Page 162 of Manacled Hearts

“Then you’ll nurse me back to health. We’ll take Severin to a hospital.” I grin, peppering kisses to the tears that are now flowing down her pretty face.

Finally she chuckles. “I’ll be very angry and annoying in that case.”

“I don’t expect any less from you, Evie darling.” I pull her in my arms one more time, then reluctantly let go of her. “Now go! Hide! And stay there.”

She nods and slowly backs away, giving a chaste smile to Madds as she finally leaves with Jay up the creaky, metal stairs and disappears behind a wall.

“He’s passed the gates!” someone’s shout echoes through the factory.

We all disperse, hiding in the best spots we’ve already scouted when we assessed the place. Mine is next to Ronan. All but two access routes have been sealed shut, and blasting through those metal doors will be too much hassle, so we know exactly where Bartiste is coming from. We have the best view of the asshole’s face as he’ll walk into this space and see exactly what he came here to retrieve.

Maybe the anguish we’re hoping for won’t mar his features. But if it does, I don’t want to miss it.

When the creek of the metal door echoes through the vast space, I know—it’s finally time.

CHAPTER 39

FINNIGAN

I expect the steps to rush in our direction, but they’re careful instead. We don’t attack, though. Not until most of them have entered the building. We don’t want them to scatter. The snipers stationed out on the building have orders to count to five and if it looks like no one else intends to enter, kill all the ones remaining outside.

Ronan taps me on the shoulder and when I turn to him, he nods toward the left. The moment I look in that direction and aim my gun, watching the first men step in, is the same moment sound trickles in, echoing and bouncing off the heavy metal that forms this space. It’s not coming from those men, but from the projector that was just unmuted by Carter.

Oinking and grunting stall their steps and they turn to the screen. Some of them don’t react, but others cover their mouths, or turn around, unable to stand the vivid imagery of the feast. We wanted to hurt Bartiste, and Carter came with the best idea how.

“What the fuck is this! It can’t be…” Bartiste himself steps in on a slight limp, walking through the several dozen men who have flooded the space, eyes fixed on the screen.

A grin spreads over my lips with the deep shock and hint of sorrow tainting the bastard’s features. There’s a hint of disgust there too as he watches his one and only son, or better yet his naked corpse, be eaten by pigs. They’re in no hurry though, enjoying this feast at a calm, soothing pace.

We don’t make a habit of disposing of bodies in this way. Carter reserves his pigs for more special kills, and since this one wasn’t his, he made an exception. The broken look on Bartiste’s face was totally worth it.

“You will pay for this!” he bellows. “You hear me?! You will pay for this!” Spit flies out of his mouth as he turns around the space, blindly trying to find us.

The first shot splits through the sounds of the pigs and one of his men is down. That’s our cue. Only a split moment later a shattering bullet-storm assaults my eardrums and Bartiste’s men fall like flies around him. Everyone knows not to aim their guns at the man in question. My goal is clear, but it’s too early to go straight for him. His men scatter, taking cover behind the old machinery, and I move through the shadows at the edge of the space, taking cover behind the thick concrete columns as I pick them off one by one.

Bullets screech against the metal machinery, howls are pulled when they hit their targets, grunts come from the people now in hand to hand combat, all a cacophony of overwhelming sounds that echo in this vast space. My bullets find home in the neck and forehead of two men who run for me, and before they hit the ground, I look back to where Bartiste was taking cover.

He’s not there.

“Watch out! They have armor-piercing rounds!” Vincent shouts from somewhere.

Frantic, I turn around and take cover behind another pillar, desperately looking for Bartiste. My fist clenches, teeth gritting as old memories of the asshole slipping through my fingers, assault me. Our men have strict orders—no one leaves the building. If they do, snipers will take them out. With one deep, slow breath, my pulse calms. Bartiste is not escaping. Even if the finger squeezing the trigger is not mine, he will not escape again.

With that calming thought, I spot him hiding behind some machinery, reloading the clip of his gun. My eyes sweep the perimeter and I jump into a sprint around the edge of the space, taking cover behind the pillars when bullets fly in my direction. It’s sad, satisfying, and worrying all at the same time how many bodies I have to jump over to get to the man, praying none of them are ours. Out of nowhere someone leaps in front of me, my breath wiped out of me as he elbows me straight in the sternum. My feet catch onto a body lying on the floor and my gun flies out. His is aimed straight at my head.

But he’s too close to me and didn’t realize it, so I swing my legs, scissor them around his ankles, and flip him onto the floor. My gun is somewhere behind me, but the time to look for it is not now. I scramble to the guy who’s now looking for the same thing as me, but I slam my fist into his stomach, earning a few more seconds to lunge for his gun. Two seconds later, his brain splatters from the right side of his head, and I’m already up, grab my own gun, and rush toward my target.

He can’t leave, by now the doors are shut from the outside. We were adamant no one, but us leaves this place tonight. One glance toward the stairs and I stop dead in my tracks—three bulky men rush up them. Aiming my gun, I shoot the one at the top in the back, and a split moment later one of our guys stationed somewhere above puts a hole in his head, and he tumbles back, taking the other two with him down the stairs.

When I turn back for Bartiste, the bastard’s gone again, probably hidden somewhere or sick of seeing his son on that screen being eaten by pigs.

“Come the fuck out, Bartiste, you goddamn coward!” I holler, echoing through the sharp pops of guns, and collapsing bodies.

Looking back to the metal stairs, more of his guys rush up. Damn it, they can’t get there, they’ll be too close to Evelyn. One of them falls with my shots, the other by someone else’s bullets.

Taking cover behind another pillar, I look around for Bartiste once more. The factory has turned into a massacre, bodies fallen everywhere, shots still being fired, though less than before, others are just punching or stabbing each other.

Madds is one of them. He prefers hand-to-hand to the bullets, and he’s pummeling through men like they’re nothing.

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