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But I have to get it together. She’s in there and now there’s no doubt, at least. She’s inside that place, and if I don’t hurry, something horrible might happen, and I can’t let myself go down that path. I can’t let myself imagine all the twisted things those sick bastards might put her through.
Daley, poor Daley. All she wanted to do was escape. She craved normalcy, a world without the violence and pain of the clan, and now here she is, entirely trapped by it.
Not fair, none of it fair, but if life were fair, then Megan would be alive and I’d be dead in her place. Not fair, not at all.
Gunfire erupts toward the front of the building.
It’s so loud in the otherwise quiet night, like a dozen fireworks all exploding at once, and shouts echo in between the bursts.
They’re attacking, those crazy bastards. Attacking what’s clearly a trap, all to provide me with the distraction I need to get inside.
No time to waste then.
Nolan grunts and eases back farther into the shadows. “There’s your signal.”
I wait a few seconds, counting from ten, hoping that whoever’s watching this side entrance hurries away to the fighting, then step forward out of cover. I stay low, but glance back at the darkness where Nolan’s watching, a gun held up and ready.
“Sorry about your nose,” I say.
“No, you’re not. Bring my sister back and we’ll be even.”
I run forward, moving fast, and he disappears back toward the fighting.
Whatever’s going on up front, it’s intense. Dozens of shots scream out into the night. The cops are going to swarm this place soon, which means I don’t have much time. I keep waiting for a bullet to kill me and rip my body to pieces and each step is a new agony, and it’s like this run is taking forever, but I reach the side entrance without getting blown to pieces. It’s locked, but fortunately the door’s made of fucking frosted glass. I step back and fire off a few rounds. The door shatters, and I kick the shards until there’s enough space for me to step through, cutting my leg in the process.
The hallway is dark. I’m prepared to shoot whatever moves, but there’s nothing. I step forward into a stairwell and hesitate, listening. I hear shouts echoing through the building, more bursts of gunfire, more screams. Some of pain and some of anger. Whatever Callum’s doing up front is surprisingly effective. There’s a sudden boom, like something exploded, and the building trembles.
I start moving up, heading to the second floor.
My plan is simple. Start up top and make my way down until I find Daley. Take her back, get her out, and make sure she’s safe. Kill anyone I see.
The second floor is pitch black. I resist the urge to turn on a light—that’ll only draw everyone’s attention. It looks like this area’s more or less finished, with doors and walls and all that. Only it’s missing furniture and every door is wide open. I ghost down silent work spaces, poke my head into dead offices, until I get closer to the sound of fighting and shouting—
And spot a bit of flickering light coming from an office directly across from a stairwell. The only closed door in the whole place.
I sneak up on it as silently as I can. I feel like a ghoul haunting a graveyard. Someone screams in a language I don’t know down below, and I reach the door, grabbing the knob and twisting sharply. I shoulder my way inside, gun coming up—
Ahead is a bed, and sitting in the bed is Daley. Her cheek’s bloomed purple with an ugly bruise, and her eyes are wide and terrified.
She’s got something shoved into her mouth—a veil?—and she’s wearing a wedding dress. Her hands are tied, and she’s trying to say something, her eyes moving from me to the right—
I yank backwards just as a knife slices through the air. It misses by inches, but catches my ear, ripping open the lobe. I curse, bringing the gun up as the bastard comes at me. He’s in a suit, and his blade is held in one hand, and he moves like he knows what he’s doing.
But Daley saved my life. If she hadn’t been looking at him, that knife would’ve plunged into my neck and this would be very different.
I shoot the bastard once in the chest as he barrels into me. We tumble back to the floor. I fire three more shots, but they miss, going wide. He jams his blade into my arm, into the meat of my bicep, and I growl with agony as I jam my fingers into his eyes and my thumb up his nose and shove back. We’re scrambling, fighting for position, his blade dug down deep. He groans in pain, and I feel his blood pumping out on me from the gunshot wound. I roll him over to the side and shove him off, bringing the gun up again as he reaches for another knife at his hip.
