Page 48 of The Heir's Defiance

I duck low and shoot toward the sound. A voice calls for cover, then silence. My clip ticks down with each shot, and I'm running out, but if I stop returning fire, I'm dead anyway. I pivot out and fire again. Another man drops, one hand still clutched around his weapon as he goes limp.

The air inside the warehouse reeks of blood and oil. My breath drags raggedly through my throat. Pain throbs through my thigh and my ribs, where pain has started to chew through the muscle. I wipe the sweat from my eyes and reload, moving toward the back wall. If they circle me again, I need better cover.

One more pushes in through the side door. I don’t hesitate. I shoot him clean through the sternum. He drops with a thud that echoes louder than the gunfire.

I’m down to four rounds when the side door opens, and I almost let another round fly. But I stop myself at the sound of her voice, so feminine and full of fear.

"Connor," Nora's screaming, sobbing. "Connor, please. Oh, my God…"

She stumbles into view with blood on her hands and mud on her jeans. She's limping hard, but she doesn’t slow. She sees me slumped against the crate and throws herself forward.

Then her father steps in behind her silently with his gun already raised.

Nora turns in time to see it. She doesn’t scream or plead. She moves, driven by instinct. She plants her body in front of mine and stands with her arms out to the sides, feet in a wide stance as she sobs. "Da, no," she whimpers. "You can't kill him."

Seamus's aim shifts, the barrel lowering an inch. Not out of mercy—just recalculation.

I push up on my elbow, but I won't fire at him with her standing between us. I don't know what sort of man he is, and I don't want to find out right now whether his daughter means anything to him.

Blood leaks through the fibers of my jeans, making the puddle beneath me larger, and my chest tightens. She’s standing between us, eyes fixed on him, jaw clenched like she’s ready to die for this.

His finger rests against the trigger but he doesn’t blink.

"Step aside, Nora," he says. The scrape of his voice is worse than a shout. He's the devil incarnate ready to claim what he thinks is his.

She doesn't even look back at me. "No," she tells him. "I'm not moving. You'll have to kill me too."

He takes one step forward, then another.

I reach up to pull her down, to shield her, to do something—anything—but she plants her hand against my chest and holds me in place. She won’t budge.

"You want him dead, you go through me."

The pistol shifts again.

Then the safety clicks off.

The warehouse holds its breath.

Her father’s aim falters. He doesn’t lower the weapon, but it wavers. He's calculating what this means, likely what he'll haveto tell his wife if he kills his own daughter. It's sickening watching him even think of doing this.

My breath is ragged. My gun’s useless now, jammed or empty. I don’t even take my eyes off Seamus long enough to check. My body wants to collapse, but my mind won’t stop. I look at her, knees shaking, shoulders squared. She’s facing down the man who made her, and she’s doing it for me.

He doesn’t speak. Neither does she.

Then the muzzle shifts downward.

Her father steps closer.

"Step aside, Nora."

His voice is low, but not calm. Still, she doesn’t move. "You shoot him, you shoot me," she says.

The safety clicks off.

The moment freezes.

I hear the wind outside and my own blood dripping to the floor. A single breath more, and it’ll all go black.

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