Page 63 of Callum

“Good morning,” he drawls, and I have exactly two seconds to brace myself for a fist to the jaw. Mother fucker. He hits me exactly where Rosalind’s fist landed not twelve hours before, and pain explodes through my skull. These assholes are going to crack my cheekbone.

“Mind telling me what that was for?”

“Disobeying a direct order,” Grant pulls something out of his jacket pocket, shoving it in my hand. “You’re bleeding.”

Pressing the handkerchief to my cheek, I feel blood pool against the cloth. Fucker split my skin with that fucking ring. A soft chuckle from my right alerts me to Lachlan’s approach.

“This wouldn’t happen to be about Cal doing the stick and poke with Rosie, would it?” Grant glares at Lachlan, and our youngest brother raises his hands in surrender. “I didn’t put my dick in her. Reserve that anger for him.”

“That’s why you hit me?”

“I told you not to fuck her, Callum.”

“How do you even know that I fucked her?” In hindsight, I probably should have phrased that in a way that didn’t immediately make it obvious that we slept together.

“You fucked her?” Maddock’s tight tone is most likely due to the fact that he’s in a suit again today, but I still take a step away from him in case he plans to hit me, too. “Like, fucked her, fucked her?”

I don’t respond, which seems to be response enough.

“You little idiot.”

“I thought you were only putting your dick in places that weren’t her vagina.” Lachlan doesn’t even try to avoid my hand cracking against the back of his head as he dissolves into laughter beside me.

“Incoming,” Merrick grunts from his place at Maddock’s side, and we all turn to face in the direction he’s looking.

The Father has arrived, flocked on either side by his “loyal” subjects. My eyes snap to Grant at the reminder of the men now rotting deep in the forest behind the Warehouse. “Maddock has it handled,” Grant doesn’t look in my direction, but I know he’s addressing my unasked question.

“My boys!” The Father throws his arms wide, a bright smile pulling at his hollow cheeks. He looks like a skeleton at the best of times, but the sharp press of his bones against the thin skin of his face is more pronounced in the harsh winter light. “Callum, what happened to your face?”

I had forgotten about the blood dripping down my jaw, and I quickly press the cloth against my cheek again. “Simply being reminded of my place, Father.”

His eyes snap to Grant, who shakes out his right hand as if the punch just happened. “That’s good,” the Father beams at Grant, but the smile comes across as more vicious than joyous. “Shall we head inside?”

“Before we do,” Maddock takes a small step toward the Father but stays outside the old bastard’s reach. Mads’ voice drops to a whisper, forcing everyone to lean toward him. “There was a break-in at the Warehouse yesterday. My men tracked them to the Balkirk border but lost them in the woods. It was two men, medium height and build. They could be any random RMF Soldiers, but my money is on Lincoln and Chevy coming to check out our operation themselves. Those two idiots have been getting bolder by the day.”

I refuse to look at any of my brothers, afraid my face will give away the truth. This is what Grant meant by Maddock handling it. We’re blaming the RMF for killing Barrett and Caldor.

“You think the RMF are concerned with our Warehouse?”

“I think they are concerned with everything we do.” Merrick counters, his gaze meeting the Father’s head-on. “Don’t you?”

The Father watches Merrick for a long time before he slowly nods once, a fake smile stretching across his face again. “That I do.”

“Do you want us to retaliate?” Grant’s question is laced with something I don’t understand, but the Father seems to clock it for what it is.

“No, son. Starting a war right now would be ill-advised.” Lachlan’s small snort of laughter draws the Father’s attention, but he doesn’t say anything to his youngest son. “Was anything taken from the Warehouse?”

The Father moves his attention back to Maddock as he asks the question. “No, the building is still bare bones at this stage. There wasn’t anything to steal.”

“Was anything left behind?” He must hear how leading the question sounds because he quickly adds, “That might lead us to whoever was responsible for the break-in?”

Maddock shakes his head, pulling at the cuff of his dress shirt. “Nothing at all. My men scared them off before they could do whatever they were attempting to do.”

“That’s good,” the Father reaches out to pat Maddock absently on the arm. The big man freezes but lets it happen. “Is that all?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then we must get going,” the Father points toward the ancient stone Church in front of us. The chapel is filling up with members of the MacAlister Family, each one stopping to greet the Priest at the door. The old clergyman sees the Father pointing in his direction and raises a gnarled hand in acknowledgment.

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