Page 20 of Dark Succession (The O’Malleys #1)

C allie blew out a sigh of relief when she was finally able to shut the front door on the back of the two O’Malley women.

If she never saw another floral arrangement or tasted another bite of tester cake, it would be too soon.

Aileen had seemed determined to fit six months of wedding plans into a single day, and she’d made a damn good job of it.

Worse, she promised to circle around next week sometime for dress shopping.

Callie hadn’t spent significant time fantasizing about what her wedding would be like as a young girl, and once she graduated from college, took over Moira’s, and began supervising the assortment of other businesses the Sheridans owned, she simply hadn’t had the time to really consider what a marriage—even a political marriage—would mean as far as planning went.

The whole thing was just wrong . She would have liked a small private event, not the circus the O’Malleys seemed determined to throw together.

She understood the reasoning—the wedding had become a physical representation of their refusing to be cowed by their enemy—but the whole process was as pleasurable as walking over a bed of nails.

There were so many other things she needed to be doing.

She hadn’t been down to Moira’s in nearly a week.

It had been running just fine under the manager, Janey, before Callie graduated, and it would continue running just fine once she was forced to focus most of her energy on the other Sheridan assets, but she still liked the hands-on approach.

She’d been dropping balls left and right since that night at the club, and this wedding planning business threatened to be just another distraction.

She didn’t care about the flowers or the venue or the guest list, and Aileen damn well knew it.

So did Papa. But because she was the feminine half of this partnership, she was expected to pretty herself up and be delighted by the colossal waste of time.

If she had a normal life, she would have been enjoying every second of this, towing friends behind her to the various appointments, looking forward to the moment when the love of her life slipped a ring on her finger.

But she didn’t have a normal life—she was a goddamn Sheridan—and she hadn’t even been allowed to choose her groom. Thoughts of Teague brought a tired smile to her face. He was the sole high point, but thoughts of him too quickly turned to whom she’d been supposed to marry .

Brendan.

She rubbed a hand over her chest, the massive house suddenly feeling altogether too small.

She needed to talk to Papa, to get this all out into the open once and for all.

Maybe if she could tell someone about what she’d done, the awful weight on her chest would become bearable.

She peeked into his office, and found him huddled down with John, talking strategy.

He spoke with his hands, and though his expression was grim, he was more alive than she’d seen him in the months since the cops showed up to tell them her big brother had died.

I wish you were here, Ronan. Things would be so much simpler.

She’d had the thought more times than she could count, but it never brought him back. His loss was no longer an aching open wound in her chest, but it still smarted on days like this, when she was embroiled in the midst of things that never would have happened if she wasn’t the heir.

But she was.

So it was up to her to deal with it.

She moved past her father’s office and headed up to her room to change into running clothes.

She had too much pent-up frustration after today.

The feeling of being swept along with a current she couldn’t fight was stronger now than it had ever been, and what she needed more than anything was to regain some small bit of control.

Running didn’t give her much—not in comparison—but it calmed her mind, and that was better than nothing.

The treadmill just wouldn’t do today, though. She felt like she’d been cooped up in this house for weeks on end, even though it’d been less than a week since everything went to hell in a handbasket. Micah looked up as she approached the front door. “Callie?”

“I’m going running.” She forced her voice calm.

She was informing him of her intentions so he could best protect her—not asking permission.

The whole respect thing wasn’t usually an issue with Micah, but he still answered to her father, and it was Papa who’d basically put her under house arrest. She didn’t like forcing him to choose between them, but the only alternative was losing her sanity by staying in this house for another minute.

“That’s a bad idea. Your father—”

“Micah, while I respect your opinion, I’m not asking for it.” She made a point of glancing at his Italian loafers. “I’d change your shoes if you’re coming along. It’s going to be a few miles at least.”

He sighed, looking like he still wanted to argue.

She waited, letting him work through it.

Papa might be angry, but Micah and she had spent enough time together that he had to know she’d go running with or without his permission.

The only way he could stop her was by physically restraining her, and that was out of the question.

She watched the thoughts flash across his face before settling into resignation. “Give me five minutes.”

“Happily.” She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and cued up her running playlist. By the time she’d warmed up a bit and stretched, Micah was back, now wearing a pair of basketball shorts and tennis shoes.

He didn’t look any happier now than when he left, but he was here. She opened the door. “Let’s go.”

Before her world had blown up in her face, she had several routes around the neighborhood that she liked to take, depending on her mood.

Today, she wanted to go through Cambridge Common.

It never failed to lift her spirits, even if there was always a small tinge of jealousy, since the people she saw there were from a completely different world than she was.

Micah easily kept pace, staying a few feet back where he could survey the threats to her before they got too close.

They’d run together before, though not recently, so it was easy to fall back into the sound of his footsteps echoing hers.

She pushed play on her phone and let the first strains of “Chasing Twisters” by Delta Rae roll over her as she wound through the streets.

The heat of the day had given way to a slightly cooler evening, but the humidity made her clothes cling to her skin before she was through with her first mile.

She crossed the street to the common, slowing down so she could drink in the view.

It was a strange comfort to know that her life might be falling apart in many ways, but the world kept on spinning.

The huge, grassy field was broken up by a handful of trees and a scattering of summer students.

It was nowhere near as busy as it’d be in the fall, but the normalcy she craved could always be found here.

She picked up her pace again, circling the block before heading back. It was a good five miles, and the paths through the trees settled her in a way that little else was able to.

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 believe that 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 another reprieve again.

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.