Page 2 of Stolen Rival
Every last motherfucking one of them.
Cillian and Molly inspect the injured and wounded. By the time they’re done, seventeen people have lost their lives, including Niamh’s brother and mother. An entire family wiped out in less than sixty seconds. A family I’d intended to merge with mine. A family who, for all intents and purposes,becamemine the second I agreed to marry Niamh—a twenty-year-old woman with her entire life ahead of her.
The five assailants who attacked us are also dead.I rip off their balaclavas, recognition sending a fiery blast of fury through my veins. These men all work for the McCarthys.
I tear a strip off my shirt and wrap it around Liam’s arm. Sirens sound in the distance. The Garda will be here soon.
“We need to move,” I bark at my brothers. “Cillian, Molly, wait here until I’ve checked it’s safe.”
Darragh hands me a magazine, and I reload. The three of us make our way to the church entrance and pause, weapons ready. More assassins could be waiting outside. I scan the area. Nothing but rolling green fields and hedgerows springing to life after a harsh winter. Crows circle overhead, squawking.
“Looks clear,” Darragh says.
I’m inclined to agree, but there are no guarantees. Still, we can’t stay here. I glance behind me, beckoning to my best friend.
“Cillian, get Molly out of here. Now!”
He nods, arm braced around his wife’s waist as they stumble down the aisle I should have traveled with my new bride. Instead, I’m stepping over dead bodies and planning a massacre of my own.
Once they’re safely in their car and his brake lights disappear down the lane, I jerk my head.
“Let’s go.” We sprint to my bulletproof SUV and climb inside. There’s no further gunfire, no sign of anyone else hiding in the bushes.
I floor the accelerator, kicking up stones and gravel as I leave the church behind. Guessing which route the Garda will probably take, I turn onto the first road on the right. We make our way back to the house on the outskirts of Dublin via country roads, and we’re not followed or stopped.
As soon as we set foot through the front door and close itbehind us, I turn to my brothers. “This is the McCarthys doing.”
“What do you want to do?” Darragh asks. “Wait, or hit them now?”
“We hit them now,” I say. “The longer we leave it, the more time they’ll have to prepare. With the O’Sullivans gone, they’ll be emboldened.”
Nightfall takes too fucking long to come, but at least the enforced delay allows me time to assemble a team and brief them. As the clock strikes midnight, we line up in front of the McCarthy’s house around five miles from our own. It’s a striking place befitting that of a boss. Soon-to-beformerboss, our last true rival, and one I intend to eliminate.
I peer through the sights on my AK-47. The place is in darkness, but that means nothing. They’ll be waiting. I scope out the estate for the guards I know are there.
“Four on the roof, six at ground level,” I murmur. “There’ll be more. Watch your six.”
“What’s the endgame?” Liam asks.
“Kill them,” I snarl, my blood a river of hate. “Kill them all.”
Chapter 2
SORCHA
Awareness teasesat the edges of my hazy consciousness. My lips are dry, my eyes fused shut, and some rude fucker’s drilling into my skull with a jackhammer.
What the hell did I do last night?
The cold claws of panic dig into my chest as the realization hits: I can’t remember.
When I try to steady my breath, it doesn’t work. It’s like a concrete slab is pressing down on my chest, and I can’t fill my lungs with air.
Start with the basics, Sor. Who are you?
Sorcha Brigid McCarthy.
That one’s easy. No amount of amnesia in the world could make me forget that God-awful middle name my parents gave me. I’m sure St. Brigid was a great aul’ doll and all, but she and I have zero in common.
