I watch in breathless silence as Ronan bashes Eddie’s face several more times on the concrete until it’s splattered with Eddie’s blood and his body’s going limp.
A couple months ago, before I ever married Ronan Callahan, I would’ve been disturbed by what I’m witnessing.
So much has changed.
Rather than fill me up with disgust, I’m appreciative. I’m endeared by what my husband’s done as he beats Eddie to death and then spits on his bloody corpse.
His vivid green eyes flick up and meet mine, the look on his face pure barbaric rage. My heart flutters in answer as I scramble up and rush toward him.
“You alright?” he asks, hooking an arm around my waist. I nod fervently as he holds me close and pulls out his pistol again. “C’mon, we’ve got to get you out of here.”
The battle is winding down.
The Albanians are outnumbered and overwhelmed. The Callahans have come in with too many men, along with what I suspect is the Bratva. Most of Dren’s men have fallen or surrendered.
It’s as we’re making our way toward the blown-in garage doors that Ronan sees his opportunity to take out Dren.
The Albanian boss has dragged himself behind a cluster of crates near the back, leaving a thick trail of blood in his wake. He’s been hit multiple times, but he’s still alive. Still conscious as he watches his empire crumble around him.
“Stay here.”
“Ronan—”
“I said stay here!”
He leaves my side, striding toward his nemesis with his coat billowing and his pistol in his grip.
Dren looks up as Ronan stops in front of him. Instead of begging for his life or haggling for a deal, his lips pull into a smirk.
“Ronan,” he rasps. “Come to finish the job?”
“This is for my brother,” Ronan says, aiming his gun at Dren’s head.
Dren wheezes out a laugh. “Your brother? You’re still so clueless. You have no idea what’s really going on. What’s been happening right under your nose this whole time.”
“Shut the fuck up and burn in hell.”
Ronan pulls the trigger, and Dren’s head snaps back from the force of the bullet. He falls backward to the ground like many of his men. Dead at the Callahans’ hands.
I release a breath it feels like I’ve been holding in since Eddie first took me hostage.
Finally… it’s over.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Ronan
Callahan House has been transformedinto a goddamn field hospital.
The den is packed with wounded men sprawled across couches, chairs, and the floor itself. Blood-soaked towels pile up in corners and stink up the room with smells of metallic funk and dry sweat, creating its own unique stench that would probably make most people gag.
But this isn’t most people. These are Callahan soldiers, hardened buttonmen who’ve seen worse and lived to tell about it.
Dr. Hino moves from guy to guy silently but proficiently, more than prepared to handle the situation. He’s cleaned up our messes enough times, and this won’t be the last.
His small frame weaves between the wounded, glasses low on his nose and hands steady as he stitches flesh.
He doesn’t ask questions or offer comfort. He’s here only to do the work and then move onto the next body.
