Page 94 of False Heir

“Tristan?” Adriana’s voice trembled, pulling me back from the edge of panic.

“Right here, love,” I assured her, even as a fresh wave of shouts surged behind us. Almost there, I told myself. Just a little farther.

Her grip tightened on my hand, and together we stumbled towards salvation, towards the dim light that promised freedom from the darkness of the catacombs and the violence we left behind.

But before we could get out, it was like the whole world had narrowed down to the sound of gunfire and heavy breaths. I whirled around, my own gun coming up instinctively, as an Irish thug took a shot at me. Time seemed to slow as I squeezed the trigger, once, then again, dropping two of them before they could get another round off. My heart was pounding, but not from fear—this was adrenaline, pure and sharp.

“Keep crawling, Adriana,” I grunted, pushing her forward. This wasn’t the kind of game I ever wanted to play, but damn if it didn’t feel like one. The difference was, in this game, you didn’t get another life.

The catacombs were rank with the stench of decay and something else—fear, maybe, or desperation. It clung to the damp walls and filled the air with an acrid taste. Crawling on the floor felt like moving through centuries of filth, but we didn’t have the luxury of disgust.

“Tristan!” James Kensington’s voice cut through the chaos, like an anchor in the midst of a storm. I glanced back to see him take down one of the Irish goons who had gotten too close for comfort. But my relief was short-lived.

A searing pain exploded in my back—a sensation far removed from anything I’d experienced before. One of Bellamy’s men had managed to close in on us, his blade finding its mark between my ribs. I crumpled onto the stairs, gasping as every nerve in my body screamed in protest.

“Tristan!” Adriana’s voice was laced with terror, her hands reaching for me even as I tried to regain some semblance of control over the pain.

“Keep going,” I gritted out, forcing myself onto shaky legs. “We’re almost out.” I couldn’t afford to show weakness, not now when she needed me the most.

I could feel the warm trickle of blood soaking into my shirt, the cool rush of air in the tunnels suddenly biting against my skin. But there was no time to stop, no time to think about anything but getting us out alive.

“Adriana, lean on me,” I ordered through clenched teeth, my arm wrapping around her waist. She hesitated, her own pain etched into the lines of her face, but her survival instincts were as sharp as ever.

We stumbled up the remaining stairs, each step a battle against my body’s desire to collapse. The sounds of gunfire and shouts echoed behind us, a stark reminder that death was only a heartbeat away.

“Are you scared?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear her answer.

“Mostly scared for you,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

I locked eyes with her for a moment, allowing myself a brief respite in her gaze. “You’re going to be fine, Ade,” I said with more conviction than I felt.

Emerging into the dimming light of the late afternoon, we found ourselves at the mouth of the catacombs. Relief washed over me, tinged with the adrenaline of our escape. We had made it out, but safety was still a distant dream. Every movement was urgent, driven by the desperation to put distance between us and the hell below.

“Keep moving,” I urged, my voice a hoarse command born from necessity rather than authority. Adriana nodded, her determination mirroring my own, as we pushed through the pain toward the promise of salvation that lay beyond these cursed tunnels.

My legs were a mess of agony and tingles, each step sending jolts of pain up through my body like electric shocks. I gritted my teeth, refusing to let it slow me down. Adriana needed me, and I’d be damned if I was going to fail her now.

“Almost there,” I breathed out, more to convince myself than her. She didn’t complain, just clenched her jaw and kept pace beside me. The tough-as-nails woman she was, she’d walk through fire if it meant getting to the other side.

My car loomed somewhere ahead. My lungs filled with the cold, but it couldn’t chill the heat of the adrenaline coursing through me.

“Tristan! What the fuck?” Adriana’s voice was sharp with alarm. Time slowed as I turned to follow her gaze.

There he stood behind us. Kieran, framed by the graying sky, his gun steady in his hand.

And he had a gun trained right at us.

Chapter Forty: Tristan

I was pretty sure my brother was going to shoot me.

Leaning heavily on Adriana, I felt her arm tense under my weight as Kieran’s unflinching gaze stared us down, the barrel of his gun an unwelcome addition to the scene. The cool Boston air did nothing to ease the heat that flared within me—a mix of anger and a dread I couldn’t shake.

“Kieran,” I rasped out, disbelief sharpening my voice into something harsher than intended. “What the fuck are you doing?”

His eyes, dark mirrors reflecting none of their usual warmth, met mine. “You don’t understand, Tristan,” he said quietly, his tone steady despite the chaos he was causing. “I did everything I could...to protect you.”

The words hung heavy between us, a promise or a curse—I couldn’t tell which. Fear gnawed at my insides, fear for myself and for Adriana, whose breaths I could feel quickening against my side. But before another word could claw its way out of my throat, the moment shattered.

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