"Reaper!" yells Nathan, desperately trying to locate the man amongst the bustling crowed. "Reaper!"

I run to him.

"What is it?" I ask.

"They're on their way. Ryan has been injured," he reveals. "It's bad."

I pull Nathan out into the hall, sensing his panic. He's just a kid, not much older than eighteen. I silently questioned Reaper's need to put him on monitoring duty but—honestly—looking around, there isn't much option. Everyone else is either injured or missing. Hunter is around, but he doesn't strike me as the type to sit in a chair and await news. He's definitely more "hands on" and no one can deny the work he and Nicole get done together. In the last ten minutes alone, they've managed to treat at least half of the people in need.

"I can't get hold of the doctor," reveals Nathan.

Shit!

"Ryan needs a doctor, Imogen!"

Just then, the front door swings open, revealing two men carrying a bleeding Ryan. Emerging shortly after is Torin carrying a bundle, his jacket covering whatever is underneath. He notices me immediately and his gaze softens, as though relieved to be seeing me.

"Torin!" I rush towards him and place my hand on his arm. "Is he—"

Moisture gathers in his eyes.

"I need to tell his mother," he says.

I gently pull back the jacket, witnessing the most horrific sight.

This poor, poor boy.

"She'll want to see him," I say. "Nathan, clean him up. Put him in one of the spare bedrooms and when you're done, come find me."

He nods and takes the small child from Torin's arms.

"We can't reach the doctor," I inform.

Torin nods. "We'll improvise. Put him in the kitchen."

Two of Torin's solder's carry Ryan into the kitchen, leaving Torin and I alone in the foyer for a moment. He's covered in blood, but I doubt any of it is actually his.

"Are you hurt?" I ask.

He shakes his head.

"Torin—"

"I'm fine."

Like a fog clearing, his expression transforms. Long gone is the haunted look in his eyes I witnessed just moments ago. Instead, I'm met with determination and power.

"We'll stitch him up."

"Okay," I say, following him there. "I need boiling water, alcohol, a needle and some thread."

I direct my demands at one of the men responsible for getting Ryan here. I don't know how he manages it—given how chaotic everything is—but he somehow returns with every item on my list, plus towels.

"Gun shot or stab wound?" I ask, studying the injury by his left hip

"Stab," replies Torin, dousing the needle in vodka.

He splashes some on Ryan's flesh and takes a shot for good measure.

"I doubt it's hit any vital organs."

"Let's stitch him up. He's losing a lot of blood."

I grab a wooden spoon from the kitchen draw and position it inside Ryan's mouth. I briefly caress his hair in an as comforting manner as possible and instruct the two men to pin him down. I've sewn plenty of Maeve's clothes and toys in the past, but nothing compares to human flesh. The needle goes in surprisingly well and Ryan—who's in a tremendous amount of pain—doesn't thrash around.

"Almost there," I say, wiping away the access blood with a sterilised towel. "You're doing great, Ryan."

He's half unconscious, likely due to the pain he's suffering. His tolerance is at peak, and I conclude it's probably for the best. I finish the last stitch and cut the thread, deeming my creation shit, but passable. It'll do at least until the realdoctor arrives.

"Imogen." Nathan pokes his head around the door, truly sombre. "It's done."

I can tell by his expression that cleaning the dead body of a three-year-old is an image that'll stay with him for the rest of his life. I probably shouldn't have delegated that job to someone as young as Nathan, but in the moment, I wasn't thinking rationally.

I'll go," insists Torin, stepping forward. "I should be the one to tell his mother."

He goes to move and I stop him with my hand.

"Change," I advise, gesturing towards his bloodied shirt.

He looks down and nods, kissing me briefly before disappearing. Neither of us care who witnessed it. Frank will already know and be less than happy about it. Besides, what's a little kiss that I can later deny ever happened.

"In here!"

The kitchen door bursts open, two figures emerging. One is a beautiful brunette in what looks to be the early stages of pregnancy. The other—a fucking cop! I instantly brandish my gun, aiming it at his head.

"Whoa, easy there!"

"Imogen—" Nathan places a gentle hand on my arm. "It's fine. He's with us."

I scowl. "Since when was Torin friends with cops?"

"Well—I wouldn't exactly call us friends," replies the man in uniform.

The woman he's with ignores our conversation, hands quietly assessing Ryan's wound.

"Who stitched him up?" she asks.

"I did."

She nods, smile impressed. "You did a good job."

She takes out a medical bag and, in that moment, I conclude she's a nurse or something equivalent.

"What're you doing here?" I ask, trying my hardest to keep the distain from showing in my voice.

I don't trust cops. Never have.

"Helping."

"Why?"

"You ask an awful lot of questions," accuses the man, arms crossed.

"I can do whatever I want," is my response. "I'm the one holding a gun."

"A gun you—no doubt—don't have a licence for."

Fuck—he's got me there.

"License or not, I still know how to shoot it."

Something about the way this man smiles has me slowly lowering my gun as a peace offering. Powerful eyes regard mine, silently weighing me up. He's tall, blonde and very pretty. Perhaps a disguise for the ugliness that lies beneath his personality? Am I wrong for judging him based on his chosen occupation? No. Do I like him? Also no.

"Where's Nicole?" he asks, moving matters along.

I cross my arms, feeling oddly protective of my friend.

"What's it to you?"

"I'm her brother."

Oh.

"Is she safe?"

"Yeah," I offer. "She's in the other room helping."

He visibly relaxes and—despite not trusting him—his obvious relief does humanise him to some extent.

"Are you a dirty cop?"

He laughs. "No!"

"Then why come here?" I ask.

The nurse steps in, hands instinctively going to her stomach. "We're parents."

With just two words, this woman somehow sums up their involvement perfectly. Her—I like.

"I'm Ana, by the way. This is Freddie."

The officer next to her grunts, angry to be wasting introductions on a snarky Irish girl who doesn't like the police.

"I'm Imogen," I offer.

Ana smiles.

"Are you a nurse?" I ask, positioning my gun back in its holster.

Before she can answer, Bite appears with fresh bruises and a split lip to rival a boxer. He looks exhausted, yet somehow willing to keep fighting.

"Murphy—Fiona wants you!"

It's the first time he's referring to me by surname and there's an element of respect to it. Of poise. I...like it.

"Tell her I'll be a minute."

"Murphy?" questions Freddie, quirking a brow.

His tone suggests he knows exactly who I am.

"Yup."

"Any relation to Shane Murphy?"

"He's my brother," I reveal, preparing myself for the onslaught of judgement.

I'm used to it by now.

"But you're here?" he asks.

I nod. "I refuse to let my relatives' actions follow me around like some fucking disease."

I swear he smirks. "I get that."

Something about the way he looks at me makes me think that he does. He does get it. In fact, he's probably the only person who does.

"That should keep him going for now," reveals Ana, having injected Ryan with some painkillers. "We should check on the others. See if anyone needs our help."

"Wait!" I halt their advances and lightly pull on Nathen's arm. "Give him your hoodie."

Freddie quirks a brow.

"If you go out there in uniform, they'll put a bullet through your head," I warn.

Torin's men might be used to it, but Frank's soldiers are certainly not so lenient. Ana shivers, no doubt plagued by that scenario.

"Careful, Murphy. I might mistake your concern for care," teases Freddie, accepting Nathan's hoodie.

I struggle to contain my smile. "You wish."

"Imogen!" Fiona comes rushing in, presumably bored of waiting for me. "You were gone longer than an hour. I was worried."

I sigh. "Blame Frank. He ordered his men to keep me there."

Fiona frowns. "How did you manage to persuade them to let you go?'

"She didn't," interrupts Frank, emerging by the door. "She held a gun to their head."

Thankfully, Freddie has secured Nathan's hoodie over his head, hiding the fact he's a cop. Nathan cowers, visibly afraid of Frank's presence and what it might bring.

"Imogen, need I remind you of the function of a safe house?"

"I felt my services would be of better use here," I defend. "Especially once I heard the operation was underway—"

"Once you heard of Torin's unaccountability, you mean?"

Well, there goes my plan to lie.

"He's the father of my child—"

"HE'S THE MAN YOU'RE SLEEPING WITH BEHIND MY SON'S BACK!"

I bite my tongue, chanting my mother's mantra over and over again in my head.

Do not answer back. Do not answer back. Do not answer back.

"Are you a whore, Imogen?"

Nathan suddenly steps in, a protective shield.

"Only whores cheat on their husband-to-be."

I say nothing.

"ANSWER ME!"

"Yes, I'm a whore!" I yell, momentarily losing all self-control. "A dirty, fucking whore!"

He looks stunned.

"You sell me like a piece of meat to your son and expect me to stay loyal? To give up my rights as a human being?" I laugh, and it's vindictive. "I may be a whore. But do you know what I'm not, Frank?" I smirk. "I'm not fucking sorry!"

He lunges for me, stopped by Freddie blocking his path. There's a commotion to my right as Frank's men intervene, the situation escalating to great lengths. I'm tossed behind Nathan as he and Freddie attempt to take on an army of five. Thankfully, no weapons are involved until the sound of someone cocking a gun echoes throughout the room.

"Touch her and I'll fucking kill you."

Torin's tone is just the right amount of intimidating and calm. I keep my eyes trained on him the entire time he angles his gun at the very man our father's used to warm us about. This changes things. No way will Frank let something like this slide. It's bad enough Torin and I are sleeping together. But for Torin to be pointing a gun at his head.

Unforgivable.

"You're making a mistake, Son."

"I'm not your son," he assures.

Slowly, Frank backs away. On the outside, he's cool and collected, but I know deep down a storm is brewing. You don't piss off a man like Frank and live to see it.

"Very well. We can be enemies if you want?"

Torin doesn't shift the position of his gun.

"What I want is for you to apologise."

Oh no.

"Now!"

Frank laughs and for the first time ever, I witness what real evil is.

"And if I don't?"

"I'll put a bullet through your head."

Once again, he laughs. "Just remember who's currently in the company of your precious daughter."

I sway on my feet.

"One phone call from my men and she'll be joining me in death."

"Torin!" I plead.

His knuckles turn white as the grip on his gun intensifies

"Look, I'm a reasonable man," offers Frank. "I'll give you both one last night to say goodbye. After that, you willstay loyal to my son. Or else I'll have you and Maeve killed."

He walks out of the kitchen, flanked by Lorenzo and his other minions. Torin, Nathan, Freddie, Ana and I all remain motionless, neither one of us even remotely capable of passing comment for a moment.

"He needs gone," speaks Nathan. "Fucking eejit!"

Torin lowers his gun and silently gestures for me to come closer.

"Maeve!" I state.

"I'll send a car to pick them up now."

"T—"

"He won't hurt her."

"How do you know?"

"The same way he knew I wasn't going to kill him."

"Politics," replies Freddie, well versed in mafia life for someone not sworn in.

I turn to him and take note of his appearance for the first time. There's a hardened exterior that's no doubt been drummed into him from a young age, but there's a definite beauty beneath the surface. Earthy green eyes that have both the potential to grant him anything he wants and assert dominance. I know I shouldn't, but I like him. If my father were alive today, he'd kill me for trusting a cop. Then again, Patrick Murphy learned the hard way that trusting the wrong people can get you killed. Besides, Torin works with Freddie for a reason. If he trusts him, so will I.

"Where's Bianca?" I ask.

"Who's Bianca?" questions Nathan, chewing his bottom lip.

"The child's mother," replies Torin. "She's with Nicole."

Freddie's interest piques.

"Put Ryan in the guest bedroom," he orders, directing his instruction to two men lingering by the doorway. "The kitchen table can't be comfortable."

They effortlessly carry Ryan away, leaving pools of blood behind.

"McCarthy has temporarily opened up one of his hotels for the women and children. His stepson is on his way to collect them in busses," informs Torin.

Conor Kennedy is the son of Cillian's current wife and—by all accounts—a scary dude. He's renowned for his brutality when it comes to getting information from someone. Rumour has it he once tortured a pregnant woman.

"We'll start the process of rehousing them tomorrow."

"Good."

"Nathan, I need you to drive to Frank's safehouse and bring Sofia back with the kids."

"Yes, boss."

"I'll text you the address."

Knowing Maeve will be with me soon makes me feel a whole lot better. I don't know what I'm going to do about Frank just yet, but I know before I make any decision, I need her with me. Torin too. We're a unit. A family. And whatever we're going to do, we'll do it together.