That shootout at the Roadburner's clubhouse had cost him dearly. Another mark against Jackrabbit and his crew. Another reason to make them pay. With that thought echoing in his head like a mantra, he lifted Hannah's unconscious weight in his arms. He forced his guilt aside as he continued his trek to the M60's hideout.
Finn knew that Hannah wouldn't understand, but he also knew that it didn't matter. This was his war to win, and he would, or he would go down trying. He was done letting the Roadburner's control his life. He was going to take it back no matter what it took. No matter what the cost.
He glanced down at Hannah as he neared the hideout, his expression serious and intent. He didn't have a choice. He'd been fighting this war for as long as he could remember. It had to be that way. Finn forced his anger to the surface, amplifying it until it drowned out any other emotion. It really was the only way.
There was no indication that he'd reached the hideout at first. Just another endless field of rolling grassy hills dotted with trees but as he topped the biggest hill, he saw it. An old, abandoned mine.
At first glance, it looked like a ghost town. No sound. No movement. The whole operation had been abandoned decades ago, and it had made the perfect place for the M60's to hide away while they laid their plans to take out the Roadburners.
Finn didn't stop walking, still carrying Hannah cradled in his arms. He kept going until he reached what looked to be a solid wall made up of crumbling wooden beams. It took a little adjusting but a second later he was knocking on the door. A set of four knock, and then another four, in a rhythm that only a few men would recognize.
Finn stood there, waiting in silence as one minute melted into two. Finally, the wall cracked open to reveal a door hidden in by mud and cleverly placed boards. A large, gruff man with a massive beard peered out at him from the shadows. The man's eyes widened with recognition a moment later and then his fierce countenance split into an infectious grin.
"Finn? Fuck, man, we've been getting worried. Well not me. I never worry about you. Not me. But some of the other guys, you know. After what happened and all."
"Killian, maybe we can do this inside?" Finn said shortly, interrupting the giant of a man with a pointed look at the woman still held in his arms.
Killian gave her an odd look, noticing Hannah for the first time and without thought Finn held her closer, shielding her with his own body. Finn might not have noticed, but his second in command definitely did and Killian's grin widened impossibly further.
"Yeah, of course, boss." Killian stepped back but before Finn walked through the door he pinned the other man with a serious look.
"How bad is it, really?"
Finn watched as Killian's expression fell, his gaze growing hard once more.
"Why don't you come in and see for yourself." He said, his faint Irish accent growing uncharacteristically somber as he nodded inside.
His words filled Finn with a sense of dread, but he knew he had a responsibility to his crew. As their leader. As their president. He took a deep breath and then walked in, Killian shutting the door behind them and hiding them once more.
Chapter 5
Finn walked into the hideout and immediately scanned the big, crumbling building for any traps, any one waiting behind a dark corner for him. Even with his own crew old habits died hard.
The old factory had been split up, essentially. The biggest space used for a hang out. It even had a makeshift bar. Granted the only thing it had stocked was piss masquerading as beer and whisky that might just as well have been gasoline but still, it kept the men happy.
The large back room had been converted into an office. That's where Finn had spent most of his time, planning exactly how they would go after the Roadburners. A lot of fucking good that did me.
Finn rolled his eyes at the thought trying to keep his ever present anger under control. Every time he remembered what had happened at the Roadburners shootout, every time memories of Jackrabbit and Hatchet rose in his mind, the anger was there. Rage like lava boiling just under the surface, ready to explode at any moment.
Several eyes turned his way as he entered the main area and Finn quickly catalogued his crew. Dread settled in his gut at how many sets of eyes were missing.
There was Patch, sitting over in the corner at one of the mismatched tables and chairs they'd scraped together. He was cleaning his fingernails with the tip of a pocket knife, his one good eye squinting at him. The other one was covered with an eyepatch painted a violent shade of red with a crude drawing of an eyeball in the middle.
Next to him sat Mac. He towered over Patch, was nearly as tall as Finn himself and that was saying something. His face was smooth and clean shaving but his dark hair was long and pulled back roughly at the nape of his neck. Mac was quiet, rarely spoke, but Finn knew the man was tough as nails when it came down to it. Mac sent Finn a slow, respectful nod that he returned.
It took Finn another minute of looking to see the tall, lanky man sitting against the back wall. He was older, his hair going grey around the edges but only a fool would mistake him for weak or feeble. Butcher watched Finn with the dark eyes of a hawk, never blinking, not giving anything away. Just waiting.
The only part of him that moved was his left hand, his fingers testing the edge of the deadly sharp cleaver he had strung to his belt. His weapon of choice. It's how he'd gotten his name, Butcher. And it also was scary as hell.
Although Finn and the rest of the crew knew all you had to do was talk to the man for five minutes to realize he was more interested in literature and fine wine that actually using the thing. Finn was pretty sure he just like the theatricality of it.
At the makeshift bar made of old pallets and crates sat the only other man in the room, Rooster. Like normal, he had a sour look on his face. The man took his time drowning another pint of what passed for a beer before shooting a narrowed eyed glare in Finn's direction.
"So, you decided to come back after all." Rooster sneered, the anger and alcohol evident in his voice. "Well, aren't you just a stupid fucking bastard. Dumber than I thought."
"Enough, Rooster," Killian broke in, his soft accent cutting through Rooster's words like a knife.
Finn shook his head, but he couldn't blame the man for being pissed. Shit, he was pissed too. He deserved their blame.
"It's fine, Killian."
"No, it's really not, boss," Killian shot back, still sending Rooster a hard look, "Or are you no longer our leader? Our president?"
Finn took a deep breath, looking at what was left of his crew. "I know I fucked up. When we first set out to take down the Roadburners, you made the choice to follow me – ."
"You promised us money!" Rooster squawked from behind another glass of beer, "You promised us it would be easy pickin's."
"I never said it would be easy," Finn clarified, splitting his gaze between all the men, "But I'm giving you the same choice now as I did eight months ago when we started this. Stay with me, follow my orders, or leave and go your own way."
Finn paused, looking around the room, waiting as patiently as he could. Mac stood to his first, a resolute expression on his face.
"Yeah, I'll fucking follow you no matter what, Finn. You're our leader. I don't give a fuck what Rooster said, I'm loyal to you, and to the M60's." He nodded once before sitting back down, the old chair creaking precariously under his weight.
Finn cast a sideways glance at Rooster who was pouting now behind his drink. He couldn't help but wonder just what, exactly, the other man had said in his absence.
That would have to wait because Butcher was already rising to his feet. He tilted his head giving Finn a considering look before he opened his mouth, his voice surprisingly cultured coming out of that haggard face.
"As mac so eloquently stated, you are our leader. I will follow thee until the morning sun rises twice in one day, until these mortal coils are slackened, I will follow thee until death's sweet welcome." The older man finished his recitation, hand to chest in full dramatic pose before ending with a slight bow and retaking his seat.
Finn didn't know whether to shake his head or applaud but before he could do either Patch was already speaking. Patch's good eye was trained on him with a serious light in its blue depths.
"I'm with you. Always have been. Always will be." Short, gruff, and to the point. Finn wouldn't expect anything else from the man that was more rough edges than anything else. Finn nodded as he looked around the room, finally stopping on Killian.
The man was a giant, taller than Finn by a few good inches and just as broad. His long beard and shagging dark blond hair made him look like a Viking but he spoke with an Irish accent that softened the effect.
"And what about you?" Finn forced himself to ask. He'd been telling the truth. Any of these men could leave any time they wanted. The choice was theirs. He knew exactly how it felt to be forced to do something you detested, something that killed whatever goodness was left inside.