Page 4 of Dark Succession (The O’Malleys #1)

He kept going as if he hadn’t heard her, stopping less than an arm’s reach away.

God, he seemed big this close up—bigger than Brendan, bigger than her brother had been.

He cupped her chin, his grip painless but completely unmovable, and tilted her head back to bare her neck.

“Who hurt you?” There was a promise of violence in every line of his body.

“No one.”

“Now, I may not be the smartest man in the world, Callista, but I know what the imprint of a man’s hands on a woman’s neck looks like.” His thumb moved, tracing the line of Brendan’s fingers that she could still feel digging into her skin. Teague’s touch didn’t hurt, though. It felt… almost good.

She swallowed, the move pressing her throat more firmly against his thumb. “I—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

She shivered under that unrelenting gaze, and licked her lips, all too aware of how he tracked the movement. “It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right. Because I’m going to kill the bastard.” He kept stroking her skin, his touch doing strange things to parts of her body that weren’t anywhere near her neck. “Tell me his name.”

She wouldn’t, even if the man who’d hurt her wasn’t already dead. Even in their messed-up world, murder was a last resort—something to be avoided at all costs—not something you did for a woman you barely knew. “No.”

“Your father hasn’t been keeping what’s his safe.” Another stroke, this one closer to her jawline. “That’s his mistake—one I won’t be making as well. His name, Callista.”

Oh God, oh God, oh God. She had to get a handle on this now.

She’d never considered herself one to crack under pressure, but this man put his hands on her and spoke in that quiet, confident way that promised violence to anyone who touched her, and she was dangerously close to losing control.

Which kind of control was up for grabs, so she went with the least likely to reveal her secret.

She kissed him, her heels giving her enough height that she barely had to go up on her toes. Her lips brushed his, and for one interminable second she was sure neither of them took a breath.

Then his arms were around her, and he took the last step to bring their chests flush together and her back against the wall. Even knowing she should be panicking at being pinned, she slipped her arms around his neck and traced the seam of his lips with her tongue.

That was all it took.

He let go of her throat to cup the back of her head, and then she was in the middle of the single most devastating kiss of her life.

His tongue stroked hers, claiming her mouth—her body—as his own.

His hands stayed in place even as he continued the assault on her mouth, his touch headier than the nicotine.

She arched against him, tilting her head to allow him better access, and he growled in approval.

Whatever she’d expected from this kiss, it certainly hadn’t been desire. Though desire was too tame a word. She’d felt desire before, and this wasn’t it. This was… need. All-consuming need that devoured everything in its path, leaving only destruction in its wake.

Teague couldn’t get enough of her. He should back off, should let her know he recognized her kiss for the distraction ploy it was, should get back to figuring out who the fuck put their hands on her. But he couldn’t think beyond the way she softened against him and how unbelievably good she tasted.

He allowed himself to skate a hand up her side and run his thumb along the underside of her breast. Holy shit . There was nothing between them but a thin layer of fabric. She moaned, so he moved up a little more, circling her nipple, and giving a moan of his own when her entire body quaked.

This was the woman his father demanded he marry?

Christ, if he only knew, he’d take this away from Teague just like he had every other thing of value. The thought should have been a sobering one, but he was too far gone.

Somewhere to the left of them, a male throat cleared.

He tore away from her at the same time she shoved him, but Teague had only moved to stand in front of her, putting himself between her and whoever had just entered the alley.

He took in the man with a single look—tall, bigass shoulders, and black.

That suit was most definitely hiding a gun in a shoulder holster, and he probably had at least one more on his person.

Callista pushed past him, shooting him a look. “Micah.”

The man—Micah—crossed his arms over his massive chest. “They’re looking for you, Callie. And I guess they’re looking for you , too.”

“Then we’d best get back.” Callista snatched the scarf out of Teague’s hands and wrapped it around her throat once more, hiding the marks.

It was like being doused in a bucket of cold water. She’d played him, and he’d been only too happy to go for it. Teague cursed himself as they disappeared into the building. He paced the alley, his desire for the woman dwindling as memories assaulted him.

Yeah, he’d seen those marks before. He’d been young—maybe six or seven—the first and only time his father put his hands on his mother. Teague wasn’t sure what the fight had even been about, but the image of Seamus’s hands around his mother’s neck wasn’t something he’d ever been able to forget.

Or the quiet words she’d managed to squeeze out.

You put your hands on me again, and I’ll kill you in your sleep .

His father had laughed it off, but he’d never touched her like that again.

Even then, Teague had wanted to step in, to do something to help his mother, even if she so blatantly hadn’t needed it.

It didn’t matter what had happened in the past. He couldn’t change it any more than he could fly to the moon.

But he sure as fuck wasn’t going to stand by while someone hurt his goddamn fiancée.

He wasn’t sure when he’d decided to accept that he was getting married—maybe it was when she’d closed her eyes and leaned against the brick wall, letting that hint of vulnerability show—but he’d gone and done it.

Besides, it was blatantly clear that Callista Sheridan couldn’t protect herself, and her father wasn’t interested in trying.

A woman like that… He closed his eyes and gave himself a full five seconds to remember how good she’d felt in his arms, readily responding to his every touch.

Christ . A woman like that wasn’t meant to be squandered on pieces of shit like whoever had hurt her—or on Teague, for that matter.

He had no illusions about being good enough for her, but he was too goddamn selfish to back off now.

Even if he’d had a choice in the matter.

“Looks like you’re having a good time.”

He knew that voice. Teague turned around, staring at the mouth of the alley until one shadow detached from the wall and sauntered over. “What are you doing here?”

John Finch leaned against the wall in nearly the same place where Callista had just been. “You should have called.”

“I didn’t think the goddamn feds would care one way or another whom I got engaged to.” He was lying through his teeth. They wanted to know every detail he could provide, no matter how insignificant he found it.

“We care about everything you do.” Finch pinned him with those steely gray eyes. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”

Yeah, because he’d been seriously reconsidering the whole thing. It seemed like a great plan to slip information to the cops from time to time—anything to weaken his father’s hold on their portion of Boston. If he ended up in jail, it would free Teague and the rest of his family.

Or so he’d thought.

After months of tips and insider information, nothing had happened.

Nothing . He knew these investigations took time, but he’d given them more than enough to put Seamus away for years—and still they wanted more.

They didn’t care that his father would be only too happy to kill him if he ever found out what Teague was doing.

Hell, Teague didn’t particularly care about that, either.

He just wanted the man to go down in flames.

He shook out another cigarette and lit up.

“Those things will kill you, you know.”

“There are worse ways to go.”

“You’ve got that right.” Finch laughed, but the sound died nearly before it’d begun. “We need to talk. Sooner rather than later.”

He debated telling the man to fuck off, but if Finch was desperate enough to waylay him here, where anyone could catch them talking, then he was desperate enough to keep popping up. “I’ll call you.”

“Do that.” He turned and started walking toward the street. “By the way—congratulations on your engagement.”

Teague watched him walk away, wondering why the hell the fed sounded so damn pleased by this development.

James Halloran followed his younger brother, Ricky, into their father’s office.

His last remaining brother. The monster that had woken in his chest at the news of Brendan’s death only seemed to get more vicious with each hour that passed.

It didn’t matter if he was inside or under the open sky—there just wasn’t enough fucking air.

All he wanted was some time and space to come to terms with the new order of the world.

A world that didn’t have his older brother in it.

He knew well enough that Brendan had his faults—more faults than virtues, though James would never say as much to anyone outside their immediate family.

But to kill him like that… There was no honor in that death.

He shook his head and closed the door behind him.

Right. Because honor would make this hellish situation so much fucking better.

Their father sat in his great chair before a roaring fire, his gaze trained on some memory that seemed a million miles away.

James stopped walking, wishing he could leave the old man alone.

The news of Brendan’s death was horrific enough, but what he had to report now was going to send Victor over the edge.

And he’d take what was left of their family with him.

Ricky, the idiot, had no such reservations. “We have news.”

Victor shook himself and seemed to come back to them. “You’ve found out who’s killed your brother.”

“No, but—”

“Then why are you here?” He practically roared it, his voice loud enough to have come from a man twice his size.

Ricky shrank back, like a dog that’d been kicked one too many times, and it was everything James could do not to join him.

For all his sins, Brendan had always stood between his younger brothers and their father, and now he was gone.

Christ, every time he thought that, the claws shredding his chest seemed to grow.

He stepped forward, all too aware that he was about to put himself into the warpath. “There’s something else.”

“Then stop standing there with your thumb up your ass, and spit it out.”

Easier said than done. He took a deep breath. “The Sheridan girl—the one who was supposed to marry Brendan—is now marrying Teague O’Malley. They’re announcing it tonight.” Possibly right this second.

Victor’s cane hit the floor with a meaty thump, and he pushed himself to his feet. “Tonight.”

It wasn’t a question but he answered it anyway. “Yes.”

“That bastard didn’t even give me the courtesy of informing me himself.” He turned to the fire again, muttering under his breath. “Should have passed the girl to one of the other boys. Both worthless pieces of shit, but that’s the proper way to do things.”

Jesus . James didn’t have to look at Ricky to know there was naked pain in his brother’s eyes.

They’d never measured up to Victor’s standards, and in recent years he’d stopped pretending he’d ever done more than tolerate their presence.

James stared at the portrait over the mantel, wondering for the millionth time what their mother had seen in this angry, bitter man.

She’d loved her boys, and loved them fiercely, right up until the cancer stole her from them fifteen years ago.

Maybe it was better that way—better that she’d gone the way of the angels before she’d seen the men they’d become.

Ricky shifted. “Father, we can’t let this insult stand. Brendan’s body isn’t even cold and they’re already pawning that bitch off on someone else. ”

James shot him a look that he pointedly ignored. He doubted the dynamics in the Sheridan family were all that much different than theirs—meaning Callista Sheridan had no say in this mess. It was her father to blame. “Don’t be disrespectful.”

“Your brother’s right for once. Sheridan is spitting in the face of our grief, and I won’t stand for it.” Victor turned to them. With the fire framing his body, he looked like a devil who’d crawled his way up from hell. He turned his steely blue eyes on James. “We’re going to war.”