FALLON
It feltlike someone else was in control of my body as I drew my gun from the holster and pointed it at Thiago Reyes. I’d brought the Beretta Pico, but I wished I had a fucking cannon. Nothing was real, and everything was too bright and loud, the same as getting punched too many times in a row.
Both Sloan and Thiago seemed stunned, along with everyone else. Neither one moved. Fionn had been shot, and Daire had killed Fionn’s attacker nearly instantly, in a move that was more muscle memory than decision. The echo of a gunshot rang in my ears.
Fionn sobbed, a strange, strangled sound, and clawed at his chest.
With a deadly silence hanging over everything, Sloan whirled on Thiago and smashed his elbow into his face. Thethudrolled like thunder through the alley.
Thiago’s men shouted, a clash of Spanish and English that made all the words overlap and become noise. They caught their boss as he crashed backward, but the fight was forgotten as Sloan dropped to his knees beside Fionn. For a split second, despair slid across Sloan’s features, but then a stony mask took over.
“You’re going to be okay,” he murmured, then pressed a kiss to Fionn’s forehead.
“Uncle Sloan, it hurts,” Fionn wheezed out.
“We need an ambulance,” someone nearby shouted, and I couldn’t see who was talking, but they had an Irish accent, so I assumed it was one of our guys. I spotted a man with a phone pressed to his ear.
What should I be doing? I had no idea.
Rowen had a tight grip on my arm, holding me close, his gun in his other hand. He wasn’t looking at Sloan, though. He had his gaze focused on our enemies, and I tried to do the same thing, following his lead.
“Fuck, there are a lot of Cartel guys,” I said with a chuckle that had Rowen’s fingers tightening on me. “Didn’t seem like so many before, did it?”
One of the Cartel men noticed me with my gun out, and he dragged his from the holster at the small of his back under his jacket, but before he could point the muzzle at me, Rowen had fired his gun. The guy hit the ground, clutching his knee while he yelled some undoubtedly pissed off things in Spanish that I didn’t understand.
Figuring the jig was up, I shot, and the bullet caught Thiago on the arm as he was straightening and firming up his stance, or at least, blood welled up there. One of the men at Thiago’s back dropped to the ground. My stomach roiled. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that, but my finger had squeezed on the trigger and it was over now.
“Feck,” Rowen snarled as every man in the alley went for their weapons. Rowen dragged me backward through the side door into the bar with the strength of ten men, shooting as he went. Panic strangled me and I raised my gun, but I kept staring at the man on the ground I’d already put a bullet in.
He wasn’t moving.
Everyone else had opened fire and it was a fucking mess. The noise was deafening. People scrambled and tried to find cover wherever they could, but there wasn’t anyplace to hide. Sloan jerked forward and slapped a hand to his side, but Daire was already returning fire. Blood bloomed on his left thigh, but he didn’t go down. A few of our men, who had mostly been crowded behind Sloan, fell to the ground, but then the door swung shut and I lost sight of the chaos. Rowen dragged me a few feet away and pointed at me before he opened the door again and darted outside.
Inside, a frantic drumming of feet was an odd counterpoint to the blasting. People who weren’t part of the Company scrambled for the front door while yelling and screaming. The bartender flipped off the overhead lights to drive out anyone dumb or drunk enough to not get the hint to run.
“Fuck this!” I yelled and opened the door again. Noise assaulted my ears.
Sirens blared somewhere close by out in the street in front of the bar, and Rowen was on his knees near Fionn, but he didn’t look hurt. Men—ours and a few of the Reyes Cartel guys—were all over the ground, and I wasn’t sure, but I thought maybe twelve people total weren’t moving. There were guns scattered everywhere, either from the men who were down or people tossing empty weapons in the heat of the moment. The Company men who’d been guarding Sloan were already dragging some of the bodies toward the door of the bar, and I stepped aside to let them in. They would try to get our guys help or hide their corpses as best they could until the dead men could be passed off to family. I wasn’t sure what would happen to the Cartel members because no one had touched any of them.
“The hospital is nearby. It will take longer for the ambulance to get through traffic than for us to take him there,” Sloan said, staring wild eyed at Daire, who nodded. They bent and slipped their arms under Fionn, who groaned as he was lifted, but they didn’t stop, only hefted him. I would’ve helped them, but one of the Cartel men caught my attention. He shook all over, like maybe he was having a seizure. Blood stood out bright on his yellow jacket. He rolled onto his belly and shoved to his feet using one hand, teeth bared, then raced past Sloan and Daire along the alley toward the back side of the bar. The rest of his friends had already taken off or died.
A shout went up. My body tensed and I could barely breathe as I stepped out and aimed my gun at the man.
“No! I want him alive!” Sloan roared. “I want to know where the Cartel fucks are holed up! They all die! Bring me that man!”
Adrenaline careened through my veins as I ran, listening to those orders on autopilot the same way I did when Cillian barked at me to punch harder, kick higher, or suck his dick. My body wanted to listen. I moved as fast as I could through the dim alley.
“Feck it all, Fallon!” Rowen yelled, and the next thing I knew the sound of his feet thudding on the pavement was right behind me. It was a good thing he jogged with Vail occasionally, or I would’ve left him in the dust. The guy ahead of us hit the end of the alley and darted left, but with the yellow jacket he wore he would be easy to spot.
“Gun away, now!” Rowen said, and I slowed to listen to him before we left the alley.
We broke out onto the sidewalk, and the injured Cartel man slowed down ahead of us, holding his shoulder like it was going to fall off. Two women walking grumpy looking gray bulldogs gasped as I darted around them, and I had to dig in to catch up to the man, who wasn’t making this easy on us. My chest heaved and my legs got that good workout burn that I loved.
A blue-and-white police car cruised past us going the opposite direction, and the cop driving flipped on the lights. The Cartel man shot a panicky glance at the police car, then back at us before racing ahead.
“Run. Feck, just run,” Rowen barked behind me, and I listened to him. We passed a string of closed small businesses. When I glanced back, the police car hadn’t turned around to follow us, but I was jittery and not sure about this now. The last thing I needed was jailtime. Diabetics died in jail because no one paid attention to them or cared about medical stuff. It was one of the few fears I had about working for the Company. My stomach jerked and terror bit at the back of my throat that left me ashamed.
“What should we do?” I panted because I was finally getting winded.
