The older patriarch of the family strides through alongside the men he’s brought and shoots up the place. He’s fearless and aggressive, serving as a reminder how the Irishman ran the clan for so many years.
He barks orders at his men between spraying bullets. When an Albanian charges at him from the side, he doesn’t even flinch. He simply pivots, puts two bullets in the man’s chest, and keeps moving forward.
Others like Sean and Cian take out the Albanians who were crowded around Ronan. My husband is finally able to push himself up, blood dripping from his mouth. He spits it out and grabs a weapon from Cian to start fighting back too.
He’s immediately a force to be reckoned with as he shoots one of Dren’s soldiers in the face and then tosses another over his shoulder when they come up from behind.
It’s brutality in the most unfiltered way, yet it only makes my heart beat faster.
Hope rushes me so intensely it leaves me lightheaded. The Callahans have come to turn the tables on Dren, and we’re going to make it out of this.
Ronan and his family will see to it.
Killian reaches me in the next second, kneeling beside where I’ve taken cover on the floor.
“Hold still, princess,” he grunts. He’s pulled a switchblade from his pocket and saws away at the tight rope binding me.
A couple slices later, the rope falls away, the coarse fibers finally releasing their grip on my tender skin.
“Stay down and?—”
An Albanian comes out of nowhere, slamming into Killian’s side and sending them both crashing to the ground. They roll across the concrete trading brutal fists and elbows.
I’m alone.
Free, but alone, with no weapon and no protection in the middle of a warzone.
I press my back against the crates and force myself to stay calm against the tide of panic threatening to overwhelm me. I need to make it to safety or find something I can use to defend myself.
My legs refuse to cooperate, paralyzed by fear even as I’ve regained hope. It’s like there’re two conflicting sides of me fighting just as hard as Ronan and the other men.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “Just make it to the other side where the Callahans came in. You can do this.”
Eddie sprints past the large stack of crates I’m hiding behind. I poke my head out slightly, eyes rounding as I realize where he’s headed.
Blood trickles down the side of his head from an injury he’s sustained during this attack, but his glare is set on one person and one person only—he’s headed straight toward Ronan, who’s currently facing off against two Albanians at once, his back completely exposed.
The fear that’s left me rooted to the spot vanishes. I leap from behind the crates and sprint toward Eddie to intercept him. He’s raised his gun, finger hovering on the trigger.
“NOOOO!” I scream, the sound drowned out by the rest of the crackling gunfire and clatter of bullet shells.
He senses me half a second too late. By the time he turns, I’m already on him, slamming into his side. We go down hard, crashing to the concrete.
The bullet he’s fired goes astray and misses Ronan entirely.
But I didn’t think far enough ahead. As Eddie and I tumble to the ground, I become his new target.
He easily wrestles me under him, pressing me down with his knees. His hands close around my throat and he squeezes, glaring down at me with bitter hatred for disrupting his assassination plans.
“Didn’t I tell you to fucking behave?” he spits, throttling me harder. “You couldn’t fucking listen; you had to fucking interfere!”
“GET THE FUCK OFF HER!” Ronan’s roar drowns out anything else Eddie has to say.
My husband wrenches Eddie off me then promptly follows up with a fist to his face. A second blow comes as soon as the first, and then a third.
Eddie can’t possibly defend himself against the barrage of hits. He drops onto his back, Ronan pummeling him with one blow after another.
“You fucking coward!” Ronan rages, gripping Eddie by the hair and slamming his face into the concrete. “You pathetic little piece of shit, how dare you!”