Revving the engine to life, I shot forward. The tires tore across the ground, gathering speed. I braced myself, hopped the curb, and flew the bike into the fire-drenched pub. Smoke belched out to greet me.
Kicking the stand, I shot to my feet and shoved the tables and chairs out of my way. Flames licked the walls, eager to consume their prey. The heat was intense. Angry and violent. I hunched in my jacket to protect as much skin as possible. Seconds passed, and the air grew toxic with burning chemicals. I didn’t have my bandana, not that it would do much good. So I held my breath, gaze searching.
He said he was going to the back.
“Liam!” I bellowed, using precious oxygen.
If he was dead, and I burnt because of him, I was going to beat his ass in hell.
Something twitched in front of the door to the kitchen.
Past that swinging door, a second fire raged. This one was more vicious than the one plaguing the front of the pub. The fuckers had bombed the back. We had to leave before the gas line caught, and this whole block blew to smithereens.
I stooped and threw his limp arm around my shoulder. “I don’t want to ever hear the story about how your great-grand pappy saved Paul Revere again. Got it?”
Liam’s eyes fluttered.
Merda.The jolly wee giant was crispy. Half his suit was signed, and blood leaked from blackened flesh along his arm and neck, while that pretty face was half mottled with char. The right side of his body was a mess.
Coughing hard, I hefted him over my shoulder and returned to my bike. He weighed a fuck ton, so I had to drape him over my lap. Tapping the stand with my heel, I shot the back tire around and sped from the carnage.
Back on the street, I gulped down grateful breaths of air.
Only to freeze in the middle of the road as blue and red lights danced in the dark.
Dread turned my stomach to stone. Ice flooded my veins, and a violent shiver rattled down my spine. Air filled my lungs in a short burst as the instinct to fight flipped to the desire to flee.
There were precious few things that gave me pause in life. But the uniform checking the pulse of the two lifeless bodies was one of them. I debated dumping the Irishman on the pavement and speeding away. I saved his life; that was good enough.
But if the cops detained him….
“Hey! Is that Paddy’s boy?” The cop straightened and pointed a flashlight at me.
Cazzo, he likely had a camera on his vest that would snag my face. Once it ran through the system, there was no hiding from a warrant.
“He alive?” the cop shouted.
“He is.” I tensed as he rushed over.
“Feckin’ hell, this was the Black Stag Clan, wasn’t it?” the cop spat, stopping beside me and reaching out to lay two fingers on Liam’s throat. “I told Padraig they were stirring. I was supposed to meet Liam to show him some intel, and now this!”
I studied the cleanshaven face. A dirty cop. What were the odds?
Still, I didn’t relax until I scanned the cop’s uniform. There was no vest. No camera. His car was pointed away from the burning pub, which was another stroke of fortune in my favor.
“I’ve got to call this in.” The cop looked me over. “Ya hurt?”
“No.”
“Then ya’d best git out of here. We’ll handle it.”
Together, we lowered Liam to the ground. He groaned but otherwise showed no signs of life. From the interior of the cab, words crackled over the radio.
“Cac! The firetruck’s on its way.” The cop made a shooing sign with his hands. “Go,go!”
I didn’t need to hear it twice. The roar of the bike’s engine was a prayer, sent high to the heavens. No cuffs bound my wrists. No bars blocked my movements. I was still free.
***
