Page 51 of Royal Bargain
The doors are still swinging. I don’t see Liam. I rush forward, pressing through the crowd.
There’s a dark figure slumped over on the steps. I can’t see who it is.
Oh, God. What if it’s Liam?
18
LIAM
Burns is still conscious when I reach him—thank Christ. Blood stains the front of his suit, soaking through the white of his shirt, but the EMTs say it missed anything vital. A clean shot through the shoulder. Painful, but not fatal.
He’s cracking half-hearted jokes through gritted teeth as they load him into the ambulance. “Tell Rory I better still get his endorsement,” he groans as they shut the doors, and I force out a laugh even though my hands won’t stop shaking.
Once the flashing lights start to fade, I realize a crowd’s already gathered at the bottom of the steps, murmuring like a swarm of bees. Cameras. Reporters. Spectators with phones raised high like they’re filming a damn concert.
I straighten my jacket and step forward, adrenaline still flooding my system, my pulse a steady drum in my ears.
“Can you tell us what happened?”
“Was it politically motivated?”
“Is Senator Burns going to be alright?”
I raise a hand, trying to steady the crowd. “He’s stable. The paramedics say he’s going to make a full recovery.”
There’s a ripple of relief, but it’s short-lived. The questions keep flying—faster now, sharper.
“Do you know who’s responsible?”
“Was this connected to his speech tonight?”
“Is this retaliation from one of the crime families?”
I turn toward the nearest camera, meeting it head-on. “Senator Burns made it clear tonight that he’s taking a hard stance on organized crime,” I say, my voice calm, and maybe more certain than I feel right now. “And some people don’t like being held accountable.”
Silence. Then--
“Are you saying this was a hit?”
“I’m saying that someone out there is scared. And they should be.” I pause. “Because we’re not backing down.”
Before they can regroup, I lean in slightly toward the nearest mic. “Starting tomorrow, Senator Burns will be protected by Blackthorn Security—a premier private security firm backed by years of experience and trusted by high-profile clients across the state.”
A ripple moves through the crowd.
Someone up front squints at me. “Isn’t that your family’s company?”
I nod. “It is. Blackthorn’s been in the works for a long time. My brother Rory started it with Senator Burns’s encouragement, and it’s grown fast. We handle private contracts for celebrities, executives, anyone who needs elite, discreet protection. We’re proud of what we’ve built—and we’re honored Senator Burns trusts us with his safety.”
That part’s all true. Mostly.
The company’s barely a year and a half old, and it started because Burns whispered in Rory’s ear that going legit would be good optics. But no one here needs to know that. Not when I can spin it into gold.
Another reporter chimes in. “Is this the Brannagan family distancing itself from criminal associations?”
I give a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Look, I get it. The name comes with baggage. But that’s not who we are anymore. We’ve worked hard over the past few years to build something real. Something legitimate. People just haven’t caught up to the truth yet.”
I let that sit. A beat of silence. A few scribbled notes. The kind of pause that signals they’re actually listening now.
