“Fuck off.” Fallon huffed. “I just want some fast cash. I got college coming up.”
Ilya chuckled, and I stopped pacing to lean against the SUV. Cillian came up beside me and touched my shoulder, and to my surprise Rowen was there, too, standing tall and offering support. This was fucked. We didn’t send newbies in like this, but we’d had no choice. Ilya already knew us.
I couldn’t imagine what Vail would do if we came home without Fallon.
There was a loud slam through the line, and I straightened when I heard an out-of-breath voice say, “There’s Killough men around the side of the building. He’s a rat.”
“Fuck,” Cillian cursed, fumbling inside his jacket to grab his gun.
I raced toward the warehouse. My legs hurt with how fast I was pumping them to get to Fallon, but there were already sounds through the line—grunts, yells, and Fallon’s familiar rumble of pain. There were thuds that sounded like fists on flesh, and I hoped it was him hitting the other guys. The terrifying echo of a gunshot and the sound of a body hitting the ground had my heart jerking to a stop in my chest, and I fuckingranas fast as I could.
By the time I found a window, kicked it in, and made my way through some unused, dark rooms, everything had gone to hell. Yelling drew me to a doorway filled with light, and when I burst through it, I had to wait a second for my eyes to adjust. Blood was splattered across the cement floor, and Fallon was on his back with men kicking him in the middle of a wide, echoing area near a nice wooden desk that seemed out of place. His insulin pump was at his side, somehow not ripped away from him, and to my relief, another man lay on the floor, a bullet wound in his head and his dead eyes staring off to nowhere.
The men stopped—five soon to be dead fucks, counting Ilya—when they realized someone else had come in, but I was already moving into action, yanking two throwing knives from inside my suit jacket to aim at Ilya’s men. One blade got a guy right in the chest, sending him to his back, while the other landed in a man’s eye.
Cillian and Rowen were right behind me, gunfire ringing throughout the empty factory as they shot up the fuckers. Ilya’s men had guns, but they weren’t prepared and didn’t get a shot off. Ilya, the coward, took off toward a red exit sign glowing in the distance, and Cillian was on his heels, chasing him.
With the threats taken out, I ran to Fallon, falling on my knees beside him. He groaned, holding his ribs.
“Fuck, my bones can’t catch a break.” He gave me a crimson smile.
I took in the damage. His mouth was soaked in blood, likely from the jagged line dissecting his bottom lip that was pumping out a constant flow, while his chest and legs had scrapes from where boots met skin. It didn’t take an expert to know he’d be bruised, but I worried about broken ribs; although, I was hoping they hadn’t had enough time to do any real damage. He was naked, and I shrugged off my coat and covered him with it, earning me an awkward smile as a thank-you.
I helped him to his feet, and he groaned in pain while he scrambled to keep hold of his insulin pump, bowing slightly. “Fuck, that hurts.” His gaze slid to the corpse on the floor and he froze. “I did that. I’m the reason he’s dead.”
I glanced that way as well. “The fucker deserved it.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple jumping in his throat, and when he continued to stare, I led him to his pile of clothes nearby. I kept the coat around him as he dressed, not willing to let any of the still-alive assholes see him naked any longer. When he had his clothes on and the pump hooked to his jeans, his gaze went straight back to the dead body.
“I’ve never killed anyone.” His voice was off, an eerie sound to it. “I’ve beaten them, never killed.”
“Come on. Let’s get you home.” I glanced at the men, but Rowen shook his head at me.
“We’ll deal with them. Mr. Killough’ll call in the reinforcements before the cops get here. Go, get Fallon home.” Rowen waved his hand at me impatiently, a knowing look in his eyes.
I thanked him with a nod. I was sure there would be plenty of these men for me to torture and kill later, Cillian would make sure of it. For now, I wanted to get Fallon to safety.
“I can stay,” Fallon said, staring up at me pleadingly. He wanted to prove himself so bad, and I knew that feeling. “I’m a Killough man, too. I’ve taken beatings before, I can handle it.”
“I’m sure you can, Mr. Maher, but you’ve done your duty for tonight.” Sloan Killough’s voice had me freezing, and I glanced toward the door where he entered with his team of soldiers. He smirked, haunting blue eyes bright and eager. He loved a good fight, always had. He stood in all black, with a wool trench coat over his suit, and his bleached blond hair with its brown roots contrasted nicely against his clothes. Beside him was his pet, Conall Morrissey, dressed in comfortable jeans and a tight black shirt. He had a leather jacket on, with his bright red collar attached to his neck.
“We were in the area, waiting to hear how it went tonight. Ardan informed us as soon as it went down,” Sloan said.
“It was date night.” Conall winked at Fallon.
Sloan hummed, and I had a feeling he wanted to deal with Ilya personally. Sometimes he got the urge for blood, and I understood that well. “Go home to Vail. I’ll send Rory to check you over.” Sloan moved in close and patted Fallon on the head like he was a child. “You did good.”
Fallon brightened up and grinned, leaning in closer to me. “Thank you, Boss.”
“The men are teaching you well. I have faith you’ll be a good Killough man. Now go.” Sloan gave us a nod before he swept into the room, probably to dole out his own brand of justice, which was a lot worse than ours. I felt sorry for Ilya if Cillian managed to catch him.
“If this is a whorehouse, where are they?” Conall asked.
“Upstairs, most likely,” Rowen answered. “Haven’t had a chance to look.”
“Let’s go home,” I grunted out, holding Fallon tighter as I led him toward the doors.
“Will you and Vail kiss my boo-boos when the doctor’s done?” he whispered with a sly smile. “I have a bruise on my dick, it might require your mouth.”
