Cillian
I was so close.
So fucking close.
Two minutes ago, I had Tristan Rearden on the ground with my gun in his face. Seconds away from ending the miserable bastard’s life the way he deserved—dying in the dirt like a worm.
But the sound of tires halted me in my tracks.
And everything after that happened so fast.
The trucks came rolling in. Gunfire forcing my men and me back against the courtyard wall.
The outpouring of Kinahan soldiers from within the vehicles. Line after line of them.
Whatever slim advantage we might’ve had vanished in an instant.
We’re impossibly outnumbered now. Hemmed in with nowhere to run and no chance at blasting our way out of here.
Tristan looks smug as he clambers to his feet and lumbers backwards. Blood, spit, and sweat drip from his busted lips and broken nose. The ranks of newly arriving soldiers swallow him up.
I growl and tighten my grip on my gun. He’s starting to realize that he severely underestimated me.
Honestly, I’d be insulted if I weren’t so amused.
He must have thought his bulkier form was an advantage. But not the way I fight. Not the way I move.
I step back slowly, keeping my shoulders squared to the horde of Kinahans. My men flank me on either side. They have no fear—they’ve been trained better than that.
But I’m sure they know that things don’t look good.
I wait for someone to step forward and say something—Tristan or whichever asshole is leading this merry band of fuckers.
Fifty or more guns stare right at us.
No one says a word, though.
Dread settles over me. Not for myself.
For my men.
For Kian.
For Saoirse.
“Doesn’t look good, don,” one of the men says from behind me.
“I won’t blame any of you for surrendering or leaving,” I announce. I’m not going to ask them to fight a battle I know we can’t win.
“Come on, boss. No one’s going anywhere.”
I look around at my men and I actually find myself smiling. “Today’s as good a day as any to die, eh?”
They nod, their answering smiles dark and resigned. Not a single man flinches.
This is why an O’Sullivan man is worth twenty of the bastards across from us. Because my men have always been brave and loyal to a fault.
Sure, there’ve been a couple of bad apples along the way. Like Rory, for example. A truth that still stings.