Page 14 of Then We Shatter

“No fucking way!” Ronan and Tiernan say at the same time.

Malachy is watching from a safe distance, his gun hanging uselessly at his side. Which brother is he supposed to shoot?

“Why are you standing there like an idiot?” I bark, clenching my hands at my sides when all I want to do is punch Malachy. I have to remind myself it’s not going to help having another set of brothers fighting each other. “You’re supposed to know how to handle this!” He’s seen me deal with these situations often enough in the last four years.

“I tried. Lorcan won’t listen to anyone but you.” He glances over my shoulder to Katarina then shoots a glare at me. “And you were otherwise occupied.”

“Mal fired a shot,” Ronan grits out “but it didn’t work.”

“No shit?” I hiss, and this time my hand does fly up and I slam my palm against Malachy’s chest. Lorcan’s episodes have become less frequent over the years, but the way to deal with his PTSD is not to add to his sensory overload. Malachy should know this.

I take another look at the body bag beneath the external fire escape. It hasn’t been zipped up fully and a woman’s pale face stares up into the abyss. We don’t know her, but I know without asking that it was seeing her dead eyes that triggered him. If I’d been here…

I raise my hands in surrender before Malachy can retaliate. “You’re right, I should have been here. But I’m here now,” I say. “Start by moving the woman’s body so he can’t see her.”

While Malachy and another of our men carry out my first order, I crouch down in front of Lorcan, still sandwiched between the twins. His arm trembles as he continues to fight against their restraint, his gaze focused on Ronan’s neck. In this state, he can tap into limitless reserves of strength. He’s not going to tire.

“Lorcan, it’s me,” I say calmly. “Killian.”

He doesn’t look up, doesn’t register my words. He’s completely disassociated and has no awareness of his true surroundings. He certainly doesn’t recognize his brothers and as yet, he doesn’t recognize my voice. His ragged breaths blast against Ronan’s face.

I try again. “It’s Killian,” I repeat. “You’re safe, Lorcan. We’ve got you.”

Still nothing.

I keep to the same calming tone when I speak to Tiernan. “Can you ease your weight off his back? Just enough to let him breathe more easily.”

Tiernan mutters his dissent, but he leans gently to one side. I shuffle closer and extend my arm slowly until I can rest a hand on Lorcan’s shoulder.

“Look at me, brother,” I say firmly. “Hear my voice and look at me. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Lorcan’s arm continues to shake. He’s not easing off the pressure, but his head tilts towards me just a touch while his eyes remain downcast.

“Lorcan. Look at me.”

His gaze darts up and snags on mine. There’s no immediate recognition, but it’s a connection.

“You’re safe. We got you out.”

“Not going without her,” he gasps out. “Can’t leave. Won’t leave. Not until every bastard’s dead.”

His jaw clenches with determination and when a roar rumbles in his chest, cold dread runs icy fingers along my spine. I’m scared he might actually win the tug of war with Ronan and Tiernan, but just as he’s about to erupt, his breath catches and his eyes widen, snagged on movement to my right. When I hear the crunch of gravel, I pray it isn’t Malachy carrying the body across our brother’s line of sight.

Lorcan swallows hard as he continues to stare past me. “You’re here.”

Katarina crouches down next to me. “I’m here,” she says, using a tone similar to mine. Soft. Reassuring. Centered.

Tears shimmer in Lorcan’s eyes. Maybe mine too. Katarina looks nothing like our mother. They both have brown hair and eyes, but Mam’s eyes weren’t as dark, her hair not so silken. She was shorter and curvier too. And as fine a looking woman as you could possibly imagine.

Katarina takes a deep inhale through her nose, her head tilting back as air slowly expands her chest before she exhales through her mouth. Without prompting, Lorcan copies her. I find myself doing the same and after several repetitions, the tension starts to leave Lorcan’s body.

“I’m safe,” Katarina tells him. “You’re safe.”

When Lorcan hesitates, I give him the final nudge. “You can stand down, Lorcan. We’ve got this.”

Lorcan drags his gaze from Katarina, to me, then finally down to Ronan, whose face is sheened in sweat. The next breath Lorcan releases is a grunt. It takes a second or two for him to process where he is and what he’s doing, but the second it hits him, he drops the knife.

“Fuck!” Ronan yelps as the forfeited blade hits his cheek.