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"Shit!" Brennan snapped. "We’re sitting fucking ducks in here."
"There are ten behind the gates," Conor called out, and his calm stunned the hell out of me.
"Where the hell did they come from?" Brennan snapped.
"Must have been waiting in the wings—reinforcements. It makes sense. I have sensors as far down the roads as I can go, but shit starts to get dicey when we hit the highway. Because it’s an Interstate route, if I put them there and they’re discovered, which they will be, it gets federal."
Maybe I should have realized there was more to him than that diamanté-studded cat he carried around. Knowing he was a genius was one thing, but seeing it under fire was another.
More gunshots sounded, but it was weird—they didn’t seem to be getting closer.
"Someone’s picking them off," Eoghan muttered, his calm just as intense as his older brother’s.
In fact, they were all relaxed. The only one who wasn’t was me. Or, at least, my heart was starting to throb a little more, but not like it should have been.
This kind of adrenaline buzz was better than anything Red Bull could do.
"Someone on our side? Is there a sharpshooter in Da’s protective detail today?"
Conor replied, "Let me check—" He grunted. "Robertson, but he’s at the back of the property. I can see him. He’s approaching, just not from the front."
Another gunshot pounded through the sound waves, followed by another one, and three more in sharp succession.
"Who the fuck is that?" Brennan rasped.
"They’re on our side, so does it matter?" I snapped.
"Yeah, it fucking matters."
"Two intruders still alive. The shooter’s just outside my network."
"The other guards have finally made it to the front yard," I commented, relief hitting me as I pointed to the dots on the screen.
Conor hummed. "It took them long enough."
"Think the golf carts were sabotaged?" Eoghan queried.
"Maybe. Can’t see it, though. They’re stored on the property, so someone would have to have sneaked in earlier."
Declan grunted. "We already know we’ve got a rat problem."
"Shit," Brennan spat, hissing the curse under his breath.
"You have Sparrows in the ranks?" I gasped.
"Somebody remind me why the fuck she isn’t in the safe room?"
"Are you always a jerk?" I spat.
"Pretty much," Conor confirmed with a cackle. "He can’t help it. In his defense, it’s in his job description."
Brennan shocked me by snorting. "Jackass," he grumbled.
"You know it," Conor retorted, but he sported a smug smile, like... well, as if being teased by and teasing his brothers was his raison d’être.
"I thought Sparrows were only in law enforcement and politics, spheres of influence."
"No," Conor disagreed. "They’re everywhere. Law enforcement uses patsies within the various factions inside the city. I’d imagine, within the country as a whole.
