Page 141 of Ruthless Reign

One more hard shake and she inhaled sharply through her nose, her eyes rolling open, blinking, as her hands grabbed mine on her vest like she might try to rip them off.

“It’s me,” I blurted. “It’s me. You were hit.”

She felt her chest, wincing as the pain finally registered. She was going to have one nasty ass bruise and probably a cracked rib, but she’d live.

Damnit, we were all going to.

“If I was hit, why’re you the one bleeding?” she croaked, pointing to my shoulder.

“What?”

I followed her pointed finger to my shoulder, finding a deluge of red staining the navy fabric of my long sleeve shirt. I felt it now but barely.

“Oh my god, Kaleb,” Becca said, her voice strained.

I rolled it and shook my head. “It was a ricochet,” I said. “It glanced off. I’m good.”

“Then get your ass up,” Ma growled, shoving me back. “There’s still work to be done. Pass me that mag.”

As if she weren’t unconscious thirty seconds ago, she reloaded her M16 and swung it over the edge of the upturned desks, raining bullets down into the pit of hell that’d become the Kilborn gymnasium.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Ma roared and Hardin, Becca, Aodhán, and I all fell into line on either side of her, rotating taking shots down into the madness below.

I saw Dad trying to get free of where he was pinned down in the far-left corner of the open space and opened fire on the Sons opposite him to try to give him cover to get free.

He saw Ma was all right and gave me a nod before turning to give orders to Zade and the other Saints trapped with him.

I watched and waited, trying to be ready for whatever their next move was so I could help.

Dad signaled for me to cover them, and I nudged Ma. “Cover Dad!”

I hardly got the words out when a massive explosion rocked the building. Sunlight spilled into the space as enormous chunks of the exterior wall crumbled, falling on Sons and Saints alike on the gymnasium floor. The wall that housed the door leading outside to the basketball courts was gone.

Becca coughed as the plume of dust and smoke blew over us.

And as the dust settled, we saw them moving in.

More Sons. Too many more.

And at the heart of them, Séamas O’Sullivan, dressed all in black like the grim fucking reaper come to claim even more Saint souls.

He was here.

Finally.

Time to end this shit once and for all.

It’s him.

I shifted my position, aiming for the bastard but hitting anything and everything and everyone around him instead.

Séamas used his Sons as human shields as they moved forward into the space, going for cover.

Sloane emptied her clip into the large group, making a dent in their numbers, but none of us seemed able to hit Séamas from this far away.

As I ejected my clip to insert a new one, I saw Aodhán taking aim at his father, watched his nostrils flare, his pale hands tighten on his weapon, but he didn’t fire. His hands shook.

I settled a hand on the barrel of his gun, lowering it. “It doesn’t have to be you,” I told him.

---