You figure out ways to communicate without being overheard.
I can tell from Sean’s stance that he’s not going to walk away from this and just leave Brody to it.
Maybe if it was only Padraig, he would. That man has dug his own grave.
But Saoirse is what Sean considers an innocent bystander.
And like I said before, the lad has a major hero complex. Thinks he’s a knight in shining armor.
So all it takes is one nod, and both Sean and I have our guns out and raised at the Kinahan scum.
“That’s enough,” Sean snarls.
He’s got his sights set on Brody. I’ve got a gun in each hand, one for each of the Kinahan soldiers providing backup.
Brody frowns. “You don’t want to do this.”
Sean is unfazed. “Wanna fucking bet?”
The Murtagh fucker knows he’s cornered. He’s got all the manic, twitching energy of a rat with his back against the wall.
Which is why he darts to the side, knocks Padraig to the ground, and grabs hold of Saoirse.
She gasps as he tightens a chokehold around her neck, yanking her in front of him.
“Motherfucker!” I bellow, turning my guns on him.
It’s a stupid move.
But rage takes precedence over logic for a moment.
And that’s when it all crumbles in my hands.
The moment I change my focus, the Kinahan stooges unleash their guns.
“Cillian!” Sean roars out a warning. I duck as the sound of gunshots screams through the air.
There isn’t much in the way of coverage, so I’m forced to go on the offensive immediately after rolling out of my crouched position.
I fire back at the two Kinahan soldiers. I manage to hit one in the arm.
He stumbles back with a pained groan as blood spurts out. That gives me the opportunity to shoot him a second time. This one catches him in the leg.
The remaining Kinahan man makes a move for Sean, but my brother’s too fast and too experienced.
He avoids the first bullet and drops low enough to land a punch in the stooge’s stomach. As he stumbles back, Sean straightens up and punches him in the face before kicking the bastard’s gun away.
I move towards Brody, who’s having a hard time keeping the thrashing Saoirse still.
The redheaded spitfire is writhing and struggling in his arms.
She’s actually giving him a real fight.
“Hold still, you little bitch!”
She elbows him in the stomach.
“Don’t,” she snarls, “call me,” with another elbow punch to the gut, “that!”