CHAPTER FIVE #2
The sound is deafening.
Glass explodes inward. The window behind Dillon's head shatters, and I see the moment the bullet hits him. See the way his body jerks. See the bloom of red spreading across his white shirt.
Time does something funny. Slows down. Speeds up. I'm not sure which.
Aoife screams.
The sound rips through the room, high and sharp and full of horror. I see her take a step toward her father. See Dillon fall forward, his hands clutching at his throat where blood is pouring between his fingers.
Training kicks in. The kind that was drilled into us since we were kids. The kind you don't forget even when you're high and drunk and falling apart.
I'm moving before I think about it. Three steps, and I'm on Aoife, tackling her to the ground. We hit the floor hard, my body covering hers, shielding her from whatever the fuck is happening.
She's fighting me. Trying to crawl toward her father. "Dad! Daddy!"
Her voice is breaking. Raw. I've never heard anything like it.
"Stay down," I growl, pressing her harder into the floor. My weight pins her completely. She's strong, stronger than she looks, but I'm bigger. Heavier. And right now, that's what matters.
"Get off me!" She's clawing at the carpet, trying to drag herself forward. "Let me go, I have to—"
"You have to stay alive." I grab her wrists, forcing them down beside her head. "So stop fucking moving."
Another shot doesn't come. The room is in chaos. Aidan's shouting something. People are running. Heavy footsteps pound through the hallway. Security, probably. Too fucking late.
I lift my head just enough to see Dillon on the ground. There's so much blood. It's on the floor, spreading in a dark pool. On the wall behind where he was standing. And all over Aoife, beneath me—splattered across her face in tiny specks, soaked into her navy dress, in her hair.
One of our security team, Marcus, is on him. Hands pressed to Dillon's throat, trying to stop the bleeding. But I can see it's bad. Real bad. The kind of bad that doesn't have a good outcome.
"Ambulance!" Aidan's voice. "Someone call a fucking ambulance!"
Aoife has gone still beneath me. Not calm. But frozen.
I risk another glance at the window. The glass is completely blown out. Evening air rushes in, cold and sharp. The curtains billow. And beyond, I can see the garden. Empty. Whoever took that shot is long gone.
Professional. Had to be. That wasn't a lucky shot. That was precise. Whoever pulled that trigger knew exactly what they were doing.
"William." Aidan's beside us now, crouched low. "We need to move.”
I nod, but I don't move yet. Don't trust that the shooter isn’t waiting for us to expose ourselves.
"Aoife." I lean down. "I'm going to move you. Stay low. Do exactly what I say."
She doesn't respond. Doesn't even acknowledge I spoke. She's turned her head, her focus on her father. At all that blood.
"Aoife," I say,sharper this time. "Eyes on me.”
Her eyes find mine. They're unfocused. Glazed. She's going into shock.
"Stay with me," I tell her. "We're going to move. But you need to do what I say. Can you do that?"
For a long moment, she just stares. Then, barely, she nods.
"Good girl." I start to shift, keeping my body between her and the window.
Aidan moves into position, his own body creating another shield. Together, we half carry Aoife across the floor toward the door. She's not helping. Her legs won't work right. She keeps trying to look back at her father, twisting in my grip.
"Don't look," I say. "Eyes forward."
We make it to the hallway. More security floods past us, weapons drawn, heading toward the drawing room.
I push Aoife against the wall, my hands on her shoulders, forcing her to meet my eyes. "Are you hurt? Did you get hit?" I’m thinking maybe some of the shards of glass may have cut her.
She shakes her head, but I don't trust it. I run my hands over her arms, her sides, checking for the familiar small spikes of broken glass. There's blood on her dress. Splattered across the navy fabric. Drops on her face. In her hair. Yet, her skin is smooth beneath my hands.
It’s her father's blood.
She's intact. Whole. Just covered in someone else's trauma.
“Aoife,” I say her name.
Her widened gaze shoots to me. Her breathing is coming too fast now. Short, sharp gasps that aren't pulling in enough air. Her pupils are dilated. Skin pale.
Definitely shock.
"Get her some water," I order. "And a blanket."
One of the security guards near us disappears down the hall. I'm left alone with Aoife, pressed against the wall in a hallway that suddenly feels too exposed.
"Breathe," I tell her. "Slow and deep. In through your nose, out through your mouth."
She tries. I can see her trying. But her body won't cooperate. The gasps keep coming, faster and faster.
"Aoife." I take her face in my hands, forcing her to focus on me. "You're safe. You're going to be okay. But I need you to breathe with me.”
Her eyes lock on mine. Wild. Terrified.
"In." I demonstrate, breathing in slowly through my nose. "Out." I breathe out through my mouth.
She mimics me. The first breath is shaky, barely controlled. But the second is better. And the third.
"That's it. Good girl," I say. "Keep going. Just keep breathing."
The security man returns with a bottle of water and a throw blanket from one of the sitting rooms. I drape it around Aoife's shoulders, and she clutches it with shaking hands.
"Status?" I ask Aidan without looking away from Aoife.
"Dillon's alive. Barely. Ambulance is three minutes out. Security swept the grounds. No sign of the shooter."
Of course, there isn't. Whoever did this planned it perfectly. Knew exactly when and where to strike. Knew we'd all be in that room, signing those contracts.
This wasn't random. This was targeted.
"It's my fault," Aoife whispers. The words are so quiet I almost miss them.
"What?" I lean closer.
"I was standing there." Her voice is hollow. Empty. "Right where he was. He moved slightly. I stepped back. The bullet..." She's staring at nothing, seeing something I can't. "It was meant for me."
That bullet was meant for her.
And her father took it instead.
The sirens are closer now. Red and blue lights flash through the windows, painting the walls in alternating colors. Medics rush past us into the drawing room. More security. More chaos.
I keep my hands on Aoife's shoulders, anchoring her. Keeping her here. Present. Because if I let go, I think she might shatter into pieces, and then I’ll have no fucking idea what to do.
We stand in the hallway, covered in her father's blood, while the world falls apart around us.
What a great fucking way to start a marriage.