Page 6 of Callum

I limp toward the house he dropped me outside of, assessing my immediate surroundings for signs of a trap. The porch steps give warning of my arrival long before the front door swings open on eerily silent hinges to reveal a dark and seemingly empty space.

My eyes scan the shadows, searching for any sign that something might be hiding just outside of view. I’ve never been afraid of the dark, but I have a healthy respect for the monsters lurking within. The idea that one of those monsters could be watching me simmers beneath my skin, and my body tenses for a fight it knows I won’t win.

Nothing emerges from the darkness when I flick on the light.

The space is cozy, with an oversized couch and recliner to my right, followed by a dining room and kitchen further back. A hall straight ahead leads to three closed doors that I assume are a bedroom, bathroom, and closet, but the house isn’t much larger than that. I’m surprised to see paintings on the walls and a fluffy throw on the couch. This looks more like a place someone lives in than an anonymous Safe House, but that’s probably the point.

I hobble toward the kitchen, seeing several knives in a butcher block on the counter. After choosing one that will fit in my boot, I turn back to the room, trying to assess my options.

Ultimately, I settle for one of the kitchen chairs, keeping my back to the wall and my field of vision unobstructed. It also allows me the most space to try and figure out what to do with my leg.

Lachlan gave me an ACE bandage from the glovebox of the SUV, but it quickly becomes evident that there’s no way I’m peeling the bloody sweatshirt from my shin. I wrap the bandage around the blood-crusted cloth, deciding this will have to do until I can get proper medical attention—whenever the fuck that will be.

The front door slamming against the wall pulls me from my thoughts.

“Callum,” I breathe his name against my will, my mind still trying to catch up with what my eyes are seeing. It’s common knowledge that even Death is jealous of how quiet Callum MacAlister is, but I’m still surprised I didn’t hear him coming up the porch steps.

This Callum is not that same young man who walked away from me four years ago. He has the same straight nose, dark hair, and piercing blue eyes, but that’s where the similarities seem to end. There’s a looseness to the way he holds himself, even with the rigid set to his stubble-covered jaw. His jet-black hair is unkempt, giving the impression he’s been running his fingers through it, and—where the fuck did those shoulders come from?

“Why are you here?” Callum’s voice is low and angry as he forcefully closes the front door with the back of his foot. He doesn’t take his eyes off me, and I swear I can feel the weight of his gaze across the room.

“Lachlan—”

Callum scoffs, a dark look passing over his face at the mention of his youngest brother. He prowls toward the kitchen, his body moving in a way that’s entirely new. Callum was never scrawny; he just happened to be the leanest of the MacAlister Brothers through their early twenties. That is certainly not the case anymore. My gaze traces the lines of his body as he walks, cataloging each new ridge of muscle beneath his sweater.

Fuck. Me. Sideways.

The sound of the refrigerator opening pulls me from my dirty thoughts so suddenly that I jump, the legs of my chair scraping against the wood floor. Callum gives me an odd look over his shoulder as he pulls a beer from the fridge, and I feel an embarrassed flush creep up my neck.

“Is that blood?” Callum points to my foot under the kitchen table, and I nod without taking my eyes off him. A slight frown crosses his face before he bends, pulling something from the lower cabinets. Tossing it toward me, the plastic clatters against the wooden tabletop as the box bounces to a stop just within arm’s reach. It’s a first aid kit, one of the little ones that’s nothing more than a box of Band-Aids and Neosporin.

Callum doesn’t look to see if I grab the kit, opting instead to pull out his phone. He taps out a text, his thumbs stabbing audibly against the phone’s screen.

“You gonna patch me up?” I can’t stop the hope lacing my voice, but he doesn’t seem to hear it. Callum keeps his eyes glued to the phone in his hands, waiting for a response to his text. Something must come through because he quickly types another message before putting the phone away.

“We both know you can patch yourself up.”

He has no idea how laughable that sentence is. If Doctor Callum ever sees the absolute hack job I’ve done on my leg, he’ll lose his shit. “You used to jump at any excuse to touch me.”

“You used to only let me touch you.” I can see the anger radiating through his body as he steps around the island, stopping at the far end of the table. His darkened eyes scan my face, and everything in me screams that Callum is a predator and I am his prey. My heart pounds at the prospect, the adrenaline rush calling me like a siren to a sailor.

Fine. If he wants to fight it out, then we’ll fight it out. “Will you let me explain?”

“Why would I?” He demands, slamming his beer onto the table. Foam froths over the lip of the bottle, little flecks splattering across the dark wood table top. “You’ve already told it all to Lachlan.”

The way he says Lachlan’s name makes me frown. I knew he would be pissed about me going to his brother, but I never imagined he would think something happened between us. “You know it isn’t like that.”

“No?” Callum narrows his eyes, taking a step closer to my chair. I can no longer pretend that the alarm bells in my brain are merely a suggestion. I have to move. Now. “He hasn’t had the pleasure you’ve been so readily offering to anyone with money in their pockets?”

“What the fuck?” Pushing to my feet, I grab the chair for balance when my right leg damn near gives out under me. Shit, that’s going to make running difficult. “If you would just let me expl—”

“I don’t need your explanations, Red.” My skin crawls at the name coming from his mouth, but I don’t let him see it. “You don’t have to tell me that fucking strangers for money was more palatable than spending your life with me.”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Anger splits through me at his words and the implications behind them. Is that what he thinks? Has he spent the last four years thinking I chose to fuck those people? Does he really believe I would ever willingly let anyone else touch me?

“You heard me, Red.” He spits the name, and I take a step away from him on instinct. “Are you going to run from me again?”

His voice is so full of rage that I shiver at the sound, but the feeling washing over me is nothing like fear. There’s a moment of stillness, each trying to decide our next move, and then Callum smiles. His canines flash in the overhead light, and I know I have no other choice.

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