“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.”
