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“Sloane will be accompanying us to the Conclave tomorrow night,” Finnan announced with a smug smile.
I opened my mouth to ask what the Conclave was when a waiter appeared with a selection of sharing plates. He placed them down, then whisked away to get the side plates.
All the men fell into easy conversation with each other, and I realized this was less a business dinner and more a family affair.
“Are you okay?” Grayson asked, and I snapped out of my head.
I turned to look at him. “Ah, yes. Fine. Thank you.”
He nodded to my plate, where food had miraculously appeared. “You need to eat.”
Spearing a forkful of meat, I glanced around at all the men. Orin Lynch looked just as I expected a hitman to look—hard and unyielding. Scary, even. His black hair and eyes made him seem like some dark angel of death. He was speaking with both Shay and Quillen. Caolan and Keir were ribbing each other, which left Finnan staring at me from across the length of the table.
He didn’t say anything—simply stared—until there was a panicked shout from the front of the restaurant.
I turned my head, and time seemed to slow. Trigger was running toward us, yelling something I couldn’t understand in Gaelic. Grayson understood though, grabbing and dragging me from my chair and under the table a second before an explosion erupted through the restaurant, shattering the front windows. Scorching heat and high-pitched screams filled the air. Glass tinkled as it scattered on the floor.
Heat seared through the restaurant, and my lungs burned as all the air inside was sucked out in the backdraft. Coughing, I tried to drag more oxygen in and rose to my knees.
“Get down, lass,” Grayson barked, taking me by the back of the neck and pushing me to the floor.
Why couldn’t I focus on his face? I looked up to see every member of the clan crouched under the tables, guns naked in their hands. Finnan was barking orders, Orin moving like he was as insubstantial as smoke as he left the cover of the table. The twins moved as one unit too.
“Grayson, get her to the compound. Now!” Finnan snarled, sliding out from beneath the table with his Glock up and ready.
Grayson took me by the arm and pulled me out. I could see the extent of the damage now. The whole front of the restaurant had been blown apart. Outside was the blackened shell of a van that looked as if it had been split in two from the inside out. Glass and bricks littered the ground, as well as furniture and the bodies of the diners who had been sitting the closest to the window.
As Grayson tugged me away, I craned my neck to see the twisted limbs of the red-head who had seated us. She was dead.
“Sloane!” Grayson yelled. I turned, and he cupped my cheeks, making sure I was focused on his face. “We have to go.Now.”
Taking my hand, he entered the kitchen. The chefs and waitstaff looked shell-shocked as we pushed past them on the way to the service entrance. Outside, the air was crisp and cold—a complete contrast to the heat and destruction inside. I shivered, following Grayson to one of the clan’s black Rovers parked at the rear.
Pulling open the door, he ushered me inside, then slammed it behind me. Huddled in the middle seat, I wrapped my arms around myself and felt the tremors wracking my body. My father had trained me to survive kidnappings, drugging, having a gun pulled on me, and hand-to-hand combat with an opponent three times larger than me, but he had not prepared me for a car bomb.
“Are you okay, lass?” Grayson asked, looking at me through the rearview mirror. “Sloane?”
“I think I’m going into shock,” I mumbled, another great shiver wracking my body.
The skin around his eyes tightened as he cursed under his breath and started the engine. Hitting the gas, he tore out from behind the building and onto the street. I heard wailing sirens coming our way, the bright yellow ambulances zooming past us so quickly the car shook in their wake.
“Talk to me, Sloane. Are you okay?”
I refocused my eyes on Grayson. “What?”
Risking a glance at me, I saw the hard lines branching out from the corners of his mouth and eyes. “Fuck.”
I was so cold—colder than I’d ever been in my life. The roar of the engine got louder, and I heard Grayson’s voice.
“You’re fine, Sloane. You hear me? You didn’t get hurt. You’re fine.”
I stared at him from my position in the rear seat, watching the way he calmly and confidently controlled the car.
“Sloane, talk to me. Tell me you understand.”
“I-I u-u-understand.” Dammit, my teeth were chattering so much I could hardly talk.
“We’ll be there soon. Once I have you to safety, I’ll get you into the shower. Warm you up. You’ll be fine.”
