Chapter 4 Teague walked Callista to her town car, painfully aware of the people surrounding him. They needed a moment to just sit and have a conversation, but that wasn't happening tonight-especially with the potential war hanging over their heads. He stopped her just before she climbed into the car. "Come out with me tomorrow. Just us." She hesitated, an expression passing over her face that might have been fear. "I don't know." Was she afraid of him? He shook his head. Of course she was. She was a smart woman, and she'd known him only a grand total of a single night. Smart women weren't in a hurry to jaunt off with strange men-especially when they came with a reputation that attached itself to anyone in the O'Malley family. "Just dinner, angel. In public. You can meet me there." She relaxed a little. "We do need to talk." Without everyone and their dog standing here, watching them like predators looking for weakness. It shouldn't be that way-every single person was either family or associated with the family-but Teague stopped railing at the unfairness of the world a long time ago. "Yes, we do." "Call me and we'll set something up." She rattled off a number, and then she was gone, sliding into the car and shutting the door firmly behind her. He watched her drive away, before turning to his older brother. "They need an escort." "Already taken care of." Aiden grinned. "You like her." Yeah, he did. But he wasn't fool enough to admit it now-or ever. Instead, he headed back inside, barely making it three steps before his younger brother waylaid him. Cillian had gone all out tonight, but he'd lost his suit jacket at some point, and the dress shirt was rolled up, revealing the tattoos covering his arms. "You're a lucky bastard." Cillian would see it that way. At twenty-five, he was still dabbling in school and finding himself or some shit. Since he was the third son and fourth child, he had been coddled and spoiled all his life. He wouldn't escape his responsibilities to the family indefinitely, but he hadn't yet started to feel the weight of it bearing down on him. Not like Teague had. Tonight that weight might finally win and crush him on the spot. "I saw her once last spring, out dancing down at Furies, though she was looking even better tonight." Cillian sighed. "Those moves? I bet she's great in b-" "You're going to stop talking now." He didn't give a fuck how well she moved on the dance floor, and he sure as hell had bigger things to worry about now than how she'd rolled her body against his earlier. But it was more than that. Before tonight, Callista was just another Sheridan. An enemy. Now that he'd seen her-talked to her-he couldn't shake the feeling that they were the only two people in a foxhole, with enemies all around them. Cillian's eyes went wide and he backed up. "Sorry, man. I just meant that if you have to have the old ball and chain, she's not a bad one to be trapped with." "No, she's not." He straightened as Seamus approached, flanked by his favorite muscle-Liam and Mark. "Do we have any more information?" "Not as of yet. But we will." Seamus nodded at Liam. "Find out who's responsible." It would have been smarter to work with Sheridan on this and combine their forces, but this marriage was more about presenting a unified front to their potential enemies than actually being a unified force. But at least tonight would leave no doubts-an attack on one was like an attack on both. It was enough to make Teague so damn exhausted-or it would if Callista wasn't in danger. He never thought the day would come when he'd put himself out for someone who didn't share his blood, but the thought of her with a target painted on her chest made his hands curl into fists and his eyesight bleed to red. It's because we're getting married. To hurt her is to hurt something that's mine. He almost snorted. Liar. Seamus focused on him. "Don't do anything to fuck this up. If it's the Hallorans, I'll take care of them." Easier said than done. If it were so simple to dispatch them, someone would have done it years ago. "At least tell me that you're not going to strike back before you confirm that Halloran did this." When his father didn't say anything, Teague rocked back on his heels. Christ, he wasn't going to listen to reason. He met Aiden's eyes, but there would be no help on that front. There never was. The only thing he could do was to get his sisters and Devlin home safe so at least they wouldn't be hurt by whatever bullshit plan Seamus was about to enact. No matter what his father thought, his priorities were the family. He turned and headed for the exit, thinking back to Finch. Had the man known it would come to an all-out war? If he did, he could have given a goddamn warning. No one died tonight-so far. Next time, Teague doubted they would be that lucky. It might start with innocent bystanders, but it was only a matter of time before it escalated into pinpointed attacks on the people he cared most about in this world. There had to be a way to stop this before it got to that point. He climbed into the car that was filled with his sisters and youngest brother. They looked at him with varying degrees of trust, like they were sure that with him here, things were under control. The very idea was foolish. Teague had less control over his life than they did. Or at least he had as little control. Carrigan pulled her hair back and started twisting it into a braid, the only outward sign of her nerves. "Well?" "They don't know anything concrete." He braced himself as the car lurched into motion. "Father wants us home until he figures out the next move." The man hadn't said as much, but he wasn't about to tell any of them that they were so far from their father's mind that he didn't leave any instructions for them before heading off. Keira huddled next to Sloan, and it struck him that his baby sister had turned eighteen this year. They were all legally adults, and yet had less control over the direction their lives took than most minors. Keira turned green eyes so like their mother's on him. "We're going to war, aren't we?" It was on the tip of his tongue to lie. To save them some worry. But he didn't have it in him to shield them from a truth they'd have to face before too long. He was saved from answering by Devlin. "There's no avoiding it now." Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the Fɪndηovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The only question was if the war itself was started by the Hallorans, or if whatever actions Seamus took tonight would be the tipping point. It didn't really matter. They'd had skirmishes before, over territory or product, but this was another animal entirely, and no one seemed to consider that there were bound to be casualties. For her part, Keira didn't seem that worried. "Good." Teague frowned. "Why the fuck is that good?" "It means Father isn't going to marry us off to one of the other two Hallorans like Callista Sheridan almost was. Do you really think no one knew about how Brendan got his rocks off? To be married to that..." She shuddered. "Whoever did us the favor of killing him probably saved her life." "You're eighteen. What the hell would you know about it?" Carrigan laughed, the sound as jagged as broken glass. "Please. Not everyone has the luxury of being able to take off to their apartment whenever things get rough." Sloan finally spoke up. "We know what value our father puts on us." Christ. This was exactly the thing he'd wanted to save them from. He looked from one face to the other. "I'd take you away with me if I could. All of you." "We know." Sloan patted his knee. "It's not your fault, Teague." The fact that she was comforting him about her future stuck in his throat. "I'll find a way out of this-for all of us. I promise." He'd given Finch enough information to justify witness protection or some shit. If it wasn't, he'd find a way to supply more. Because the thought of one of his sisters ending up with a man like Brendan Halloran was reputed to be... Teague would do unforgivable things to keep that from happening. He was already doing unforgivable things-he might as well make it worth his while. Carrigan just shook her head like he'd said something sweet but unbelievably stupid. "There's no escape for people like us, little brother." Callie spent the day trying to pin down Papa into telling her something about what he'd found out about the shooting, but he was closeted in his office all morning and then gone from the house all afternoon. She'd done some holing up of her own with Micah. Whatever came from this conflict, she wanted to make sure the people in their territory who depended on them for protection were taken care of. Micah had grown up in this life, the same as she had, so he understood. His father had been one of her father's most loyal men, until he'd died in a shootout with the MacNamaras' men. As a result, Papa brought both Micah and his mother into the family home-his way of honoring his fallen man. That loyalty wasn't something that could be picked up and put down at the Sheridans' convenience. If they couldn't keep their people safe, they didn't deserve the territory they had. They were currently camped out on high stools, just like they used to when they were teenagers, while Micah's mother puttered around the kitchen. She'd taken to the space when she'd first moved in here and made it her own. Even Papa didn't dare cross her when it came to this room of the house. Emma Jones was a force of nature in her own right. Micah braced his elbows on the granite counter. "You can't bring every person loyal to your family into this house, Callie. You know that." Yes, she knew that, but it didn't make the impulse disappear. She frowned at him. "What other option do I have? Patrolling the territory won't do a damn bit of good. We don't have enough men to keep an enemy out, so it's a waste of resources." Micah's dark eyes saw too much. "You're not solely responsible for this. Colm will have some thoughts, I'm sure." Yes, Papa would, if she could just corner him long enough to talk. She'd suspect he was avoiding her if there wasn't so much else going on. Still, she didn't like being left out of the loop. Callie traced the dark-veined pattern of the countertop with a single finger. "They're our people." "And they knew what they signed up for." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "But I'll talk to the men about getting a few extra patrols out until we figure something else out." It wasn't enough, and they both knew it. But it was better than nothing. "Okay." He stood. "Don't you have a date to get ready for?" Emma chose that moment to swoop in with a plate of toast. "Eat something before you go, Miss Callie." She straightened her apron and gave Callie a stern look. "You're so nervous, you're jumping at shadows and God alone knows you won't be eating while you're out with this O'Malley boy. This will settle your stomach." Since her stomach was currently tied up into a maze of knots, she wasn't sure she could manage even the light snack. But she'd learned a long time ago that Emma was usually right about these things, so she dutifully picked up a piece of toast and took a bite. Emma nodded. "Good. And you-" She pointed a dark finger at her son. "You watch our Callie's back tonight. You keep her safe." "Yes, ma'am." Micah ducked his head. "It'd be easier to do if she wasn't slipping her guard every time I turned around." "Stop trying to get me into trouble with your mother." When he just raised his brows, she glared. "I shouldn't have even told you about going out with Teague tonight." "If you hadn't, then I would have had to track your ass down, and gotten my ass reamed for letting you drive off without an escort." "Micah! Language." "Sorry, Mama." He nodded at the door. "Callie, go get dressed up. Knock that O'Malley bastard's socks off-sorry again, Mama-and see what his family is up to while you're at it." She laughed, even though her stomach did a slow turn at another go-round with Teague. "I'll be sure to get all his dirty little secrets." She grabbed the plate and stood. "I'll bring this back down when I'm done." "Thank you, Callie." Emma's dark eyes, so similar to her son's, were sympathetic. "You try to have a good time tonight, you hear?" "I'll do my best." As soon as she left the safe haven of the kitchen, all the fears that had been plaguing her rushed back to the forefront of her mind. Where had Papa been all day? She dreaded finding out what he'd been up to. Or, rather, what he'd commanded his men to get up to. This was a significant step in the wrong direction. Worse, it was all her fault. If she hadn't gone looking for Brendan, things never would have gotten so out of control, and he'd still be alive. God, the realization that she was the cause of his death was still almost enough to have her running for the bathroom. Would it get better over time? A small part of her almost hoped that it wouldn't, because that would mean she was different from her father and every Sheridan who'd come before her. Papa wasn't one to brag about his kills, but Ronan used to huddle down with Callie and whisper about the things he heard Papa's men talking about. The same man who'd taught her how to ride a bike was also a man who'd killed dozens of people in the name of business and revenge. She still had problems reconciling the two, even though she'd seen more glimpses of that side of him in the last few months than she had in all the twentyfive years leading up to it. She shivered, the small hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention. Callie turned a slow circle after she shut her bedroom door, but there was no one in the room except her. "Someone just walked over my grave." She shivered again. Nothing good would come of this-any of it. Which was exactly why she'd agreed to go to dinner with Teague tonight. They needed to have a meeting of minds and see if they could come up with a way to get this runaway train back under control. She had a feeling that, left to their own devices, the patriarchs of the three families would be only too happy to set Boston aflame to serve their own purposes. And she was the spark that set the whole explosion into motion. Feeling sick all over again, she grabbed the nearest dress and pulled it on. It was a red number that did wonderful things for her cleavage, but the effect would be dimmed by the scarf required to cover her fading bruises. She wound the light fabric around her throat, wondering how Teague would react. It was imperative that she didn't give anything away. If he knew she was the cause of all this... There was nothing stopping him from announcing it to the world and turning her over to the Hallorans for justice. Papa might fight for her, but even all the strength he could summon wouldn't be enough if the other two families thought her death would see justice served. She stopped. What if I turned myself in? Would it be enough to stop this? If it was, wasn't she honor bound to tell the truth? She slipped on her heels and headed for the garage. Tonight, she was driving herself. Micah would be following at a discreet distance, but at least she'd have the illusion of freedom. Callie grabbed the first keys her hand touched, and rolled her eyes when the Cadillac chirped in response. She'd prefer something a little subtler, but in the grand scheme of things, her vehicle choice didn't matter a damn bit. Besides, with the bulletproof glass and reinforced body, this SUV was really more of a tank. If they were truly going to war with the Hallorans, she couldn't have picked anything safer. The drive to the restaurant was blissfully uneventful, and it didn't hit her until she was walking through the front doors that she'd voluntarily agreed to meet Teague alone. Trepidation rose, but she shoved it back. She was more than capable of having a conversation with a man in public without fearing for her safety. But her body wasn't listening to reason, her skin breaking out in goose bumps and her throat closing. Despite the open floor plan of the restaurant and the low light from candles and conveniently placed lamps, the walls seemed to be inching closer, until she hunched her shoulders in response. "Callista?" She jumped, tripping over her heels, and would have gone down if a hand didn't grab her upper arm and haul her to her feet. She found herself looking up into Teague's dark eyes. Had she thought them cold? They were dark fire, so deep and soulful that they should belong to a poet instead of an O'Malley who may or may not be the enemy. He gentled his grip. "Are you okay? You look spooked." If he only knew. She'd never been a victim of panic attacks before. But then, she'd never killed anyone before, either. A hysterical laugh tried to muscle its way out of her mouth, but she clamped her teeth together until the urge passed. "I'm fine." "If you're sure..." "I am." She couldn't quite banish the tension from her shoulders, but she managed a half smile. Teague looked unconvinced. "Our table is this way. I thought some privacy would be our best option." Some, but not too much. She took a shaky breath and tried to steel herself. Panicking like this wasn't an option. Panicking at all wasn't an option. How was she supposed to lead her people into the future if she couldn't even hold herself together? Because this is exactly the sort of thing I want to avoid. Murder isn't supposed to be an option. The table he led her to was situated on the other side of a half wall, and lit by two small candles. She slid into the chair that gave her a view of most of the rest of the room, and Teague took the one directly to her right, also putting his back to the wall. They shared a humorless smile. Old habits died hard, apparently. The waitress appeared and took their drink orders. Once Callie had her wine in hand, she shifted in her seat to look fully at him. "You have me here. What is it you plan to do with me?" The words came out low and flirty, as if inviting him to think dark thoughts. Which wasn't what she'd intended... even if she was suddenly thinking exactly those types of thoughts. It was all too easy to step back into that alley and remember the feel of his hard muscles beneath her hands and how he'd taken her mouth as if he had every right to it. Teague leaned back, his tumbler of whiskey hanging loosely in his hand. "I could think of a few things." Focus. You're here to figure out how to solve a problem. Not to flirt. She couldn't quite manage to tear her gaze away from the curve of his lips. Everything else about him was so hard and rough, as if carved from stone. But those lips? They were sensual and full and promised the kind of pleasures she could only dream of. She shook her head. "I imagine so." "Tell me something." She tensed. He was going to ask her about the bruises again. She was sure of it. "What would you like to know?" "Were you and Brendan together?" Callie laughed, the sound broken. "No. I'd never met him when my father decided that we should be married." "Hmm." He nodded, as if confirming something to himself. His face gave away nothing of his thoughts, though those dark eyes drank her in as if he couldn't make himself look away. As if he didn't want to. "Do you hope I'll go the same way?" No. The vehemence of the thought shocked her. Really, she shouldn't care one way or another if this man lived or died-as long as it wasn't her hand holding the gun. He was nothing to her. A stranger she was about to be linked to for the rest of her life. And yet... She took a sip of her wine. "You seem like a decent man." He laughed. "There aren't any decent men in our world, but I'm a hell of a lot better than Brendan." She couldn't argue that. She didn't even want to. Instead, Callie looked away. "What are we going to do?" "About the marriage? Or the fact that Victor Halloran is about to bring all sorts of fire and brimstone down on us?" Both. But focusing on the impending marriage-just four weeks away-was the selfish thing to do. It was more important to head off the Halloran threat before he did any more damage. "The latter." Something like disappointment flickered across his features, but it was gone too fast for her to be sure. "In that case, I think we should talk to James. He's not a bad sort, and he's miles better than anyone else in his family. If there's someone who can bring this thing to a grinding halt, it's him." As long as he doesn't know I'm the one who killed his brother. Feeling sick, she set her wineglass aside. "Then we should talk to him as soon as possible." Before Papa or Seamus did something to escalate matters. Twenty-four hours since the shooting and she knew there were plans afoot, even if she didn't know the details. "I agree." Teague pulled out his phone and started dialing. She stared. "You have James Halloran's number in your phone?" "We used to play poker." There was that flicker again, as if some strong emotion was trying to surface. "But that was a long time ago." "Oh." It seemed such a strange thing, when now that their families were on the verge of trying to kill each other, that he and James used to spend time together regularly enough for Teague to have his number. She waited while Teague left a cryptic message and a request for a call back. He hung up and pocketed the phone. "Now, we wait." The waitress reappeared as if she'd been waiting for the opportunity, and he ordered for both of them before Callie could open her mouth. She sat back as the woman left, not sure if she was impressed by his gall or annoyed. Teague gave her a look that was almost sheepish. "Sorry. Old habit." There seemed to be a lot of those to go around. "I could be a vegetarian. You just ordered me a steak." "One-you're not. The catering menu for our announcement the other night had both red meat and fish on it, so I figured it was safe to assume you had some input on that. Two-I ordered the steak and the salmon. You can have which one sounds best." He said it so calmly, as if it was perfectly normal for a man to order for a woman he barely knew. "Whether your deductions are correct or not-and they are-doesn't matter. I make my own decisions." The words came out harsher than she intended, but there'd been too many big decisions made without consulting her lately. That wasn't Teague's fault, though. She started to apologize, but he beat her there. "You're right. I'm being an overbearing ass. I'm sorry." She picked up her wine to cover her smile. She liked that he was willing to admit he might have made a mistake. Most of the men she knew would have glossed over it and changed the subject. They might not have ordered for her again in the future, but they wouldn't have been so willing to apologize. "Thank you for calling James. We accomplished what I came here for." "Maybe you did, but I'm nowhere near satisfied." The way he said the last word warmed things low in her stomach. "Teague-" "We have to get to know each other at some point-might as well start now." The logic was seriously flawed, but she found herself taking another sip of wine all the same. She had joked with Micah about finding out all the O'Malley secrets during dinner. "What would you like to know?" "Everything." She froze, her glass halfway to her lips. The warmth in her stomach burned hotter. "That's a bit much for a single dinner, don't you think?" "Where would you like to start?" She had no idea. If she was smart, she'd make polite conversation through dinner and get out of here as quickly as she could. This man wasn't anything like what she'd expected, and that made him dangerous. But she found herself asking, "Do you like being an O'Malley?" He looked away and took a long drink from his glass. "Do you always go straight for the throat? You could have eased me in with something simple like my favorite color." It was the kind of meaningless question she should have asked. This man might be her only ally, and she should be worrying about keeping him in her corner instead of trying to figure out the way his mind worked. But she needed to know. So she waited, swirling her wine and watching him wrestle through her question. Teague finally sighed. "No. I hate it. I'd burn the damn dynasty to the ground if I thought it'd free my siblings, but that's not an option." She went still, unable to believe he'd just told her that. It was the kind of information that someone sinister could easily use against him. If she wanted to hurt the O'Malleys, cozying up to a son who hated them was a good way to go about it. "Ah." "You wanted to go in with the big guns, you get big answers." He gave a humorless smile. "And it's not new information. All you'd have to do is ask around to realize that my father and I see things differently." "You hate it that much?" She could barely wrap her mind around it. Callie didn't like some of the things that being a Sheridan necessitated, but she loved other aspects of it. To her thought process, you dealt with the bad in order to do the most good. Their world was all about balance. "Look at us, angel. We're little more than strangers and we're going to be married inside of four weeks. And that's the least of my problems-no offense." "None taken." Didn't she feel exactly the same way? He seemed like a decent enough man, but he was still one that she'd known for a grand total of a single day. The difference between them was that she'd willingly do this and worse to tip the Sheridans onto the right side of the law. "I just can't imagine hating my family." As soon as the words were out, she wanted to take them back. It was too personal, too much, to admit to this man. "I don't. Not really." He stared into his whiskey. "I just hate the things they do in the name of power." "I see." And, strangely enough, she did. "There's always good and bad, all mixed together." "Exactly." He finally looked at her, pinning her in place with his gaze. "Though I'll admit there's more good to this situation than I would have expected." Desire rose up in a tidal wave that had shivers working their way through her body. Good lord, the man knew how to turn a conversation into something else entirely with a single look. She reached for her wine again, only to find the glass empty. Keep it together, Callie. You know how to flirt. Yes, she did. But this wasn't harmless flirting. Nothing about Teague was harmless. He saw too much. He was an O'Malley. And, perhaps most importantly, he was going to be her husband in a very short time. He seemed to realize her mind was going a million miles a second, because he sat back, breaking the moment. "Now I have a question for you." "Yes?" She put as much nonchalance into her tone as she possibly could. The candlelight played along his cheekbones and jaw, the shadows dancing over his skin, following a path her fingers itched to trace. What was wrong with her? She should be focusing on what their next move was, not on how intimate it was to sit this close to him. "Would you have actually married Brendan if someone hadn't done you the favor of offing him?" She looked into his dark eyes and couldn't lie. "No." That man was a monster. She might regret the events that had brought her to that horrible club and put a gun into her hands, but once she knew the truth about him, she never could have signed her life away to him. And if it took her all of a week to find out what kind of man he was, Papa should have known a long time ago. She shifted, the realization sitting like a block of concrete in her stomach. Had he known and gone forward with the engagement anyway? He must have. There was no other explanation. "Which begs the question-are you planning on marrying me?" It shouldn't be different-Teague was just as much a stranger as Brendan had been. But it was different. Even knowing him such a short time, she couldn't shake the belief that he'd never raise a hand against her. That didn't mean she could trust him, though, unexpectedly revealing information or not. He was loyal to his family first and foremost, the same way she was. She wanted Teague, and a part of her that didn't have a lick of sense thought she could trust him. That, more than anything else, made him a potential threat in a way that Brendan never could have been. "That's quite the proposal, Teague O'Malley." He grinned, completely unrepentant. "I plan on making up for the lack of originality in other ways." It was all too easy to imagine exactly the sort of thing his tone suggested. It took her back to that alley, to that kiss, to her desire for more. 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