Page 69 of Killaney Blood
Glass from more broken windows rains down over us.
"Stay here!" Declan roars, already drawing his weapon. His body hovers protectively over mine for a split second longer before he's gone, out in the open.
I press my hands over my ears, heart pounding in my throat. I can't move even if I wanted to. I can only watch.
Declan moves with a fluid efficiency that seems impossible. One moment he's shielding me, the next he's firing back. His face transforms. Gone is the man who tore my bus ticket, replaced by something cold and lethal.
He fires, takes cover behind the SUV, then moves again.
"Two on the east corner. Another behind the blue sedan."
I remove my hands from my ears, thinking my hands might be more useful if I have to run, and I look around, thinking of where I could run to.
The man who opened the door for us stumbles and I see blood pour from his neck. He drops to his knees and then to the ground.
My body says stay hidden, but my medical training kicks in and I scurry over to him. I don't think there's much I can do, but I have to try.
Blood seeps from my fingers and as I look for anything around to help stop the blood, another bullet hits him, half a foot from my hands. I fall backwards and crawl back behind the SUV.
"I said stay down!" Declan orders me as bullets rip through the air around us.
I nod and press my back against the car.
I hear the men shooting at us. They're yelling in Albanian.
Fuck, they came for me.
I look over at Declan and he seems to anticipate their every move. He drops to one knee beside me, reloads in seconds, then rises and fires three rapid shots. One Albanian goes down with a scream. Another tries to circle around the parked cars by us, and I scream. But Declan sees him coming. He fires twice, driving the man back into the shadows.
I've spent years patching up men who claimed to be dangerous. Men who boasted about their power, but I've never seen someone who fights with such skill. No hesitation. No wasted movement.
"Henry, ten o'clock!" Declan shouts, and one of his men pivots, firing at a figure emerging from between two buildings. The attacker retreats.
Suddenly, a dark van screeches into view and jumps the curb close to us. More Albanians pour out.
Declan grabs one of them, slams him into the hood of the car, and strikes him hard enough to knock him unconscious.
Another swings at him with a crowbar. Declan ducks, tackles him, and drives his elbow into the guy's throat. The man crumples.
Bullets tear through a street sign above where I crouch. I scream and cover my head.
I feel a shake and look up. It's Declan reloading beside me. "Are you hit?"
I shake my head.
His eyes scan my body anyway, hands patting down my arms, sides, thighs.
"You good? Look at me. You good?"
"Y-Yeah. I think so."
"Good. Stay here."
"Declan!" Henry yells.
But he's already up again, tossing him a second clip. Henry reloads mid-run, spins, and shoots a man charging at us.
Declan shifts his body, keeping himself between me and the gunfire. A human shield. The realization hits me hard.
