Page 128 of Shattered Hearts

Meaning slips through my mind and disappears, like water through a sieve.

Cian’s body trembles, his face contorted with feral rage, the shadow in his eyes black as night and sharp as any blade.

“Where.Is. She.”

Enzo ignores Cian. “Would be a shame if she didn’t make it.” The man staggers to his feet, wincing against the pain in his bad leg. “I haven’t gotten the chance to sample the goods yet.”

Cian’s mere nanoseconds from lunging for Enzo’s throat when footsteps explode into the place. De Luca reinforcements swarm, flooding in from the back of the room, flanking Enzo and forcing us to flee.

Chapter 34

Riley

Our escape is terrifying.

“Go! Go!” Cian roars at me. With Finn’s good arm over my shoulder, I sprint on ahead as he, Darren, and Rory whip around to exchange gunfire with the fast-approaching De Luca soldiers. Adrenaline and terror clash inside me. I force my muscles to pump faster through my legs as we burst through the only available exit into the deep night.

James and Big Rob lay nearby, perforated with bullet holes, never to be seen again. The sight of our fallen comrades steals what little breath I have left, straining my lungs even further. A block of ice forms in my gut.

Sprinting as hard as I can, I tighten my grip on Finn’s side. He’s beginning to go slack against me. Those pills I gave him are about sixty seconds from knocking him out cold, I estimate, which means we’re in even deeper shit. Because Finn’s body is like, over two hundred pounds of pure muscle.

If he passes out, I won’t be able to support his weight. I’ll fall.

We’ll fall.

“Come on!” A rough voice cries.

Directly ahead, Jon calls from our armored car. He disappears from the driver’s seat and throws the backdoor openfor us, his arms outstretched and ready to help me with Finn. Wild hope and relief sprout inside me when I see that guy’s mangled, tattooed face. We might actually make it! The chilly April night air whips at our bodies as we half jog, half hobble the rest of the way.

Behind us, Darren and Rory shout to each other, hauling ass toward our caravan. Their footsteps pound the pavement, and they catch up to us easily. I dive into the darkness of the backseat first, followed by Darren, who helps Jon position Finn inside, his heavy, now-unconscious head dropping into my lap.

Cian’s a fast blur, moving around the truck and flying into the driver’s seat.

I don’t breathe as Rory returns oncoming gunfire with several rounds of his own before slamming the door shut behind us. Cian floors the gas pedal, and our caravan lurches forward with a force that slams my back against the wall I’m seated against. Finn’s body rocks to one side.

“Fucking hell, that was close.” Darren pants in the back.

“Rob and Tony?” The question in Jon’s low voice makes me squeeze my eyes shut. Who’s going to tell him?

Darren says nothing. Neither does Rory.

“James?” Jon’s voice drops an octave. “Dec?”

“They’re gone.” Cian slams his giant palm against the wheel. “Those parasites got them. Big Rob, Tony, James, and…your brother.”

Pent-up tears spill down my cheeks, the droplets landing on Finn’s sweat and grime-caked forehead.

Of the ten people who arrived in our caravan, only six of us returned.

And then Cian reminds me of exactly how bad things are.

“And there’s a chance they have Harper.” He growls in outrage, the seams of the leather on the steering wheel squeezing and popping between Cian’s giant fists.

If Enzo was telling the truth, those horrible people who dismembered Finn’s wife and bludgeoned his arm into this bloody, broken mess, have my one and only sister in their clutches.

Everything dims. Sweat, blood, grime, gravel, and night all swirl together as Cian whips our armored truck away from the safe house grounds. Our enemies pursue us, showering the vehicle’s backside with bullets in waves.

For a while, there’s no sound but flying bullets, crunching tires, my quiet sobs, and the heavy, angry silence of the backseat where Jon sits with the news that his brother and comrades are dead.

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