Page 47 of Primal
“If he trusts you, so do I.”
“This will be fast,” Jillian informs me. “But you picked a tender spot for your first one, so while I am very light-handed, I can’t promise it won’t hurt.”
“That’s what she has me for.” Layla comfortingly squeezes my right hand as Jillian preps my skin.
The needle burns across my skin for an eternity—orten minutes—before Jillian announces, “All done.”
“It’s so good,” Layla croons as Jillian cleans my tender skin and hands me a mirror to look at her work. Layla’s right.It’s perfect.
Finn’s name runs along the length of my left collarbone in his handwriting, permanently marking me as his.
Finn is going to love it!
Layla graciously pays my tab—so Finn doesn’t get a notification of my purchase—and sends a quick text to Tristan, begging him to keep my secret. The phone promptly dings in her hand, and she passes it to me to read the message. “You owe me one because this secret comes at a heavy cost.”
“Because I’m sure you will absolutely hate every minute of that.” I giggle. “But we should probably get over to Quinn’s while you can still sit.”
During rush hour, the traffic is abhorrent, and it takes us a little over an hour to make the normally thirty-minute drive to New Rochelle.
“Show me,” Quinn blurts the moment we let ourselves through the front door as she tries to push herverypregnant body from the couch. Crossing the room to meet her, I undo the buttons of my shirt to show her Finn’s name amidst my still-reddened skin. “It’s beautiful. He’s absolutely going to love it!” she exclaims.
I’m about to thank her when she grimaces and reaches for her stomach. Gently, she rubs over her swollen belly, groaning, “They’re running out of room in there. They’ve been acting up all afternoon.”
Water gushes from beneath her sundress, and her face drops when she looks down to the puddle she’s now standing in.
“Pretty sure they aren’t going to be fighting for much longer,” Layla quips before running out the front door to let Owen, Grady, and Rory know we’re leaving.
“Fi?” I call to her where she’s coloring at the kitchen table as I pull my phone from my purse to send a quick text to Finn. “Baby, you need to grab your shoes. You’re about to become a big sister.”
CHAPTER FORTY
FINNIGAN
This afternoon of tedious paperwork has practically bored me to tears. Club Triskelion is more than profitable enough for the five of us to go legit, but I fucking love the—as Cat so eloquently puts it—mafia crap. I enjoy breaking kneecaps and getting shot at way too much forthisto ever be all there is.
My phone buzzes on the bar before me, and I lift it to find a text from an unknown number.
UNKNOWN
Hey, Finnie. I’ve got something for you.
Fuck, I hate that nickname.
I deleted all the contact details of any women I was hooking up with before Cat, but only one ever called me that horrible nickname.
Sorry, Mandy. I’m not interested.
Apparently the rumors are true because you’ve never turned down my booty calls before.
I also wasn’t texting about my pussy.
That guy you were looking for a few months ago, are you still looking for him?
The Russian?
Yeah. He’s fucking one of my waitresses, and she keeps bragging about him coming to pick her up at the end of her shift.
Fuck, yes!