feet sticking out behind the door.
With my heart in my throat, I inch toward the closet. “Fin?”
No response.
“Fin?” I call a little louder then place my hands on the knob and the front of the door.
Still nothing, and when I go to push inside, something very heavy stops me.
I use my hip and shove the door as far as it’ll go then poke my head through the opening and almost scream.
It’s Fin.
Finis blocking the door.
He’s blocking the door because he’s laid out on the floor behind it, totally limp and unresponsive.
“Fin!” I shove harder as I shout. “Fin. Fin, honey, please!” But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, not even when I throw myself against the door and finally get it open enough to squeeze through.
I trip over his legs and go down on my knees hard but I ignore the pain and crawl toward him, my beautiful Scottish Viking in nothing but a pair of jeans.
“Fin, baby, wake up!” My hands shake as I search for a pulse, barely finding it because it is so faint at the side of his neck. I lift his eyelids and see his pupils are pinpricks, the white of his eyes tinged yellow and bloodshot. When I press my ear to his chest and hear that unmistakable rattle escape his lungs, my greatest fear is confirmed in an instant.
He overdosed.
Fin fucking overdosed.
I quickly remove the boxes he’s partially leaning on, lay him out flat and get him into position for CPR, but when I do, I moved him enough to notice the belt on his bicep fashioned into a tourniquet, the syringe and spoon rolling out from under his side.
“Goddamnit!” I yell as I tilt his head. “Don’t you fucking die on me, Fin MacAllister.” I pinch his nose and breathe into his mouth, make sure his chest rises with my two quick breaths, then I start compressions.
This won’t do.
It’s not going to work with just me.
He’s so much bigger than I am that it’s almost impossible to get my body positioned right, but I don’t have my phone, and even if I did I’d only be able to call 911 since I have all of six contacts and I somehow know Fin would hate me for that. I know it shouldn’t matter right now but it does, if only to him.
I look around for his phone and stop compressions when I spot it sticking out from under his thigh.
I snatch it up quickly, use his beautiful and totally colorless face to unlock it, then all but burst into tears when I see my name.
He was going to callme.
Fin had my contact pulled up ready to call but either changed his mind or didn’t have the chance.
I fight my tears and scroll to Jackal, shove the phone between my ear and shoulder then resume CPR.
