Page 64 of Wicked Ruin

“Text Cavin!” I scream, pressing the side button, but my voice comes out wrong—too high, shredded at the edges.

Lickety Split. Emergency. Come now.

“Bridget, move⁠—”

Then the shooting starts from across the street, and Declan's body is over mine, covering me completely, one arm curved around my head, his weight crushing and the only safe thing in the world right now.

I don't know if I've sent it. I don't know if I'm standing or crouching. The world has gone to noise and color and the smell of something I don't have a name for yet.

A black SUV screeches to a stop. Not Cavin—it's too fast, impossible—but McCarthy bodyguards pour out like they were already waiting, like they knew before I did that this was going to happen. Four of them. Six. The doors are still swinging open.

They didn't listen to me or Declan. Thank god they didn't listen to us.

“Weapons down!” one of them bellows, and then the shooting starts in earnest—not a single crack but a wall of sound, overlapping and incessant, the air itself turning violent. The men who came for us don't scatter. They return fire, methodical, like this is work. Like we're work and this is exactly what they wanted.

I'm under Declan's body, my face pressed to rough gravel. He's cursing and shooting, and I can't see a damn thing.

But the McCarthys are trained and relentless. The ground between them fills with glass and blood and the wreckage of a perfectly ordinary evening.

Then silence.

Declan is still on top of me. His body is a dead weight across mine, one arm still curved around my shoulders like he meant to pull me down and forgot to let go. The ice cream is everywhere, pink and white, melting against the pavement, already bleeding into something darker.

I know before I touch him.

“Declan.” My hand finds his shoulder and comes away wet. Crimson. The word arrives before the reality does, detached and clinical, and then the reality hits. “Declan, no. No, no⁠—”

I'm on my knees. I don't remember getting there.

“You're alright?” His voice is wrong—too steady, too careful, the voice of a man using the last of his control to sound like he has any. “Are you alright? Tell me you’re okay, Bridget.”

“Stop.” I press both hands flat against the wound, and he makes a sound I will never stop hearing. “Stop talking. You've been shot. You’ve been—” My voice breaks. I drag it back together by force. “Call an ambulance.” I look up at the nearest bodyguard—he's reloading, hands completely steady, and I want to scream at the steadiness of him. Don’t they know Declan’s been shot? Don’t they know my entire world has been fractured into pieces?

“Call a bloody ambulance! Now!” My bodyguard is already on his phone. He strips out of his shirt and crouches down beside me.

“Here,” he says. “Push it on his shoulder. Hold it down. He's bleeding heavily. They might've nicked a fuckin’ artery.”

“An artery—” I swallow down a sob and press the shirt down with both hands. “They came out of nowhere. They were waiting for us. They ambushed him, and they went after me for no reason. He tried to protect me.” A fresh wave of sobs breaks through.

“It's okay now.” Declan's hand finds my wrist. “You're going to be alright. Good job your guard didn't fuckin’ listen and stay back at the house.”

He's reassuring me, soothing me, even though I can tell he's in agony. His face is pale, and his hand trembles.

“Stay with me, Declan. Stay here. You're okay. You're right here.”

A car comes flying down the street and screeches to a halt. The men stand taller as Cavin slams the door, and sirens blare in the distance.

“Fucking weapons away. Leave us here. Back to the house, now!”

Cavin takes one look at Declan on the ground and at me, covered in blood, and his eyes go murderous.

“Bridget.” He crosses the pavement in three strides, and his men scatter before the police arrive. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” I manage to whisper.

“You're fuckin’ covered in blood.”

“I know. I know. It's not—it's not mine.” I press down harder on the wound. “We just came for ice cream. We just came, and then someone pushed me, and Declan told him to stop. It was a setup, Cavin. They were set up. They were watching us. They knew we were here.”