Page 66 of The Irish Arrangement

Peter escaped my grip, and I hurried toward Cara to get my gun back.

By the time I reached her, Peter reclaimed his gun.

“Fuck you, De?—”

I spun, taking the bullet he’d aimed at her. It streaked against my arm, cutting my flesh where I’d already been hit.

Shoving Cara had saved her. I pushed her out of the way just in time, and as I completed my pivot, I fired at both men. Fast.

They fell, dead, bullets into their brains from the clean shot between their eyes.

I heaved out a deep breath as the sound of hurried footsteps sounded closer.

“Declan?” Ian called out.

Cara whimpered, reaching out for me.

I exhaled a long breath again, looking down at her terrified and stunned on the pavement.

Then with another blink, I felt dizzy, exhausted from bleeding so quickly.

“Are you okay?”

She scrambled to stand. “Am I okay?” Her arms rose. With a shaky first step, she reached out to me, and I leaned against her embrace.

24

CARA

My heart thumped so wildly, I thought it would never slow down. My throat strained as I tried to swallow, but it was thick, clogged with so many intense emotions.

Terror. Anger. And so, so much worry.

Declan sighed and leaned against me, and his weight comforted me.

He stood. He was breathing. He lived.

But the consuming fear of almost losing him would take a lot longer to subside.

“Are you…?” I couldn’t dare to ask him if he was all right. He couldn’t possibly be. He’d fought so hard, beaten and tired from the strain of it. Then he was shot, at least once. He lived, but until I knew how wounded he was, I wouldn’t be calm.

I’d never been this close to violence before. I’d never aimed a weapon at a person. Although I was braced for combat with many experiences with wild or unruly animals, it was not at all the same as being near men with guns and a desire to fight.

“No.” Declan winced as he stepped back to better look me over. Ian ran closer, and other men hurried with him.

“No?” I swallowed hard, worried even more now that Declan could admit that he was hurt.

“No, don’t worry about me. Are you okay?” He lowered his worried gaze to my stomach. “Did I hurt you in that fall?”

Realization sank in. He was concerned about my body. If I could’ve landed on my stomach.

If I could hurt the baby he’s so desperately hoping I carry.

It stung. I wanted to matter too. Just me. And that guilt rose up again, inciting shame within my mind.

There won’t be a baby.

“I’m fine.”

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