Page 68 of Iron Cross

"Of course, they do," I said, shaking my head.

Her paintings of our boy, and the image of us, in Hayez'sThe Kiss.... the faces she had sketched into her notepad. As I had sketched her, she sketched me. Two sides of the same fucking coin.

Eyes that I stared at in the mirror every single fucking day. Each one, a testament of love. A moment of honesty in my lying wife.

"Incoming," Shiny said, tilting her head towards the glass, into the side mirror.

I wasn't sure how she could tell they were Italians. Maybe it was the make and model that I had been too distracted to pay attention to. Maybe it was something more mystical than that. But she knew.

I gunned the gas, my fists clenched, as I made slow twitch adjustments to move along the winding street. Small, slow corrections to hug the road as we drove.

"Kira, I want you to get on the floor with the boy." I was calculating where the safest place in the car would be. The floor was armored as well, to protect against bombs and the like. Even if they shot out the windows, Kira would be somewhat safe down there. And if she draped herself over our son, then he'd have an extra layer of protection, and that was what mattered.

As the car behind us sped up to meet us, I swallowed.

"I love you," I said, to Kira. To my son.

There was dread in the pit of my stomach, and I wished I had a moment to turn around and kiss them both.

"Awww, I love you too, Eoghan," Shiny said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Shut the fuck up, you eejit." I punched her in the arm, and she punched me back.

"Why the fuck did I bring you of all people?" I asked.

"Because I'm the most useful soldier you have," she gloated.

"No, you're thinking of O'Malley," I corrected, trying to bruise that damned ego of hers. It didn't work, though.

"Please" She rolled her eyes.

"Please," I mocked, just as the first shot rang out.

"Fuck!" I growled.

"Fuck!" Cillian echoed, and I groaned.

"Eoghan!" Kira chided, as Shiny snickered.

Christ, was I meant to be a parent right now as well? I had too much going on. I was driving the car, trying to get away, and now I'd have to watch my language as well.

Shiny undid her seatbelt and opened her window. With a stabilizing hand on the headrest, she leaned out, her rifle slung around her neck. The butt of it rested in the pocket of hershoulder as she fired off several shots, hitting the bumper and the front of the car behind us.

"There's three of them," she said, when she climbed back into the car, closing the window with a push of the button.

"Well, that's less than ideal," I said in irritation.

"Maybe we should have brought more people," Shiny said, like a fucking brat. "If you weren't pretending to be fucking Cyrano."

"Cyrano?" I said, annoyed, because her choice of words was less than apt. "It's Don fucking Juan, you uneducated pleb. As written by Erik Claudin."

"Wah-wah-wah," she said, as she leaned back out the open window, pulled her rifle up, and fired. This time, her aim was true and she hit the driver in the head. The car swerved off the bridge and into the embankment of the winding river beside us.

"If you’re going to insult me with the fucking classics, then you should get it right!"

"Oh, sure!" Shiny said, as she fumbled for another magazine, struggling to get it into the well, as we took a sharp turn onto a side street, the tires squealing as we drifted over the asphalt. "Tell me, Kira. Did his stupid fucking disguise do the trick? You can tell me. Did he really fool you?"

Kira said nothing, looking away, and I smirked.

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