Page 223

I brace for the shot. My fingers go numb, and my knees soften as one second passes, then another, and nothing hits me.

My ma shot Keira and Fionn.

And now she’s dead.

I stood in this yard ten minutes ago with her, shoved her away, and ran headfirst into a burning barn against her order. I told her I’d do it for a Harrington when she’d already decided Keira should die tonight.

And now my ma’s lying motionless on the ground, and I’m waiting for an emotion to arrive in my chest, but nothing does.

Nothing at all.

That’s the part I’ll think about later. Not what she did, or how she died, or how the rain sits in her open eyes.

That I stood over my ma and felt nothing other than confusion.

Movement flashes in the corner of my eye as Dane sprints straight to Ma behind me.

Fionn rises. His gaze flicks to Dane before he goes straight to his sister, hunkering by her side.

I get to my feet and turn to Dane, who’s on his knees beside Ma, one hand resting on her neck.

“Ma…?” Dane’s hand goes to her neck, and he holds his fingers there, searching for a pulse.

He doesn’t say anything, just takes his hand away and sits back on his heels in the water.

I spin round to find Lorcan.

He’s already backing away, gun still raised, heading for the broken gate with his eyes on Fionn and not on me.

The two Harrington men between him and the road step aside, and Lorcan disappears through the gap.

Fionn is on his knees beside his sister with both hands pressed to her side, his attention focused on her.

“Keira.” Fionn gets an arm under her shoulders. “Keira. Look at me.”

Her hand is over his, where he’s pressing down on her side, but there’s too much blood between his fingers, some of it hers, some of it his.

He shifts his weight and gets her six inches off the concrete before a strained grunt breaks from the back of his throat. One knee hits the ground, and he lowers her before folding over her with one hand clamped to his wounded side.

While Fionn kneels over his sister with his head bowed, he digs out his phone from his pocket.

I’m fighting for a breath when boots hammer the concrete behind me.

“Get your fucking hands off her,” Saint shouts.

I turn to find Saint charging across the yard toward Keira. Fionn doesn’t so much as glance at him, his phone pressed to his ear.

“Get clearance for CUH. Two gunshot wounds. One critical.”

“Saint—” Keira sobs.

“I’m here.”

He's already down in the puddles with her. Both hands on her face, then her throat, then the wound, telling her it'll be okay over and over.

Her lips have gone the color of concrete.

"We’re taking the helicopter." Fionn pockets his phone. "It's faster."