Page 144 of Ruthless Reign

“You know, it’s a funny thing,” Séamas called out, his gaze roaming the gym in search of Damien. “For years I tried to teach my lad that a heart was nothing but an obstacle to be overcome. A weak thing that would see him destroyed. How fitting that you’ll now help me illustrate my point.”

He shouted with such fervor that I could see spittle flying from his mouth with almost every word he spoke.

I found Aodhán watching the scene below, pale, his gaze distant.

Behind him, Hardin and Kaleb stared down into the hell pit below in mute horror.

Aodhán trained his weapon on Séamas and a shuddering breath left my lips.

“Don’t!” Kaleb whisper shouted, snatching Aodhán’s gun right from his hands. “Look.”

I looked, trying to see why the fuck Kaleb stopped Aodhán from ending this. He wouldn’t have missed. I know he wouldn’t have.

But down there, in the ring of Sons surrounding Séamas and Sloane were several more weapons pointed at their mom. If someone took out Séamas, they’d retaliate. She wouldn’t survive it.

“Bring my son to me, St. Vincent, or I’ll put a bullet in your wife.”

Damien shoved Zade, who was trying to hold him back, as he stepped out from behind the hide near the back corner where I’d seen them before. He held his hands up, gun in the air.

“Séamas, take me?—”

“Oh, save it, St. Vincent,” Séamas sneered. “My son. Bring him to me.”

Aodhán jumped over the desks, and my heart lurched into my throat. I reached for him, trying to stop him. “Aodhán, wait, don’t.”

But he was already gone, taking the steps down the bleachers three at a time.

“Ah, there he is.”

I stood, clamoring over an ammo bag to get around the desk until a rough grip pulled me back.

“No, Hawk. Don’t. You’ll just make it worse.”

“But—”

“He’s right,” Kaleb said, his face gaunt, words hollow. I watched his throat bob and felt his pain—both of their pain—like my own, because I couldn’t see this ending in any acceptable way now.

He had Sloane.

He had Aodhán.

The fucking psychopath had us in the palm of his hand.

“That’s far enough, boy,” Séamas said as Aodhán shouldered through the ring of Sons. “On your knees.”

Aodhán went to his knees.

He had to have a plan, right? He wouldn’t just give himself up like this. Why would he? He didn’t even know Sloane. Why sacrifice himself to save her?

My chest hurt. It hurt so fucking bad.

Sloane was trying to say something—scream it more accurately—but the cloth tie gagging her made it all but unintelligible. If I had to guess, it sounded like she was telling Damien to kill them. She was willing to damn herself just to see Séamas go down.

The other Saints, what few remained of them, whispered from where they stayed behind cover. They heard her, too.

“Everyone lower your arms,” Damien called, his voice tainted with the pitch of madness. “No one shoots.”

“Well, not no one,” Séamas corrected with a wry smirk. “I plan to do some shooting. What about you lads? Shall we get on with the show?”

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