Chapter 10 Callie blew out a sigh of relief when she was finally able to shut the front door on the back of the two O'Malley women. If she never saw another floral arrangement or tasted another bite of tester cake, it would be too soon. Aileen had seemed determined to fit six months of wedding plans into a single day, and she'd made a damn good job of it. Worse, she promised to circle around next week sometime for dress shopping. Callie hadn't spent significant time fantasizing about what her wedding would be like as a young girl, and once she graduated from college, took over Moira's, and began supervising the assortment of other businesses the Sheridans owned, she simply hadn't had the time to really consider what a marriage-even a political marriage-would mean as far as planning went. The whole thing was just wrong. She would have liked a small private event, not the circus the O'Malleys seemed determined to throw together. She understood the reasoning-the wedding had become a physical representation of their refusing to be cowed by their enemy-but the whole process was as pleasurable as walking over a bed of nails. There were so many other things she needed to be doing. She hadn't been down to Moira's in nearly a week. It had been running just fine under the manager, Janey, before Callie graduated, and it would continue running just fine once she was forced to focus most of her energy on the other Sheridan assets, but she still liked the hands-on approach. She'd been dropping balls left and right since that night at the club, and this wedding planning business threatened to be just another distraction. She didn't care about the flowers or the venue or the guest list, and Aileen damn well knew it. So did Papa. But because she was the feminine half of this partnership, she was expected to pretty herself up and be delighted by the colossal waste of time. If she had a normal life, she would have been enjoying every second of this, towing friends behind her to the various appointments, looking forward to the moment when the love of her life slipped a ring on her finger. But she didn't have a normal life-she was a goddamn Sheridan-and she hadn't even been allowed to choose her groom. Thoughts of Teague brought a tired smile to her face. He was the sole high point, but thoughts of him too quickly turned to whom she'd been supposed to marry. Brendan. She rubbed a hand over her chest, the massive house suddenly feeling altogether too small. She needed to talk to Papa, to get this all out into the open once and for all. Maybe if she could tell someone about what she'd done, the awful weight on her chest would become bearable. She peeked into his office, and found him huddled down with John, talking strategy. He spoke with his hands, and though his expression was grim, he was more alive than she'd seen him in the months since the cops showed up to tell them her big brother had died. I wish you were here, Ronan. Things would be so much simpler. She'd had the thought more times than she could count, but it never brought him back. His loss was no longer an aching open wound in her chest, but it still smarted on days like this, when she was embroiled in the midst of things that never would have happened if she wasn't the heir. But she was. So it was up to her to deal with it. She moved past her father's office and headed up to her room to change into running clothes. She had too much pent-up frustration after today. The feeling of being swept along with a current she couldn't fight was stronger now than it had ever been, and what she needed more than anything was to regain some small bit of control. Running didn't give her much-not in comparison-but it calmed her mind, and that was better than nothing. The treadmill just wouldn't do today, though. She felt like she'd been cooped up in this house for weeks on end, even though it'd been less than a week since everything went to hell in a handbasket. Micah looked up as she approached the front door. "Callie?" "I'm going running." She forced her voice calm. She was informing him of her intentions so he could best protect her-not asking permission. The whole respect thing wasn't usually an issue with Micah, but he still answered to her father, and it was Papa who'd basically put her under house arrest. She didn't like forcing him to choose between them, but the only alternative was losing her sanity by staying in this house for another minute. "That's a bad idea. Your father-" "Micah, while I respect your opinion, I'm not asking for it." She made a point of glancing at his Italian loafers. "I'd change your shoes if you're coming along. It's going to be a few miles at least." He sighed, looking like he still wanted to argue. She waited, letting him work through it. Papa might be angry, but Micah and she had spent enough time together that he had to know she'd go running with or without his permission. The only way he could stop her was by physically restraining her, and that was out of the question. She watched the thoughts flash across his face before settling into resignation. "Give me five minutes." "Happily." She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and cued up her running playlist. By the time she'd warmed up a bit and stretched, Micah was back, now wearing a pair of basketball shorts and tennis shoes. He didn't look any happier now than when he left, but he was here. She opened the door. "Let's go." Before her world had blown up in her face, she had several routes around the neighborhood that she liked to take, depending on her mood. Today, she wanted to go through Cambridge Common. It never failed to lift her spirits, even if there was always a small tinge of jealousy, since the people she saw there were from a completely different world than she was. Micah easily kept pace, staying a few feet back where he could survey the threats to her before they got too close. They'd run together before, though not recently, so it was easy to fall back into the sound of his footsteps echoing hers. She pushed play on her phone and let the first strains of "Chasing Twisters" by Delta Rae roll over her as she wound through the streets. The heat of the day had given way to a slightly cooler evening, but the humidity made her clothes cling to her skin before she was through with her first mile. She crossed the street to the common, slowing down so she could drink in the view. It was a strange comfort to know that her life might be falling apart in many ways, but the world kept on spinning. The huge, grassy field was broken up by a handful of trees and a scattering of summer students. It was nowhere near as busy as it'd be in the fall, but the normalcy she craved could always be found here. She picked up her pace again, circling the block before heading back. It was a good five miles, and the paths through the trees settled her in a way that little else was able to. Teague could. He'd done an excellent job of it last night. It was more than the orgasms-although those had been outstanding. When he held her in his arms, she could almost believe that she was truly safe and that, together, they could vanquish any enemy who rose against them. It was a foolish romantic notion, but even now she craved his mouth on hers and his skin sliding against her own. Maybe she'd call him when she got home. There were still half a million worries plaguing her mind, but it wouldn't hurt to have another reprieve again. Selfish? Most definitely. But she was so terribly alone in her guilt of Brendan's murder. She wanted Teague to tell her everything would be okay, even if she couldn't be completely honest with him. She turned for home, her pacing slowing as her muscles cataloged their exhaustion. She didn't see the car approaching, but a strong hand around her stomach yanked her away from the street as the SUV screeched to a halt in front of them. Micah turned, putting his body between her and the threat, but she saw the rear door fly open when she peered around his arm. Callie flinched, but no attack came. Instead, a body fell to the pavement with a dull thud and the door slammed shut as the vehicle peeled out, its tires smoking as it fled down the street. Not a drive-by. She ducked around Micah. "The plates. Memorize the plates." She didn't pause to make sure he obeyed, because she'd reached the man. She turned him over carefully, and went cold when she caught sight of his face. "Teague. Oh my God." His face was swollen and there was blood... everywhere. She felt for a pulse even as she raised her voice slightly. "Micah, I need you." His chest rose and fell slightly, and she nearly cried out with relief. "We have to get him back to the house." Micah crouched on the other side of Teague. "It's that little O'Malley shit. I say we leave him." She froze, barely holding in the impulse to scream in his face. Instead, her tone came out icy and low. "That is my fiancé you're speaking of, so I suggest you watch your tone." His jaw hardened. "Yes, ma'am." He only ever called her that when he was pissed, but she couldn't bring herself to care right now. She'd deal with Micah's hurt feelings when she was sure Teague would be okay. She hadn't wanted Brendan. If he had been the one dumped, she barely would have spared the step it required to move over his body. Perhaps that made her a monster, but she couldn't change the way she felt. But this wasn't Brendan-this was Teague. The man who'd helped her forget, at least for a little while, who'd held her in his arms and made her feel safe so she could actually sleep through the night. She'd no more leave him here than she would one of her people. Hers. The thought was almost enough to make her laugh. She wasn't sure when he'd slipped beneath her defenses, but she already cared about him more than was safe. She waited for Micah to heft him off the ground. The man wasn't a weakling by any means, but Teague was a large man in his own right. Thank God they weren't far from the house. As they hurried the last few blocks, she dialed Dr. Harris. Ever since Papa had extracted justice for the harm done to the good doctor's son all those years ago, he'd been loyal to a fault. They'd required his help less in the last few years, but he was willing to make house calls and was discreet. She had a feeling she'd be seeing a lot more of him before this thing ended. Callie gave him the information and he promised to leave immediately. She hung up as they hit the property, and glanced over. Teague looked even worse under the glaring floodlights that lit up as they approached-beneath the blood, his skin was too pale. In the quiet of the night, she could hear the rasp of his breathing, which was as comforting as it was worrisome. Please be okay. Please. I can't lose you, too. Panic rose, fluttering in her chest like a trapped bird, but she wouldn't give in to the scream building inside her. She opened the door, pretending she didn't see Micah's hesitation to bring him inside, and led the way up to her room. It wasn't proper, but she could give a rat's ass about proper right now. Her father had decreed she'd marry Teague, so he could deal with the man in his house until they figured out what had happened. Micah laid him down on the bed, none too gently. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the Findnøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. She didn't comment on it, though good lord, she wanted to. "Run the plates. Find out who did this." "I will, Callie." He managed to actually sound respectful this time, but she had bigger worries right now. "And when Dr. Harris gets here, send him up." She sat on the edge of the bed, not sure where to start. Should she take off his shirt? They probably shouldn't have moved him at all because he could have some sort of spine injury, but leaving him on the side of the road wasn't an option. She took a calming breath that did little to calm her. What-if questions would do no good here. She had to deal in facts-facts she wouldn't know until the doctor showed up. Since there wasn't much she could do, she called downstairs to have someone bring a bowl so she could start cleaning him up. The door opened a few minutes later to reveal Emma. She shut it carefully behind her and crossed to the bed, every move efficient. She'd always been like this, to the point where being in the same room with her calmed Callie down because Emma always seemed perfectly in control of her environment, even when she wasn't in her kitchen domain. "Micah says this fiancé of yours is in a bad way. I brought ice." Ice. Of course. She should have thought of that herself. "Thank you, Emma." "No need to thank me. Let's get this boy cleaned up." She didn't show an ounce of fear or worry as she looked Teague over with a critical eye, but no doubt she'd seen worse. When her father's men were injured and brought back here, someone had to be capable and in control while they waited for the doctor to show up. Nine times out of ten, that task fell to Emma. Callie filled the bowl with water and returned to the bed to find Emma scooping the ice into a cloth and folding it up. She glanced up. "Let's get the blood off his face and then I'll hold the ice while you do the rest." The woman's no-nonsense tone calmed Callie's racing thoughts. She could do this. One thing at a time. She dipped a washcloth into the water and started cleaning away the blood on Teague's face. The swelling was alarming, and she hoped to God that nothing was broken. He groaned a little with each contact, but didn't wake. Emma placed the ice over the left side of his face. "Just keep breathing, Miss Callie." She hesitated. "We appreciate what you're doing-the sacrifice you're making." She took Callie's hand and set it over the ice, and then stood. "I'll go make sure the boys don't give that doctor any hassle." Callie watched Emma go, her heart in her throat. If she'd needed the reminder of why she was doing this, it was embodied in Micah's mother and the other people like her. People who depended on the Sheridans to keep them safe. She took a deep breath and went back to cleaning Teague up, working her way down his throat and over the parts of his skin not covered by clothes. By the time the door opened to reveal Dr. Harris, she had most of the blood gone. Dr. Harris was a wizened little man who looked like a goblin from Harry Potter, a comparison she'd come up with when she was younger and never been able to shake. He closed the door softly behind him, and got right down to business. "What can you tell me about how this happened?" "I don't know." No, that wasn't strictly the truth. She took a deep breath, trying to still her frantic thoughts. It was hard, harder than she could have dreamed, because all she could focus on was the fact that Teague was hurt and they needed to do something. "He was dumped intentionally in front of me. He's been beaten, but I don't think he's been tortured." She'd just seen him this morning, and... Her heart clenched. It didn't take long to torture someone. It was something that could be drawn out, certainly, but there were rough and dirty methods that didn't require too much time. She really wished she didn't know that. Harris moved to the other side of the bed and rolled up his sleeves, every inch the calm professional. "You've gotten him cleaned up and started with the ice. Good. It makes it easier to see the damage, and will help with the swelling." He disappeared into the bathroom and she heard him washing his hands. Callie made an effort to keep breathing, which was difficult with dread trying to choke her. He reappeared and went to work, prodding Teague's face in a way that made her wince. He looked up. "If this is too difficult..." "No, it's fine." She trusted the doctor with her life, but she wouldn't leave him alone with Teague. Micah's words still echoed in her head, threatening to make her jump at shadows. It was one thing to know that some of the men didn't approve, and completely another to hear him saying they should leave Teague to his fate. She wasn't about to admit to them that Ronan's death had altered the landscape so much that her marriage was vitally important in keeping the lot of them safe. There were more sharks in this ocean than just the Hallorans and O'Malleys-better to go with the devil she knew than the one she didn't. At least the older men recognized the threat, which was why there'd only been a minimum of mumbling discontent from them. The younger ones, like Micah? She suspected they'd hoped she'd pick one of them to marry, bringing them up in the ranks and avoiding the need to invite in an outsider. It was a shortsighted goal, but since none of them had openly spoke against her marriage, she hadn't been forced to address it directly. Thank God. She didn't have enough time or energy to deal with yet another mess. Harris pulled out a pair of scissors and carefully cut away Teague's shirt and pants. He paused, but left his underwear. She could have told him it wasn't necessary, but she couldn't force the words out, not when all she could focus on was the mass of bruises darkening the skin she'd just spent hours worshipping. "Oh, Teague." The doctor continued his careful poking and prodding, and part of her was grateful Teague wasn't awake for it, since there was no way it didn't hurt. From his little suitcase, he pulled out what looked like an ultrasound machine and went to work on Teague's stomach, where the majority of the bruises were concentrated, watching the screen with a small frown on his face. He finally sat back with a sigh. "I won't know for sure without a few more tests, but it looks like he came off relatively lucky." Lucky? "How bad is it?" "Lots of bruises and swelling, and I suspect a few bruised ribs, but nothing seems to be broken and there isn't any internal bleeding. I'll need to see him in about a week, though don't hesitate to call if it looks like he's getting worse." She waited, but it didn't look like there was more forthcoming. "That's it?" He smiled, reaching out to pat her hand. "As long as he takes it easy, he should make a full recovery." She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Thank you, Dr. Harris. I really appreciate you rushing over here." "Of course, Callista." He frowned. "Are you getting enough sleep? You look exhausted." She tried for a smile. "It's nothing. I'm just a bit stressed." His frown deepened. "Stress can do a significant amount of harm. Whatever's going on can wait-you have to take care of yourself first." Easier said than done. She wished it was as easy as jaunting off on a vacation and recharging, but that wasn't an option. Her father and her people needed her. Hell, right now, Teague needed her. She smoothed back the matted hair on his head. "I'll do what I can." "Would you like me to prescribe you some sleeping aids? It's not a long-term solution, but it may help you get to the other side of whatever you're dealing with." She started to demur before she noticed the stubborn look on his face. He wasn't going to leave before he had some sort of assurance that she'd take his advice. Callie sighed. "I'd like that very much." She wouldn't use the pills, though. She didn't deserve the peaceful slumber of someone with a clean conscience. More than that-as if that wasn't reason enough-she couldn't risk some threat arising while she was knocked out and her being unable to deal with it. He scribbled out the prescription on a pad of paper he pulled from his pocket and handed it over. "Get it filled, Callista. And eat a full meal or two." His kind smile took some of the sting out of his words. "Thank you, Dr. Harris." "Remember, I'm only a phone call away." He repacked his bag and walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. She sagged, fighting against the burning in her throat and eyes. It was okay. Teague was okay. But it could have been so much worse. She lifted his hand into her lap, careful not to jar him, and stroked her fingers over the broken skin on his knuckles, tracing the tattoos there. He's okay. Just keep breathing, because he's going to be fine. It helped, but not nearly enough. Her gaze kept going back to his bruised face, to that moment when she thought she might never see those soulful dark eyes look at her with hunger again. She could have lost him today, and she'd barely gotten used to the idea of having him. Someone had done this to him. It didn't matter to whoever hurt him-and she had some ideas about that-that he didn't ask for this, or that he wasn't remotely responsible for Brendan's death, even by proxy. All they'd seen was an insult that had to be avenged. A goddamn insult. Rationally, she knew wars had been started over less, but the anger unfolding in her chest didn't care. They'd hurt him. They could have even killed him, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She'd been helpless, just as she'd been helpless when Brendan wrapped his meaty hands around her throat, her death in his eyes. Her body shook, her stomach trying to revolt, but she closed her eyes and rode it out. That nightmare was over, but this one was just getting started. She might be responsible for Brendan's death, but she hadn't gone into that club looking to hurt him. All she'd wanted was answers. To talk. To get a feel for the man she was supposed to marry. He was the one who'd brought them to violence, to a life-or-death struggle that only she had walked away from-just like his kin had been responsible for hurting Teague. It didn't matter if they were the ones to actually deliver the blows. Her men didn't move on an enemy without her father's okay, and she seriously doubted that Victor Halloran went about things any differently. If anything, he was even more controlling than Papa. No, the attack on Teague was because a Halloran had ordered it. She'd find out who and then she'd... What? Kill him like she killed Brendan? This time, when her stomach lurched, she couldn't fight it back down. She barely made it to the bathroom in time to lose every last bit of cake she'd eaten today. Callie threw up until she couldn't throw up anymore, and then she washed her face and brushed her teeth, her mind reeling and her body shaking. No matter how angry she was, she couldn't make that call. They hadn't killed Teague. They hadn't even injured him critically, for all that it looked horrible. She couldn't call for a death as a result. She stopped in the doorway and watched his chest rise and fall, reassuring herself that he was still breathing. But if they'd killed him... Her heart tried to beat itself out of her chest, but she forced herself to finish the thought. 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