Epilogue
The man sits in the passenger seat on a smoky, industrial back road, checking his phone for the umpteenth time.
Two in the morning. The bastards are late.
If they don’t pull up in the next thirty seconds, tough luck. One of the benefits of his position is never needing to wait around on some asshole to show.
“We’re too old for this shit.” His driver, Tom, flicks open a Zippo, the tiny orange flame a beacon in the night as he lights the cigar. The scent of clove and tobacco wafts across the misty evening.
The man laughs, shaking his head. “That’s for damn sure. But I can’t trust the young ones with this sort of thing yet.”
Smoke curls through the interior and out the open window, momentarily blotting his view of the stars.
Stupid things were never half as bright in the city.
The yearning that thought provokes means it’s probably past time to hand over the reins.
His son’s grown now. Strong. Still gaining his footing, but maybe over the next year, he could steadily increase his role in the business.
“He’s got a new wife. Might as well let him enjoy that stage while he can. ”
Tom slants him a grin. “You’re soft on that boy, Boss.”
“Maybe so.” He twists the thick wedding band around his finger. “But if you tell anyone, I’ll shoot you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
A sudden premonition ices his spine. Something’s wrong.
As he reaches for his weapon, the ratatatat of machine guns punctures the quiet night, shattering the windshield.
He ducks while yelling at Tom. “Get down!”
No reply. A quick glance punches him in the gut. Tom’s slumped and unmoving, dark red streaming from multiple holes in his face and neck
Damnaigh sé.
Though adrenaline courses through his veins, he remains calm. This is bad, but he’s survived worse scenarios. He just needs to keep his head.
He stays low, yanking the revolver from his waist.
The moon’s a sliver, the dim stars barely cutting through the darkness.
In his current position, with no backup, he’s a sitting duck. And he’s not even sure who’s shooting at him. The people he was scheduled to meet? Or some third party who found out and took offense?
An eerie stillness settles over the night. No squealing tires. No crunch of grass or gravel beneath boots. He holds his breath, listening.
He knows they’re not gone.
Even if he could safely get into the driver’s seat, he’d need to get rid of Tom’s body before he could drive. The chances of a direct hit are high.
But these motherfuckers have another thing coming if they think he’ll just roll over.
If the bastards want a fight, they’ve got one.
Taking the risk, he switches off the interior light and lunges into the back seat, ignoring the scattered glass. He yanks the AR-15 from the nook tucked into the side panel. Then he pushes open the door, using it as cover as he ducks out of the car.
He aims into the darkness and starts firing. Screams and return fire inform him he’s hit targets. How many, he couldn’t say. He just keeps shooting and evading bullets while cries and curses ring out. Gunfire reverberates.
He shoots until he runs out of ammunition. When the AR’s empty, he tosses it back inside and aims his revolver at his unseen attackers. Waiting.
The night quiets once more.
Pain rips through him. He touches his chest, and his fingers come away wet.
He’s earned more battle scars than he could count, but this might be the end. At long last.
His knees buckle, and he hits the ground. The agony starts to fade. He’s still aware enough to realize that’s a bad sign.
His lungs struggle to suck down oxygen, as if they’re flooded with water. Blood gurgles in his throat. The sensation isn’t entirely pleasant, but it’s warm.
Darkness reaches for his mind like a hundred greedy hands.
So, this is death. After cheating it all these years, his number’s finally up.
Every king dies eventually. This is his end. His son’s new beginning.
His kid has a wife. An uncle. Close friends. He’s taught his son everything he could.
This will hit hard, but he’ll be all right.
Old Bulletproof no longer. The end of an era.
The man closes his eyes and utters his final words before surrendering to the darkness.
“Slán as anois, Finn, my beautiful boy.”
Finn
I shove a hand through my hair. “Donal? Have you heard from Da?”
My father’s cousin shakes his head. “The recon team hasn’t found the car yet.”
I swallow a groan, leaning back in my father’s leather office chair. I splay my hands on his thick wooden desk.
Twelve hours. We haven’t heard a word from him in twelve hours. My father doesn’t fall off the face of the earth like this. He rarely leaves the estate anymore. But last night, he just disappeared, taking his driver and his favorite car and heading into the night like some vigilante.
Cian rests a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure it’s fine. Maybe his phone just died. You know he’s still not great about charging it. He lives like he’s in the seventies.”
I snort. “Yeah, but Tom’s usually better about it.”
The door to the office opens, and Riley pokes her head in. “Any news?”
I guess my expression is enough, because she crosses the room and sits on the edge of the chair. She’d never do that if my dad were here.
“We’ll hear soon. I’m sure.” She strokes my hair. I have to force myself not to melt into her touch.
What the hell is my dad thinking? He’s got responsibilities. If I’d done this, he would’ve tanned my—
Donal’s phone rings. He answers, then passes it to me. “My son.”
Out of nowhere, a sudden chill sweeps my body. “Darren. What’d you find?”
“The car.” Darren’s voice is tight. Clipped. Not at all like his usual self.
My chest fills with rocks. “And?”
“Tom’s dead. And—”
“My dad?”
“Shane’s…he’s gone, Finn.”
The phone clatters from my hand, falling with a thud.
Cian snatches it from the desk and steps away. “Report, Darren.”
I glance up at Riley.
Her cheeks are pale, her hand frozen at the base of her throat.
Shane. Da.
Old Bulletproof can’t be…he…
My father isn’t…
Riley cups my cheek, fingertips trembling. “Finn…”
I jerk away, push up from the desk, and accidentally knock over the glass skull paperweight from the corner of the wood. It shatters against the floor, a million shining diamonds blinking in the lamplight.
My father isn’t dead. He can’t be dead.
I can’t lose someone else. Not again.
For a few minutes, I don’t hear much of anything.
The roar in my ears just washes it all away.
Then Donal’s voice breaks through.
“…careful. Watch our backs. Everyone. We can’t let our guard down.”
I glance up. The room’s fuller than it was a moment ago. Veronika’s speaking with Cian, who’s still on the phone with Darren. Harper and Kiara are here, standing in the corner with Riley. Riley’s trembling hands are clutched in Harper’s. Tears streak down Kiara’s face.
I forgot she and my dad kind of got along.
“Someone needs to check on Trinity.” My half-sister’s been away at college and off the radar so she should be safe. Then again, I thought Dad was safe too.
Cian replies. “I will.”
My gaze returns to Donal. “What were you saying?”
His eyes are red-rimmed, but his voice is calm. “From here on out, this family is in your hands, Finn. We can’t be too careful.”
I run my fingers over a knot on the top of my father’s desk. My desk, now.
My chest burns.
For a moment, I’m fourteen again. “What do I need to do?”
Donal steps closer and places his hand on my forearm.
“Prove yourself to be every bit the leader Shane was. We won’t let them win.”
As I stare at the people around me, my heart hardens.
No. We won’t.
The End