Page 47 of Callum

—

My door slams closed the moment I’m out of the car, drawing the attention of the three men standing in the middle of the driveway.

“Whoa, Cal,” Maddock grimaces at the look on my face. He’s in a suit today, and I can see his discomfort from here. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

“Jacob fucking Bishop?” I snap, pointing a finger at Grant.

“I didn’t know you dabbled in dick, Cal.” Merrick’s teasing tone sets Maddock off, and he dissolves into a fit of giggles.

Grant raises his arms, taking a step back as I crowd into the half circle they’ve created in front of the Manor’s steps. “He’s trustworthy.”

“He’s a predator.”

“He’s…useful.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The words are barely louder than a breath, but Grant hears them just fine. In fact, you could hear a pin drop at this moment, and I realize that Maddock has blissfully gotten his laughter under control. “He’s alone with her.”

“She can handle herself,” Grant reminds me, his tone far too even for my liking.

Yes, she can. That doesn’t mean I want her to feel like she has to. “Find someone else.”

“There isn’t—”

“Find. Someone. Else.”

Grant steps toward me, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I’ve allowed you more than your share of freedom with Rosalind because I know your history together. I respect you, brother, but I will shorten your leash if you continue to prove you can’t handle it.”

“He killed that girl.”

All three of my brothers sigh in unison, but I ignore them. We’ve had this conversation many times, but that doesn’t change the facts. While any one of us would have voted against Jacob Bishop in that case, we weren’t at the Table yet, and the men who stood there didn’t see it like we did. “He wasn’t charged in the Underworld.”

“Because the dead can’t defend themselves.” The only reason Jacob Bishop wasn’t charged with murder is the same reason he’s still allowed to operate freely within the MacAlisters: he’s Holden Bishop’s only son.

At the time of the trial, Holden Bishop was the moderator for the Table. He has since passed, and my patience for his sadistic piece of shit son passed with him.

Merrick sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “That isn’t our place, Callum. She was a Roman.”

“She was nineteen.”

“And Rosalind is nearly thirty,” Grant growls, shoving a finger into my chest. “Give your woman some credit.”

“I will kill him if he touches her.”

“And I will help you hide the body,” Lachlan’s cool voice joins our heated argument as he slinks up the driveway. He never parks on the property, choosing instead to trek the paved drive on foot. He claims it helps expend the last of his energy before seeing the Father, but I think he just wants to prolong the time between his arrival and the moment he has to enter the Manor. “But it’s probably not the best idea to be plotting his murder in front of his father’s best friend’s house.”

“Lally has a point,” Merrick grumbles, turning toward the house. Something shifts in his demeanor, and he clears his throat. “Time to face the music.”

—

Every part of me wants to run as I look around the grim and graying dining room. My hand roams along the back of the closest chair. It’s the one I always sat in before, and it would appear the seat still belongs to me.

The room falls eerily silent, announcing the arrival of the Father. No one can suck the very air from a space quite like King Testicle himself.

“How wonderful it is,” his voice is like oil sliding down my spine, and I have to suppress a shiver at the feel of it. The massive doors snap shut as the Father moves further into the dining room, his teeth bared in the approximation of a smile as his eyes fall on each of my brothers. “To have all my boys in one room again.”

“It certainly is,” Grant agrees, his eyes boring a hole into the side of my skull.

We discussed how this would go, but now that it’s time, I don’t think I can do it. Showing any amount of respect to this vile old slug makes me physically ill. When the silence has stretched to the breaking point, I finally find my voice. “I’m grateful to be home again.”

---