I realize that the moment they open fire, that’s exactly what they’ll be.
They’re armed with automatic weapons and emotionless expressions. They’re not interested in hand-to-hand combat.
Tristan had a point to prove.
He wanted to assert dominance. He wanted to beat Cillian. He wanted to force me back to him.
But these men? They’re not looking for a fight.
They’re here to exterminate.
I watch as Kian limps out to stand beside his brother. Despite his obvious injury, he cuts an impressive figure. Both of them do.
Cillian’s neck twitches to the side when Kian takes up his position. I can tell from the tense line of his spine that he’s not happy.
He glances back over his shoulder to the window I’m standing in front of.
It’s only for a moment, but I know he’s searching for me.
I also know that he hasn’t seen me. The angry hunch of his shoulders screams “frustration” when he turns back to the enemy.
I’m relieved that the Kinahan haven’t attacked yet. But I can’t help wondering why.
They’ve got Cillian and his men outnumbered. Why are they—
And then I get my answer.
The line of black-clad Kinahan soldiers parts slightly. A man emerges from between them.
It takes a moment for me to place him. He has a face I know I’ve seen before, but can’t immediately recognize.
The way he walks is odd. Like a robot trying to mimic human movement.
The eyes aren’t anything close to human, though—they’re fucking murderous. Devoid of anything but bloodlust and wrath.
And then it hits me.
There’s only one man who could nurse a grudge so deep that he’d rise from the dead to exact revenge for it.
“Brody Murtagh,” I breathe, feeling some of the life leave my body.
My fingers tighten around the gun. I’m not powerless here. My choices aren’t limited to running away or staying here and hiding.
I have one more choice.
I can fight.
I might die. Hell, I probably will. But if I can help Cillian live a few minutes longer, maybe I can count that as a victory.
The thought is macabre, but I feel a sense of peace now that I’ve made up my mind. It feels good to make a decision that’s completely my own.
And instinctively, I know it’s the right one.
I watch as they talk, but unlike with Tristan, I don’t care what they’re saying to one another.
It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
I crouch low against the windowsill so that only my forehead can be seen if someone looks really closely.