Page 66 of Killaney Blood
Declan lunges forward, one hand capturing the Albanian's wrist, forcing the barrel upward as it fires with a deafening bang. The bullet embeds itself in the ceiling, sending down a shower of dust and debris.
I can't look away. Declan's face transforms; gone is the charming Irish playboy. In his place is something fierce. He slams his forehead into the Albanian's nose with a sickening crunch. Blood sprays, but the man doesn't release the gun.
Two more shots follow, wild and directionless as they struggle.
Someone screams. Then everyone is screaming.
The crowd scatters, pushing and shoving, chairs overturning as people rush for the exits. I'm frozen, watching as Declan drives his knee into the Albanian's stomach, doubling him over. His fist connects with the man's temple once, twice with brutal force.
The Albanian collapses, but Declan isn't finished. He's on top of him still, trying to take the gun.
I see other men running toward us, weapons drawn. They look Albanian. Three of them.
A body crashes into me from behind, sending me stumbling forward. I lose my balance, falling hard onto my knees. The impact jolts through me, pain flaring sharp and immediate. When I look up, I've lost sight of Declan in the sea of fleeing bodies.
I scramble to my feet. My mind screams at me to find Declan, to help him somehow. But another voice tells me to run. Run now. Or you'll never run again.
A few of Declan's men pass me on their way to him, and I take that hope that they'll do more than I can. If I'm gone, none of this would be happening. Declan would be safe and not trying to avoid being shot.
So I turn and don't look back.
I shove through the panicked crowd, ducking under arms, slipping past bodies until I reach the back exit.
Cold air hits my face as I burst outside, my lungs burning. I don't stop. I can't.
I run until my legs ache and my breath comes in ragged gasps, until I'm sure no one is following.
Only then do I slow, ducking into the shadow of an alley to catch my breath.
Shit, I left my car.
My medical supplies, my bag beneath the seat where I always keep a spare set of clothes, all abandoned in a panic.
Fuck it.
That life is over now anyway. It was temporary. I should never have come back.
I'm stupid to think they'd just give up and move on. If it weren't for my sister, for him, maybe I would have stayed gone.
I can't let that affect me now. I have to go. To get far away from here, to protect the people who drew me back.
I lean against the brick wall, my heart racing. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving me shaky and nauseous. I close my eyes, trying to steady myself.
Declan's face flashes behind my eyelids. The way he went after that Albanian. It is the first time someone has fought for me.
But that doesn't change anything. I'm too far gone to be saved. And I promised myself years ago that I would never put people in harm like I've been in.
I push away from the wall, knowing I need to keep moving until I can disappear.
I hail a cab with trembling hands, giving the driver the address of a building a few down from mine, just in case. The entire ride, I keep looking over my shoulder, half-expecting to see Declan or the Albanians in pursuit.
But no one follows. At least, no one I can see.
Inside my apartment, I move on autopilot. I grab my duffel bag from under the bed and start throwing clothes into it. Jeans. T-shirts. Underwear. The bare essentials. The cash I've been saving from Declan, almost fifteen thousand dollars now, hidden in the back of my freezer, wrapped in foil.
My heart pounds like it's trying to escape. My thoughts race, fragmenting, spiraling me, as usual.
I think again to myself, you're so naïve, Lyra. You really thought two weeks would do it? Solve everything? That you'd get to stay safe.
