Page 97 of Stolen Rival
“I think the little lady should die first. It’ll be so much more fun for you to have to watch.” His toe pokes me in the side, and with one shove, he flips me.
The surprise in his eyes as the bullet blows a hole in his chest is a memory worth savoring. But I’m not taking any chances. I empty the entire magazine into his body with a final shot to the head. He hits the ground with a solid thud.
Torture was what he deserved, but knowing he’s got more holes in him that Swiss cheese will have to satisfy the monster inside me. That, and the knowledge he can never hurt Sorcha again.
“Patrick.” She looms over me, her red hair falling over her face. I reach up to touch her, but my arms won’t move. “Patrick!”
I open my mouth to reassure her, but nothing comes out.
“Oh, God, somebody help me!”
The sound of several pairs of boots edge closer. My side hurts. Did he kick me?
“Liam! Over here. Andrew shot him twice.”
Twice?
No. Just once. The leg. A tourniquet, and I’ll be fine.
“Fuck.” My brother drops to the ground beside me. I smile. At least I think I do. He doesn’t smile back though. “Bro, hang on. Just fucking hang on.”
Tired now.
So tired.
Sleep.
Chapter 46
SORCHA
“We needto get him to the hospital.” Adrenaline pumps through my veins, making me want to sprint into the field or vomit. Maybe both.
“No hospitals.” Liam’s voice is clipped but edged with fear.
“It’s twenty minutes away, Liam. We need to go.”
He looks up at me from where he’s crouched beside Patrick. “We can’t take the head of the Irish mafia to the local hospital, Sorcha. Not unless it’s a real emergency. Do you know the number of people waiting in the wings to either finish him off, or take advantage of him being injured?” He pulls off his belt, using it as a tourniquet around Patrick’s thigh.
I hold out my hand. “Give me your phone.” If we can’t go to a hospital, then there’s only one other option. There’s no way Liam doesn’t have Patrick’s best friend’s number in his phone. These men always need a doctor on speed dial. Da had at least three, and two vets, in case of the most severe emergencies. We aren’t all that differentfrom animals, he’d tell my brothers.
If we can’t get hold of Cillian, I’ll have them take him to the local vet’s house.
Liam doesn’t react to my barked order other than to hand me his mobile. The team moves in to help Liam lift my motionless husband. I find Cillian’s number, pray he’s not working a double shift at the hospital, and hit the green button.
“Hello? Liam?” Cillian’s voice is a sleepy mumble when he picks up the phone. I jump into the back seat of a Land Rover, and Liam and a couple of the team lift Patrick inside and rest his legs over my knees. Liam passes me a shirt to press against Patrick’s shoulder wound.
“Push harder than you think you should,” Liam instructs, then slams the rear door.
I guess the team knew I’d burn the fucking car before I’d let them separate me from Patrick. Liam hops in the front seat, the driver starts the car, and before anyone knows where we’re going, we lurch into motion down windy country roads.
“C-Cillian, it’s Sorcha. Sorcha Mahoney.”
“Sorcha?” His tone shifts, like my voice poured ice water on him, and he’s now wide awake. “What’s wrong?”
Liam throws me a nod of approval over his shoulder, leans toward the driver and murmurs what I assume is an order to go to Cillian’s place. I have no idea where we are, but if we weren’t close enough to make it, Liam would have told me or snatched the phone from me. I take it as my sign to keep going. Unless someone comes up with a better idea, this is the plan.
“P-Patrick’s been…” I swallow, but the lump swelling in my throat won’t budge. Tears well in my eyes, and fear spears into my chest. I shake my head, dislodging heavy droplets from my eyes. I don’t have time for fear. I don’t have time to cry or analyze what it means that I care this much about Patrick being this hurt. I swallow again. “Cillian, Patrick’s been shot. We’re on our way.”
