But my voice is lost in the sudden surge of noise. This isn't right. This isn't how it works. There are rules, even here in this world of blood and broken bones—there are fuckingrules.
The big man crashes into Cavin from behind. Mackey just stands there, stunned and useless. Cavin staggers forward, caught completely off guard, and the young, stupid Cork kid, out of desperation, sees his chance and lunges.
“Cavin!” I scream. “No!”
The word rips out of me, but it's drowned in the sudden roar of the crowd—half of them screaming in outrage, the other half howling in savage glee.
He spins and gets an elbow into the man’s face. Blood sprays across the canvas, and I can see Cavin knows something's wrong. For a second, I think he's survived things that would kill normal men… but he's not a bloodyimmortal.
The big man's boot catches him in the kidney.
Cavin's face goes white, and his body seizes. And then he's falling, crumpling to his knees.
And my whole world collapses.
“Cavin!”
I'm screaming his name now, proper screaming, and I don't care who hears. Don't care that I'm supposed to be calm and collected.
“Ciarán! Do something!”
He's moving, trying to shove through the crowd, but it's too thick. I reach for my phone, my hands trembling, and text every bloody one of his cousins and brother:
Get to the ring NOW! It's an ambush.
They're pushing in from all sides now—some trying to get away, others pushing closer to see. We're stuck in a crush of flesh and sweat and rage.
I grab Ciarán's arm. “Move! We have to?—”
The big man pulls something from his jacket, and time slows. I see the pipe before it's fully out. It’s metal and heavy, the kind that could cave in a skull, that could kill a man with one good hit. My knees buckle.
Cavin's on his knees, shaking his head like he's trying to clear it. The Cork kid stares and finally forgets his fight.
“McCarthy!” he yells. “Watch out!”
“No! No! Cavin!” I'm screaming. It's a prayer. A plea. It's useless.
Because the pipe is rising. Because Cavin's not getting up fastenough. Because I'm too far away and there are too many bodies between us.
The pipe comes down… and hits him.
The sound is wet and hollow and terrible, a sound I'll hear in my nightmares for the rest of my fucking life.
And Cavin goes limp. Just stops. Collapses boneless onto the canvas. Blood starts immediately, dark and wet, pooling beneath his head.
Everything in me stops. The crowd is screaming, wild.
My heart. My breath.My world.
The man moves, raising the pipe again.
I'm not thinking. I have to do something.
My hand closes around the grip of Ciarán's gun. He's still focused on the ring, trying to shove through, and his holster isn't secured properly. Thank fucking god.
The weight of the gun surprises me. It's heavier than it looks. For a split second, I think I can't.
I fucking have to.
