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I shift left and right and pray they aren’t well-trained.

“Get down!” I shout at anyone who will listen.

He fires at me, missing me completely, but I feel every phantom shot in my chest. It rattles my bones, chilling me to the core. I can outrun this. I just have to keep going.

I crash through the entrance doors and look around. People wander by the station, most unaware of the danger coming their way. I rush forward, hoping to blend in with them, but a quick look back shows Morgan’s men aren’t too far behind me.

I race into the street to get away and a taxi slams into me. I roll over the hood and shatter the windshield.

The driver hits the brake, shifting the momentum, and I roll right off onto the concrete. It slaps me in the face. I wince as dark spots fill my vision.

Pain fires through me, hitting every limb from my head to my toes, but I can’t stop. I push off the ground, forcing my legs beneath me to get myself back up.

“Sir, are you okay?”

A crowd fills the sidewalks, blocking the two brutes from following me. I turn from them and limp my way across the street, taking to the alleyways to stay out of sight.

I ignore the pain as it throbs up my leg. My ribs burn. My head feels like it could explode, but I keep running. I’m always running from something.

I don’t know why I ever expected that to change.

CHAPTER 25

ANNA

So, how do you keep a child distracted when all she wants to do is go home and sleep in her own bed?

Shower her with love and games, load her up with sugar, and pray she wears herself out.

Mother of the year. That’s me.

Charlotte is too young to understand what’s going on and I’m not about to shatter her innocent childhood by explaining it. Sorry, honey. We can’t go home because the Irish mafia might be parked outside of it. No, we can’t go to your favorite park to play. We need to stay here, hidden away for just a little while longer until it’s safe.

And no, honey, your friend Milo can’t come over to play with you.

It didn’t take long for me to hear that one.

Luckily, baking cupcakes with Uncle Vincent is working to distract her. For now.

She and Zachary lean over the prep table in the bakery kitchen, each with a bag of frosting in their little hands. Zachary is already a pro at this, having successfully frosted about a dozen. Charlotte’s hanging in there, but she’s more concerned with how much of everything she can get into her mouth instead.

Vincent sighs, but he’s long from giving up on her. “Charlotte, let me show you…”

He takes the bag and guides her hands to hold it correctly. It doesn’t last long. She drops it and he sighs again.

I take a sip of my drink, a very relaxing gin and tonic Tommy delivered for me from the bar next door, and chuckle quietly at Vincent’s perseverance.

My phone rings in my pocket. I reach in to check it, reading Trevor’s name on the screen.

“Hey, Trevor,” I answer. “What’s up?”

“Are you by a TV?” he asks.

“No, but I can be. Why?”

“Channel nine.”

I slide off my stool. “Be right back,” I say, drawing a suspicious glance from Vincent.