Page 48 of Callum

I’ll be far more grateful when the old man is dead, and this place has been burned to the ground.

“Sit,” he waves a dismissive hand toward the chairs as he takes his seat at the head of the table.

The silence is oppressive, settling in the air around us.

“Well, then,” the Father drums his fingers against the blackened tabletop, his cold, dead eyes assessing each of the brothers. “Shall we begin?”

Things haven’t changed around the Table since I left. The Father primarily speaks to Grant and Maddock directly. There isn’t a single question that might need to be answered by Lachlan or myself, and we sit silently, eating the bland meal before us.

Nothing ever changes.

I have no fond memories of this room. Some of the worst moments of my life took place here. One of the first times I experienced true pain was in this very chair. The Father took issue with something I said and pinned my hand to the table with a fork. The blood pooled beneath my palm as I held back the scream that was threatening to claw its way up my throat.

This moment feels much the same.

“Update me.”

“We’re dispersing inventory across the bar and Lally’s Club until the Warehouse is finished.”

“Any pinch points?”

Merrick shakes his head in lieu of speaking a second time. It works in our favor that he’s never been very talkative with the Father, now that he’s holding so many secrets for the Brothers.

The Father nods once in acknowledgment of Merrick’s silent response. “How about the Warehouse?”

“Six weeks, minimum,” Maddock grunts, pulling at the collar of his dress shirt as if it’s choking him. There’s a fresh tattoo lining the side of his neck, just below his right ear. I’m not sure how he keeps finding places for new ink. Every other part of him is covered at this point, with just his face left untouched.

“Six?” The Father’s eyes narrow on Maddock for a moment, but the look is gone almost as soon as it crosses his face. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Maddock shrugs, fidgeting in his seat again. “It would be sooner, but we’re waiting on the special order flooring you requested.”

The Father hums in his throat, crossing both arms over his chest.

“How’s the Club, Lally?” The question comes from Grant, and I’m not surprised to see that still hasn’t changed. The Father never speaks directly to Lachlan.

“Better than ever,” Lachlan smirks at Maddock across the table, where the older man is now scratching insistently at his neck. “Nothing new to report.”

“Callum,” the Father’s voice pulls my attention from whatever the fuck is happening to Maddock. The old ball-bag is watching me with fire in his eyes, and I feel my heartbeat slow in response.

“Yes, sir?”

“How have you been adjusting, son?” The question is so far from anything I imagined the Father asking me that I’m momentarily at a loss for what to say in response.

“Fine, sir.”

“Anything I should know about?”

“No, sir.”

A strange look passes over his face, and for a moment, I think he sees Rosalind on my skin as if her touch has left a physical mark. “I expect to see you at Church on Sunday.”

My gaze catches Grant’s, and I see him nod almost imperceptibly. “Yes, sir. I’d be honored.”

—

“Thank fuck, that’s over.”

“I can’t believe the old fuck didn’t ask about your last job.”

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