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I can’t do anything but curl up and stay low. More than a few holes are ripped in the wall above me. Seamus is cursing loudly and keeping his arms above his head. Based on the noises further into the bar, only one person is injured so far—and I just keep thinking, if we hadn’t been warned, this would’ve been a nightmare.
At least Valentina is safe in the office. At least she’s not in the middle of all this. Gregory has no reason to hurt her—he’s just here for me.
The shooting stops. It’s abrupt but happens all at once. The sudden cessation of noise makes my head hurt, and I risk looking around. Niall’s kneeling next to Cousin Jacob and trying to stem the flow of blood from a wound in his chest. Red spittle and bubbles form on his lips as he gasps for air. Seamus is staring, and I have to grab him by the shirt and force him to look away.
“They’re coming,” I tell him through my teeth. “Get your shit together. You ready?”
“Ready,” he says and turns to the door as a figure starts kicking it open.
The barrier of tables rattles. The glass is mostly blown out, and whoever’s trying to get in starts cursing. He reaches in to knock the tables back, and that’s when Seamus leaps up.
The shotgun is a sonic boom. The biker in the doorway screams as his chest is blown to raw hamburger. He falls back, blood spraying from his body, and there’s cursing and angry yells from behind him.
I’m up next. I’m up and aiming as three more bikers turn to face me. I pull the trigger, blasting the man closest, and hitting him half in the face and half in the neck. His skin and flesh shreds to gore and viscera as he topples backward with a bloody, horrible gurgle.
I drop back down. The bikers return fire, but they’re spraying in fear now. Seamus stays still, waiting for his chance, and there’s a yell from outside again. Seamus pops up, fires, and there’s another scream, but this time the bikers get their shit together, and charge.
The barrier doesn’t hold. I fire a shot into a biker’s chest, sending him flying back, but it’s not enough. Seamus shoots as he retreats to the bar, and I’m sprinting after him as bullets scream after me. I dive over, landing in an ugly heap, and I hear Niall’s shout as our men open fire.
It’s a glorious, horrifying cascade of bullets and death. The bikers trying to get in through the front door and the broken-out windows are an easy target. There’s no cover, no dodging or hiding, and even though their weapons are more powerful, they’re right out in the open caught trying to get past our barrier.
Their casualties are horrible. Bodies are torn to bits as bullets rip into them. For a few seconds, I think they’re going to break and run, but more voices outside start shouting, and more bikers start forcing their way through.
Bullets fly, some from the Servants and their rifles, but mostly from my men trying to pick them off. I don’t know how much ammunition we have, but I doubt we’ll be able to keep up a steady rate of fire for ten minutes at this pace. I try catching Niall’s eye, try telling him we need to stagger and conserve ammo, but there’s too much chaos.
I leap up and fire the gunshot. It sprays, but at a distance it isn’t nearly as effective. The screams of pain are gratifying though, and I start shooting at will, blasting as many holes into the fucking bastards as I can. The thrill of the fight rushes into me; all I want to do is kill these fucks, kill them for coming to hurt my people, for thinking they could get the drop on me.
The bikers retreat. Bodies are left behind—I count at least six. Plus the few killed out front likely cut their numbers in half. A horrible, fucked-up toll to pay, but when I creep to the front and peer out, they aren’t gone.
Gregory’s there. He’s pacing back and forth, covered in blood, and carrying an AR-15 with some heavy-duty modifications. It looks like a fucking military piece. He’s cajoling his men, screaming at them to start attacking again, and I stare in horror as he pulls what looks like an actual fucking grenade from his cargo pocket. His teeth gleam as he turns to face the bar again and I scramble back as he pulls the pin.
“Grenade!” I yell as I throw myself behind the bar again. “Get the fuck down!”
I hear it land barely ten feet away, and the explosion it makes rattles my teeth and sends a massive cloud of smoke and fire into the sky. The building shakes and wood splinters rain down from the ceiling as a smoke alarm screams and the ceiling sags. Electrical wires spark in the gloom.
“Everyone okay?” I call out as I check the guys behind the bar. They’re fine but shaken. “We need to hold the front. Come on, Gregory’s going to try again?—”
But it’s too late. There are shadows at the windows, shadows at the door, and I don’t know if the others are able to return fire right now.
We might’ve hurt them badly on their first rush, but they’re coming again, and I’m not sure we can stop them. Gregory’s either suicidal or determined to kill everyone in this building, and he seems willing to bring it all down on our heads to make it happen.
“Back to the offices,” I say, grabbing the men closest to me and shoving them to get them moving. “Back to the offices!” I yell to the others scattered through the room.
The shooting starts again. Gregory’s men sense the tides turning and they start laying into the room with as much firepower as they can muster. But the smoke from the grenade and the dust and debris in the air create a thick cloud, obscuring their vision, and giving us a little cover as we retreat.
There are still screams.
Men fall as they scramble toward the hall. I catch one and try to lift him, but there’s a hole in his chest and red, bloody foam on his lips. It’s Cousin Thomas, nineteen years old, barely a kid. I let him fall and fight back the grief. It won’t do me any good right now and it won’t save my remaining friends and family. I’ll have time later to remember the dead.
I reach the back hall and make sure everyone’s coming with me. More shooting sprays the walls around us, but nobody gets hit, as the last of the running cousins slides through past me.
I get them into position. Anyone with a gun and ammo up front hiding in doorways. I duck into the office and find Valentina standing in front of the desk, her face white with terror and worry. I walk to her and kiss her hard, getting dust and dirt on her lips. She doesn’t seem to care; she clings to me and pulls me tighter.
“How bad?” she whispers.
“Bad.” I pull back and stare into her face. “I won’t let them get to you. I swear, love, I won’t.”
“Ronan—” Her voice chokes as Niall shouts from the hall.
