Page 32 of Dark Succession
Teague could.
He’d done an excellent job of it last night. It was more than the orgasms—although those had been outstanding. When he held her in his arms, she could almost believethat she was truly safe and that, together, they could vanquish any enemy who rose against them. It was a foolish romantic notion, but even now she craved his mouth on hers and his skin sliding against her own. Maybe she’d call him when she got home. There were still half a million worries plaguing her mind, but it wouldn’t hurt to have anotherreprieveagain.
Selfish? Most definitely. But she was so terribly alone in her guilt of Brendan’s murder. She wanted Teague to tell her everything would be okay, even if she couldn’t be completely honest with him.
She turned for home, her pacing slowing as her muscles cataloged their exhaustion. She didn’t see the car approaching, but a strong hand around her stomach yanked her away from the street as the SUV screeched to a halt in front of them. Micah turned, putting his body between her and the threat, but she saw the rear door fly open when she peered around his arm. Callie flinched, but no attack came.
Instead, a body fell to the pavement with a dull thud and the door slammed shut as the vehicle peeled out, its tires smoking as it fled down the street.Not a drive-by. She ducked around Micah. “The plates. Memorize the plates.” She didn’t pause to make sure he obeyed, because she’d reached the man.
She turned him over carefully, and went cold when she caught sight of his face. “Teague. Oh my God.” His face was swollen and there was blood… everywhere. She felt for a pulse even as she raised her voice slightly. “Micah, I need you.” His chest rose and fell slightly, and she nearly cried out with relief. “We have to get him back to the house.”
Micah crouched on the other side of Teague. “It’s that little O’Malley shit. I say we leave him.”
She froze, barely holding in the impulse to scream in his face. Instead, her tone came out icy and low. “That is my fiancé you’re speaking of, so I suggest you watch your tone.”
His jaw hardened. “Yes, ma’am.” He only ever called her that when he was pissed, but she couldn’t bring herself to care right now. She’d deal with Micah’s hurt feelings when she was sure Teague would be okay.
She hadn’t wanted Brendan. If he had been the one dumped, she barely would have spared the step it required to move over his body. Perhaps that made her a monster, but she couldn’t change the way she felt. But this wasn’t Brendan—this wasTeague. The man who’d helped her forget, at least for a little while, who’d held her in his arms and made her feel safe so she could actually sleep through the night. She’d no more leave him here than she would one of her people.
Hers.
The thought was almost enough to make her laugh. She wasn’t sure when he’d slipped beneath her defenses, but she already cared about him more than was safe. She waited for Micah to heft him off the ground. The man wasn’t a weakling by any means, but Teague was a large man in his own right. Thank God they weren’t far from the house.
As they hurried the last few blocks, she dialed Dr. Harris. Ever since Papa had extracted justice for the harm done to the good doctor’s son all those years ago, he’d been loyal to a fault. They’d required his help less in the last few years, but he was willing to make house calls and was discreet.
She had a feeling she’d be seeing a lot more of him before this thing ended.
Callie gave him the information and he promised to leave immediately. She hung up as they hit the property, and glanced over. Teague looked even worse under the glaring floodlights that lit up as they approached—beneath the blood, his skin was too pale. In the quiet of the night, she could hear the rasp of his breathing, which was as comforting as it was worrisome.
Please be okay. Please. I can’t lose you, too.
Panic rose, fluttering in her chest like a trapped bird, but she wouldn’t give in to the scream building inside her. She opened the door, pretending she didn’t see Micah’s hesitation to bring him inside, and led the way up to her room. It wasn’t proper, but she could give a rat’s ass about proper right now. Her father had decreed she’d marry Teague, so he could deal with the man in his house until they figured out what had happened. Micah laid him down on the bed, none too gently.
She didn’t comment on it, though good lord, she wanted to. “Run the plates. Find out who did this.”
“I will, Callie.” He managed to actually sound respectful this time, but she had bigger worries right now.
“And when Dr. Harris gets here, send him up.” She sat on the edge of the bed, not sure where to start. Should she take off his shirt? They probably shouldn’t have moved him at all because he could have some sort of spine injury, but leaving him on the side of the road wasn’t an option. She took a calming breath that did little to calm her.
What-if questions would do no good here. She had to deal in facts—facts she wouldn’t know until the doctor showed up.
Since there wasn’t much she could do, she called downstairs to have someone bring a bowl so she could start cleaning him up.
The door opened a few minutes later to reveal Emma. She shut it carefully behind her and crossed to the bed, every move efficient. She’d always been like this, to the point where being in the same room with her calmed Callie down because Emma always seemed perfectly in control of her environment, even when she wasn’t in her kitchen domain. “Micah says this fiancé of yours is in a bad way. I brought ice.”
Ice. Of course. She should have thought of that herself. “Thank you, Emma.”
“No need to thank me. Let’s get this boy cleaned up.” She didn’t show an ounce of fear or worry as she looked Teague over with a critical eye, but no doubt she’d seen worse. When her father’s men were injured and brought back here, someone had to be capable and in control while they waited for the doctor to show up. Nine times out of ten, that task fell to Emma.
Callie filled the bowl with water and returned to the bed to find Emma scooping the ice into a cloth and folding it up. She glanced up. “Let’s get the blood off his face and then I’ll hold the ice while you do the rest.”
The woman’s no-nonsense tone calmed Callie’s racing thoughts. She could do this. One thing at a time. She dipped a washcloth into the water and started cleaning away the blood on Teague’s face. The swelling was alarming, and she hoped to God that nothing was broken. He groaned a little with each contact, but didn’t wake.
Emma placed the ice over the left side of his face. “Just keep breathing, Miss Callie.” She hesitated. “Weappreciate what you’re doing—the sacrifice you’re making.” She took Callie’s hand and set it over the ice, and then stood. “I’ll go make sure the boys don’t give that doctor any hassle.”
Callie watched Emma go, her heart in her throat. If she’d needed the reminder of why she was doing this, it was embodied in Micah’s mother and the other people like her. People who depended on the Sheridans to keep them safe.
She took a deep breath and went back to cleaning Teague up, working her way down his throat and over the parts of his skin not covered by clothes. By the time the door opened to reveal Dr. Harris, she had most of the blood gone.
