Chapter Thirty-Seven
Killian
The bullet exploded from my gun and hit him in the chest. His eyes widened in surprise as he fell to the ground, landing on top of Eden’s curled-up body. For a second, I froze and stared at the gun in my hand.
“I said no cops!” a man shouted. I swung my gaze to him. He held his gun to Connor’s head. “Nooo!” I roared. I lunged for him and knocked him off balance, my gun clattering to the floor. I was about to finish the job, but someone got me into a rear headlock. I locked in his leg with my foot, turned, and threw him to the ground. Shots rang out behind me. The man who’d been holding a gun to Connor’s head staggered and fell. Seamus moved closer and stood over him, putting another bullet in the man’s chest.
“Police. Drop your weapons.”
The words were barely out when another shot was fired. And another. One hit Seamus in the neck, and the other one in the head. I looked at the man with dark hair and a goatee, the last one standing, the one I’d thrown to the ground. He met my gaze and drew his gun. He was three feet away, and I was unarmed. Slowly, I raised my arms in the air. The fucker shot me in the chest. All the air got knocked out of my lungs. Staggering from the blow, I hit the floor as bullets riddled the man’s body.
Everything around me played out in slow-motion as I got to my feet, wheezing and clutching my chest. Officers and paramedics spurred into action while I stood still amid destruction and chaos. My eyes met Deacon Ramsey’s across the room. He gave me a little nod, acknowledging he’d just saved my life, before he crouched behind Connor’s chair and cut off the ties binding him.
I hauled the dead man’s body off Eden and checked her pulse. It was faint. I pressed my ear to her heart, needing to hear it was still beating. Pulling her into my arms, I sat on the floor, holding her. I looked down at her face. Bruised and battered. Her hair matted to her head, vomit clinging to her golden-blonde locks.
Her eyelids fluttered open. “Killian?” Her voice was hoarse and so quiet, I strained to hear her. “Are we dead?”
All around us was a sea of blood and dead bodies.
“Baby…” Oh God. “Everything will be okay. Everything will be….” My voice cracked. She closed her eyes. I leaned my head against the wall and cried like a fucking baby. I’d cried twice in my life before this. The day my mother left, and the day Johnny was pronounced dead. All those times Seamus had knocked me around, I never shed a fucking tear. But now it felt like I would never stop crying.
An officer crouched in front of me and put her hand on my shoulder. I knew her. Officer Healey. “Killian, we’re taking Connor to the hospital.” I watched the paramedics get Connor onto a stretcher, his face so bloody and battered, it looked as if he’d been Mike Tyson’s punching bag, and the word SNITCH carved in his chest. “We’ll need your statement…” she continued, but I only heard half of what she said as she cut the ties off Eden. I rubbed Eden’s wrists and hands, trying to get the circulation back. “The paramedics will take her out—”
“I’ll carry her to the ambulance.”
She studied my face, then nodded.
I winced as I got to my feet, struggling to get enough air into my lungs. Getting shot at close range hurt like a motherfucker. At first, the adrenaline had blocked out the pain, but it was hitting me now.
Officer Healey eyed my T-shirt, riddled with bullet holes. I’d been shot three times, but I’d gotten so damn lucky they’d gone for the chest every time. “They’ll check you out in the ambulance,” she said. “You probably cracked a few ribs.”
* * *
Four, as it turned out. With bruises all over my chest. Other than taping up my ribs, there was nothing they could do. On the ride to the hospital, the paramedics hooked Eden up to an IV, explaining she was dehydrated after vomiting so much, and tested her vitals. I washed Eden’s face with a damp cloth and tried to get the vomit out of her hair the best I could.
“Can you tell me what your name is?” the paramedic asked Eden. He shone a light in each eye, checking her pupils.
“Eden,” she mumbled, her eyes closing.
“Good. Can you tell me what day of the week it is?”
She didn’t answer for a few seconds. “Sunday?”
I closed my eyes. Fuck. “We went to Zeke’s party on Sunday. Remember?”
“Yes,” she said, but it came out sounding more like a question.
“Four days ago,” I prompted.
“It’s…Wednesday. No…Thursday. Right?”
“Right.” I glanced at the paramedic, worried it was a bad sign she didn’t know the fucking day of the week. He continued asking questions, his facial expression giving nothing away as to the severity of her head injury. She didn’t get all the answers right. She wasn’t even sure why she was in an ambulance.
“It’s post-traumatic amnesia,” he told me, as if this should set my mind at ease.
“I can still smell him,” she whispered. “He’s suffocating me.”
Why hadn’t I gotten that man’s body off her immediately? She’d been buried under the weight of a dead man who weighed at least two hundred pounds.
The bruise on her forehead scared the shit out of me. It was raised and swollen. She whimpered as I pressed the ice pack on it. It looked as if someone had planted their fist in her face too, bruising her cheekbone. And the paramedics had cut open her T-shirt, exposing another bruise on her stomach.
“Tell me she’s going to be okay,” I said to the paramedic as the hospital came into view. My voice sounded strange. Like a desperate man, begging for a sliver of hope. A ray of sunshine on a bleak day. She was my sunshine. Didn’t they know I’d be lost without her?
He flung open the back doors of the ambulance. “We’ll get her in for an MRI.”
That didn’t put my mind at ease. Memories of Johnny flashed through my head as I walked into the emergency room, holding Eden’s hand. I’d never seen her face this pale. All the color had been drained out of her.
“Killian?”
I squeezed her hand. “I’m here, baby.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I love you. So much.”
“I love you too.”
She clung to my hand like it was her lifeline. “Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t leave you.”
Unfortunately, I couldn’t keep my promise. They whisked Eden away to run tests, and I was told Connor had been taken into surgery to repair his fractured jaw with titanium plates and screws. I was left behind to fill out paperwork for Connor and Eden. After I filled it out, including Eden’s insurance information I’d stored in my phone, I was relegated to the waiting area. It smelled like BO and chemical air freshener. Two guys sitting across from me were stuffing their faces with McDonald’s. The smell made me nauseous on a good day. Tonight, I wanted to wrestle the bag out of their hands and throw it out the door. I moved to the farthest corner of the room and leaned against the wall. I called Louis and then Ava. I told them the same story. There’d been a break-in. Connor and Eden were being treated now but they would be okay. I said it because it was what I needed to believe.
“I’m calling an Uber,” Ava said, her voice shaky, on the verge of tears. I hadn’t even given her the details yet. I’d wait until I saw her in person to try to prepare her for the shock of seeing Connor. “See you soon.”
I stared at the phone in my hand, knowing I needed to make another call, but I dreaded it. I closed my eyes as the phone rang. Once. Twice. And then his voice in my ear. “Killian.”
“Hello, sir. It’s…Eden.” I swallowed hard. “She’s going to be fine,” I said quickly, to set his mind at ease.
Please, God, don’t turn me into a liar.
“What happened?” Jack Madley asked.
“There was a break-in at my house. Eden was there with my brother, Connor. I was at work.”
“A break-in?”
“I don’t know the whole story yet. We just got to the hospital.”
“Tell me what you do know.”
I told him what I knew, keeping my voice low so nobody else in the ER waiting room could overhear. As I said the words, I felt like I was talking about someone else, not me. I’d killed a man. Five men were dead, one of which was the man who had raised me. Jack listened without interrupting. “I’m on my way,” he said when I finished my story. “Text me the address of the hospital. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Okay.”
“And Killian?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry about your father.”
“Thank you.”
“But as a father, it’s my duty to protect my daughter.”
“I understand.” I’d promised to keep her safe, but I’d failed. All I’d ever wanted was to keep her safe, but it turned out I was the biggest danger. If she’d never gotten involved with me, she wouldn’t be in the hospital.
“Good. We’ll talk about this later.”
He cut the call. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. “I need to get your statement.” I opened my eyes and looked at Deacon Ramsey. You’d never know he’d just been involved in a shoot-out. Ramsey looked cool, confident, and unruffled. Even his dirty-blond hair looked like he’d just styled it for a night out. We’d gone to high school together. Back then, he had been more into partying and breaking the law than enforcing it. Seeing him in NYPD blues still took me by surprise. “You look like you could use a coffee.”
“I could use something a hell of a lot stronger than coffee,” I said
He grinned. “Left my hip flask at home.”
We walked to the vending machines in the hallway, and he fed money into the slot. I watched the cup drop and fill up with ‘gourmet coffee’ according to the machine. He handed me the cup and got one for himself.
“Getting shot hurts like hell,” he said, eying my ripped-up T-shirt as he took a sip of coffee.
Like getting hit in the chest with a hammer. “I’ve had worse.”
“I bet you have. Shame about your old man,” he said, not sounding sorry.
I side-eyed him. To hear most of the cops talk, you’d think my father walked on water.
Two kids and a woman stood in front of the vending machines, studying their options. Ramsey jerked his chin, gesturing me to follow him for some privacy.
“Any idea what Connor was involved in?” he asked when we got outside, standing a good distance away from the parked ambulances.
“No.”
“Where’s he been for the past few months?”
“You’ve been keeping tabs on Connor?”
“Just looking out for him.”
Before tonight, the last time I’d seen Deacon Ramsey, he’d been first on the scene of Connor’s motorcycle accident. It had been a hit and run and it hadn’t been Connor’s fault. Thankfully, he hadn’t been driving under the influence, but he’d been in possession. Ramsey had called me, instead of busting Connor. I’d hauled Connor’s ass to rehab. Three days after he got out of rehab, Connor disappeared. And now here we were, six months later, outside a hospital because of whatever the fuck Connor did in Miami.
“He was in Miami,” I said.
“You think he was working as an informant?”
“I don’t know.” It was what I suspected. Which meant he’d gotten busted for drugs and cut a deal with the cops. Which also meant he’d lied to me.
“Tell me what happened tonight.”
I told him everything, including the details I’d left out when I’d given Jack Madley a summary.
“He had his hands wrapped around her throat,” Ramsey said, trying to get his facts straight. “And when you ripped him off her, he drew a gun.”
“Right,” I said, looking him in the eye. “He shot me twice. I shot back.”
He nodded. “It was self-defense. But it might come back to haunt you.”
I killed a man, but this time I didn’t feel any guilt. I’d do it again if I had to just to save Eden. “Thanks,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “For what you did.”
“Just doing my job.”
By doing his job, he’d saved my life. And Seamus had saved Connor’s. It had been his final act and I wondered now, if he’d had a premonition he would die tonight. Why else would he have asked for my forgiveness when he’d never shown any signs of remorse before? Did I forgive him? I wasn’t ready to think about Seamus or our complicated history yet. I wasn’t ready to unravel all my tangled-up emotions either.
Right now, all I needed was to know Eden and Connor would be okay. All the rest of it…I’d deal with later.