Marius Albescu steps out from behind his men, ordering Tiggy to his side. I ignore the back and forth. Talking doesn’t hold water for me. My eyes assess the situation in front of me.
Five Romanians, and Albescu. More than a match for us. None have automatic weapons. That’s a rookie move. Pump-action shotguns, revolvers, and one semi-automatic.
They’re not going to be a match for the AK-47s Liam and Ronan are holding, and Connor is a crack shot. He has his Glock trained on the face of the man closest to Albescu. A man who won’t live two seconds after any firing breaks out.
My gun locks on one of the men, my eyes sliding around the room. There are some metal barrels and at least one stacked pallet of wood. Ronan catches my eye, his gaze sliding to the pallet, and he gives the tiniest nod, signaling to Liam.
Seamus and Tiggy are standing beside a rusted metal crate, so they’re fine. Seamus will have her down and shielded within seconds. Connor, likewise, is standing beside an old steel drum. The lad isn’t a dunce. He’ll be fine. Paddy is a worry. He’s in the middle of nowhere, and his eyes –burning with hatred – are locked on Marius Albescu’s face.
If all hell breaks loose, I estimate I can get one shot off before diving three feet for cover behind a stack of metal barrels.
The signal I’m waiting for comes when Albescu snatches a gun from the man beside him – not the one Connor is gunning for – and fires, pointing at Seamus.
Gunfire erupts. I get my shot off, diving to the left. Everyone takes cover. I fire indiscriminately above the barrels, my eyes taking stock of our situation.
Ronan and Liam are fine, covered by the pallet, spraying bullets across the room. Connor is crouched behind his steel drum, peeking through a gap, taking careful aim and firing, an answering thud meaning he hit his intended target easily.
Paddy is using the confusion to sneak across the room –God fucking knows what the lad is thinking –and my eyes lock on the rusted metal crate.
Seamus isn’t firing. His gun lies on the dusty floor beside him as he frantically tries to stem a bullet wound in Tiggy’s torso. Shoulder, from what I can see from here. Jesus fuck. I need to get to them.
There are fewer volleys answering Liam, Ronan, and Connor’s salvos, so I quickly peek from my hiding spot.
“Enough!” The roar cuts through the sound of firing weapons, and all the guns cut out.
Jesus fuck. Albescu stands between us and the door, holding Paddy by the neck, the pistol he shot his daughter with pressed against Paddy’s temple.
Seamus slowly stands, his hands covered in his wife’s blood, his eyes locked on the gun barrel pressed to his best mate’s head.
“Guns down, lads.”
There is a clatter as Ronan and Liam obey immediately. I throw my semi-automatic down as well. I don’t need it. I edge ever closer to Tiggy and Seamus. Only Connor keeps his gun up, pointed at Albescu’s face.
“Lucky!” Seamus snaps. “Drop the fecking thing, now!”
He lowers it slowly, mutiny across his face, his eyes glued to Paddy’s head. That’s his best mate too. Albescu’s eyes dart to me.
“Niall. Don’t move,” Seamus snaps. I freeze, my fingers flexing. I’m so close to Tiggy. Less than a yard away. My eyes drop to her. She’s panting, gritting her teeth, her hand pressed against the bleeding wound. Her eyes are alert, and I relax. She’ll be okay. Seamus just needs to sort this shite right quick.
“Let him go, Albescu, and ye can walk out of here, right now. Ye can walk out of the city. We’ll not touch ye,” Seamus bargains.
“Feck that,” Paddy spits, less than no self-preservation in his head. “I’ll fecking hunt ye down and gut ye.”
“Shut yer fecking trap, Paddy, ye eejit!”
“No. There’s only one way ye’re leaving this warehouse, Albescu, and that’s in a body bag.”
They continue in the same vein for some time, my eyes darting down to Tiggy intermittently. No one else is paying her any attention –which is a mistake.
The fingers of her left hand close around the barrel of Seamus’s gun, lying innocuously near his foot. Gritting her teeth, she sits up, the gun in her lap.
Her hand wavers the smallest amount as she aims the gun at her father and Paddy. Jesus fuck. The lass is as like to hit Paddy as she is her father.
My hand reaches out, my mouth opening to tell her to drop the fucking gun when a shot rings out. Albescu falls, missing a fucking eye. I take an involuntary step toward Paddy, but he doesn’t have a scratch on him. God has clearly bestowed a blessing today.
Ignoring their chatter, I close the distance between myself and Tiggy, crouching and stripping off my shirt, using it to bind Tiggy’s shoulder.
“Through and through,” I grunt to Paddy as he kneels beside me, reaching for Tiggy and helping me staunch the wound. I guess I found out what it would take for the lad to mellow toward her.