Page 59 of Sanctuary

Connor nodded. “Makes sense. We should use that to our advantage—set up our defensive positions during daylight when we can see clearly, prepare for low-light combat conditions.”

“I’ve already called in reinforcements,” Declan added. “Ten of our most trusted clan members will be here by noon. That gives us a total of thirteen defenders, not counting Wren and Kat.”

“Fourteen,” I corrected quietly. “I can fight.”

The room fell silent as three pairs of eyes turned to me. Declan’s expression hardened.

“You expect us to put a weapon in your hands?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm. “After everything?”

I met his gaze steadily. “Yes. Because regardless of what you think of me, I’m your best chance against Matheson’s team. I know how they operate, how they think. I have more combat training than anyone else here. And my choice of weapon is a McMillan TAC-50 sniper rifle. I’ve never missed my mark.”

“She’s right.” Connor’s hand found the small of my back, a gesture of support that didn’t go unnoticed by his brother. “We’d be idiots not to use every advantage we have. And Mia is definitely an advantage.”

Declan’s eyes narrowed as he looked between us. The tension in the room was palpable, a living thing that seemed to press against my skin. Finally, he set down his coffee mug with deliberate care.

“Fine,” he conceded, though his voice remained hard. “But you’ll be positioned where we can see you at all times. And if you so much as twitch in a direction I don’t like—”

“You’ll put a bullet in my head,” I finished for him. “I understand.”

Rory cleared his throat. “We should show her the armory, let her select her weapon. If she really is as good as she says with a sniper rifle, I have some ideas about positioning.”

Declan gave a curt nod, then turned to Connor. “A word. Outside.”

Chapter 28

Mia

As the brothers stepped onto the back patio, Rory motioned for me to follow him. We walked in silence through the house to a set of stairs that went to the basement. He finally stopped in a little room with a heavy oak door. On the bookcase, he slid a photo aside revealing a keypad. He entered a code, and the lock disengaged with a soft click.

“How long have you been doing this?” he asked as we stepped into another room with paneled walls.

“Killing people, you mean?” I replied, appreciating his directness.

“Yes.”

“Since I was nineteen,” I said. “Matheson recruited me at eighteen, put me through a year of intensive training, then deployed me to my first assignment. I’ve been active for 13 years.”

Rory whistled low. “That’s a long time in that line of work.”

“Longer than most,” I agreed. “The burnout rate is high. Most operatives last five years, maybe seven. The ones who survive longer tend to either become trainers or...” I trailed off.

“Or?” he prompted.

“Or they become like Craven,” I finished. “Sadists who enjoy the work too much.”

He ran a hand along the panels of the wall, and they slid open to reveal a good size arsenal.

Weapons of every variety lined the walls—handguns, shotguns, rifles, and an impressive collection of bladed weapons. Cases of ammunition were neatly stacked on shelves, and tactical gear hung on racks along the back wall.

“Impressive,” I said, genuinely surprised by the extent of their preparation. “I see the family believes in being ready for anything.”

“The MacGallan clan has survived for centuries by being prepared,” Rory replied, moving to a gun safe in the corner. “We’ve had our share of enemies over the years.”

He entered another code, and the safe swung open to reveal a collection of high-end sniper rifles. I stepped forward, my eyes immediately drawn to a familiar silhouette.

“Is that a McMillan TAC-50?” I asked, unable to keep the appreciation from my voice.

“Good eye,” Rory confirmed, lifting the rifle from its mount. “Custom modifications, match-grade barrel, upgraded trigger assembly. It’s Declan’s pride and joy.”

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