I lean out from behind the planter, firing three rounds. One catches the shooter in the neck, and he tumbles backward, his rifle clattering against the concrete. But the other three are already through. The heavy, reinforced steel security door slams shut, and I hear the deadbolt slide home.
"Fuck!" I roar, scrambling to my feet.
I sprint to the door, throwing my shoulder against the steel. It doesn't even budge. I raise my gun to shoot the lock.
"Lorcan, stop!" Kieran yells, lunging across the space and grabbing my arm. His grip is iron, his face covered in soot and sweat. "It's a deadbolt! You'll just bounce the rounds off the steel and hit one of us! Stop!"
"Get your hands off me, Kieran!" I snarl, trying to wrench my arm free. "He's right behind this fucking door! I'll tear the hinges off myself!"
"Boss! Look at Maeve!" Kieran shouts, his voice cracking over the ringing in the room. "Look at your daughter!"
The name hits me like a bucket of ice water.
My muscles go slack. I drop my arm, the gun heavy in my hand. I turn around slowly, my breathing shallow, my chest heaving against the tight fabric of my shirt.
The ballroom is now a graveyard of broken glass, shattered crystal, and white tablecloths soaked in red. The smoke is thick.
And there she is.
Maeve is standing near the edge of the dance floor, clutching her yellow pajama shirt. She is shaking so hard her knees are knocking together, her dark eyes wide and glassy as she stares atthe blood pooling near her small, bare feet. She looks so small. Too small for a room like this.
I almost let him take her. I almost let it happen again.
I drop my gun. It hits the marble with a dull clank, but I don't care. I walk toward her, my boots heavy and slow. I don't look at Echo, or Kieran, or any of my men who are standing in a silent circle around us.
"Maeve," I say. My voice is rough, cracked, sounding like it belongs to someone else.
I kneel in front of her, ignoring the wetness of the floor soaking through my trousers. I reach out, my hands trembling as I hover them near her shoulders. I'm covered in blood, Silas's blood, my own blood, the dust of the stone. I don't want to touch her, but I need to.
"Dada?" she whispers, her lips trembling. "Are the fireworks over?"
"Yeah, baby," I say, my throat closing up. I pull her into my chest, wrapping my arms around her small frame, pressing her face into the crook of my neck so she can't see the floor. "The fireworks are all gone. I've got you. I've got you, Maeve."
She grabs my shirt with her tiny fingers, burying her face in my shoulder, her whole body convulsing with a quiet, terrified sob. I hold her with a completeness that feels like I'm trying to fuse her bones to mine.
The room is completely silent now. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks.
"Where is the safe room, Kieran?" I ask, not looking up.
"Third floor office, boss," Kieran says, his voice quiet, respectful. "Echo's already cleared the corridor. It's secure."
"Keep the men on the doors," I say. "Nobody comes up."
"Understood."
I scoop Maeve into my arms, standing up slowly. Her weight is nothing, but holding her feels like carrying the entire world. I walk through the shattered ballroom, my eyes fixed on the ceiling, refusing to look at the bodies on the floor.
The third-floor office is quiet, the heavy oak doors shutting out the distant sirens and the shouting from below. I sit in the large leather wingback chair, keeping Maeve tucked against my chest.
"Is Atara okay?" she asks, her voice muffled against my collar.
"She's fine, Maeve," I say, my hand gently stroking her hair.She's more than fine. She's the only reason you're breathing.“She’s safe."
"She was really fast, Daddy," she says, her breathing slowly calming. "She had a little knife."
"Yeah," I whisper, my eyes closing. "She did. She's very smart, baby."
"I like her," she murmurs. "She has nice hands."
