The Wedding Pact (The O'Malleys #2)(93)

“That’s…what I meant about karma.”

Fuck. “You’re not dying on my watch.” There hadn’t been a damn thing he could do to stop his men from killing Carrigan’s other brother. But he could do something about this one. She’d already suffered enough. He shrugged out of his coat and yanked off his shirt, wadding it up and pressing it against Cillian’s bleeding shoulder hard enough to make the other man hiss. “Hold this.” He put his hands over the shirt and sat back, taking precious seconds to pull his coat back on.

A voice sounded close—too close. “I think he went this way.”

“Let’s get the little bastard.”

If their Russian accents weren’t enough to go by, their words would have been. James sent a silent prayer of thanks to the weather gods for the cover the snow offered. If it weren’t for that, he’d be a sitting duck right here next to this wall.

Two figures melted out of the gloom. One of them must have seen him because they cursed in what he figured was Russian. That was all he needed to know. He sighted down his gun and fired once, twice, a third time, dropping them both. His finger hovered on the trigger as a third man appeared, but the guy held up his hands. “Not one of Romanov’s men.”

Teague. James set his gun aside. “Get your ass over here. Your brother’s been shot.” The man had passed out sometime in the last fifteen seconds, and the light coating of snow on the ground around his shoulder was stained red. Goddamn it.

Instantly, Teague was by his side. He probed beneath the shirt, his face a mask of concentration. “I’m not medic, but I think it’s a through-and-through.”

Which was good on one hand, because it meant the bullet wasn’t going to shift and do more damage, but it also didn’t take into account the damage already done. He put a bit more weight onto Cillian’s shoulder. “Call your people in. We need to get him to the hospital.”

“My sister?”

“Safe. She’s back that way.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the van. “The rest of Romanov’s men?”

“These were the last of them.” He put the phone to his ear. “Callie? Round up the boys. Cillian’s been shot. We’ll meet you at the entrance of the docks.” He hung up.

When he moved to take Cillian, James shook his head. “I got him. You guys were here to help me out. My responsibility.”

Teague gave a jerky nod and let James carefully scoop his brother up. It was hard to tell how bad the bleeding was in the darkness, or if it’d slowed at all, but the faster they got moving the better. “Watch my back.”

“I will.”

James turned and started for the van, willing the man in his arms to live, willing Carrigan to be safe when they got back, willing them to get through this night without yet another loss in the O’Malley family.

They found Carrigan exactly where he’d left her. She jumped out of the van and rushed to his side. “Cillian?”

“He’s going to be okay.” He hoped like hell he wasn’t lying to her. “Get back in the van. We’re going to meet your people at the entrance of the docks.”

It took mere seconds to get them loaded up, and he put Cillian down across the backseat, his head in his sister’s lap. Then James slammed the door and moved around to the driver’s side. He looked over the hood at Teague. “I owe you.”

“You owe my sister. None of this would have happened without her.”

Without her, James might be dead right now.

He climbed behind the wheel and threw the vehicle into gear. Two minutes later, they were off-loading Cillian into a plain black SUV. Carrigan reached for the door and stopped. “James—”

“Go with your brother, lovely. I have a few things I have to take care of.” Michael and Ricky were back in the docks, and he wasn’t about to leave those two fucks behind. He hooked the back of her neck and drew her in for a quick kiss. “Don’t worry. You haven’t seen the last of me.”

“Good.” With that one last word, she climbed into the SUV and was gone.



The ride to the hospital was a blur, but it was more than enough time for Carrigan to wade through past nightmares. Of standing next to Teague’s bedside and wondering if he’d live after he’d been so badly beaten, of wondering if there was something she could have done to save him. To save Devlin. Guilt was a funny thing sometimes. Rationally, she knew there was plenty of blame to go around, but she’d been all too willing to take more than her fair share.

This time, it really was her fault.

She was the one who’d thrown a bitchfit and demanded someone—anyone—help James. All she’d been thinking of was that life would never be the same if he wasn’t somewhere, breathing and going about his life and alive. She could submit to any number of fucked-up things as long as she knew he was okay. She’d willingly put her family in danger. Worse, she wasn’t sure she’d do anything differently if given a second go-round. I am a terrible person. So incredibly selfish.