“Two dozen.”
“Will that be enough?”
He doesn’t have to answer. I can tell from the look in his eyes that it won’t be.
“I’ve spoken to my lieutenants across the country,” he says. “We’re being attacked on all sides. Our men are spread thin. They’re trying to hold down our defensive positions for now. So two dozen… Well, we’ll just have to make do.”
He says it casually, like he’s a dinner party host trying to feed ten people with enough food for five. As opposed to what he really is: a man with his back against the wall and every enemy he’s ever met coming hungry for blood.
I decide it’s better if I don’t point that out.
“Any news on the Kinahans?” I ask.
“There’s been movement,” Cillian says. “It seems they’re preparing to head somewhere soon.”
“Here?”
“That’s the logical assumption.”
“How long until they arrive?” I ask.
“Twenty-four hours at the latest,” answers Cillian. “Twelve hours at the earliest.”
“So we prepare for the earliest.”
His eyes snap to mine. “There is no ‘we’ here, Saoirse,” he says coldly. “There’s me. There’s Kian. There’s the clan. But mostly, there’s just me.”
I frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He sighs, sets down the latest gun in his hand, and turns to face me fully. “It means that you need to leave while you still can.”
“No.”
His eyes flash dangerously. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I retort, clenching my teeth. “I’m not leaving. You need me.”
Cillian fixes me with a glare cold enough to send shivers racing down my spine. “Saoirse…”
“You just said it yourself: you don’t have the men. You don’t have time to wait. The Kinahans are coming. Every man counts.”
“You are not a man.”
“And thank God for that,” I snap. “I’m way more useful.”
I can tell he wants to laugh, but he manages to hold back. “Do you even know how to fire a gun?”
“Point and shoot.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“I can learn.”
“In twelve hours?”
“I’m a fast learner.”
“Saoirse,” Cillian growls, running a frustrated hand through his hair, “I’m not risking you in a fight that has nothing to do with you.”