Pops never thought that far ahead.
The other door leads to the storeroom. Stopping short, I glance around, and Killian peers into the office. Our shoulders brush, and the hall goes silent. Nothing moves—nothing stirs. The air freezes, lost in time.
Bruno isn’t here. He can’t exactly hide.
The hallway seems to push us closer together. The zipper of his jacket rubs against my silken top, drawing heat to my cheeks. Swallowing, I look up, and he tilts his head down. “Where is he?”
There’s a click that rings loudly around us, and I still. Killian slides his hand behind my head, throwing me forward and away from the door. Hands slam into the wall, grimy and damp, before his body falls against mine. Warm breath blows my hair as he tucks his chin against my shoulder, our bodies aligning perfectly.
It all happens in mere seconds before the trigger is pulled. Bullets pummel the wooden door, black paint and splinters breaking off. The repeated firing dulls to a buzz, and I dig my nails into the plaster. Dust covers me, and the air thickens with gunpowder as the bullets don’tstop.
My body tenses.I can’t stay like this.
“Don’t,” he mumbles into my ear, reading my thoughts.
He presses closer, his scent of mint and death settling my nerves. Bullets cut into the wall, ricocheting at the corners, but it doesn’t worry me. Not with Killian here.
And that pisses me off. I still trust him—still rely on him. I shouldn’t.
The walls break apart, and I hear shouts further down the way. Meg alerts the men to take up their positions.At least she’s good for something.
Everything abruptly stops, and Bruno swears, “Fuck.” The repeated click means his gun is jammed—shitty quality.
Killian places a hand on my head. “Stay,” he growls before turning to the carnage. The door is nothing but a piece of broken plywood, and the wall crumbles into chunks.
His gun is pulled, inked finger hovering over the trigger.
He’s joking.
Withdrawing my firearm, a brushed chrome Desert Eagle Mark given to me, the weight is a steady comfort. It’s always been me, my gun, and my knives against the world. I can trust this—I can trust myself.
At the door, I peer in as Killian’s fist connects with Bruno Junior’s jaw, knocking him to the floor. He’s still covered in bruises and old cuts—Collins did a hell of a job on him when she snapped after we got Hayes back—and I smirk. He deserved way worse, but it’s nice to see her handle business every so often.
The Reaper grabs his collar, throwing him into the far wall before glaring at me.
“I told you tostay.”
“And out of the two of us, who’s in charge?” I saunter into the room, looking at the damage. Glass and debris cover the tacky black floors, and my boots crunch with each step. He hit out the lights, and my eyes take a moment to adjust.
Aren’t you so pretty?
Swallowing, I push those dark thoughts away—the ones that only appear in the shadows.
“Just you, Bruno?”
He spits, and Killian pistol-whips him across the cheek. Blood sprays across the wall, blending into the paint. I grin, enjoying his pain.
But a question bugs me. How did he get into this room alone?
Touching the edge, I scan the crates. Most are undamaged, but Bruno was able to break into three of them. One belongs to De Luca.Shit. I’ll have to talk to my brother-in-law about this, and I’m not looking forward to it.
Lex isn’t unpleasant. He’s just… areminderof hard times, and talking to him always seems to bring them up. He also thinks he’s God’s gift to women, which irritates the fuck out of me. I can’t kill him—Sloane would never forgive me, and neither would Nico—so I limit our interactions.
“This couldn’t have been your plan.” Glancing around, I look to the far back. “How did you get in?”
He grunts in response. My eyes snag the crack in the back door, the sliver of light highlighting more damage.Jesus. He broke in?
Pinching my brow, I sigh. Everyone knows where the others’ storehouses are—but the families and my clan operate on an unspoken honor not to touch them. If you did, it meant war.
