Behind them, the ambulance kept sinking until only the top corner of the doors was visible. Medical paraphernalia floated all around.
Even wedged on the soil, the water was still deep enough that Calla’s waist and legs were submerged. When Mack moved around closer, she threw herself into his arms. Well, as much as she could with her hands still cuffed to the damn gurney. Liam tread water, lifting Calla’s cuffed wrist to get a better look at it. There had to be some way to get it off.
Then he heard sirens in the distance. Thank Christ. He’d gotten into his share of scrapes throughout his years where Garda had gotten involved to be wary of the bastards—but he’d never been happier to hear the police were coming. They’d be able to get Calla free.
“Help’s coming, baby.” Liam pushed some wet hair out of Calla’s face and dropped his forehead against hers. Mack kissed her, all three of their heads close together. Just like they should always be.
Which was when he remembered his last words to Calla about her only being with him for his money.
“I’m sorry I was such a fecking idiot and didn’t trust you,” Liam said, words tumbling out one after the other. “Everyone I ever loved before has let me down. Just wanted me for what I could give them.” Even his da. He was only worth something to Ciarán if he could prove himself worthy of the O’Neill name and legacy—a standard which his da always set impossibly high. Maybe because he never really believed Liam was his son.
“But you aren’t everyone else. You’re Calla.” He grabbed her face between his hands. “You’re the woman I love.” Jaysus. It was so obvious now. “I was a coward not telling you before.” He hadn’t even been willing to admit it to himself. Not before that horrible moment when the ambulance went over the road into the lake and his heart stopped beating.
Calla was worth taking a chance on. She was worth everything. And Mack. He had Liam’s heart too, the big bastard. Calla was the glue, but the three of them were the perfect fit. When he was with them, it felt more right than anything had in his life. Two people who wanted him just for… well, himself. Who found him worthy all on his own.
Liam grasped Mack’s bicep and pulled him close as they both embraced Calla. For her part she cried and laughed and hugged them back.
Until a loud growling shout came from above.
“You’ll never be anything but my bitch.”
Mack jerked back from Calla and Liam right as the figure above them, blood streaming from his—crotch?!—leapt down from the road, knife raised over his head.
39
MACK
Mack didn’t even have time for a full thought before—
SLAM. Bone’s weight hit him full force and knocked him back into the water. The knife. Block the arm holding the knife.
Shit! Burning pain lit up Mack’s left forearm. Fucker had sliced him. Still. Better his arm than his throat. Mack wrestled to get hold of Bone’s wrist, both of them sinking deeper into the water as they struggled for control of the knife.
There. He finally grabbed Bone’s wrist. He tried to elbow Bone’s throat but upside down in the disorienting dark water, Mack could barely tell his ass from his ankles. He struck out several times, once even making contact with… something.
But then a thick arm came around his throat. Fuck. Bone had gotten behind him somehow. Mack held on tighter than ever to the wrist holding the knife.
He was short on air, though. Seriously short. It wasn’t like he’d gotten much advance notice of Bone’s attack. If he didn’t get a breath soon, he’d pass out. And be easy fucking pickings.
Then Bone would go for Liam and Calla. Liam might be able to hold his own in a fight, but Bone had a knife. And Calla was still handcuffed to that damn gurney.
No. He would not let anything happen to them because of his fucked up past.
With a roar into the water, Mack jerked Bone’s hand holding the knife up and stabbed it into Bone’s other arm around his throat.
Bone’s grip immediately loosened and he ripped the knife out of his own flesh. Mack took the chance to swim to the surface and grab a huge breath. But Bone was only more enraged. He came at Mack, knife swinging.
Mack yanked the gun out of the back of his pants and he pulled the trigger right in Bone’s face.
Bone stopped, wincing. But then he laughed when nothing happened. Shit. The waterlogged gun hadn’t fired.
Mack felt his eyes widen as he swam frantically backwards.
“Think fast.”
Then a soaking medical duffel bag hit Bone in the head from behind, throwing off his attack on Mack. Bone swung around, tossing off the blue duffel but getting tangled in the straps. Mack wasn’t about to lose the opportunity.
He grabbed Bone’s knife arm from behind, wrenching it back with enough force to— Crack. Like the sound of a wooden baseball bat smacking a ball. There went Bone’s bone.