He crossed the space in three strides, a hurricane of fury and muscle.
He was even bigger than Maro and built like a freight train.
His fist knotted in Thane’s collar, yanking him to his feet. “Why?” he bellowed. “Why did you shoot her? Why?!”
Thane didn’t resist. He didn’t raise his hands, didn’t defend himself. He just let him shake him like a ragdoll, bloody, blank, and barely breathing from the pain.
Zel came through the doors just in time, crossing the room in two sharp steps. “Back off,” he said, voice quiet but cutting.
Jac stirred from his daze and stepped forward, placing a hand on the man’s chest. “Cormac,” he said, his voice thready. “Stop. Please.”
The big man—Cormac—turned his furious blue eyes on him.
Eyes, Thane realized, he had seen before.
“I trusted you,” he growled in a tormented rush, eyes wild. “I trusted you to look after her. How could you let this happen?”
“I’m sorry, man,” Jac whispered, his voice trembling with strain. “You don’t know how sorry I am.”
Thane swallowed, throat dry as sand. “How is she?” he asked, barely able to push the words out.
Cormac hesitated, chest heaving. His jaw worked as though chewing the question.
Then finally, he let go and stepped back, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Still in surgery,” he muttered. “Hanging on. I…I told her not to go. Why does she never listen?”
The door burst open again.
Another man rushed in—leaner, wiry, with a pair of glasses and shadows beneath his eyes that looked several weeks old. Stress clung to him like a second skin. At first glance, he was nothing like Cormac. But a closer look revealed they were twins.
“Any news?” he asked, voice bleak as he looked between them.
Cormac exhaled, then turned toward him. “No. Nothing yet.”
Jac stood between them and gestured. “These are Faolan’s brothers,” he said, voice softer now. “Cormac”—he pointed to the man who’d nearly decked Thane, then nodded at the one with glasses—“and Callum.”
Callum gave a curt nod, lips pressed into a thin line.
Thane’s head tilted slightly.
“Faolan?” he asked.
Jac nodded slowly. “Yeah…Faolan. That’s her name. Not Trish. Faolan Kearney. She’s been working deep undercover for the last six months.”
He ran a hand through his damp hair. “We were waiting for this drop for months. She…she wanted to go in alone. She worked her way into Malcolm’s inner circle. Got close to the suppliers, tracked the locations, the handlers, even a few buyers. And then you—” His voice caught.
“You came in. And you thought she was the enemy.”
No one spoke.
“We had no way of knowing which side you were on…” Jac continued.
Cormac stood against the wall, fists clenched. Callum sat down beside Jac, elbows on his knees, head bowed.
Thane sat again, but slower this time. The blood on his hands flaked like old paint.
He stared down at it.
Still warm, somewhere in his memory.
