Page 57 of The Celtic Resolution
“Cian,” I yell cautiously, backing out of the room. “Cian!”
“What?” His distant yell from outside is cut short and in a snap decision, I bolt away from the room containing the angry Triad and sprint outside.
It’s carnage.
What remains of our team are engaged in a brawl with several members of the Chinese Triad who pour out of cars and vans that must have arrived during the firefight inside the building, else we would have heard the engines. Cian is on the ground with his knee pressed into Stephen’s back, keeping him flat on the ground while he fires a few shots over the hood of the car he’s crouched behind.
“Cian!”
“Saoirse!” He turns toward me. “Call Cormac, tell him we need—fuck, we need everyone!”
My hands struggle to work as I try to get my phone out of my pocket. How the fuck did this happen? We were careful, we were so fucking careful. Did we underestimate the Triad?
How the fuck did they get here so quickly?
Was it something else?
A cold sensation washes down my spine like the trickle of frozen water as a thought enters my mind while I hurry down the steps.
Were we set up?
Cian mentioned that all my tracked drugs came through here. Was this a trap? Did I just walk Cian into this because I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts to assess this properly?
As I reach the bottom of the steps, the door behind me slams open and the crazed, bloodied, knife-wielding man stands at the top. Our eyes lock and my heart leaps up into my throat.
Suddenly, there’s a scream of tires. I spin on the spot and pinpoint Cian sprinting toward me with his face wide and eyes panicked, but none of his yelled words seem to reach me. All I hear is the car and my warning about the vehicle rises in my throat.
I’m not fast enough.
One second, Cian is a few feet away from me yelling, and the next, he’s flying up in the air like a spinning top as the car knocks him clean off his feet.
“Cian!” I scream myself hoarse.
His body crumples down onto the hood of the vehicle and his limps form rolling to the ground is the last thing I see before I’m tackled to the floor and piled upon by several of the Triad. What remains of our team and swiftly killed, words are yelled and threats spilled, but none of that matters. All I see is Cian lying on the ground near where the car stopped, his face bruised and bleeding, and his eyes closed.
The cold wakesme several hours later, bringing me to consciousness in complete darkness. Everything hurts. I vaguely recall the thump of boots against my body and a hand in my hair before my world went dark in the parking lot.
Where the hell am I?
Despite the aches and pains that light up around my body as I pull myself up from the damp ground and rest back against an equally damp, cold wall, I ignore them. Now is not the time to wallow. I’ve been in situations like this before and Cormac was very rigorous in our training when it came to something like this happening.
Personal feelings don’t matter.
Pain doesn’t matter.
Check yourself, situate yourself, and escape. That’s what I need to do.
That’s what I should do.
But as I pat down my pockets searching for my phone or anything they might have left behind, all I can think about isCian. The horrific way his body twisted when it flew up in the air and the sickening sound it made when it landed on the hood of the car.
He was trying to reach me. He was trying to save me from that knife-wielding asshole and disregarded his own safety to do it.
I did this.
This ismyfault.
My mouth tastes like iron and as I swallow, a leaking sensation trickles against my cheek. Gently probing the area with my tongue, I groan softly. My teeth have torn the inside of my cheek but with how it’s still slowly bleeding, it can’t have happened that long ago. Maybe I haven’t been here for as long as I fear. Gathering the blood with a sweep of my tongue, I spit it off to the side, then strain through the darkness trying to glimpse anything.
