"I bet your wife was disappointed that the car didn’t blow up," I continue, forcing a laugh that sounds half-hysterical even to my own ears. "After her husband used his own wife and child as human shields when the bullets started flying."
The change in Brennan is instantaneous. His face goes white, then red, and I see his hands clench into fists at his sides.
"I said shut up," he snarls, taking a step toward me. “I’m fucking sick of hearing about this?—”
"What kind of man does that?" I press on, my heart pounding so hard I can barely hear myself think. "What kind of coward hides behind his own family? At least my husband is honest about what he is. He's a killer, but he owns it. He doesn't pretendto be something he's not. He doesn't hide behind women and children like a pathetic piece of shit, like a coward who can’t stand on his own two feet. I bet your wife wishes you had died. I bet she’d love to be able to find someone else who can act like a real man, who?—"
Brennan hits me.
Not a slap this time, but a full punch, his fist connecting with my cheekbone with enough force to snap my head back and send the chair tipping sideways. I crash to the concrete floor, the impact driving the air from my lungs, and for a moment the world goes white with pain.
But through the ringing in my ears, I hear the sudden rattle of gunfire, the sound of shouting. The room erupts in chaos, and that’s all Sean needed. I’m sure of it.
I force my eyes open, blinking through tears and blood, and see Sean. He's a deadly blur, his gun cracking as he takes down one of Brennan's men, then another. Flynn is moving too, covering Sean's flank, and suddenly the warehouse is full of muzzle flashes and the deafening crack of gunshots echoing off concrete and metal.
Someone grabs my arm, hauling me and the chair upright, and I find myself staring into Brennan's furious face.
"You stupid bitch," he hisses, and there's a gun pressed against my temple. "You think you're clever? You think?—"
I don't think. I just react.
Sean didn’t have time to teach me much, but I paid attention. He taught me that when someone has a gun to your head, they're too close, and being too close means they're vulnerable. I twist my head away from the barrel—not much, just enough—and drive my forehead into Brennan's nose as hard as I can.
There's a crunch and a spray of blood, and Brennan stumbles back with a howl of pain. The gun goes off, the shot going wild,and my ears ring. But I'm already throwing my weight sideways, using the momentum to tip the chair over again.
I hit the ground hard, but this time I'm ready for it. The zip ties are cutting into my wrists, but I can feel them loosening slightly with each impact. Around me, the warehouse is hell. Men are shooting, shouting, dying. I see one of Brennan's guys go down with a bullet in his throat, blood spraying in an arc that looks unreal in the fluorescent light. I see Flynn take cover behind a stack of pallets, returning fire as he curses in Gaelic. I see Sean moving like death itself, every shot finding its target. He’s a killer in action, and it should terrify me, but there’s nothing I want more than for him to take me out of here.
I see Brennan, blood streaming from his broken nose and his eyes wild with rage, coming straight for me.
"You're dead," he snarls, raising his gun. "You're fucking dead, you?—"
I wrench my hands apart with everything I have, feeling the zip ties finally give way. My wrists are raw and bleeding, but I'm free, and I roll away just as Brennan fires. The bullet sparks off the concrete where my head was a second ago.
He fires again, and I keep rolling, my body screaming in protest, until I hit something solid. A crate. I scramble behind it, gasping, my hands shaking so badly I can barely control them.
There's a gun on the ground three feet away. One of the dead men must have dropped it. It's so close, but it might as well be a mile because Brennan is between me and it. He's reloading, and I have maybe seconds before he comes around this crate and finishes what he started.
I hear Sean shout my name, his voice raw, but he's pinned down on the other side of the warehouse, and he can't get to me.
I have to do this myself.
I take a breath. Another. I’m terrified, but I can’t let that stop me. I have to be strong.
Sean believes I am. But more than that… I thinkIbelieve it, too.
I burst from behind the crate, diving for the gun. Brennan sees me and swings his weapon toward me. I see his finger tighten on the trigger.
My hand closes around the grip of the fallen gun.
I roll onto my back, bringing the weapon up, and I fire.
The recoil nearly breaks my wrist. The sound is deafening. But I see Brennan jerk backward, blood blooming on his shoulder, and I see his gun clatter to the ground.
I didn't kill him. I'm not that good of a shot, and my hands are shaking too badly. But I hit him, and that's enough… because Sean fought free of the other side of the warehouse, and he’s there, on Brennan. There’s no hesitation or mercy in the way he grabs him. Just brutal violence, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything that brings me more relief.
Brennan tries to fight back, but he's wounded and off-balance, and Sean is a predator who’s finally gotten a hold of his prey.
The fight is over in seconds. Sean gets behind Brennan, one arm around his throat, and I see the exact moment Brennan realizes he's lost, the fear in his eyes as Sean leans in close and says something I can't hear.
