About to tackle him, I saw something in Da’s eyes that I never thought I’d see.
Regret.
Resolve.
Remorse.
"No," I snarled at him. "No."
His hand came to my shoulder. "Leave, Aidan. Leave. I deserve to burn with him."
"It’s suicide!" I barked, coughing and choking on the smoke that was already filtering through the air. "You’ll go to hell."
"Exactly where I belong," he rasped, and he moved closer to Masters, closer, closer.
Which meant he left me with no choice.
As fucking usual, the man couldn’t even atone for his sins without fucking me over.
Well, not this time. Not again. Never fucking again.
Thirty-Six
Savannah
The sound of alarm started while we were playing poker.
Because this felt like the calm before the storm, and I always hated that part the most, I was glad for it in all honesty. Aidan had been gone for hours, and while I enjoyed observing the family, something was going down. Something nobody was talking about and which we were all pretending wasn’t happening.
Lena had gone off hours ago to grab Sr., Aidan, and Finn, but she’d been away for so long that we’d eaten without her.
Conversation had been stilted, not as free-flowing as earlier, and I almost resented Valentini for not having the decency to wait until after Christmas because everyone was on edge now.
Aoife was worried about Finn, and I was concerned about Aidan. The other women stuck close to their men, which had given me ample time to pump Jen for any info on Valentini but, for once, she was being close-mouthed and had been avoiding me as much as she could.
Everyone seemed on edge about the noises coming from the other side of the property—quite understandably—and we weren’t even telling Conor to come down to play or eat because, in Eoghan’s words, "He’ll be happier with his code than with us."
I didn’t think I’d heard anything sadder, but I got it. We all had our coping mechanisms, didn’t we? Conor clearly needed his, just as I needed mine.
So when the poker suggestion was thrown on the table by a smiling Camille, I was relieved for a change of pace, for a reason to switch off the part of me that was filming a mental documentary intended for my eyes only.
But before I could even begin lulling them into a false sense of security, a flurry of pings sounded from the brothers’ cells as they received a text message.
"We need to get the women and kids to the safe room. That was the front gate," Eoghan muttered, having reached for his phone first.
My eyes rounded in surprise, but that was nothing to everyone else’s reaction. Only Shay was slow, which confirmed what I already knew—he was new to the life. Aela dragged him along, while the rest of the women hurried after them. Only I lagged behind.
"What’s going on?" I demanded, slowly getting to my feet as I tipped my chin back to stare up at Eoghan.
Why were they all so goddamn tall?
Declan shuffled the women and kids away, and I bit my lip as I heard one of them start crying. Fear didn’t fill me, but at that moment, I felt alive again. Like I did when I was in my apartment. When that bastard had come for me.
My breathing wasn’t fast this time, my heart wasn’t pounding. If anything, I felt a bizarre kind of clarity. I was safe. With the O’Donnellys, I was safe. Just like they’d protected me before, they’d do it again.
"You need to get to the safe room," Brennan said grimly, his eyes on his phone now as well. "Thank fuck we didn’t switch them off," he muttered to Eoghan.
"Did you hear the alarm?" Conor called out from the doorway to the TV room where we’d set up after dinner, another room that was covered in wall-to-wall photographs which I’d explored after we’d eaten.
Eoghan barked, "What’s going on?"
"Some motherfuckers are trying to storm the gates."
To punctuate his statement, gunfire sounded.
My eyes rounded as my heart began pounding in reaction—how was this upstate New York? It sounded more like downtown Benghazi.
I dropped to my knees and crawled over to the window, not stopping until I could peer outside.
"The fuck do you think you’re doing?" Brennan thundered as the lights went down in the room.
"Who did that?" Eoghan snapped.
"Me." Conor’s tone was grim. "The electric fences just did their job."
"What’s that supposed to mean?" Brennan demanded.
"That the lights would go off if the fences were tripped," Declan explained gruffly, telling me he’d deposited the women in the safe room and had returned.
I felt someone move over beside me, the heat of him brushing against me as he stood next to the window and peered out. When he spoke, I recognized it was Declan too. "The estate’s completely blacked out."
Conor hummed. "First line of defense tripped. If they have a second wave, then they’ll reach the next part."
Why did he sound like he was enjoying this?
Someone dropped beside me, making me jump because I thought they were hurt. Then, a laptop screen lit up, and I saw Conor’s face glowing in the blue light.
He cast me a glance before his fingers started flying across the keyboard. "Having fun, Savannah?"
"Had better times," I countered.
"Aidan’ll kill you for being out here and not in the safe room. You’re his penguin."
"His, what now?" Then, deciding I didn't have time to learn exactly what he meant by that, I muttered, "He can’t kill me if they kill me first."
Conor scoffed. "As if I’d let that happen." His brow furrowed. "Don’t let the elevator thing make you think I’m not damn good at what I do."
I blinked. "I didn’t think that." I was now, though. Shit. The unmistakable sound of guns cocking ricocheted around the room, and I muttered, "Can I have one?"
"What so you can shoot us in the foot?"
Brennan.
I narrowed my eyes at nothing, because I didn’t know where the hell he was, but I sniped, "Sexist, much? My dad’s a hunter. He made me learn when I bitched at him for the senseless killing of animals."
"What a weird way to get you to shut the hell up," Declan mumbled. "He made you learn to shoot as, what? Retaliation?"
Conor, as he tapped away, said, "You should tell them what he shoots instead now."
"Shut up," I hissed at him.
"It makes a difference," he retorted.
"What does he shoot?" Eoghan asked, and I felt him approach the window too.
"Paintball pellets."
The guys cackled and I elbowed Conor in the side. "Shut the fuck up. I bet I’m a better shot than you."
"Probably," he confirmed. "I don’t like guns. Never have."
Of course, he didn’t. "What kind of mobster doesn’t like guns?" I complained.
"This kind of mobster?" He grinned at me. "Give her a gun. She might let me concentrate then."
I rolled my eyes at him. "Too kind." But a weapon was shoved at me, and I took it with a muttered, "Thank you."