Page 39 of Callum

“Callum,” Grant reaches forward, stopping me from opening the driver’s side door. “You know word of this will get back to the Father, right?”

He points to the trees, drawing my attention back to the darkness within. I hadn’t considered how this would affect our plan with the Father, or I might not have shot Harlowe.

No, she deserved that.

“What do we do now?”

“We get word to him first,” Grant sounds so matter-of-fact, as if this whole thing hasn’t thrown a massive wrench in his plan. “I’ll tell him you’re back in a temporary capacity, and we’ll deal with the fallout as a Family.”

His hand cups the back of my neck, squeezing twice before shoving me toward my car. “In the meantime, try to lay low. No more blown-out kneecaps, yeah?”

The adrenaline pounding through my veins tells me I still have a bit of trouble left in me, and I know just what to do with it.

“I make no promises.”

Ten: Safe House

ROSALIND

Callum’s voice filters through the open door as he pushes his way into the house. He’s whole, not so much as a scratch marring his perfect body, though there’s a fair amount of blood and dirt on his suit. His eyes sweep the room, landing on me, where I’m curled up in the corner of the couch. “We’re moving to a safe house.”

“When?”

“Tonight,” Callum pulls out his phone to send a text, and I hear Theo’s phone vibrate a moment later. “You’ll need to stock it while I get her ready to move.”

“Yes, Consigliere.” Theo leaves without another word, pulling the door closed behind him with a snap.

My eyes are trained on Callum as he walks toward the kitchen. Something is different, but I can’t place it. He moves lazily through the space, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet before pulling down a glass.

“You want to know how it went?”

Yes, obviously. “No.”

“Still trying to lie to me, huh?”

“I’m not the only liar here,” I counter, watching as he takes the first sip of the amber-colored liquor. His eyes meet mine over the top of his glass, and I swear he fucking smiles.

“What will it take,” Callum moves around the island, stopping a foot from the arm of the couch. “To get you to trust me?”

A fucking miracle. Actually, more than a miracle. God herself could come down from the sky and tell me Callum MacAlister has earned his sainthood, and I still wouldn’t trust him. “You can start by telling me what happened tonight.”

Callum hums in the back of his throat, lifting the glass to his lips again. It doesn’t seem like he will answer me at first, but he eventually says, “We met the GiGi’s in the woods.”

Yeah, no shit Sherlock. “And?”

“We gave them back the Girls, and they gave us some information. It was a fair trade.”

“What kind of information is ‘fair trade’ for a dead prostitute?”

“Two dead prostitutes.” Callum amends with a smirk. He moves behind the couch, and I track him with my eyes until he’s too far behind me. When I try to turn around in the seat, a hand on the back of my neck stops me.

For one heart-stopping second, I think he’s going to slit my throat. “What are you doing?”

“You’re very tense,” Callum mumbles, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of my neck. “You need to relax.”

Not gonna happen, buddy.

“Can I have some whiskey?”

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