Page 22 of Dark Succession
That meant he had to find Brendan Halloran’s killer.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Carrigan O’Malley waited for her brother to stalk past where she stood in the little nook outside the library, bathed in shadow. Teague didn’t see her there, just like Aiden hadn’t before him. She’d learned at a very young age that if she wanted to find out the unfiltered truth, she had to eavesdrop. She’d gotten pretty good at it since then, which led to all sorts of interesting—and terrifying—discoveries.
Like the fact that Teague had someone with the FBI on speed dial.
She shook her head. He’d always been an idealist, even when they were kids. To him, everything was black and white, good or bad. Life didn’t work that way, especiallytheirlives, but she already knew what had spurred him to take the leap from minor rebellion straight into being a true traitor.
His sisters.
Growing up, he’d always been the protector, the one who stood between them and the rest of the world. It was something he’d have been wise to grow out of—no one could save them, not really—but he hadn’t.
Why the feds, Teague? They aren’t going to help us unless they benefit, which means everything we love is going up in flames.
She wouldn’t rat him out, though. They all had their secrets, from Aiden right down to Keira—the little parts of themselves they kept close and quiet, and refused to share. His might be more damaging than most, but hers were right up there in the running. If her father ever found out what she did on the nights she slipped her protection duty, he’d ship her off faster than she could sayfucked.
And that was if she was lucky.
She stepped into the hall and headed in the direction of her room. Things were quiet at this time of night, the old house echoing strangely enough that when she was ten, she’d been sure there were at least a few resident ghosts. Now she knew better. The only one who haunted these halls was Carrigan, floating from one room to the next, never free enough to actually leave, never restful enough to just go along with the path her father had set out for her.
Marriage.
That was the only future for her and both her sisters. They would be married to an appropriate man—meaning, one who would serve the family business—and then go on to extend the empire with as many children as possible. The only chance she had of avoiding that fate was joining a convent—her father would be willing to give up a breeder for a nun.
She just wasn’t sureshewas.
It was far too tempting to dwell on the choice that was bearing down on her, closing a cage around her ribs until each breath burned. She didn’t have much time left, the clock in her head ticking down in time with her biological clock, the buzzer ready to go off at any moment. More and more, her father kept making comments about her advancing age and how there wasn’t much time left at all if she was going to be good marriage material.
Easier to focus on her little brother’s problems than her own. She’d have to talk to him soon, to let him know she knew the sacrifice he was trying to make for them. He was selling his soul in the process—once the feds got their claws into you, you were never truly free—and that was the best-case scenario. If their father found out…
He’d kill Teague.
The realization settled in her chest, an added weight to the anvil she currently carried. Father might say family before all, but what Teague was doing was a betrayal no matter which way they spun it. He was a rat, and Father was famous for saying, “Thou shall not suffer a rat to live.” He wouldn’t suddenly develop a forgiving streak just because it was his own flesh and blood slipping secrets to the enemy.
She closed her bedroom door behind her and sank to the floor. “God, Teague, what are you doing to us?”
Callie pushed the button on the treadmill to bring her speed up, desperate to outrun the thoughts and worries plaguing her. She would have preferred to run outside,but her father had forbidden it, given the situation with the Hallorans. Three days in this house and she was on the verge of going mad. Every time she turned around, there was some sort of furtive movement or quiet conversation—all of which stopped the second she walked into the room. She knew her father was trying to protect her. But she should be right there in the middle of all the planning instead of relegated to hurried updates from Micah between his running her father’s errands.
Papa told her to use this time to plan her wedding. As if picking out the perfect flowers and catering options were somehow more important than—or even equally important to—dealing with the Halloran threat.
She ran faster, until her breath sawed through her chest, and her legs felt like they couldn’t manage another step without toppling her onto her face. Only then did she hit the button to stop. She needed to get out of here, even if only for a few hours. If she didn’t, she was liable to start screaming and never stop—not the actions of a leader.
God, she was so incredibly tired. Tired of wearing the mask and pretending she was okay. Tired of fighting a losing battle with her father. Tired of acting like she wasn’t waking up every hour on the hour, sweat-soaked, with a cry just inside her lips, the memory of Brendan’s hands around her throat imprinted on her waking mind.
Her body shook as she climbed the stairs to her room, and she comforted herself by blaming it on the workout. But she couldn’t lie to herself as well as she seemed to be able to lie to those around her. Her once steady hands had become as jittery as an old woman’s. Once upon a time, Callie had thought herself a woman with nerves of steel.
Now she knew better.
She stripped and stepped into her shower, turning the heat up until it nearly scalded her skin. She ducked her head beneath the spray, her mind going to the single bright point in the last week. Teague. They’d texted here and there over the last few days, enough that she knew he was thinking of her, even though he was busy. She envied that ability to keep occupied, but he never failed to make her smile and help her forget her frustrations, if only for a little while.
Though continuing to talk to him only madeotherfrustrations more apparent.
She closed her eyes and pictured his face, painting those wonderful cheekbones and that strong jaw with her mind, moving over his sensual mouth and to those soulful dark eyes. Eyes that had looked at her as if he wanted her more than he wanted his next breath. And his hands, wide palms and long fingers, knuckles decorated with tattoos that she fully intended to explore at the first available opportunity. Those hands had felt deliriously good on her skin, but they were nothing compared to his mouth between her legs.
Her hand coasted down her body as she took a step back into the memory. God, the way he’d touched her, a strange combination of tenderness and animal need, stoking a fire inside her that burned hotter than she could have dreamed. Callie slipped her hand between her legs, letting the water beat against her back as she stroked herself. It was all too easy to imagine it washisfingers on her, dipping inside her and then back out to play over her clit. She hissed out a breath, and did it again. Pressure built low in her stomach, deep and demanding, and she was only too happy to give in to the release bearing down onher. She moaned as she came, her lips forming his name. “Teague.”
The water had started to run lukewarm by the time she opened her eyes. She hadn’t told anyone about how their date had ended, but she’d given in to these little fantasy sessions every day since then. She shook her head and finished washing off. Her time with Teague was the only few hours in the last week where she hadn’t felt totally and completely out of control.
