My stomach settles into something cold and steady. Not panic, recognition.
Finn leans forward slightly, voice low, lethal calm. “Out of the car. Now.”
The driver doesn’t argue. He reaches for the door handle and the rear window explodes inward. Glass sprays across the seat in a glittering arc, sharp and beautiful and deadly. I duck on instinct, body folding, heart kicking once hard and then locking into rhythm.
Finn is already moving, shoving the door open, dragging me with him as the driver stumbles out the front, swearing, blood streaking his cheek. The street is suddenly full of sound—engines revving, boots hitting pavement, shouted commands that aren’t meant to be followed.
We spill onto the road. Cold air hits my face, broken glass crunches under my shoes, streetlight glare washing everything pale and unreal. Finn hauls me behind the open door, body shielding mine without hesitation, his voice in my ear.
The second gunshot cracks the night open and then all hell breaks loose. The first man comes around the back of the car wrong. Too loud, too eager. Finn fires once, clean and precise, the crack of the gun sharp enough to split the air. The man drops before he finishes lifting his weapon. No drama, no warning. Finn doesn’t look at him again.
I don’t wait for instructions. I slip out from behind the door, heels useless, balance perfect anyway. I always preferred close quarters. The kind of distance where you can smell a man’sbreath, feel his pulse jump under your thumb. The knife slides into my palm like it’s been waiting there all along.
Another attacker lunges for Finn’s flank and I move. I don’t think, I don’t hesitate, I don’t scream. I catch him by the collar, twist, and drive the blade up under his ribs. He chokes, eyes wide with surprise, hands clawing uselessly at my wrist.
I lean in, close enough to whisper. “Too slow.” Then I rip it free and let him fall.
Gunfire erupts around us—controlled bursts, not panic. O’Callaghan men pouring in from both ends of the street, black SUVs screeching to a halt, doors flying open. Malloy men answer from the opposite side, familiar faces, familiar violence. The sound of my world snapping perfectly into place.
Finn moves like a goddamn force of nature. He doesn’t spray bullets, heplacesthem. Each shot deliberate, each kill earned. He reloads without looking, steps forward over bodies like they’re nothing more than obstacles in his path.
Someone grabs me from behind… big mistake. I slam my heel down hard on his foot, twist out of his grip, and slash across his forearm. He howls and I don’t wait for him to recover. I step in and bury the knife high in his chest, feel the resistance, the give, the heat.
Blood slicks my fingers.Good.
Another man charges me, feral, desperate. I duck under his swing and slice his throat in one smooth motion. Clean and efficient. He drops like a puppet with its strings cut.
I hear Finn shout my name—sharp, furious. I look up just in time to see him take down two men in rapid succession, pivoting toward me, eyes wild, protective rage written into every line of his body.
“Behind you!”
I spin, throw the knife without thinking. It sinks hilt-deep into a man’s neck, he collapses. Silence crashes down in jagged pieces. Sirens wail somewhere far off, engines idle, men groan, others don’t move at all. I stand there breathing hard, knife gone, hands shaking now that the danger’s passed. Blood coats my fingers, my wrists, the hem of my dress. My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
Finn’s in front of me instantly. Both hands on my face. Firm. Grounding. His thumbs smear blood along my jaw, but his touch is gentle in a way that almost undoes me.
“Easy, love,” he murmurs, voice low, steady, cutting through the noise. “Yer safe. I’ve got you.”
I hate how fast my breathing evens out. I hate how the world steadies when he holds me like this.
My hands curl into his jacket, traitorous. I swallow hard, jaw tight, eyes burning. “I don’t need you,” I snap, even as my knees threaten to give out.
Finn leans his forehead against mine, breath warm, dangerous smile ghosting across his mouth. “Aye,” he says softly. “That’s the problem.”
“Finn! Get her thefuckoutta here!”
My Da’s voice tears through the street, raw and unravelling, and I finally turn toward it.
He’s standing half behind a car door, suit ruined, face slick with sweat and someone else’s blood. His eyes are on me like he’s seeing a ghost. Like he’s just remembered what he raised.Too late.I lift my chin, knife still warm in my hand.
“Bit late for concern, isn’t it?” I call back, loud enough for everyone to hear. “This how peace talks usually go for ye, Da, or am I just special?”
Another man rushes me from the side. I don’t even look.
I step back, catch his wrist, twist until something pops, and shove the blade into his stomach. He wheezes, folding over, hands shaking as he slides off me.
I lean close, mouth at his ear. “Should’ve stayed home.” I let him drop.
“Jesus Christ,” my da shouts, horror and fury tangling together. “Róisín! Enough! Finn—get her out of herenow!”
