Page 21 of Dark Succession (The O’Malleys #1)

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 was Teague .

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. “We appreciate 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.

Dr. Harris was a wizened little man who looked like a goblin from Harry Potter, a comparison she’d come up with when she was younger and never been able to shake. He closed the door softly behind him, and got right down to business. “What can you tell me about how this happened?”

“I don’t know.” No, that wasn’t strictly the truth.

She took a deep breath, trying to still her frantic thoughts.

It was hard, harder than she could have dreamed, because all she could focus on was the fact that Teague was hurt and they needed to do something .

“He was dumped intentionally in front of me. He’s been beaten, but I don’t think he’s been tortured.

” She’d just seen him this morning, and…

Her heart clenched. It didn’t take long to torture someone.

It was something that could be drawn out, certainly, but there were rough and dirty methods that didn’t require too much time.

She really wished she didn’t know that .

Harris moved to the other side of the bed and rolled up his sleeves, every inch the calm professional.

“You’ve gotten him cleaned up and started with the ice.

Good. It makes it easier to see the damage, and will help with the swelling.

” He disappeared into the bathroom and she heard him washing his hands.

Callie made an effort to keep breathing, which was difficult with dread trying to choke her.

He reappeared and went to work, prodding Teague’s face in a way that made her wince.

He looked up. “If this is too difficult…”

“No, it’s fine.” She trusted the doctor with her life, but she wouldn’t leave him alone with Teague.

Micah’s words still echoed in her head, threatening to make her jump at shadows.

It was one thing to know that some of the men didn’t approve, and completely another to hear him saying they should leave Teague to his fate.

She wasn’t about to admit to them that Ronan’s death had altered the landscape so much that her marriage was vitally important in keeping the lot of them safe.

There were more sharks in this ocean than just the Hallorans and O’Malleys—better to go with the devil she knew than the one she didn’t.

At least the older men recognized the threat, which was why there’d only been a minimum of mumbling discontent from them.

The younger ones, like Micah? She suspected they’d hoped she’d pick one of them to marry, bringing them up in the ranks and avoiding the need to invite in an outsider.

It was a shortsighted goal, but since none of them had openly spoke against her marriage, she hadn’t been forced to address it directly.

Thank God. She didn’t have enough time or energy to deal with yet another mess.

Harris pulled out a pair of scissors and carefully cut away Teague’s shirt and pants.

He paused, but left his underwear. She could have told him it wasn’t necessary, but she couldn’t force the words out, not when all she could focus on was the mass of bruises darkening the skin she’d just spent hours worshipping. “Oh, Teague.”

The doctor continued his careful poking and prodding, and part of her was grateful Teague wasn’t awake for it, since there was no way it didn’t hurt.

From his little suitcase, he pulled out what looked like an ultrasound machine and went to work on Teague’s stomach, where the majority of the bruises were concentrated, watching the screen with a small frown on his face.

He finally sat back with a sigh. “I won’t know for sure without a few more tests, but it looks like he came off relatively lucky. ”

Lucky? “How bad is it?”

“Lots of bruises and swelling, and I suspect a few bruised ribs, but nothing seems to be broken and there isn’t any internal bleeding. I’ll need to see him in about a week, though don’t hesitate to call if it looks like he’s getting worse.”

She waited, but it didn’t look like there was more forthcoming. “That’s it?”

He smiled, reaching out to pat her hand. “As long as he takes it easy, he should make a full recovery.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thank you, Dr. Harris. I really appreciate you rushing over here.”

“Of course, Callista.” He frowned. “Are you getting enough sleep? You look exhausted.”

She tried for a smile. “It’s nothing. I’m just a bit stressed.”

His frown deepened. “Stress can do a significant amount of harm. Whatever’s going on can wait—you have to take care of yourself first.”

Easier said than done. She wished it was as easy as jaunting off on a vacation and recharging, but that wasn’t an option. Her father and her people needed her. Hell, right now, Teague needed her. She smoothed back the matted hair on his head. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Would you like me to prescribe you some sleeping aids? It’s not a long-term solution, but it may help you get to the other side of whatever you’re dealing with.”

She started to demur before she noticed the stubborn look on his face.

He wasn’t going to leave before he had some sort of assurance that she’d take his advice.

Callie sighed. “I’d like that very much.

” She wouldn’t use the pills, though. She didn’t deserve the peaceful slumber of someone with a clean conscience.

More than that—as if that wasn’t reason enough—she couldn’t risk some threat arising while she was knocked out and her being unable to deal with it.

He scribbled out the prescription on a pad of paper he pulled from his pocket and handed it over. “Get it filled, Callista. And eat a full meal or two.” His kind smile took some of the sting out of his words.

“Thank you, Dr. Harris.”

“Remember, I’m only a phone call away.” He repacked his bag and walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. She sagged, fighting against the burning in her throat and eyes. It was okay. Teague was okay.

But it could have been so much worse.

She lifted his hand into her lap, careful not to jar him, and stroked her fingers over the broken skin on his knuckles, tracing the tattoos there.

He’s okay. Just keep breathing, because he’s going to be fine.

It helped, but not nearly enough. Her gaze kept going back to his bruised face, to that moment when she thought she might never see those soulful dark eyes look at her with hunger again.

She could have lost him today, and she’d barely gotten used to the idea of having him.

Someone had done this to him.

It didn’t matter to whoever hurt him—and she had some ideas about that—that he didn’t ask for this, or that he wasn’t remotely responsible for Brendan’s death, even by proxy. All they’d seen was an insult that had to be avenged.

A goddamn insult .

Rationally, she knew wars had been started over less, but the anger unfolding in her chest didn’t care.

They’d hurt him. They could have even killed him, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

She’d been helpless, just as she’d been helpless when Brendan wrapped his meaty hands around her throat, her death in his eyes.

Her body shook, her stomach trying to revolt, but she closed her eyes and rode it out.

That nightmare was over, but this one was just getting started.

She might be responsible for Brendan’s death, but she hadn’t gone into that club looking to hurt him.

All she’d wanted was answers. To talk . To get a feel for the man she was supposed to marry.

He was the one who’d brought them to violence, to a life-or-death struggle that only she had walked away from—just like his kin had been responsible for hurting Teague.

It didn’t matter if they were the ones to actually deliver the blows.

Her men didn’t move on an enemy without her father’s okay, and she seriously doubted that Victor Halloran went about things any differently.

If anything, he was even more controlling than Papa.

No, the attack on Teague was because a Halloran had ordered it.

She’d find out who and then she’d… What? Kill him like she killed Brendan?

This time, when her stomach lurched, she couldn’t fight it back down.

She barely made it to the bathroom in time to lose every last bit of cake she’d eaten today.

Callie threw up until she couldn’t throw up anymore, and then she washed her face and brushed her teeth, her mind reeling and her body shaking.

No matter how angry she was, she couldn’t make that call.

They hadn’t killed Teague. They hadn’t even injured him critically, for all that it looked horrible.

She couldn’t call for a death as a result.

She stopped in the doorway and watched his chest rise and fall, reassuring herself that he was still breathing.

But if they’d killed him… Her heart tried to beat itself out of her chest, but she forced herself to finish the thought. If they’d killed him, there wasn’t a single spot in Boston where they could hide that she wouldn’t find them and make them pay.