Keeping my head low, I attack on a run.
I punch one asshole in the face and finish him off with a bullet in the mouth the moment he hits the ground. Then I aim at the yellow-toothed leader. He feints to the side, but my bullet still manages to catch him in the arm.
The bold cockiness with which they’d exited their vehicle has all but evaporated now.
But that’s the thing about panic—it can transform into desperation.
And desperate men have nothing to lose.
Yellow Teeth seems to realize as much, because he grabs the gun right out of his dead buddy’s hand and starts firing like a madman.
I’m forced to take the defensive as I try to duck for cover.
But there’s nowhere to hide. And his men are covering his back, so my soldiers can’t shoot the fucker down.
Guess I’ll just have to go right at them, then.
I manage to take aim, but before I can pull the trigger, I hear the screech of tires.
Backup, without a doubt.
But is it theirs or ours?
Apparently, Yellow Teeth hasn’t even noticed. He’s too busy shooting the place up. Fucker’s even got a second gun locked and loaded now.
He turns one gun on me. There’s even a cocky smile on his face. Like he thinks he’s won.
Then his men notice what I’ve already noticed and they scatter like the wind.
No one pulls their idiot leader to safety. No one even tries. They just abandon him completely and back away.
That’s the price you pay for a lack of loyalty.
Yellow Teeth hears the approaching car at the last possible second. I see his expression cave in the instant he realizes he’s a dead man.
Then the car crashes right into him and his slack body vaults over the nose of the vehicle. The impact sends him spinning in the air like a ragdoll, blood pinwheeling outward in all directions.
Rhys and the others hesitate only for a moment.
Then they run around the car in an attempt to stop the remaining Kinahans from fleeing. I hear the sporadic shots as each Kinahan life is ruthlessly snuffed out.
But I stay put.
Not because I expect my men to deal with the Kinahan alone. But because of the person sitting in the front seat of the car, holding the steering wheel as though her life depends on it.
She turns her face to me slowly, and even from my distance, I can see that she’s shivering.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Saoirse,” I breathe.
I run to the car and pull the door open.
She’s shaking uncontrollably. Before I can stop her, she turns around and sees the dead man on the hood of the car.
His neck is broken, twisted in the opposite direction to the rest of his body.
“Oh, God,” she stammers. “Oh, God, I killed him…”
“Saoirse,” I say again, cupping her face and forcing her to look at me instead. “Breathe.”
“I had… I had to, Cillian,” she continues, staring at me with glassy eyes. “I had to kill him before he killed you.”
“I know. I know,” I reply. “I’m okay now. You’re okay, too.”
She nods slowly. Then her eyes flutter and she loses consciousness in my arms.