Page 5 of Callum

The trees finally thin enough that I can see Lachlan’s blacked-out McLaren 720S parked in his usual spot behind the club. Instinct has me scanning the area for threats before stepping out of the woods behind Lally’s. My leg drags uselessly through the chalky rocks covering the employee lot, deep red droplets splattering at my feet with each step.

It always seemed strange to me that the GiGi’s wanted Lachlan MacAlister’s strip club to be their Neutral Zone. You would think they’d see an establishment dealing in strippers and escorts as their direct competition, but Ginetta Ricci makes her own decisions these days.

Melting into the shadows, I wait beside Lachlan’s pride and joy, wrapping both arms around my knees for comfort. My only thought is that I cannot bleed out before he gets here, the words playing on a loop in my mind until they blend in a chorus of fear and pain.

The soft crunch of gravel reaches my ears just before Lachlan saunters into view, the low lighting of the street lights casting half of his face in shadows. I see the moment he senses me in the dark, his shoulders tensing before they relax again.

“You look like shit, Red.” He raises a questioning brow, those icy blue eyes reminding me so much of Callum as they trace across my skin. It’s like he’s trying to reverse-engineer each hit from the marks left on my body. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if he could.

“I need your help.”

His eyes narrow, a sneer pulling at the corner of his lips. “I’m not in the business of helping people.”

Scoffing pulls painfully at my ribs, but there’s no other reaction to the Mouth, implying he’s less of a healer and more of a harmer.

No fucking shit.

“Please, Lally—”

“Why are you here?” Lachlan crosses both arms over his chest, tipping his head to one side. A few strands of hair fall from his messy bun, and I want to laugh at how soft he looks like this. The MacAlister Brothers have always been masters at dichotomy, presenting one image to the world while the truth lurks beneath the surface.

Lachlan looks more likely to spend his Sundays tailgating at a college football game than torturing people for information. Grant is an iron fist wrapped in a kid-skin glove. Maddock is a gentle and loving father who gleefully kills anyone in his Family’s way, while Merrick is silent and vicious but seemingly uninterested in the Family Business. And Callum—

I don’t allow myself to think about Callum anymore.

“I need out of the Underworld.”

Lachlan’s eyes narrow on me again, the muscle in his jaw ticking in time with the grind of his teeth. “Why?”

I scan the empty parking lot, the overwhelming need to get out of this public space making me jumpy. “Not here.”

“Fine,” he sighs, reaching into his back pocket for his phone. The motion exposes the gun in his waistband beneath the dark half-zip that covers his inked torso. Lachlan begins to lazily tap out a text as he steps around me, heading toward a large black SUV in the corner of the lot. “Hurry up.”

“What?”

He stops, turning just enough to look over his shoulder at me. “You asked for help. This is me helping.”

“Aren’t we taking your car?”

Lachlan seems to decide that both me and my broken ribs can go fuck ourselves, reaching down to yank me to my feet. The moment I’m standing, he drops my arm, leaving me to catch myself against a nearby tree as pain threatens to knock me down again.

“I’m not letting you bleed all over my McLaren,” he sounds so shocked that I would suggest getting into his precious car that I would laugh if I weren’t reasonably sure I’m about to vomit. “Besides, I have a job tonight. If you hurry the fuck up, I can drop you off on my way.”

“Drop me off where?” The way he smiles at my question settles uncomfortably against my skin. My only hope for survival is to get into an unmarked vehicle with a man so violent he’s notorious for leaving his victims entirely unidentifiable.

“Just get in the car, Rosie.”

—

“Rosie!” Lachlan shouts through the open window, calling me back to the SUV from my spot on the sidewalk. “Take this.”

The gun looks dangerous in the low light of the street, and I hesitate before reaching for it. “Don’t you have any knives?”

“You don’t bring a knife to a gunfight, Red.” He raises one light brow at me, wiggling the gun in my direction again. When I still don’t reach for the firearm, his hand drops in defeat. “Why didn’t you go to Callum?”

The sound of his name sticks in my chest, and I have to force myself to breathe around it. It’s been so many long and painful years. I can’t allow myself back into that place where only he exists. “I don’t know.”

Lachlan watches me for a long moment as if trying to see through my answer. Eventually, he nods once before speeding down the silent street without so much as a goodbye.

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