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Channeling all my strength, I swung my arm behind me. A blind stab at a leg that had me trapped. The blade plunged in to the hilt. I gave it harsh twist, then pulled it out.
Cillian’s animalistic cry of torment serrated the air.
His weight shifted, freeing me. I rolled onto my back. Cillian was on his knees, gripping his thigh with both hands. A steady stream of bright red blood pulsated through his fingers in rhythmic bursts.
I’d hit an artery.
In his state, he couldn’t retaliate.
I bolted upright and drove the knife into his windpipe. Blood bubbled from his mouth, and then he fell to the side. I staggered to my feet, tugging my leggings back into place.
Cillian Brennan was dead. Killed by his own blade. By me.
A thundering crash rumbled across the ceiling. Smoke filtered into the basement.
I’d have to consider the consequences of my actions later.
I bent over and swiped the pistol from Cillian’s ankle holster.
Keeping my eyes on Raphael, I emptied the bullets. All but one spilled at my feet. I tossed the last one into his cell. It bounced off the back wall and landed someplace in the dark. As I walked away, I dropped the pistol just out of his reach.
It would buy me time.
He’d given me a knife. So I’d give him a gun.
But I wasn’t about to let Raphael Flynn shoot me in the back.
If he was as clever as he thought he was, he’d find a way to retrieve it. And then his fate would be in his own hands.
It was more than my parents had gotten.
I covered my nose and mouth with my sweater, and I ran. I’d made it all the way to the foyer before my lungs gave out and my world went dark.
Lucifer
I paced the floor of the Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center waiting room, flexing my fingers and clenching my fists.
My wife lay somewhere beyond the sealed double doors of the intensive care unit.
The lump in my throat refused to stay down. Had it ever been this hard to bury my emotions?
No. Never.
Not until Willa.
The spasm in my heart was unrelenting. An anonymous feeling held my sanity hostage. It was invasive. Muddling. And whatever it was—it was making a mockery out of me.
As the boss of the Flynn Syndicate, I needed to reclaim my self-control. To remain focused. Diligent. Calculated.
I needed to be ten steps ahead of my enemies.
Organized crime awarded no time-outs.
Until I’d compartmentalized the foreign invader, I was helpless. Useless.
I slumped into a chair across from Keegan. My breaths came in rapid, uneven bursts.
Then it struck me—fear.
