Suddenly, the rumbling purr of motorcycles sounded from outside the church. The engines roared louder and closer, making guests look at each other in confusion. It sounded like dozens of them were approaching.
Tiernan made a cutting motion with his hand, and the priest stopped talking. Silence fell over the church. The steady, quiet drip, drip of blood leaking from the baptism tub filled the air.
The church’s doors blasted open. Women shrieked, jumping from their seats and grabbing their children, stuffing them underneath the pews for shelter. The men unholstered their weapons, charging toward the doors.
Twisting in my seat, I watched as two men in balaclavas tossed hand flares into the church and ducked back outside. The flares hissed and exploded. Red smoke detonated, thick and suffocating, covering the entire room.
The rapid fire of semiautomatic weapons rang in the air. Smoke scorched my eyes and filled my lungs. Screaming and blood blanketed the nave.
Shit.
I darted up from my seat, peering around, desperate to find Tiernan and Lila. My main goal was to save my family. I’d worry about myself later.
A large figure stepped in front of me, their face veiled by the red smoke. It snatched my hair at the back of my skull in a punishing grip and pushed me chest-down onto the floor.
My pulse roared in my ears, and I immediately tried to thrash and fight. “What the f?—”
A designer boot slammed between my shoulder blades, tucking me so I was hidden under the pew safely. I coughed out smoke, fighting for my next breath. All I could see was the wingtip toe of the boots that hid me. They were spattered in fresh blood.
I was about to grab it and break his goddamn ankle when the figure crouched low and Achilles’s face peered down at me through the red fog.
Scarred.
Terrifying.
Achingly beautiful.
Gone was the long-limbed sad boy who had crawled through my bedroom window every night to keep my nightmares at bay. These days, Achilles Ferrante was a warrior forged from violence and mayhem. His face was marred with scars and burns, and the rest of him—from the jawline down—was covered in ink.
He gripped my jaw, tilting my face from side to side. “Hurt?”
I shook my head, unable to produce words as panic closed its invisible claws around my neck.
He yanked a second pistol from under his tailored blazer, placing it in my hand and curling my fingers over it. “Wait till I come for you, and don’t do anything stupid.”
I stared at him, furious and scared. I couldn’t believe any of this was happening: that he had murdered a man in a church,that we were under attack, and that there was a huge possibility some of my family members were dead.
“Goddamn it, Tierney. I want your word.”
My eyes darted around frantically. Where was Tiernan? Lila?
Little Nero?
“Your word.” Achilles grabbed my jaw, returning my attention back to him.
“I’ll wait for you,” I spat out. “Now get your filthy hands off me.”
He paused for a moment, drinking my face in like it was the last time. The world fell to the periphery of our existence, and we shared a single pulse.
He tucked a stray flyaway behind my ear like he used to do before everything between us went to shit. For a fraction of a second, we were us again.
I opened my mouth to tell him the truth before it was too late. Before one of us died.
I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. And none of it was true.
Nothing came out.
A loud pop pierced the air. The person behind him got shot in the head and fell to the floor beside me. Haunted, lifeless eyes stared back at mine. Achilles stood up and was gone in a flash.
