Page 30 of Callum

“You know what,” she snarls, but whatever else she’d planned to say is drowned out by a soft yelp. We turn to the open window in unison, just in time to see the woman I shot in the leg disappear over the ledge.

Rosalind slowly turns to face me again, raising one perfect brow. “That’s your responsibility.”

“How the fuck do you figure that?”

“I only have one functioning leg, remember?”

I can’t argue with that thirty seconds after making the same point against her, and I quickly take the three steps to the window. Pausing, I turn back to glare at Rosalind. “Stay here,” I command, knowing she won’t fucking listen to me. She never listens.

I’m on the ground outside before the hobbling woman even makes it to the front of the house. “Stop running!”

She hobbles faster.

“Seriously?”

She begins to bounce across the yard on one foot. It’s somehow slower than the hobbling.

“Just remember that I asked nicely the first time.” Leaning forward, I grab a fistful of the hopping woman’s hair, wrenching her back. She slams to the ground, the air forced from her lungs in a strangled cry.

My eyes sweep the empty street, noting that every house has its front lights on, but no one is outside. It’s a habit born of necessity, and I hate that our people are still living scared all these years later. There hasn’t been fighting on MacAlister soil in nearly thirty years, but the lights stay on, and the people remain inside.

The lack of nosey neighbors plays to my advantage tonight as I heave the kicking and screaming woman over my shoulder. I’ve only just managed to get up the porch steps when the door opens, revealing Rosalind. Her eyes narrow on the woman who is quickly spiraling into a full panic attack.

“Wha—”

I don’t get to finish my question before Rosalind rears back, full force punching the woman in the side of the head. The chaotic flailing stops instantly, and Rosalind breathes a sigh of relief.

“What the fuck are you doing outside?” I snap, carefully dropping the woman’s body onto the porch boards at my feet before shoving Rosalind into the house.

“She was screaming.”

“I had it handled.” I mimic her earlier protest, reaching into the entryway table to grab a roll of duct tape.

“She wasn’t going to shut up, and you know it.” Rosalind defends, placing both hands on her hips. Before I can say anything in retort, movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention. The woman’s boneless body begins to slide in slow motion, the weight of her hips slipping over the edge of the front steps, dragging her upper body after it.

Thud. Thud, thud, thud, thud…thud.

She stops when her lower half reaches the ground, her head having bounced chaotically off the lip of each stair on the way down. Rosalind and I watch her in total silence, my eyes searching for any sign she’s still breathing. The moment I catch the subtle movement of expanding lungs, I spin on Rosalind again.

“I’m telling Grant this was your fault.”

“What the fuck?” Rosalind whips her head around to glare daggers at me. “I was just trying to shut her up!”

“Yeah, and now she almost definitely has brain damage.” I point to the massive streaks of blood staining my front steps. “And I’ll have to deal with cleaning this up.”

“You really did make a mess of it.”

“You made a mess,” I remind her, miming a punch through the air in front of me. “Stay the fuck inside, Rocky,” I command for the second time tonight before turning back toward the woman passed out in my yard.

I can feel Rosalind’s eyes on me as I bend to gather the unconscious woman into my arms. When I glance up, she’s watching me with a strange look. Not wanting to touch whatever has her making that face with a ten-foot pole, I snap at her. “Make yourself useful and clean up the body in the office.”

“I can’t.”

“You don’t need two legs to clean up a body, Red.”

“No,” she agrees, closing the front door the moment I’m through it. “But I’ve never needed to clean up a body before.”

Eight: I Break

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