by Fox, Nicole
Two bullets of return fire scream past me before the last of the men hits the dirt, dead.
The door to the cell is hanging partially open. I sprint over and throw it wide. It takes me a few seconds for my vision to adjust to the darkness.
I spot my father first.
He’s on his feet, his expression a mask of aggression. He looks like a trapped animal who’s about to strike.
When his eyes fall on me, it twists into shock.
“Cillian?” he breathes.
“The one and only,” I fire back. “Where’s Ma?”
Da steps to the side to reveal my mother. She’s on her feet, too, and there’s a thin piece of metal clutched in her bruised hand like a dagger.
They’d clearly been expecting someone else.
“Cillian,” Ma says in the same grateful sigh as my father. As though saying my name will help them process the reality that I’m standing before them.
“We’ll have to do the big family reunion another time,” I tell them wryly. “We gotta get out of here. I’m pretty sure we’re about to be outnumbered very soon.”
Da and Ma step out of their cell and into the waiting circle of the men I’ve brought along with me.
“Don Ronan,” a few murmur respectfully, while others nod in deference to him.
Even if it had been appropriate, Da would never have cracked a smile. But he does clasp a few shoulders as he walks past the men towards the entrance.
I notice he’s limping. Pretty fucking badly. There’s also a ton of dried blood on his clothes and skin.
Ma seems to be slightly better off, but there are still fresh bruises covering the length of her pale arms.
I grit my teeth and nod at the men to flank the two of them. “Get them into the jeep and drive them out of here,” I say. “I want all of you in there with them in case you’re intercepted on the way to the safehouse.”
“Safehouse?” Mark asks. “We’re not heading back to the mansion?”
“Too risky,” I tell him without bothering to explain the other reasons for the move. “Call Kian from the road. He’ll give you coordinates and meet you there.”
“Yes, Master Cillian.”
I suppress a smile at how instantaneously I have gone back to being second-in-command. As long as Da’s around, he is and will always be the don.
I don’t give a fuck. I’m not in this for the pomp and circumstance of it all.
It begs the question… what am I in this for then?
An explosion goes off not far from us. The ringing in my ears is the wakeup call I need. There’s no time to dawdle.
I get to the entrance in time to see Da vanish into the jeep.
“Get them out of here now!” I order.
“What about you?” Mark asks.
“Don’t worry about me. Fucking go!”
With a nod, he does as I commanded. They screech off into the night en route to the safehouse.
Following the plumes of smoke and dust kicked up by the exiting jeep, I reload my gun and run straight into the thick of the battle.
47
Cillian
Something that ordinary people don’t realize about the chaos of combat: there’s beauty in it.
I’ve always been able to appreciate the choreography of it all. There’s nothing rehearsed or controlled about a true fight to the death. It’s always no-holds-barred, desperate and bursting with the desperation of survival.
Every single man before me wants to win. The only thing that trumps that desire is the will to live.
My men hold the advantage at this moment. The Cavern is manned by about twenty-five soldiers holding it down, none of whom were expecting us. Hell, half of them look like they’ve been forced awake by the grenades blowing their front fucking door to bits.
They’re shooting, but they’re not aiming properly. They’re fighting, but they’re on the defensive.
The O’Sullivan men, on the other hand, are prepared. Their faces are masks of focus and concentration.
And nine times out of ten, they find the target they’re aiming at.
With a wordless roar, I throw myself into the fight. Both my guns are out now, and I’m swiveling around as I move into the center where the fighting is most concentrated.
I can see Rhys and Collin, pressed against one another back to back as they turn slowly on the spot. It’s a move I’ve done with Artem countless times.
Collin notices me from the corner of his eye. “Are we finishing them off?” he yells. “Or quitting while we’re ahead?”
I’m itching to choose the first option. But I know that’s the boy in me talking. I can’t allow pride to risk the lives of my men.
“We can’t afford to be here when their back-up arrives,” I yell back. “Move out!”
I twist my arm around and fire twice, hitting a guard in the stomach twice and foiling his attempt to shoot at Rhys.
“Where the fuck is Rory’s team?” Rhys demands as he reloads.
Dust and ash clings to everyone’s faces. I’m probably no different. I can smell blood. Thick pockets of smoke rise into the air, coating the sky in ugly mismatched plumes.
“Bring the jeeps around!” I order.
The designated drivers jump into action at my command. I cover them as they run to their respective vehicles.
That’s when I notice Rory.
He appears from a building to the right, looking relatively untouched by the chaos unfolding around us. But that’s not what catches my attention.
His expression does.
He looks pained. Like a man who’s about to do something that he knows no one else will like.
There’s resignation on his face. A certain amount of reluctance.
And a fuckload of guilt.
As I’m trying to puzzle that out, I watch him raise his gun. Except he’s not aiming at our enemies.
He’s aiming at Collin. His best fucking friend.
Collin sees Rory, but he makes no attempt to take cover or shoot back.
Because he doesn’t see a threat. Even with Rory’s gun pointed right at him, he doesn’t grasp that he’s the target Rory is aiming at.
People cling to trust until they have no choice but to let it go.
Rory’s bullet hits Collin in the leg. He crumples to the ground with a shout that’s half-pain and half-disbelief.
“Motherfucker!” I bellow, turning my gun on Rory.
He stands his ground. But at least the traitorous son of a bitch has the decency not to look me in the eye.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs just loud enough to be heard over the clacking of my guns coming to aim at him.
Rhys runs towards Collin and helps him stand. At least he’s got one good leg to rely on.
“Sorry?” I growl at him. “You’ve been with the clan since you were practically a teenager. We’re friends.”
“You haven’t been around, Cillian,” he says. “I had hard choices to make.”
“And you made the wrong ones.”
“An alarm call went up when you first stormed the gates,” he tells me. “If you’re not out of here in three minutes, this place will be surrounded. Not just Kinahans. The entire force, too. Murtagh has all the cards now, Cillian.”
I shake my head with disgust, but I don’t doubt the sincerity of this particular warning. The sense of betrayal washing over me will soon need an outlet. But there’s no time for it now.
“You know something?” I say quietly—almost as much to myself as to Rory. “My father always says life isn’t a game. Hell, everyone says that to me. But they’re wrong. Life is a game. And you chose the wrong fucking team.”
I take a deep breath.
Behind me, I hear Rhys yell my name to alert me of the approaching jeep.
It’s time to go. For me and for Rory alike.
He looks up at me finally. Eyes baleful and full of something. Maybe regret, maybe not. I’ll never know for certain. I know only one thing—it’s time to do what a don must
do in a situation like this.
I squeeze the trigger and cut down the traitor where he stands.
The jeep comes to a squealing stop behind me and a door is thrown open. I jump in and someone tugs it closed again.
No one waits for a command. The engine whines and then we’re driving out of the same gates we broke down mere minutes before.
I gaze out the window as we go until I lose sight of Rory’s ravaged body cooling in the dirt of the Cavern.
That’s another thing ordinary people don’t realize about a fight: it can happens in minutes. Seconds, even.
But time slows down when you’re sparring with death.
I feel like I’m a decade older than I was when we arrived.
* * *
“Fuck,” Rhys’s muted curse catapults through the relative silence of the jeep. “Rory. Fucking Rory!”
“I suspected a mole,” I admit. “But I never even thought of Rory. Collin, mate, you hanging in there?”
“It’s not so bad,” he grunts, but there’s a thick layer of perspiration on his brow that suggests otherwise. His leg is a mess of blood and every bump in the road brings a fresh moan to his lips.
I’m about to order someone to call in the doctor when the screech of tires draws my attention down the road.
“Fuck.”
I glance behind and realize that we haven’t even cleared the gates of The Cavern.
Apparently, back-up has shown up earlier than expected.
I look out ahead at the windshield. “How many?” I ask.
“Six vehicles. Four cop cars. There’ll be more on the way.”
“Can you get through them?” I ask, wondering if the armored jeep can manage the feat.
“Not without risking damage. It won’t do us any good to be stranded here.”
“Make a left,” I order, glancing at the surrounding area.
“Through the trees?”
“Through the fucking trees,” I say firmly. “Now. We don’t have fucking time.”
Up in front behind the wheel, Samuel makes a sharp left that has us all careening in our seats. Collin roars with pain as his leg slams up against the door.
“Sorry!” Samuel yells.
It’s hard to maneuver through the dense thicket of trees, but Samuel does an expert job of it. The patch of land is not meant for vehicles, though. Before long, the trees get too damn dense to drive between.
I can hear the sounds of sirens encroaching behind us.
“Make a U-turn,” I instruct Samuel. “Let’s get back on the main road. We’ll have detoured around those assholes by now.”
“You want me to just whip it around in here? This isn’t a bloody race track, mate!”
“Turn the fucking car around,” I growl. “Or I’ll throw you out and do it myself.”
Samuel swallows and nods. Even I hear the fresh menace in my voice.
I don’t sound like me when I talk like that.
I sound like Da.
“Hold on!” Samuel yells as he follows my instructions and turns the jeep in a sharp U.
Collin roars in pain again, but this time, Samuel’s concentrating too hard to offer up another apology. His eyes are fixed on the road, scanning for enemies, though the trees offer us a certain amount of coverage.
It takes a few minutes, but soon the road comes into view.
We have managed to detour the throng of Kinahans and cops that were gathered at The Cavern’s entrance.
But when I look back, I see there’s still one car tailing us.
This one’s not a cop car.
Kinahan, then. Definitely Kinahan.
I’m confident that, with Samuel’s driving, we’ll be able to lose them. Except that the fucker tailing us seems to be as skilled a driver as Samuel is.
“Jesus,” Samuel says, realizing the same thing. “He’s almost caught up.”
“Hit the accelerator.”
“I think I’ve punctured a tire,” Samuel growls. “They’re run-flats, but if I go any faster, I’m gonna take us right off the road.”
“Just fucking—”
The Kinahan car slams into the back of the jeep. All of us jerk forward as the vehicle screams in complaint.
“Motherfucker!” Samuel swears, checking his rearview mirror.
“It’s one car,” Rhys points out. “We can take those assholes.”
“I agree, but we don’t know how many men they’ve got jammed in there. We’ve only got six in the jeep, and Collin’s leg is too fucked up for him to be of any real help.”
“Just give me a gun,” Collin says through gritted teeth. “Two, if you can spare them.”
The Kinahan fuckers crash into us again. This time, the force of the crash has us fish-tailing across the road. Sparks fly up from the friction between the asphalt and the tires.
Samuel tries to course-correct the jeep, but it’s clear he’s lost control.
We slam nose-first into a massive oak by the side of the road and smoke immediately begins to billow from underneath the hood.
I’m the first one out of the jeep. Both my guns are up and cocked, ready to take down the Kinahan scum.
Their doors open all at once. I recognize none of the faces piling out, but it doesn’t matter anyway.
They’re seven dead men walking.
They don’t know it yet, though. They’re armed to the teeth and growling like feral wolves. I can’t control the instinctive eyeroll that threatens to lodge my eyeballs pointed at the back of my skull.
“Oi, gents,” I say conversationally. “Fancy running into you here. Get it?”
“So we broke the wrong brother’s leg,” the guy at the head of the pack snarls.
He’s got a shaved head, dark eyes, and yellowing teeth. Not exactly a looker.
“You did indeed,” I acknowledge as my men flank me. “Not that I’m surprised. You Kinahan lot were never the smartest lads out there.”
I spare a glance backward and note Collin lying in wait behind us. He’s crouched low, his back against the jeep floor, hidden from view. He’s got a gun in each hand, and he’s already taken aim.
Hopefully, those fuckers won’t see him until it’s too late.
“I oughta put a bullet in that smart mouth of yours,” Yellow Teeth rasps.
I laugh at the fake-tough act. “Sure, sure. Are we done with the tough talk now? I’ll be honest—it was boring thirteen years ago and it’s boring now.”
He growls, a guaranteed indicator that he’s about to fire.
I give a signal to my men. We jump to the side just as both sides open fire.
I hear bullets hit the armored jeep, but they bounce off easily.
I survey the situation, taking note of each man’s position. It’s easy to make mistakes in the confusion of a fight. And when you add guns to the mix, things tend to get a lot more complicated.
One second.
That’s all it takes to end a life.
Which is fine, when it’s the life you wanted extinguished. Not so much when your own men are in the way.
But we’ve got a secret weapon on our side.
Collin has managed to go unnoticed. But the half-open jeep door allows him a clean shot at a few Kinahan members.
And a snap of the fingers later, one of the growling idiots hits the ground with a stunned oof.
“What the fuck!?”
They’re looking around now in panic. Which is exactly the distraction I need.
Keeping my head low, I attack on a run.
I punch one asshole in the face and finish him off with a bullet in the mouth the moment he hits the ground. Then I aim at the yellow-toothed leader. He feints to the side, but my bullet still manages to catch him in the arm.
The bold cockiness with which they’d exited their vehicle has all but evaporated now.
But that’s the thing about panic—it can transform into desperation.
And desperate men have nothing to lose.
Yellow Teeth seems to realize as much,
because he grabs the gun right out of his dead buddy’s hand and starts firing like a madman.
I’m forced to take the defensive as I try to duck for cover.
But there’s nowhere to hide. And his men are covering his back, so my soldiers can’t shoot the fucker down.
Guess I’ll just have to go right at them, then.
I manage to take aim, but before I can pull the trigger, I hear the screech of tires.
Backup, without a doubt.
But is it theirs or ours?
Apparently, Yellow Teeth hasn’t even noticed. He’s too busy shooting the place up. Fucker’s even got a second gun locked and loaded now.
He turns one gun on me. There’s even a cocky smile on his face. Like he thinks he’s won.
Then his men notice what I’ve already noticed and they scatter like the wind.
No one pulls their idiot leader to safety. No one even tries. They just abandon him completely and back away.
That’s the price you pay for a lack of loyalty.
Yellow Teeth hears the approaching car at the last possible second. I see his expression cave in the instant he realizes he’s a dead man.
Then the car crashes right into him and his slack body vaults over the nose of the vehicle. The impact sends him spinning in the air like a ragdoll, blood pinwheeling outward in all directions.
Rhys and the others hesitate only for a moment.
Then they run around the car in an attempt to stop the remaining Kinahans from fleeing. I hear the sporadic shots as each Kinahan life is ruthlessly snuffed out.
But I stay put.
Not because I expect my men to deal with the Kinahan alone. But because of the person sitting in the front seat of the car, holding the steering wheel as though her life depends on it.
She turns her face to me slowly, and even from my distance, I can see that she’s shivering.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Saoirse,” I breathe.
I run to the car and pull the door open.
She’s shaking uncontrollably. Before I can stop her, she turns around and sees the dead man on the hood of the car.
His neck is broken, twisted in the opposite direction to the rest of his body.
