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My eyes linger on her a tad longer than they should to ensure she’s okay, and I don’t see it until it’s too late. A black Audi pulls from a garage on our right and straight into our lane of traffic.
I slam on the brakes and crank the steering wheel to miss them, but we are going too fast, and they are too close. We crash into the driver’s side with such force it crumples the front end of my Aston Martin. The airbags before us deploy with a bang, but all I hear are the bullets piercing the frame of the car.
Firmly grabbing Layla, I force her against the console between our seats and smother her with my body to protect her from the shots being fired at us.
I’ll take all of them if I have to. For her, I’d take anything.
Even muffled beneath me, her shrill screams fill the small confines of the car, drowning out the ricochets. “I’ve got you, mo cuishle. I’ll fucking die if it means I can save you.” Squeezing her beneath me, I reassure her despite our situation.
The gunshots stop, and the silence is deafening. There is no hum of the bustling city street. The only sound is that of Layla’s shaky breaths.
“Shhhh,” I whisper against her as I reach my reach for the knife I keep stowed underneath my seat. Gripping it in my palm, I pull it into my lap and wait. “I need you to be still and stay quiet. No matter what, keep your head down and your eyes closed for me.”
My fingers flex around the handle of my blade and I listen to the crunch of glass as they approach until the crackle against the pavement is immediately behind me. Firmly fisting the blade, I push myself off Layla and shove my knife through my now missing window, straight into the gut of the man standing at my car door.
A single grunt has barely pushed from him by the time I’ve withdrawn the blade and created two additional holes in his abdomen. Blood pools across his shirt as I shove open the door, forcing him to stumble backward when it slams against him.
Scrambling from the car, I push to my feet as another man rushes toward me, trying to replace the clip in his gun. I lunge toward him, closing the distance between us before he can reload. With a violent swing of my arm, I slice through his throat so hard that I can feel thud of the blade scraping across the bone of his spine. His blood sprays across me, and he claws at his throat, futilely trying to close the wound as he crumples to the ground.
I turn, looking for the two remaining men, only to find myself in the bear grip of one of them. His friend throws a fist into my gut, and I heave as it knocks the wind from me. He drives another fist into me before glancing into the car. Upon seeing Layla, a devilish glint flicks in his eyes, and I immediately see red.
Throwing my head back, I break the nose of the man ensnaring me, and he loosens his grip long enough to allow me the opportunity to plunge my knife into his thigh. He screams when my blade tears through his femoral artery. Ensuring he’ll be dead in minutes.
I charge the final man, using my body to slam his into the side of the car. Using my knife to riddle him with holes, I rage, “You will all learn to stay the fuck away from her.”
Tires squealing to a stop pull my attention, and I spin on my heel, ready to take on another car full of them. But instead, I find Conor and Liam racing toward me.
“Layla. Get Layla,” I demand with a heavy breath before mumbling, “I don’t want her to see me like this.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
LAYLA
Doing exactly as Tristan instructed, I keep my face buried against the console between the front seats. The scuttle outside the car wills me to look, but I don’t disobey him.
I’m going to be a good girl for him.
Someone pulls at my car door, and shards of glass fall over me as it’s yanked open. Their hands touch my back, and I scream as I spin to fight them off.
Arms flailing, I hit him again and again as he drags me from my seat and scoops me into his arms and his chest. He holds me tightly as I continue to cry for help.
“It’s okay, beautiful.” He pulls me tighter and shields my face with his hand. “You’re safe.”
“Conor?” I exhale, slowly placing his voice. I fling my arms around his neck and cling to him as he holds me..
“You’re okay,” he reassures me as he carries me from the car, broken glass crunching beneath his feet.
“Tristan?” I fear the worst, being cradled by Conor instead of him.
“He’s okay, beautiful.” His voice stays soft as he tries to comfort me. “He wants us to get you out of here.”
“Conor! No!” I fight against his hold, worrying that he’s lying to me. That Tristan isn’t okay. “I need to see him.”
“He doesn’t want you to see him like this.” Conor shakes his head.
“Like what!” I shout as I clammer from his arms.
Finding my footing, I look around, and it’s like a fucking bomb went off. Tristan’s car—and the one we hit—are totally destroyed. Both are crumpled, but his is riddled with bullet holes.
