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Keira hesitates before turning and climbing. Saint watches until she reaches the top, then waits for the hatch to close above her.

The bolt scrapes into place, and he lowers his head for a breath before any trace of softness disappears.

By the time he turns around, he’s Saint Tallon again.

Dane and Rafe return from the office carrying three guns, ready to hand me one when Saint steps in front of them before they can pass.

“If anything happens to me, you look after Keira.”

Rafe’s mouth hardens because he’d rather chew his hand off than help a Harrington.

“Swear it, Rafe.”

“Saint—”

“Swear to me.” He grips the front of Rafe’s jacket and drags him closer. “As my fucking brother, swear you’ll protect Keira. Whatever it costs.”

Rafe glances toward the hayloft before nodding. “I swear.”

Saint releases him and turns to Dane, whose mouth is set in a firm line.

“Yeah, me too.”

A gunshot cracks outside.

One of the horses rears in its stall, striking the door with its front hooves.

Saint grabs the gun from Dane and looks at me as he heads past. “Load up. Whatever ya were going to tell me can wait until after.”

Dane and Rafe follow him out of the barn, leaving me beneath the hayloft with Keira hidden above my head and the ring digging into my palm.

Tallon men pour from the smaller barns and workshops, weapons drawn as they spread along the walls and behind the parked vehicles.

Shay stands near the main gate, shouting instructions into his phone while Saint moves across the yard.

I sprint into the office, wrench open the gun cabinet, and grab the shotgun from the rack. The box of cartridges slips from my hand and spills across the floor.

“Fuck.”

I drop to my knees, shove as many as I can into my pockets, and load two into the chamber.

Gunfire erupts. I duck below the window as glass bursts over my head and rains across the desk.

Dane appears in the doorway, catches me by the shoulder, and drags me into the corridor behind the office.

“Stay with me,” he says. “There’s a fucking army out there.”

“Christ…” I pant. “How do we get out of this?”

“We fight.”

Another volley tears through the building. Plaster spits from the wall beside Dane’s head.

“Cover me.”

He runs, and I follow him out.

The main gate hangs twisted against one post. A black four-by-four has forced its way through and sits diagonally across the entrance, its bonnet smoking as men spill from behind it.