“Or what?” Donovan spreads his hands. “You'll kill me, right? Start a war with the fucking Boston Irish? You can't win. You're in no position to make demands, Cavin.”
“Brothers,” Cavin says quietly, never taking his eyes off Donovan. “Get her to safety. They need to know what's happening. All of it.”
Declan and Seamus move immediately, weapons drawn. But Donovan’s not alone. I didn't notice them before, his men in the shadows.
“I don't think so,” Donovan says.
Suddenly, there are guns everywhere, armed men I don’t recognize.
“Get her the fuck out,” Cavin orders. “Now!”
Two of Cavin's men break away, moving toward me. Donovan nods to his own men, and they shift to intercept. The warehouse is a powder keg, ready to explode.
“We'll have to take Erin. Insurance, you understand.”
“Over my dead fuckin’ body,” Cavin snarls.
“That can be arranged.” Donovan pulls his gun and aims it directly at Cavin's head. “You're concussed. Barely standing. You really want to do this now?”
“Try me, you treacherous cunt.”
Everything happens at once.
Cavin moves impossibly fast for someone who should be barely conscious, launching himself at Donovan. The gun is knocked away,and the two of them crash to the floor. The phone falls to the floor. Somewhere in the house, gunfire barks.
“Cavin!” I scream, while the room erupts into chaos. Gunfire. Shouting. Bodies moving in the darkness.
Two men reaching for me go down hard, bullets in them before they can touch me.Ciarán. Another comes from the side. Declan handles him with brutal efficiency, knifework that makes me turn away.
But I can't look away from Cavin and Donovan.
They're animals, tearing into each other with a viciousness that makes my stomach turn. Cavin's clearly hurt—every movement looks like it costs him, but he fights like a man possessed. Fists, elbows, teeth.
I scream and try to get out of my bonds, but the harder I pull, the more I bleed.
Donovan gets on top, grappling for dominance. He rains blows on Cavin's face. I wince. My god, his concussion?—
“You should have fucking stayed down!” he screams. “You should have paid your dues!”
Cavin catches his wrists and twists, and I hear something snap. Donovan howls, and Cavin uses the momentum to reverse their positions, slamming Donovan’s head against the hardwood. Once. Twice. Three times.
I wince and scream.
Around us, the fight is turning. The McCarthys are outnumbered, but they're better trained, more vicious. Ashland takes down two men with his fists. Seamus is methodical, brutal—one bullet for each target. Declan moves like a dancer, all deadly grace and precise violence. I swear to fuck, I hear him laugh.
“Erin.”
Seamus is suddenly there, cutting through my zip ties with his knife. My wrists scream as blood rushes back into my hands.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes. What about Cavin?”
“He's got it. Come with me.”
But I can't move, can't look away as Cavin wraps his hands around Donovan’s throat and squeezes.
Donovan’s face turns purple, his hands scrambling.
