Chapter 9 - The Second Trigger
Before Sloane could pivot toward the sound, Maeve threw all her weight backward, driving her heel down onto the instep of the man holding her.
The enforcer grunted in pain, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second. Maeve twisted violently, elbowing him in the ribs with her good arm, and broke free, tumbling out of the alcove and crashing across the Persian rug.
Sloane whipped his pistol around, tracking Maeve, but Callum moved with the terrifying speed of a striking predator.
He didn't raise his shotgun. Instead, he hurled the heavy weapon forward like a javelin, catching Sloane directly in the chest and knocking him backward into the mahogany bookshelf. Books rained down in a thunderous avalanche as Sloane fired wildly.
The bullet shattered a crystal decanter on Declan’s desk, showering the room in glittering shards.
Mercer groaned from the floor near the doorway, shaking his head as he tried to push himself up, his hand fumbling blindly for his dropped Glock.
Sloane shoved the heavy shotgun aside, his face twisted in rage, and leveled his pistol straight at Callum’s chest. “You should have stayed in South Boston, Vale!”
Maeve didn't think. She lunged forward across the floor, grabbing Mercer’s dropped service weapon with her right hand, ignoring the searing pain shooting up through her splinted wrist. She swung the heavy polymer pistol upward, her hands shaking violently, and pulled the trigger.
Bang.
The deafening report shook the quiet study.
The bullet punched through Sloane’s shoulder, spinning him around and sending his weapon clattering across the polished floorboards.
Sloane gasped, clutching his bleeding arm, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at Maeve.
Callum closed the distance between them in two strides, grabbing Sloane by the lapels of his charcoal suit and driving a devastating right hook into his jaw. Sloane hit the floor like a sack of wet cement and didn't move again.
Silence rushed back into the room, broken only by the crackle of the dying fire in the hearth and the distant sound of police sirens finally approaching the Beacon Hill gates.
Callum stood over the unconscious enforcer for a long moment, breathing heavily, before turning his dark gaze toward Maeve.
She was still kneeling on the rug, the heavy police pistol trembling in her hand, tears cutting tracks through the soot and dried blood on her cheek.
Callum knelt down beside her, gently prying the gun from her fingers and setting it aside. He reached out, his hand steady and warm, and brushed a lock of hair away from her face.
“You shouldn't have done that,” he whispered, his voice rough.
“He was going to kill you,” Maeve choked out, the adrenaline finally draining away, leaving her hollow and shaking.
May you like
“I know,” Callum said softly. He pulled her uninjured shoulder against his chest, holding her tight against the cold wool of his coat.
A flash of red and blue light flickered through the library windows as municipal cruisers flooded the courtyard outside.
