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“You fucking bastard.” Finnan rose from his seat, reaching inside his jacket as he did. Grayson shadowed him, standing, and pulling out his Glock.
Everyone at the table grew still as Sweeney and Seamus, Finnan and Grayson pointed guns at one another across the table.
Mannix stood, still outraged at the slight. “How the fuck could you do this to me, Quinn?”
Finnan pulled another gun from the small of his back and pointed it at the Bèar Clan leader. “Sit. The. Fuck. Down, Mannix.”
“Father, sit down.” Aisling tugged at her father’s arm.
Mannix glared at Finnan but retook his seat. Finnan’s attention went back to Sweeney. “You sure you didn’t have anything to do with those car bombs?”
Grayson’s gaze flickered to mine, then to the table. I nodded to show him I understood, scooting forward in my seat. He thought shit was going to hit the fan soon, and he wanted me out of the line of fire—literally.
Finnan snarled, “Fuck you, you arrogant, cock-sucking—”
Seamus tutted him. “Now, now, there’s no need for name-calling.”
“Shut it, gobshite,” Grayson interjected with a snarl.
All the tiny hairs on my body raised at the impending threat.
“Or what, huh?” Seamus asked. “What are you going to do?”
Grayson lowered the muzzle of his gun, motioning with his hand for me to get down. Sliding from the edge of my seat, I disappeared under the table as gunfire erupted in the restaurant. The other patrons screamed, all scrambling to either take cover or flee. I looked back when I heard a curse.
Aisling was under the table with a hand on her father’s back, holding him down. Our eyes met, and the malice I saw in them would’ve stripped the skin from my body.
“Bitch,” she hissed, pulling her father out from under the table in a crouch and hustling him out.
Someone grabbed my arm, and I yanked away.
“Dammit, Sloane,” Grayson barked. “I need to get you out of here.Now.” He hauled me out from under the table, keeping my head down with a hand on the back of my neck. “Toward the front door,” he ordered.
I ran that way, trying not to react to the bullets hitting targets not even a foot from me. I reached the door first, only to realize another armed man was making his way inside.
“Fuck!” Grayson wheeled away, pulling me with him.
“Who was that?” I asked, covering my head with my hands.
“One of Sweeney’s fucking sentinels,” he growled. “This way.”
He led me down the hallway toward the kitchen but cursed when another shooter came out of the swinging door. Grayson got off a couple of shots of his own before shoving me into the restroom.
“Lock the goddamn door!”
The door swung shut and I flipped the lock. With my breathing coming out in a rush, I retreated until my back hit the wall.
Then I waited.
And waited.
My mind churning with all the things that could be happening.
Was Grayson hurt? Had he been shot?
Then, in the lull of gunfire, someone started hammering on the door.
“Sloane, it’s Torin.”
