Page 21 of His Mafia Sunshine

He snaps his fingers, and the shadows behind him shift and writhe. A figure steps forward, and the breath leaves my lungs in a rush, my blood turning to ice water in my veins.

Finn. My best friend, my brother in arms. The man I trusted above all others, bound to me by blood and battle and the unshakable code of our world.

And he's standing at Declan's side, a gun in his hand and a sorrowful, resigned look on his face.

"I'm sorry, Liam," he says, quiet and wretched. "I didn't want it to come to this. But Declan... he's the head of the family. The king. And you don't betray the king and live to tell the tale."

Betrayal and rage rise like bile in my throat, hot and choking. I raise my gun, aiming it square at Finn's chest, my hand shaking with the force of my fury.

"You fucking Judas," I spit, tears stinging my eyes, blurring my vision. "I trusted you. I loved you like a brother, and this is how you repay me? By siding with this sadistic fuck over your own flesh and blood?"

Finn flinches, regret and self-loathing etched into every line of his face. "It's not personal, Liam," he says, pleading. "It's just... it's the way things are. The way they've always been. I can't change that, no matter how much I might want to."

"The fuck you can't," I snarl, grief and betrayal a wild animal in my chest, tearing and clawing. "There's always a choice, Finn. And you just made yours."

I start to squeeze the trigger, ready to paint the walls with the contents of my best friend's skull. But before I can complete the motion, Asher's voice rings out, high and panicked.

"Liam, down!"

I don't hesitate. I drop to the floor, rolling to the side just as a barrage of gunfire erupts overhead, the air suddenly thick with the stench of cordite and blood. Asher is right beside me, his own gun barking in rapid, precise bursts, his face a mask of fierce concentration.

Chaos erupts, men crying out, bodies hitting the ground with meaty thumps. I catch glimpses of black tac gear, of familiar faces contorted in pain and rage. Finn and Mia's handpicked team, bursting in from every side, turning Declan's smug trap into a killing field.

I scramble to my feet, my gun seeking targets with cold, methodical efficiency. I put a bullet between the eyes of one of Declan's lieutenants, watching with grim satisfaction as he crumples like a puppet with cut strings.

But even as I gun down my brother's men, my eyes are scanning the catwalk, searching for that hated face, that cruel, mocking smile. Declan is nowhere to be seen, vanished like smoke on the wind, and a cold, sinking dread settles in my gut.

"Liam!" Asher's voice, taut with urgency, with a fear that turns my blood to ice. "He's making a run for it! We have to..."

But before he can finish the sentence, before I can do more than turn in his direction, a figure melts out of the shadows behind him, a gun leveled at his unprotected back.

Declan. His face a twisted mask of rage and hate, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Time slows to a crawl, the moment stretching like taffy. I see it all in vivid, horrifying detail - the curl of Declan's lip, the wild, manic gleam in his eyes. The way Asher stiffens, sensing the danger too late, his own gun coming up in a futile arc.

And I know, with a bone-deep certainty, that I won't get there in time. That no matter how fast I move, how desperately I lunge, the bullet will find its mark, will tear through soft flesh and fragile bone.

Will rip the light from my world, the heart from my chest, in a single, shattering instant.

No.

The denial is a scream in my head, a desperate, animal howl. I'm moving before I realize I've decided to, my body hurling itself forward, putting itself between Asher and the oncoming storm.

Between my love and the man who would destroy him.

The first bullet takes me high in the chest, a punch of fire and pressure that steals my breath. The second rips through my shoulder, spinning me half around, my gun flying from my nerveless fingers.

I hit the ground hard, my vision wavering, my lungs seizing as they fill with blood. Dimly, I'm aware of Asher screaming my name, of the retort of his gun, the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor.

And then he's there, his hands on my face, his eyes wide and wild with terror. "Liam," he sobs, his voice breaking on the word. "Liam, stay with me. Don't you fucking dare leave me, not now, not like this."

I try to speak, to tell him it's okay, that I'd make the same choice a thousand times over. That dying for him, because of him, is the closest thing to grace I'll ever know.

But all that comes out is a wet, rattling cough, blood bubbling hot and coppery on my lips. The world is going gray at the edges, the pain distant and muted, like something happening to someone else.

Asher is crying in earnest now, great, wrenching sobs that shake his slender frame. He pushes down on my wounds with desperate, fumbling hands, as if he can hold my life inside by sheer force of will.

"I love you," he gasps out, his face inches from mine, his tears hot on my skin. "Liam, please. Please don't leave me. I can't... I can't do this without you."

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