35. Ronan

Chapter 35

Ronan

I t seems that Gregory decided not to take any chances. Instead of busting in and putting his guys in danger, they light the whole front of the bar up with some serious high-caliber bullets. Glass shatters and breaks, showering me and Seamus with shards. Bullets rip through the walls and thud into the bar, into the tables, into the booths. Bullets tear chunks of wood and plaster, sending tiny missiles all through the air. There’s a scream of pain, followed by loud cursing, and the shooting just keeps going.

I can’t do anything but curl up and stay low. More than a few holes are ripped in the wall above me. Seamus is cursing loudly and keeping his arms above his head. Based on the noises further into the bar, only one person is injured so far—and I just keep thinking, if we hadn’t been warned, this would’ve been a nightmare.

At least Valentina is safe in the office. At least she’s not in the middle of all this. Gregory has no reason to hurt her—he’s just here for me.

The shooting stops. It’s abrupt but happens all at once. The sudden cessation of noise makes my head hurt, and I risk looking around. Niall’s kneeling next to Cousin Jacob and trying to stem the flow of blood from a wound in his chest. Red spittle and bubbles form on his lips as he gasps for air. Seamus is staring, and I have to grab him by the shirt and force him to look away.

“They’re coming,” I tell him through my teeth. “Get your shit together. You ready?”

“Ready,” he says and turns to the door as a figure starts kicking it open.

The barrier of tables rattles. The glass is mostly blown out, and whoever’s trying to get in starts cursing. He reaches in to knock the tables back, and that’s when Seamus leaps up.

The shotgun is a sonic boom. The biker in the doorway screams as his chest is blown to raw hamburger. He falls back, blood spraying from his body, and there’s cursing and angry yells from behind him.

I’m up next. I’m up and aiming as three more bikers turn to face me. I pull the trigger, blasting the man closest, and hitting him half in the face and half in the neck. His skin and flesh shreds to gore and viscera as he topples backward with a bloody, horrible gurgle.

I drop back down. The bikers return fire, but they’re spraying in fear now. Seamus stays still, waiting for his chance, and there’s a yell from outside again. Seamus pops up, fires, and there’s another scream, but this time the bikers get their shit together, and charge.

The barrier doesn’t hold. I fire a shot into a biker’s chest, sending him flying back, but it’s not enough. Seamus shoots as he retreats to the bar, and I’m sprinting after him as bullets scream after me. I dive over, landing in an ugly heap, and I hear Niall’s shout as our men open fire.

It’s a glorious, horrifying cascade of bullets and death. The bikers trying to get in through the front door and the broken-out windows are an easy target. There’s no cover, no dodging or hiding, and even though their weapons are more powerful, they’re right out in the open caught trying to get past our barrier.

Their casualties are horrible. Bodies are torn to bits as bullets rip into them. For a few seconds, I think they’re going to break and run, but more voices outside start shouting, and more bikers start forcing their way through.

Bullets fly, some from the Servants and their rifles, but mostly from my men trying to pick them off. I don’t know how much ammunition we have, but I doubt we’ll be able to keep up a steady rate of fire for ten minutes at this pace. I try catching Niall’s eye, try telling him we need to stagger and conserve ammo, but there’s too much chaos.

I leap up and fire the gunshot. It sprays, but at a distance it isn’t nearly as effective. The screams of pain are gratifying though, and I start shooting at will, blasting as many holes into the fucking bastards as I can. The thrill of the fight rushes into me; all I want to do is kill these fucks, kill them for coming to hurt my people, for thinking they could get the drop on me.

The bikers retreat. Bodies are left behind—I count at least six. Plus the few killed out front likely cut their numbers in half. A horrible, fucked-up toll to pay, but when I creep to the front and peer out, they aren’t gone.

Gregory’s there. He’s pacing back and forth, covered in blood, and carrying an AR-15 with some heavy-duty modifications. It looks like a fucking military piece. He’s cajoling his men, screaming at them to start attacking again, and I stare in horror as he pulls what looks like an actual fucking grenade from his cargo pocket. His teeth gleam as he turns to face the bar again and I scramble back as he pulls the pin.

“Grenade!” I yell as I throw myself behind the bar again. “Get the fuck down!”

I hear it land barely ten feet away, and the explosion it makes rattles my teeth and sends a massive cloud of smoke and fire into the sky. The building shakes and wood splinters rain down from the ceiling as a smoke alarm screams and the ceiling sags. Electrical wires spark in the gloom.

“Everyone okay?” I call out as I check the guys behind the bar. They’re fine but shaken. “We need to hold the front. Come on, Gregory’s going to try again?—”

But it’s too late. There are shadows at the windows, shadows at the door, and I don’t know if the others are able to return fire right now.

We might’ve hurt them badly on their first rush, but they’re coming again, and I’m not sure we can stop them. Gregory’s either suicidal or determined to kill everyone in this building, and he seems willing to bring it all down on our heads to make it happen.

“Back to the offices,” I say, grabbing the men closest to me and shoving them to get them moving. “Back to the offices!” I yell to the others scattered through the room.

The shooting starts again. Gregory’s men sense the tides turning and they start laying into the room with as much firepower as they can muster. But the smoke from the grenade and the dust and debris in the air create a thick cloud, obscuring their vision, and giving us a little cover as we retreat.

There are still screams.

Men fall as they scramble toward the hall. I catch one and try to lift him, but there’s a hole in his chest and red, bloody foam on his lips. It’s Cousin Thomas, nineteen years old, barely a kid. I let him fall and fight back the grief. It won’t do me any good right now and it won’t save my remaining friends and family. I’ll have time later to remember the dead.

I reach the back hall and make sure everyone’s coming with me. More shooting sprays the walls around us, but nobody gets hit, as the last of the running cousins slides through past me.

I get them into position. Anyone with a gun and ammo up front hiding in doorways. I duck into the office and find Valentina standing in front of the desk, her face white with terror and worry. I walk to her and kiss her hard, getting dust and dirt on her lips. She doesn’t seem to care; she clings to me and pulls me tighter.

“How bad?” she whispers.

“Bad.” I pull back and stare into her face. “I won’t let them get to you. I swear, love, I won’t.”

“Ronan—” Her voice chokes as Niall shouts from the hall.

“Stay down.” I gently lower her into a chair and turn away.

This is our last stand. I know we’re fucked. I count five men able to return fire, including me. The rest are either out of ammo or too injured to do anything, and they’re hurrying to the emergency exit.

We’ll hold them off for as long as we can. When there’s an opportunity, I’ll send Valentina out with them, and hopefully she can make it without getting hurt.

I lean out the office door and nod at Niall. He’s in the doorway of the women’s room across the hall. “You good?”

“Not at all. You?”

“Having the time of my life.”

Niall’s grim smile suggests this isn’t the time for a little black humor.

“Ronan Hayes!” Gregory’s voice echoes from the wreckage of the main bar room. “I know you’re trapped down there like rats. Here’s the thing. I’ve got more grenades, and that hallway is the perfect killing zone. I’m going to offer you a way out of a bloodbath though, because I’m a reasonable man. Come out here, surrender yourself, and I’ll let the rest of your people go.”

“Bluffing,” Niall says, staring at me. “Don’t you dare move.”

I lean out and spot Gregory’s men at the other end of the hallway, looking down at me, guns aimed. But nobody shoots.

“You’re full of shit,” I call out. “If you had more grenades, you would’ve used them already.”

“You want to gamble the lives of your men on that?”

I look at my people. They’re staring back, and they look determined. None of them say a word, and none of them act like I should cave. A little piece of my heart locks into place, and for the first time in a while, I truly feel like their leader, like the head of their family. I care about them, and they trust in me, and I have to get them through this.

“Go to hell, slimy scumbag. Go fuck your bike’s tailpipe. Better yet, suck on it and breathe nice and deep.”

Gregory’s shout of rage makes me think I might’ve played this wrong. I brace myself for another grenade to come rolling over, and I prepare to jump on top of it if I have to. Instead, gunfire breaks out as the MC guys try to lay down covering fire.

They’re going to storm us. The stupid bastards. It’ll be a slaughter. Coming in the front was bad enough, but charging down a hallway with multiple guns pointed straight at them is straight-up madness. But what else can they do? I hear Gregory shouting at them to be strong, to fight for the pride of their patches, and other dumb shit. And a sick part of me knows they’ll do it.

“Wait until they’re in,” I call out to Niall. “Spread the word. Don’t shoot until they’re in.”

He nods and turns to speak to the men behind him. The plan moves, man to man.

I don’t know how much it’ll help. There are five of us and more of them, and maybe the MC thugs will take some heavy losses, but they’ll overwhelm us with firepower. I glance back at Valentina, and she’s got her knees against her chest, looking like she’s going to be sick, and I can’t blame her. I want to get her out of here, but I can’t tell if there’s going to be another chance.

“Kill them all,” Gregory shouts. “Murder the fucking Irish pricks. Go, go, go, rush them!”

Then screaming. I expect a flood of bikers, but none of them attack. There’s only horrible, brutal screaming, punctuated by more gunfire, and it’s not aimed at us. I stare at Niall, wondering what the hell is going on, and risk poking my head out of cover.

There are men pouring in through the shattered front of the bar. Gregory’s down on the floor and his men are turned around to meet the new attackers, but it’s too late.

Uncle Eddie’s in the front, limping along and shooting an enormous revolver. He’s got a massive smile on his face like he’s having a blast. I can’t believe they made it and that we held them off for as long as we did, but soon the shooting is over, and the bikers lie in twisted, bloody wreckage on the floor.

“Are you okay?” I hurry over to Valentina. She nods and touches my face.

“I’m fine,” she whispers.

I crush her mouth with a fierce kiss, not caring who sees. I hold it for a few seconds before pulling back. “My family,” I say, and I feel the mourning beginning to bubble up.

“Go.” She blinks back tears. “Do what you have to do.”

I tear myself from her and leave the office to face the wreckage of my bar, the bodies of my dead friends, and the corpses of my ruined enemies.