Page 22 of Callum

The house is quiet but not silent. The fact that I can hear the person moving around the living room tells me it isn’t Callum. Tiptoeing down the hall, I bring the knife to shoulder level, ready to plunge it into…a giant.

Holy fuck, there’s a giant in the living room.

The man is enormous, well over six and a half feet tall, with a bushy blond beard and shining bald head. He’s wearing all black; the only color on him comes from the silver and gold rings on his right hand. He hunches over, grabbing a blanket off the couch with hands the size of small dinner plates. When he straightens to begin carefully folding the blanket, I realize he’s cleaning up my makeshift bed.

“You can come out of the hall, Miss White. I won’t hurt you.”

His deep voice carries gently through the air, and I immediately know he’s the one who left me these clothes. The giant doesn’t look my way, continuing his task before setting the blanket into a small stack with the pillow my foot had been propped on.

“Who are you?”

He finally turns toward me, a slight smile on his face. “Theodore Grady, ma’am, but you can call me Theo.”

“Where’s Callum?”

The giant, Theo, continues to smile politely at me, but I can see he knows something I don’t. “He’s on MacAlister Business, ma’am.”

“MacAlister Business?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he returns to his task of folding up the bedding on the couch. “I’ve been instructed to make sure you eat and to remind you—”

“Why did he leave me with you?”

Theo stops, the sheet half-folded over one large hand. The look on his face is unreadable when he turns in my direction. “I think you know the answer to that, Miss White.”

My hand drops to cover the scar at the base of my abdomen. Of course, he doesn’t actually plan to stay with me. All that bullshit about me being stuck with him was just his way of forcing me to do what he wanted. I’m not sure why he even cares if I eat at this point. He keeps threatening to kill me. Wouldn’t it be better to simply let me die?

Death will be far easier than living. Getting to face the demons that haunt my dreams rather than spending every waking moment running from them. It’s the only way to escape the ever-present thump in my chest that reminds me our daughter is dead, and it’s all my fault.

Six: Metal and Monsters

CALLUM

Grant: Peaks. 11:30.

Callum: Good morning to you, too.

Grant: Don’t be late.

—

“Consigliere.”

“Theo,” I can barely contain my eye roll at the smug look on his face. I know calling me Consigliere is technically correct now, but it sounds ridiculous. “Thanks for coming, man.”

“Any time, Consigliere.” Theo’s deep voice is laced with laughter, and I have to keep myself from telling him to fuck off and shutting the door in his face.

As if he can read my thoughts, Theo steps quickly into the house, his massive shoulders damn near touching each side of the doorway. He stops at my side, looking down at my bare feet questioningly. “Has the Father relaxed the dress code?”

“Unfortunately, he has not. I’m just running a bit behind.” If I hadn’t watched Rosalind sleep for so damn long, I would have been ready by the time Theo arrived. I couldn’t stop, though. I couldn’t make myself walk away from her with all the questions racing through my mind.

What happened while I was away? Would it have been different if I had stayed?

As it is, I still have to put on shoes and find my jacket before heading out to meet Grant and Merrick at the bar.

Theo hums in the back of his throat but doesn’t ask the question burning in his mind. His bright eyes follow me as I rush through the house, gathering my belongings.

“Rosalind is in the shower. I have clothes for her around here somewhere.” My eyes scan the room, looking for the bag I had Anita bring over this morning. Grabbing it from the chair in the corner, I dump the clothes onto the island, folding them all into a small stack.

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