Chapter 9
The silver handgun slipped from Clara’s trembling fingers, clattering loudly down the wooden stairs. She fell to her knees, her breath coming in rapid, panicked gasps. She had killed someone. The gentle maid who spent her days polishing silver and comforting a toddler had just taken a human life.
"Clara."
The rough, pained voice snapped her out of her shock. She scrambled down the steps, throwing herself beside Ronan. He was leaning heavily against the wall, his hand clamped over his right shoulder. Blood was seeping through his dark turtleneck, staining his negative space tattoos crimson.
"Ronan, oh god, you're shot," Clara sobbed, her hands hovering frantically over his wound. "I have to get a doctor."
"I'm fine," Ronan gritted out, his jaw clenched tightly. He reached up with his uninjured arm, wrapping his large hand around the back of her neck and pulling her down to him. "Look at me."
She met his dark, intense gaze, her clear eyes swimming with tears.
"You saved my life," Ronan breathed, his thumb brushing a streak of plaster dust from her cheek. "You did what you had to do to protect our family. You are a protector, Clara."
"I was so scared," she whispered, burying her face into the crook of his neck.
"I know," he murmured, pressing a fierce kiss into her hair. "But the threat is gone. It's over."
Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, and Silas rounded the corner, his rifle raised. He stopped short at the sight of the carnage.
"Boss," Silas said, instantly lowering his weapon. "The perimeter is secure. The remaining Shaw men surrendered. We need to get you to the infirmary."
"Toby," Ronan commanded, his voice strained but absolute. "Get my son out of the safe room. Bring him to the infirmary."
"Right away," Silas nodded. He reached down, helping hoist Ronan to his feet.
Ronan leaned heavily on Silas, but he refused to let go of Clara’s hand. He gripped her fingers tightly as they made their way to the underground infirmary.
The syndicate's private doctor immediately went to work on Ronan's shoulder. Clara stood in the corner, her arms wrapped around herself.
Then, the heavy doors opened.
"Clara!"
Toby broke away from a guard, his little legs carrying him as fast as he could in his red corduroy overalls. Clara dropped to her knees, catching the boy as he threw himself into her arms. She buried her face in his neck, sobbing freely now, clutching him so tightly.
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"I'm here, sweetheart. We're safe," Clara promised.
From the medical table, Ronan watched them. Despite the blood and the pain, a profound, peaceful smile spread across his rugged face. The war was won, and his family was finally whole.
