Page 52

Maeve's eyes flick to the right, then back to me. The bathroom. She's telling me something.

"Fine," I say, kneeling to place my gun on the floor. "Just don't hurt her."

The man relaxes slightly, his grip on Maeve loosening. It's all the opening she needs.

She slams her elbow into his ribs, then drops to the floor. I lunge for my gun, firing as the man raises his weapon. The bullet catches him in the shoulder. He stumbles back but stays on his feet, gun still aimed at Maeve.

Another shot rings out—not mine. The man falls, a bullet hole in his forehead.

Finn stands in the doorway, gun still raised. "Got him."

I rush to Maeve, pulling her into my arms, ignoring the pain in my arm. "Are you hurt?"

She shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. "Conor?—"

I turn to find our son still on the bed, eyes wide with shock. There's blood on his shirt—Jack's blood. I scoop him up with my good arm, holding him tight.

"It's over," I tell them both. "It's over."

Conor clings to me, his small body shaking. "The bad men hurt Jack."

"I know, buddy." I smooth his hair, meeting Maeve's eyes over his head. "But they can't hurt anyone else now."

Sirens wail in the distance. Finn moves to the window. "Police. We need to get our story straight. Or get out fast."

Maeve sits on the bed, pulling Conor into her lap. "Tell them the truth. These men broke in, killed Jack, threatened us. Declan and you saved us."

"And Petrov?" I ask.

"Leave him out of it. For now." She kisses the top of Conor's head. "This is a police matter, not a Donovan vendetta."

I want to argue but know she's right. Bringing the Donovan name into this will only complicate things. And right now, all that matters is getting my family somewhere safe.

"Finn, handle the police. We're taking Conor to the car."

Maeve wraps Conor in a blanket, covering the blood on his clothes. I lead them out through the back exit, away from the approaching sirens.

In the car, Conor falls asleep quickly, exhaustion and trauma taking their toll. I watch him in the rearview mirror, his face peaceful.

"Why didn't you tell me about the threats?" I ask Maeve.

She stares out the window. "You were already injured. I thought I could handle it."

"By offering yourself to Petrov? Were you out of your mind?"

"I was trying to protect our son."

"By getting yourself killed?"

She turns to face me, eyes flashing. "I did what I had to do. Just like you would have."

"That's different."

"How? Because you're a Donovan? Because violence is your birthright?"

I grip the steering wheel tighter. "I know these people, Maeve. I know what they're capable of."

"So do I now." She touches the bruise on her face. "I learned the hard way."