Page 12

Treason

Callum

“Do not patronize me with your banal platitudes,”

Callum snarled at the investigating officer, slamming the file onto his desk and scattering the pens and pages.

The snap and crackle as they hit the floor only fed his frustration—his fury.

This man, Officer Towsen, dared to look bored.

It took every ounce of Callum’s will to not reach across the desk, grab him by the perfectly-pressed lapels, and shake him hard enough to make his teeth fall out.

“Sir, you are understandably upset.

However, it is out of my hands.

Lieutenant Barlow Reid was found guilty of treasonous acts against the governor and of not upholding his oaths.

The evidence presented—”

“What evidence?”

Callum demanded.

“I am not at liberty to say.”

“Bullshit!”

The chair screeched on the floor as Callum stood up to his full height.

“What fucking evidence could there possibly be? Barlow wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Officer Towsen had the nerve to level Cal with a pointed stare.

“I assure you, sir, you aren’t the first person to be surprised by a loved one turning out to be someone different than you knew.

Times like these can pull out the worst in people.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cal needed to leave or he was going to be put in jail for assaulting this man.

“At least tell me what he was accused of.

More specifically than ‘treason,’” he added.

Towsen sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, the deep creases of his forehead bending with the pressure.

“Listen, kid, I like you and I’m really sorry you had to find out this way—I’ll tell you, but you can’t say nothing about it.”

Towsen glanced toward the door, ensuring they were alone, and raised his eyebrow.

At Cal’s nod, he continued.

“Lieutenant Reid was found to be working with the rebels.

Supplying them.

I won’t say more than that and it’d be best for you to leave this alone.

Higher-ups are cracking down and I’d hate for you to get caught in the middle.”

Completely disregarding Towsen’s warning, Callum raised his eyebrows in astonishment as his blood boiled with rage at the notion that his brother was a traitor.

“Supplying the rebels? You’ve got to be fucking joking.”

“The ledgers and evidence presented left very little—”

“Did you talk to him? No.

I know you didn’t.

You handled the investigation, sir.

What evidence was in the ledgers?”

Cal rubbed the back of his head, the strands of his short hair tickling his hand raked against his frayed nerves even as the sensation grounded him.

“I went through all the evidence that was brought to me.”

“Yes, but did.

You.

Talk. To. Him.”

Callum growled through clenched teeth.

“Did you talk to any witnesses? No, because if you had, you’d know he wasn’t supplying rebels! He was requisitioning food for the citizens.

Last I checked, that ain’t against the law.”

“I followed protocol, Colonel.”

Towsen stood calmly, his shoulders tensing beneath his dark uniform.

Gone was the friendly, placating expression.

Now all that remained was a somber sternness.

“No.

You merely followed the fucking paper trail.

A trail that if you’d bothered to look at a little closer, didn’t lead to fucking treason—you’d have known what a glaringly obvious mistake you were making.

But no.

You sat here on your ass.”

His jaw ached, barely containing the vitriol threatening to spill out.

“Then you signed off on his death sentence.”

“Colonel, I think you need to leave now.

Take some time to grieve.”

Callum couldn’t wrap his mind around what he’d learned.

He bored deep holes into Towsen’s face with a final stare, imprisoning with great effort the urge to smash the man’s face until he felt better, or Towsen’s skull collapsed, whichever came first.

The outrageous curses of the Arryvian woman came to his mind unbidden and he wished he could unleash the same sort of outburst.

Unfortunately, that would only get him in trouble.

Demoted, most likely.

Callum bared his teeth, fury churning inside.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

***

“Another,”

Cal said, slamming the glass onto the counter and waving the bartender over.

The man gave a tight smile and poured the amber liquid into the glass.

Cal observed the way it sloshed against the interior, bubbles appearing and disappearing as they burst against the side.

He hated rust beer, but enjoying the taste wasn’t the goal here.

The heat of the day had passed and now the chill of evening settled over his skin.

Barlow was gone.

Someone was singing behind Callum, the voice grating on his ears and making his lips curl.

He planted his cheek in his palm and continued staring at his glass.

Not like there was anything else to do around here anyway.

Maybe that was why Barlow had got in with the rebels.

He’d got bored.

Cal immediately shoved the thought aside.

They’d made a mistake.

Barlow wouldn’t do something so foolish.

It was probably a set-up or something.

Someone jealous of his brother for his position—what other reason could there be?

What did it matter anyway? Callum slumped down, his forehead resting against his arm as he breathed a sigh to the floorboards.

He couldn’t go see Ma.

Couldn’t handle the look on her face…

Callum lifted his head and he tossed back the rust beer, relishing the burn in his throat and the heat in his belly.

He was out of the sleeping draught, so drinking himself into oblivion was the only reasonable answer.

“Heya, handsome.”

The voice slithered over his skin, soft and steady like smoke, and crept into his ears.

“I ain’t seen you around here before.”

The musk of her heavy perfume preceded the woman who now oozed into the space beside him, practically sitting in his lap.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder in a not-so-discreet fashion, attempting to draw his attention to the abundance of pale flesh spilling out from the confines of her corset.

It worked.

“I don’ come ‘round often,”

Callum slurred slightly, laboriously lifting his gaze from her cleavage to look at her face.

She’d painted her skin with pink blush and her lips were lacquered with red.

Long pale fingers stroked lazy circles on his neck and shoulders as she leaned closer.

Cal shifted in his seat and waved at the bartender for another drink.

“C’n I get ya som’thing?”

he asked, his eyes drifting to her once more.

The room swayed and he squeezed his eyes closed until the dizziness passed.

“Hmm, I could think of a few things,”

she replied while her hands moved down his chest.

The Arryvian’s face gently settled into his mind, morphing over this painted lady’s face, the dark eyes searing into his skull.

Her sepia fingers pressed against his chest, the thudding of his heart making her smirk.

The cocksure smile turned red and the vision vanished.

The woman before him, caressing him, was human again.

Cal gently placed a large hand over both of hers, stalling the movements and the sensations they stirred.

“Look, you’re a pretty gal, but I don’ think I’m what you’re lookin’ for.”

Like a vulture swooping in on its prey, she melted forward until her breasts were against his chest and before he knew what was happening, her lips moved hungrily over his neck.

“You don’t know what I’m looking for,”

she whispered in his ear before nipping at his lobe and drawing out a shuddering breath from deep in his belly.

A shiver rolled down his back.

“Maybe you can come back to my place and we can find what I’m looking for together.”

“You make a temptin’ proposition, but I—”

Cal’s head whipped back as pain turned the world white in the shape of a fist and the woman shrieked in surprise, toppling backward into the barstool while he fell into the bar.

Some asshole had punched him.

Shouts and the scraping of chairs joined the chaos erupting in the establishment.

Callum lurched upright and whirled to face the offender with a curse on his lips.

A beady-eyed man reeking of alcohol staggered over to him and spat something about touching his woman.

Presumably.

It was difficult to hear past the ringing in his ears.

He didn’t care. He relished the opportunity. Cal poured his anger and grief into his body as he stood up tall, fire fueling his blood, and glared at the offender. Just what he needed. Fisticuffs.

The man’s eyes widened and he tried to dive away, but Cal was on him before he could move, stifling an attempt to cry out.

The sound of bone cracking on bone was almost lost in the cacophony as all hell broke loose.