I try to navigate through the crowd of screaming guests.
She allows me to pull her behind me. “Was someone shot?”
I don’t reply.
The lingering taste of champagne in my mouth is like acid as I try not to look at the scene in the center of the room, where Ronan Sullivan is crouched over his father as blood soaks into the carpet, his roars of fury sending the room into chaos.
It’s no coincidence that a shot was fired in a room full of the most powerful people in the city. Someone was clearly trying to send a message to the Sullivans, but I have no idea who or why, and I’m not willing to wait around to find out.
“We need to get out of here,” I tighten my grip on Mila’shand as we get sucked into the bottleneck of guests trying to leave.
People press against my back, forcing us forward until we reach the street outside the Vue.
The air is bitterly cold as it hits my face, but it’s welcome after being inside the stuffy ballroom.
Sirens wail in the distance, but I don’t plan to hang around to find out what happens to Seamus. Any one of these guests could have been the culprit, and who’s to say I won’t be next?
“Let’s go.” I drag Mila away from the crowd, my body moving on instinct.
Her heels scrape against the concrete as we make our way down the street. “What the hell just happened? Was that...was that really a fuckinggunshot?”
“Yes.” I furiously scan the street, looking for a cab with its light on, but it seems as if every other person has the same idea as me. “Fuck. All these rich people and half of them don’t bring a car?”
We’re just going to have to keep going on foot.
“Ciara, slow down!” Mila struggles to keep up with me, but I only speed up as the sound of that gunshot plays on repeat in my mind like a broken record.
One moment, I was throwing verbal daggers at Ronan Sullivan, and the next, his father was on the floor with a bullet in his skull.
No warning.
No second chances.
I swallow a sob as my vision starts to blur.
I knew I should never have gone to that party, and I can’t help but view this entire night as some kind of bad omen.
The shot might have been fired at the Sullivans, but it serves as a message to all of us.
No one is safe.
Mila finally catches up to me. “Did you see who it was?”
“Yes,” I choke as the entire scene plays out in my mind.
“Who was it?”
“Seamus Sullivan.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish I was.”
I finally spot a cab down the street. I throw my arm into the air and start furiously waving to try and get the driver’s attention.
“Do you think he’ll make it?”
“He was shot in the head, so I doubt it.”
