Page 72 of Callum

“Then what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I…what?”

He looks so confused, but I can’t feel anything but rage. “Why are you here? Why aren’t you looking for her? If you know she’s out there, why the fuck aren’t you doing anything?”

Callum catches my hand before it can connect with his jaw, gently pinning my wrist against the shower wall. “We will find her, but we need a game plan first.”

“Your brothers agreed to help?”

His brows pull together as if I’ve just said something insane. “Well, yes. But I was talking about us.”

It’s my turn to look confused. “Us?”

“Yes, us.” He says the words slowly as if allowing time for them to sink in. “You and I, her parents. We are going to find her and bring her home.”

“I’m not going to be any help.” How could I be? I couldn’t even stop her from being taken. She might be alive, but it’s no thanks to me.

Callum sighs heavily, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. It’s like he can hear the thoughts racing through my mind, and I hate it. I don’t want him in my head. “You’re going to be the best help, kitten. You’re her mother. I need you to help me find our daughter.”

“Our daughter.” The words stick in my throat, but I force them out. All the pain and shame of the last three years come crashing down on my shoulders, but it feels different. It feels manageable. It feels like—

“Our daughter,” Callum whispers against my temple, his lips brushing my skin.

I’m not sure if he can hear me over the sound of the shower, but I ask the questions into the space between our bodies anyway. “She’s out there? I didn’t…I didn’t kill her?”

“No, Rosalind,” he moves back so I can look directly into his eyes. “You did not kill her. Even if she had been stillborn, that would not have been your fault. There isn’t anything you could have done differently.”

I can see how difficult it is for him to breathe around the next words, and instinct has me reaching up to place a hand against his heart. There’s a fresh tattoo there, one that can’t be more than a month old. It’s a knife.

It’s my knife—the one he gave me all those years ago. The one that Kyler fucking stole from me.

“I am the one who should have done something different. I should have been there for you. If I had been—”

“No, it wasn’t your fault either,” I cut in before he can say anything else. “I should have tried harder to tell you. I should have known the Father wouldn’t pass on the message. And I should have known that you wouldn’t say you didn’t want her. You always wanted kids.”

“I always wanted you,” he corrects, pulling me into his space with a hand against my lower back. “I always wanted you exactly how you are. I was never trying to change you.”

There are no teeth in this kiss. It feels like before, back when he would kiss me like I was something precious and fragile. It isn’t enough now.

I prefer the teeth.

Twenty: Secrets

CALLUM

It’s been two days of silence from the outside world. I’ve checked in with Grant every day, but there hasn’t been much to report. They still don’t know who came across the border or where they’re hiding now. There were no updates when I texted him this morning, so seeing his name flashing across my screen spikes my heart rate.

“Where?”

“Warehouse. Eight o’clock.”

That’s all he says before the line goes dead, and my eyes dart to the clock on the wall. Six forty-eight. It’ll take about thirty minutes to get to the Warehouse on the backroads, so we need to leave sooner than later.

“Rosalind,” I call toward the bedroom, and she appears in the doorway instantly. Her hair is still wet, and a fresh bandage lays across her neck. I scrubbed the dead flesh from the burn while we were in the shower, and she nearly ripped my balls off in retaliation.

Reaching above the cabinet next to the fridge, I smile when my fingers close around the cool metal. Without warning, I toss the object in Rosalind’s direction, and she catches it with one hand just before it hits her in the chest.

“A knife?” She looks up, her eyes locking on mine. “Why are you giving me a knife?”

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