Ethan’s dead. His skull’s shattered like a brick through an egg. Liam’s soaked in his blood. More men in dark jackets are swarming all over the place, their guns drawn, and there’s so much red it’s cartoonish. Who splashed it all over the place? Who made such a stupid mess?
And on my wedding day of all days.
CHAPTER 16
LIAM
“Get the dress off.”
Regan sits against the bathroom vanity, eyes fixed on her own reflection. She must not have realized until right this moment exactly how much of Ethan’s blood got all over her dress.
“It’s ruined,” she says, sounding numb and far away.
I step close and brush her hair aside. I find the zip and tug it once, sliding it down but not opening it. “Did you like it?”
“No… not really. I think my mom picked it out.”
“You look beautiful.”
“Even with blood on me?”
“I actually prefer you this way.”
She doesn’t think I’m funny. She shrugs me off and pushes me back. “I’ll do that.”
I get the shower started and toss a towel over the door. I don’t know what products she needs, what clothes she’ll wear, anything like that. My plans for the night went down the fucking toilet when four masked men appeared and started shooting.
Fucking Ethan…
He was a good man. We’d worked together a few times and played poker in some games against each other. He smoked too much, laughed too loud, but was decent to the core. He would die for the Whelans.
He died protecting my wife.
If Ethan hadn’t been standing right there, armed and prepared, on alert because I was attempting to sneak out, that attack might’ve worked.
They got close… so fucking close… inches away.
“Liam?” I look up sharply. I’m breathing hard, my fingers gripping the handle of the shower door. Regan’s frowning at me. “Privacy?”
“Right.” I peel myself away, trying to keep control, but it’s slipping. What the hell is the matter with me? I’ve been shot at a dozen times in my life. I’ve been stabbed, burned, kicked in the teeth, and nearly strangled with my own belt twice. But this is the first time I’ve reacted like this.
Anger courses through me and I don’t know what to do with it.
“Liam.” Her tone softens. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Take a shower. I’ll toss in clothes.”
“Seriously, are you?—“
I walk out of there and shut the door behind me.
What can I tell her?
I’m not fine at all.
I nearly watched a bunch of men murder my wife at our own damn wedding, all because I was too soft to stick around like I was supposed to.
If I hadn’t tried to ditch out early for her, we never would’ve been in a vulnerable position like that.
