Page 122 of SINS & Riley
“I don’t know why you’re screaming so loud for help. Seriously, help me help you. How does Andre know about the baby?”
Declan dangles half over the ledge, my hand locked around his throat. He’s gasping, spitting out pleas when?—
Whack!
Without warning, pain explodes through my ribs.
The bastard who’d been playing possum is back for round two and hitting me with all he has. He swings again and again. Tire iron slamming across my arms, my back.
He swings it into my side with everything he’s got. And it's all I can do to protect my skull.
I stagger on hands and knees, breath torn out of me, vision flashing white. For a split second, the thought slams in—this is how it ends.
“Ahhh!” Declan breaks into hysterical laughter, the wheezing, choking kind that makes him sound even more deranged. “Yes! Hit him again!”
The iron cracks into me once more, hot pain lancing up my spine. My grip falters, Declan writhing, trying to twist free, still cackling like this is the best joke he’s ever heard.
But instincts don’t die. They take over.
I shoot out a foot and kick him in the leg. The telltale, crack of a broken kneecap has him splintering to the ground.
I slam Declan back against the ledge, pinning him with my forearm, and whip my gun toward possum-boy.
One shot.
His body jerks and crumples, finally down for good.
Declan’s laughter dies mid-breath as he does the one thing—the only thing—that signs his death certificate.
Like the suicidal idiot he is, he rips away my mask.
His drunken grin vanishes, terror flooding in its place. “Dante.”
He freezes. The world does too.
Because there is no way he won't go shouting this from the rooftops. And no way I can let him.
It isn’t me I’m worried about.
It’s Riley. And the child growing inside her.
Goddamn it, I didn’t want it to end like this. But fate’s a sadistic bitch who fucks with me how she wants, when she wants.
“I won’t tell anyone,” he babbles, voice cracking, words spilling fast. “I swear, I won’t?—”
“I know you won’t.”
I suck in a breath and drive a knife into his gut, hard enough to launch him to his feet.
Declan’s scream rips through the night, raw and jagged—then cuts off as his body collapses. I lay him down beside the others.
And just like that, I light the fuse.
And ignite a war.
For a long while, I stare, detached. What have I done?
Now, I know my days are numbered. There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. The Irish will hunt me, and they won’t stop until they burn me alive and bury what’s left.
