At this, the table explodes. Someone leaps from the table, his face a familiar one in the sea of strangers, but I can’t place him immediately. Cian’s arm tightens around me as he pushes us tostanding. The knife is back in his shaking hand, where he fists it dangerously close to my exposed throat.
Niall. It’s Niall. Mara’s fiancé. The one who’d been there watching the cameras. Except he’s tossing a knife in Aiden’s direction. In a flash, Aiden has slashed the bellies of the men restraining him. He leaps up, blood-splattered and chest heaving. But no one moves to confront him. The men nearest who aren’t twitching on the floor back away, chairs squealing against the floor.
“Is that really—really what you want to do, John?” Cian taunts. “I have your pretty wife by the throat. Don’t push me.”
“Boss?” one of the men asks, Aiden forgotten. “What’d you call him?”
Cian squeezes me tighter. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You called him John,” another says. “This is Aiden, his son.”
My eyes clash with Aiden’s for the first time since Cian pulled me into his lap. I don’t know how this is going to end, but I don’t want my last potential memory to be of Cian’s hands on me.
But his expression is so soft at first, I think maybe I’m imagining it. He’s never looked at me this way before and it’s disarming. I forget what’s going on for the briefest moment.
“Shut the fuck up, Michael. Don’t be an idiot. I killed John a long time ago, just like I’m going to do with his son once I’ve hadhiswife, too.”
“Let her go, and I’ll let you live,” Aiden says without breaking eye contact with me. I want to tell him he doesn’t have to say that, but the edge of the blade presses more insistently against my throat. So close, I can’t even swallow for fear of it slicing through the delicate skin.
“The only reason you’re still alive is because I allow it.” Cian goes to shout again, his body tensing with the effort, but then his hand spasms and the knife slices into my throat before it falls tothe floor. I cry out in pain, but he quickly wraps his arms around me in a viselike grip. “Ah-ah, you’re not going anywhere.”
“Cian, you have less than a minute to come to your fuckin’ senses before I rip out your heart with my bare hands for touchingmy wife.”
Niall pushes his way through the masses, passing another gun to Aiden. He has several others at his back, guns raised. Between one blink and the next, there’s a line of weapons on one side of the table and one on the other. Elizabeth and Devin cower at the far end, faces white. The bodies of the two who Aiden has already stabbed are quivering puddles at his feet. A trail of blood from a small cut on Aiden’s eyebrow streaks down his nose and coats his lips. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t bother wiping it away.
Spearing a glance toward the rest of the table, Aiden says, “Either you come for me now like men, or I’ll pick you off after. It’s your choice.”
No one moves.
“Go to hell.” Cian is pouring sweat behind me, and his whole body quakes. As Aiden steps closer, he sways and stumbles.
“Doesn’t look like it’ll be too hard, old man. Losing your touch?” Aiden jeers. “Maybe all those sins are finally catching up with you. Seems like you aren’t doing so hot. Afraid?”
“Of you?” He huffs a dry laugh but doesn’t sound as confident, now that Aiden is prowling closer, unrestrained.
Aiden’s eyes catch mine and then drop to his hands, which motion for me to get down. Instinct has me complying immediately, and I drop my body weight, catching Cian off guard. I fall on my ass and immediately scrabble away as Cian jerks in surprise, the movement sending him off balance and crashing into his chair until he’s slumped over the arm.
A line appears between Aiden’s brows as he takes in Cian’s sweating, unsteady form. Cian clutches at his chest, his breath coming out in unsteady pants.
After a moment of study, Aiden barks out a laugh. “No,” he says and twines his fist in Cian’s shirt. “You don’t get to go out like this after what you’ve done. You will suffer. Do you understand me?”
“What’s happenin’ to him?” one of them asks.
“Christ. Look at his face. Is he havin’ a fuckin’ heart attack?”
“I would, too, if I threatened O’Connor’s wife. Easier way to go out,” says a voice I don’t recognize.
Cian claws at Aiden’s hand in his shirt, gasping for air. “I can’t breathe.”
“Good, but I think we can do better than that.”
Aiden pulls a shaking Cian to his feet using only his handhold in the collar of his shirt, then shoves him back down over the table. Dishes rattle, and wineglasses spill over, staining the white tablecloth a deep crimson. Those still sitting shove to their feet and back away from the table. Aiden takes the knife Cian had used on his mother, the one he’d pressed to my throat.
Niall shouts, “Don’t you fucking dare,” at a man raising a gun to Aiden.
Cian’s eyes are rolling in the back of his head. With fear? Pain? He tries to focus on Aiden, but it’s clear he’s having trouble. Aiden slaps his cheeks until Cian’s eyes swing to finally meet his face.
“You’re going to watch, just like you’ve made me watch.” Aiden straightens and gestures to a slack-jawed pair next to him. “You two, why don’t you hold him down for me?”
