doing this every single day. But he pushed on, carefully reading the formula instructions and preparing a small bottle. Not knowing how to hold a baby, he opted for an awkward feeding in the crib, reaching over the bars and pretending not to feel the wood digging into his chest.
“Eat up, baby.”
He frowned at his own words. Finn wasn’t entirely sure what the baby’s real name was. He’d never heard his mother say what she wanted to name him, instead choosing to pretend like her child didn’t exist until she absolutely had to acknowledge him. Her attitude didn’t surprise Finn—he was used to being ignored, so why would his little brother be any different?
“You need a name. And since I don’t know your real name, you can have a code name like me. Makes life more fun that way. I’m Finn, so you can be … Tom!” The perfect match, he agreed with himself. “Finn and Tom. Or Tommy. Or … how about Tom-Tom? I like Tom-Tom.”
His little brother so named, he resumed the feeding, hoping he was doing it right. “Slow down,” he laughed when some of the formula dribbled from the bottle and down Tommy’s chin. With a smile, Finn wiped it away, then gently removed the bottle when the baby was done. Setting it on the bed, he picked up a small figurine and stood it up on the crib railing so the baby could see what he was holding.
“Check this out, Tom-Tom. Made it just for you. I’ll keep it on the dresser ‘til you’re old enough to play with it.”
The baby’s lively blue eyes stared up at the little boy in Finn’s hands. He’d carved it from wood, then wrapped aluminum foil around it like a blanket. Though he knew his brother didn’t understand, Finn liked to imagine Tommy knew, in some way, this was a special gift. And when Tommy took hold of the thumb his older brother offered, tiny fingers grasping for contact, Finn felt his heart clench.
Snow had once said he would be a good big brother. How she could know such a thing, he had no idea, but he wanted to prove her right. Sure, she had said it just to be nice, to make him feel good about himself after he’d given her a compliment, but he needed her words to be true. He wanted Tommy to have everything in the world, everything Finn never had, and for the baby to grow up to be happy.
So, yes, he would continue to do this job. He would make Charlie’s deliveries, no matter how illegal or scary or dangerous, and he would make sure Tommy never wanted for anything.
THE MUSTANG BANKED a hard left, tires squealing as they searched for traction on the rain-dampened road. From inside the sleek red car, bass thumped against the glass. Finn sat behind the wheel, one hand on the gearshift, the other gripping the steering wheel as he upshifted and raced down the empty side road that would take him to his next delivery.
He didn’t worry about speeding. He didn’t bother looking around for cops. He wasn’t concerned by the fact that he was only fifteen years old, driving with nothing but a permit in his back pocket. None of that mattered, because this was Charlie’s car. He was Charlie’s kid. Charlie had every cop in the area turning a blind eye.
He was untouchable.
The last two-and-a-half years had been kind to Finn, in more ways than one. He’d worked hard to maintain his bad-ass appearance, putting his body through weekly exercise to build muscle, trying out different hairstyles in the privacy of his own room to see which one made him look toughest, paying attention to what Charlie’s men wore to mimic their clothing.
But, more than what he looked like, Finn was determined to learn everything he could about his new world. He’d figured out the rules of the trade early in order to make the money he needed to one day get the hell out of Dodge. Charlie’d even set him up with his own bank account that no one could touch except Finn, least of all his drug-addict mother who’d do anything—and anyone—for a little extra cash. Most of his