Page 38 of Dark Succession
“Sure.” He snorted and lit up. It had been a while since his last cigarette, and he closed his eyes for a second to savor his first inhalation.
“Who tuned up your face?”
Teague flashed him a look. “Why? Are you going to get off your ass and arrest them?”
“I think I’m detecting some bitterness.” Finch laughed softly, not looking the least bit sorry. “You know we value you.”
Maybe. Maybe not. But the one thing he did know was that they valued their asses more. There was some deeper game being played by the feds right now, but hell if he knew what it was. Teague inhaled again. “I’d hate to think you’re sitting back and waiting for shit to hit the fan so you can mop the whole lot of us up.”
Finch froze. He recovered almost instantly, but it was too late. Teague knew. He huffed out a laugh, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. “Oh God, you are. That’s the funniest shit I’ve heard all day.” Even though he’d suspected he wouldn’t get any help from them, it was something else altogether to know it for sure. He laughed again and shook his head. “You really are a bastard, Finch.”
“See you around.” He moved off, slipping into a doorway of a business further down the block mere seconds before someone called Teague’s name. He crushed the cigarette beneath his shoe and turned. As shitty as it was to realize he couldn’t count on the feds to help him out, it was better to know now rather than later—when he might actually be relying on them. Or that’s what he told himself, even though part of him threatened to wallow in despair.
He was well and truly on his own.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Four days later, Teague stumbled up to his room, so damn exhausted, it was like he’d been running a marathon all day instead of making phone calls. But nothing had come to fruition, and his frustration was high.
James wasn’t returning his calls. The men he’d sent out to canvass the area around Tit for Tat had been run off by Halloran men. Neither his father nor Aiden would talk to him about the plans they had in the works.
And, to top it off, his younger sisters had taken it as their own personal mission to make sure he made a full recovery. Every time he turned around, Sloan was pushing him into the nearest chair and offering a blanket, or Keira was shoving hot tea into his hands.
They meant well, but he was losing his goddamn mind.
He locked his bedroom door and sat gingerly on the edge of his bed. His ribs still smarted like nobody’s business, but the family doctor had assured him that nothingwas broken or seriously injured. He’d be back in fighting shape in no time.
Teague sighed and stripped, moving carefully. A quick glance at the clock told him it was late—later than he’d wanted to be out and about. His promise to Callie lingered in the back of his mind. It was the only reason he allowed his sisters to run rampant over him. At least that way he had something to tell her when he called her at night to reassure her that he was taking care of himself.
His shower was quick and miserable, the hot water doing nothing to pound the tension from his muscles. He needed a week on a beach somewhere and daily massages to work the stress out, but it was more likely that a unicorn would burst through his door.
The fight was here. Callie was here. His family was here.
Which meant he was where he needed to be.
He shut off the water and grabbed a towel. Lying down on his bed was a slice of sheer heaven, but he didn’t close his eyes. There was one last thing to do before he could give over to sleep. He smiled and reached for his phone.
A few seconds later, Callie answered, “Late night.”
“Yeah.” He adjusted his pillows. “My mother cornered me to ask about tux choices. She sat me down for an hour to go over pictures. Anhour.” And when he’d told her to just pick whatever she thought was best, she’d ripped him a new one without ever once raising her voice or letting the smile slip off her face.
Callie made a sympathetic noise. “She called me three times today. I’m not particularly proud to admit I dodged every single one of them.”
“I don’t blame you.” He laughed. “I’d be doing the same thing, but the woman knows where I sleep.”
“So what did you decide on?”
“Hell if I know. I chose three options before she was finally satisfied.”
“Poor baby.” She moved, the sound of fabric sliding coming through the phone. He closed his eyes, picturing her lying out on her bed the same way he currently was on his, wearing a pair of sweats and a tank top. He liked that she went for comfort instead of sexiness for sleeping. It was such a contrast from how she carried herself during the daytime—perfectly put together in every way.
“I wish you were here.” He wasn’t sure where the words came from, but they were the stark truth.
“I wish I was there, too. I don’t trust that you’re taking care of yourself.” She paused. “And I miss you. I know it’s only been a few days, but—”
He cut in before she could tag some qualifier on there to take away from the statement. “I miss you, too. Do you want to go get lunch tomorrow?” Or breakfast. Or dinner. Or, hell, he’d settle for coffee. Anything that got them into the same room and settled the uncomfortable feeling he hadn’t been able to shake after the way they left things the other day. They might have talked every night they’d been apart, but it wasn’t close to the same thing.
“I wish I could.” The regret in her voice was real. “Papa and I have a meeting that I can’t reschedule.”
