31. Killian
KILLIAN
Iwrap my arm around Maeve’s waist, hauling her behind the bar. The bullet roars over the heads of the drunk coeds, but I keep myself between her and the enemies. Dropping her, I push her further down, leveling my gun over the bar’s edge.
Beside us, a pretty guy with blue eyes lies dead, the bullet striking his chest.
Screams ring out, the stampeding of heels pounding into the floor like an earthquake.
Bottles shake and fall behind us, as glass explodes on contact.
The bullets don’t stop. Most come from overhead, but a few fire from the left, and I hunker closer to Maeve, keeping her covered.
They want her—not me. And I’ll be damned if they take her.
“What happened?” I growl, finger twitching to release the trigger. Not yet.
“It’s not just Ronan,” she shouts. “He’s swayed a few other men to his side. They’re here—they want me dead.”
“They’ll have to get through me,” I vow.
She moves, like she’s going to jump up, but I yank her back. Glaring at her, I tap her nose, and she flinches, annoyed. “Stay.”
“I swear to God, Killian?—”
“Trust in Lex’s men to have their establishment,” I interrupt. “They won’t let this last.”
“Are you saying we can’t take them on?”
I smirk. “Of course, we can. I’m saying I’d rather not drag you out bleeding from a firefight again.”
The bullets don’t stop, but to my glee, I hear the click of new guns. High frequency, a harder release, they begin shooting them through the bar. Grinning at Maeve, she rolls her eyes.
“See?”
“Shut up.”
As they shoot, we shuffle along the bar, avoiding the dead body. Broken glass cuts into the palm of my hands, but I keep my eyes on Maeve. She avoids what she can, but when a jagged piece digs into her knee, I’m there, pushing an old dishrag to the wound.
Looking around the corner, I notice a few men have fallen, but there are still half a dozen left. A few are shooting toward the higher balcony—Lex’s men are aiming from their perches—but two are facing us. They might have company, but they know we’re the target.
Perfect.
“Thoughts?” she asks, plucking the glass from her leg. She doesn’t bat an eyelash at the pain. A woman after my own heart.
“We take those two,” I say, jerking my chin toward the runners looking at us. Cilly and Tag, both younger men we ran with, I’m surprised to see them.
No, actually, fuck that. I’m not. Neither of them respected women, often beating their girlfriends when they didn’t sleep with them. One made a pass at Maeve when we were teens, and I threatened him with my knife to his eye if he did it again. I thought we had settled this—but apparently not.
Sighing, I release the safety. Can’t trust anybody in this life anymore.
She glares at Cilly, gun hovering in front of her face. “He’s mine.”
“I wouldn’t dare intrude.”
She squeezes one bullet, hitting him in the shin. The fucker screams, dropping to one knee. With only a breath, she pumps another one into his chest.
Smiling, I turn my weapon on Tag. Before I fire, she grabs the barrel. “I need one of them alive. For information.”
I hate it—but she’s right. With Murray dead and Ronan in the wind, we need someone to tell us where he is. Once we find him, we’ll find the Board and finish this.
“Fine,” I say, pouting. Lowering my gun, I shoot his hand, and his weapon falls. For good measure, I shoot his foot.
The bastard drops, and I laugh as he scurries on his back away from us. Lurching behind the bar, I straddle him, uncaring of the bullets behind me. Hand to his neck, I place the barrel to his temple.
“Hi, Tag. Fancy meeting you here.”
He stops moving, face frozen in fear. “Reaper.”
“I need information.” My gun moves the tiniest bit, a reminder of what will happen if he doesn’t answer the way I want. “You’re going to provide it. Deal?”
He swallows, and the last bullet echoes behind me. Another body drops. Say what you want about the capo’s arrogance; at least his men know how to fucking shoot.
Lifting him by his collar, I hold him high, enjoying his fight. Maeve walks over, hips swaying, blood running down her leg. She’s a fucking devil, and I have the strongest urge to spit in the face of dogma and worship her among the bloodshed.
“Tag.”
His eyes narrow, and he spits at her feet.
Well, that won’t do.
Cuffing him on the back of his head, the dickhead falls into a heap, limbs limp. Pretty sure his chin crashes into the floor, but I don’t care. He’s lucky I didn’t knock out his teeth and make him eat them.
Smiling brightly at my love, I say, “Shall we?”
Stalking through the hall, I have a chain, ropes, and a pair of pliers under my arm. Tag is proving to be a bit more difficult to break, but with enough time, I have no doubt my girl will get him to talk.
I’m almost jealous to have left her to hunt for supplies while she cuts into him. She’s a vicious thing when she gives into her true self—the bloodthirsty, ravenous side that will take all of us to hell. She’s magnificent.
Grabbing another pair of scissors from the foyer table, Hayes comes down the stairs, still in his Henley and jeans. With his hair pulled back, he looks like a Viking warrior, about to set sail for a raid.
“Reaper.”
“Prince.”
His eyes scan my supplies, and he rubs his chin. “Interview?”
“Tag.” Throwing him a roll of duct tape, I jerk my head. “Carry that for me. He’s getting loose.”
“Maeve safe down there alone?”
At my annoyed look, he holds up his hands. “Fair.”
Commotion behind us pulls our attention away as the capo walks down the hall holding a carton of ice cream and soy sauce. My stomach turns.
He sees it and huffs. “She’s pregnant. You try telling Sloane no while she’s carrying twins.”
“No thanks.”
Shuffling past them, the capo drops the carton and calls after me. “You have some explaining to do, Reaper. My whole club was fucking destroyed tonight from your stunt.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I smirk. “If I remember correctly, you signed off on it.”
“Not fucking carnage.” He throws his hands up in the air, his accent growing thicker with his agitation. Sloane must get a kick out of pushing him. “I have bodies to hide, and the police looking for answers.”
“Use our men,” Hayes interjects. “They’ll hide the evidence.”
“That’s not the point.” He pinches his brow. “Jesus, it’s like talking to a bunch of brick walls. What the fuck happened?”
Sighing, I wave my hand in the air. I’m craving a cigarette, and unfortunately, I left those in the basement. The capo is working my last fucking nerve with his questions.
“Gunfight,” I supply. “A few leaks that were plugged.” Or will be. Once Tag talks, we can see how far this goes. If there is anyone else in this clan who thinks Maeve can’t be trusted to lead.
I’ll end them all.
“Reaper, I swear?—”
The doorbell rings.
All three of us stand still, looking at each other, before we glance at the two guards by the front. Odd to have someone stop by in the middle of the night. Even weirder, to be here—at a criminal family’s compound, outside the city limits.
If it’s the idiot Reese again, I swear to God…
When no one makes a move to answer the door, I throw my items into Hayes’ chest. Useless, the whole lot of them.
When I pull the door open wide, I have to keep from slamming it shut.
“Briar.”
With wide shoulders, dark hair, and familiar green eyes—it’s like looking at a ghost from the past come back to haunt me. He resembles his father painfully—with the same gold flecks his oldest sister inherited, large muscles, and pale skin that shines under the moonlight rays.
He looks like what I would have assumed Ferguson did at twenty, before lavish riches got the better of him. But the cunning look in his eyes and the devious smile? Those are entirely him.
“Aren’t you going to let me in?”
The bastard pushes his way in, and I’m two seconds from grabbing his neck and throwing him back out. He can’t be here—he’s not allowed.
“Kid, listen?—”
“Briar?” Hayes gasps, and I curse my fucking luck. Shit.
“What’s up, Hayes?” he greets, one hand on his bookbag, the other in his pocket. Dressed in a hoodie and a pair of jeans, he could be a young MIT student coming for the holidays. Only I know better.
“You can’t be here,” I growl, fighting the urge to strangle him. “You know that.”
He rolls his eyes, the same attitude his eldest sister has, which makes me see red.
“I’m not supposed to do a lot of things.” He looks at Alessio, smirking slightly at his confusion. “Being able to hack into the Pentagon is one thing. Are you going to tell on me?”
“I don’t need to tell—you know we’re watched. You’re on seven hit lists as is.” Every night I go through them, trying to burn them, but they always reappear. “You can’t be in Boston. That was the rule.” If anyone finds out, it’ll be war.
“Rules.” He cuts me a hard look. “I came because my sister needs me.”
Forgetting that his loyalty is ridiculously high to the woman who practically raised him, he’s going to fucking ruin everything if he stays. “Briar?—”
“Briar?” Alessio says, eyebrow cocked. “As in the youngest sibling? The one no one talks to?”
Holding out his hand, he winks. “Nice to meet you, bro. And that’s extreme—I talk to everyone.
My older sisters only get texts, but Hayes and Maeve get phone calls.
” He points at me. “Him too. By the way, I hope you’re not still tracking my sister with her wedding ring.
Kind of extreme, don’t you think?” He picks at his nails.
“I could disable it, but I thought you’d want the chance to do it yourself. ”
“Who the fuck?—”
Grabbing the scruff of Briar’s neck, I toss him forward. The capo is going to shoot him, and I don’t feel like another bloodbath tonight. “Now is not the time to pick a fucking fight, kid.”
“No?” He turns, glaring at me, though the smile stays on his face. I know I’m intimidating, but Briar’s on his way to scaring the most hardened of men. “Tell me, Reaper, were you going to fill me in on the shit that’s been happening here lately?”
“You know most of it.”
“And my sister almost dying?”