Page 130 of Heartfelt Pain
“And who the fuck do the Irish want to kill?” Ben asks. He’s an angry type of calm meaning he’s handling the environment very well.
“The Stuart’s,” I, Trevino, and Isolde answer as one.
Ben sighs. A grumbly, annoyed huff of breath. Then he digs out a gun from his waistband. “If Russo brought Molotov cocktails there’s no telling what the Irish brought.”
He’s not wrong about that.
Trevino and Isolde, the best of our gunmen, share a calculated look. His jaw clenches like he doesn’t like whatever Isolde’s silently relayed but he nods. Isolde scoots forward, standing in a swift move. Trevino snatches me up, running while she provides cover.
“You let my best friend provide cover,” I yell as I’m pulled around. I pray Ben and Abe are following.
“I’m not the one who came up with this stupid idea!” he growls back.
We make it behind a thick pillar.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Abe repeats over and over.
I pat his shoulder.
Ben pants. “Isolde!”
Her back hits the cement pillar. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Do we have a way out of this?” Ben asks.
“Honestly, I think we’ll be fine,” I tell him.
I don’t have time to properly note Ben’s exasperation when a bullet skids off the pillar.
“Who are they trying to kill?” Ben asks
“Oh, wow,” I say. Paublino who runs one of the biggest street gangs rocks in with a group of his best soldiers. “That’s really nice. I didn’t think they’d show.”
“What do they want?” Abe asks. Ben is basically holding him up at this point.
Paublino aims at one of the Stuarts. The British elite weren’t stupid. They brought an army with them, but this is turning out to be more than a skirmish.
“We got to move,” Trevino shouts when there’s an excessive spray of gunfire.
This time Trevino takes the lead, Ben and Abe at my back.
You should always look forward in these types of situations. It’s never good, to waste time looking over your shoulder. But my head turns, an electric sense of warning tingling down my spine. My neck cranes, spotting Isolde spinning on her heel. She wouldn’t go down unless she’d been hit.
Her back presses to the ground and everything I’m fearing is reflected on Abe’s face as he yells.
A man steps up, gun pointed at Isolde. “This is from Cade.”
He’s dead before he can shoot Isolde.
Trevino’s heat is at my side, smoke curling from his gun.
Isolde leans back on her elbows. Her shirt is torn apart at the side.
I drop to the ground. “Are you hit?”
“Nah, it’s fine.” She stops my hand from touching her.
“Isolde!”
