Page 13 of Rake

The logo on the front is for a fundraiser for the Boston Athenaeum.

What did they need a fundraiser for? The Athenaeum is a private library where rich jackoffs can view historical treasures that the great unwashed have no access to, lest we spoil the antiques with our greasy fingers. Figures. Just when I softened a bit for him…

Irish folks like the Carneys wouldn’t have been let in just a hundred years ago.

I guess the climate control for those rare books isn’t cheap. If only the Carneys cared as much about the climate their staff operates in. The kitchens of their casino restaurants run brutally hot, and when kitchen workers asked for the ventilation hoods to be inspected, James had told them to bring in fans from home or find another job.

“Sasha?”

Finn’s voice snaps me from my thoughts. He’s holding up a pair of dark yoga pants.

“Big fan of yoga?” I can’t stop myself from asking. It doesn’t seem to match his aesthetic.

“I probably should,” he says, shrugging. “But no. A friend of mine left these here and I never got them back to her.”

A friend. I bet.

God, I don’t want to put on one of Finn Carney’s ex’s pants. But I’m cold, damp, and just want to get to the part where we figure shit out so I can get the hell out of here.

Finn’s blue-black eyes take me in for a few seconds longer. I’m self-conscious and hold the clothes in front of me like a ward. Whoever wore these before me was probably some ridiculously hot supermodel type. I’m not looking forward to this attractive man who oozes confidence seeing how I don’t measure up.

It’s not that I want him to find me attractive. I just don’t want him to think I’m some kind of hideous bumpkin.

He gives me a sexy half smile.

I don’t want him to find me attractive. Right.

“If you need help let me know. I’ll wrap your ankle after you get changed.”

With that he leaves his bedroom, shutting me inside.

4

Finn

Patrick is right. This is going to be fun.

I don’t love the way I got Sasha here, but P.J. was thrilled to participate.

“Man, I love theater,”he’d said. “I was in a ton of plays in parochial school until Sister Mary Cunt-face decided I needed to spend more time on math. I got expelled after I showed the new play lead what I meant by ‘break a leg.’”

He agreed to flush Sasha into my place. We worked out the script to trick her into believing she and I had a common goal: fear of my father.

In some ways it’s a lie, and in others, it’s not.

I’m not afraid of my father’s violence—he’s got more effective ways to keep his kids in line these days, namely money.

But Sasha does have a lot to fear from him. If I don’t convince her to give up her foolish work, she or one of her family members will disappear – permanently. She wouldn’t be the first, nor would she be the last person to go missing after displeasing James Carney.

Patrick, Callan, and I are under no illusions about our father’s business practices. I’m not so sure about my youngest brother, Rory, and my sisters definitely are kept in the dark as much as possible. My father doesn’t do this out of masculine protectiveness for his daughters. His goal is to keep them out of the loop and therefore as marriageable as possible.

Can’t have those future senator sons-in-law knowing where the bodies are buried, after all.

It’s why I can’t resent them for it. My sisters are merchandise in our family, too.

It’s unfortunate that P.J. was so rough with Sasha, but it did lend to the verisimilitude of it all and wasn’t totally out of line with what I’d expected. If I’d thought we could negotiate without the ruse, I would’ve taken a different route. She’s already sacrificed quite a bit to organize the casino staff and obviously isn’t giving up without a fight. I’m looking forward to the challenge.

Breaking that conviction down will be fun, and I’m gentleman enough to see that she’s left satisfied in other ways.

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