Page 27 of Callum

Goddammit.

“I can prove it.”

“How?”

I have no fucking idea. Rosalind is currently sitting at the Convent, waiting to find out what comes of this meeting with Dodge.

A plan forms in the back of my mind, one I know I’ll get blowback on from all sides, but it’s the only way to get out of this. I know Rosalind White better than she knows herself. I chose Callum as a scapegoat for a reason. She will run to him if her life falls apart at the seams. She will always run to Callum MacAlister.

“She’s with him. As soon as we cut her loose,” I intentionally ignore Harlowe’s soft inhale next to me. “She went to Callum MacAlister.”

“Well then,” Dodge leans forward, steepling his fingers under his chin. “You shouldn’t have any problem bringing her to me.”

“What?” The word snaps out of me before I can stop it—the curse of my lifetime. I’ve never been able to hold my tongue.

Dodge laughs, but it isn’t a happy sound. His brothers quickly join him, and I’m reminded of the hyenas from The Lion King, except one of those hyenas is a King in his own right. “If you know where she is, you should be able to get to her. If you can get that little bitch and bring her to me, I will reward you for your efforts.”

This time, my eyes find Kyler’s without thought. She’s watching me, her beautifully scarred face a sheet of stone. She doesn’t like this, but what other choice do we have?

“What kind of reward?”

Before Dodge can open his mouth, Lincoln leans forward to whisper in his ear. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Lincoln Roman speak above a whisper. Considering that I’ve done my best to keep a wide berth around the Romans, I’ve never really heard Lincoln say anything.

“My brother is attempting to advise me against bringing you into this, but I believe in second chances for people.” Dodge smiles viciously, and I feel my heart sink. “You will bring me what’s mine, Ginetta. Or have you already forgotten what happened the last time you tried to keep her from me?”

The bottom drops out of my stomach at his words. He can’t be bringing that up right now? No one is supposed to know. No one is ever allowed to know.

“I didn’t forget.”

“Good,” Dodge leans forward, and I can’t help but lean away. “Because she’s mine, Ginetta. You will bring her to me, or I will bury you.”

Seven: Home Alone

CALLUM

“I thought this was a one-bedroom house?”

“Then you’re shit at snooping,” I turn to face Rosalind, where she’s sitting straight up in the chair, rolling out her shoulders. She’s both right and wrong in her assessment of the house since there’s an office at the end of the hall that I have turned into a temporary bedroom for her. I spent a few hours there this morning clearing out all of my belongings so I could set up the shitty air mattress for Rosalind to sleep on.

“Come on,” I point toward the end of the hall, too tired to argue with her about eating tonight. Besides, the idea of her trying to starve herself to death is honestly a bit funny. It will pain her far more than it bothers me, and she’ll be begging me for anything I’m willing to give her before the week is out.

I don’t follow that trail of thought when it begins to veer toward all the other things I’d be willing to give her if she begged for them.

Swinging open the door, I step back to allow Rosalind to move past me into the office. The only window in the room is situated across from the entrance, with the closet immediately to the left and my desk pushed against the far right wall. It’s the only thing I didn’t take out of the office this morning because I didn’t feel like hauling the damn thing to Anita’s Practice along with everything else.

“What the fuck is that?” Rosalind stops dead the moment she’s through the door, her eyes falling to the shitty twin-sized air mattress sitting on the floor.

“It’s your bed.”

“I think I’d prefer the couch.”

“And I’d prefer you not fight me on every goddamn thing, but you don’t always get what you want.” Our eyes meet, and I can feel her weighing if it’s worth arguing with me on this, too. She seems to decide against it, limping toward the mattress before dropping heavily into the middle. She bounces a bit, the knife that’s still clutched in her hand nearly stabbing directly into the mattress top.

It will serve her right if she pops a hole in the damn thing.

Not wanting to give her any new opportunities to pick a fight with me, and because having several barriers between us is the best possible thing for everyone, I pull the door closed and make my way across the hall. As desperate as I feel to crash onto my bed and not move until morning, I know it’s unlikely that I will get any rest tonight. I think the only sleep either of us will get in the coming weeks will be when she’s sedated.

I force my thoughts away from the appeal of that solution as I check the weapon hidden between my headboard and nightstand like I do every night before getting into bed. Sliding the handgun back into the hidden holster, I strip off my suit and drag on the first pair of sweatpants I find in the drawer.

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