Page 43 of Dark Succession (The O’Malleys #1)

N o, not like that. Twist it the other way.”

Callie glared at the other woman. “Forgive me if I’m not as adept at picking my way out of handcuffs as you are.”

“You would be if you were better at taking directions.” Carrigan glared right back. “Twist it the other way.”

With a sigh, Callie obeyed, twisting the bobby pin she’d bent out of shape to the other side.

A little jiggle later and she was rewarded with a click.

The cuff opened and Carrigan’s wrist slipped free.

“Fucking finally.” She snatched the makeshift pick out of Callie’s hands and went to work on the other side.

In the two hours she’d been fighting with the cuffs, she’d managed to keep the fear at bay, but now that her hands were idle, it came rushing back—with interest. Getting Carrigan’s hands free was only the first—and easiest—of the hurdles they had to clear.

She glanced at the sky, the beauty of the setting sun completely lost on her.

It wasn’t a gorgeous sunset. It was a mark of too much time passing.

“Don’t freak out.” Carrigan stepped out of the bathroom, where she’d retreated after she was freed. “We can’t get out of here until it’s dark anyhow.”

How in the world did she manage to be so confident? Callie snapped the curtains shut. “Then let’s get started.”

They went through the room from top to bottom, looking for anything they could use as weapons or tools to scale the outside of the house.

While she was certain she could survive a fall from the second story, she didn’t like their chances of doing it without some kind of injury that would prevent them from being able to run.

Because escape was the only option now.

James had made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t going to honor the promise to release Carrigan now that he had Brendan’s murderer.

If he wouldn’t do that, there was no reason to believe the Hallorans would call off their dogs, either.

And with each passing hour, her faith in her contingency plan diminished.

The war would continue whether she died or not.

So she was going to do her damnedest not to die.

She opened the closet. “There’s other clothing in here if you want to change.” Considering Carrigan must have been wearing that dress for two days now, she was surprised when the woman shook her head.

“I’m good.”

“You’re going to scale the side of this house in that dress?”

Carrigan turned a sharp look at her. “I’d rather keep this dress on than change into something of his . ”

That brought Callie up short. His? She must mean James, but there was a wealth of rage in her voice that seemed significantly more personal than this situation warranted. Not that she was an expert on such things but… She spoke without turning from the closet. “He didn’t… hurt you?”

“No.” She muttered something that sounded like I did that all on my own , but before Callie could question her, she said, “Fuck. Fine. Grab me those sweats.”

She obeyed because she was pretty sure if she said anything else, Carrigan would turn on her .

She went to hand them over, but the woman indicated that she should drop them on the floor on the side of the bed furthest from the door.

When Callie raised her eyebrows, she shrugged.

“No guarantee that he’s not going to come check on us.

If I’m wearing his clothes, that’s a sure sign that we’re up to no good. ”

“Good thinking.” It was something she should have considered on her own.

Callie rubbed a hand over her eyes. They still didn’t have a way out of the room.

While tying bedsheets together worked well enough in the movies, James only had a fitted sheet on his bed.

That wouldn’t get them anywhere near the ground on its own.

She moved to the window again, and muscled it open.

The cooling air was heaven against her face, and she spared a brief moment to close her eyes and just breathe it in.

They would figure this out. They had to.

She leaned out the window a little, careful to keep an eye out for anyone below.

As she’d suspected, it was a straight shot to the rocky ground.

There was no way they could jump without turning an ankle—and that was the best-case scenario .

She leaned out a little further, angling to get a view of the windows on either side of them.

Both had the same setup. Damn it. A little further.

There . Three windows down on the right, the garage cut out from the house.

It would still be a drop, but seven feet was better than twenty.

Callie ducked back inside and carefully closed the window. “I have a plan.”

“I’m all ears.”

They both froze at the sound of a heavy tread coming down the hall. Carrigan kicked the sweats under the bed. “Hurry!”

She tossed Carrigan the cuffs and she threw herself onto the bed and slipped them loosely around her wrists in the approximate spot she’d been in before.

For her part, Callie spun in place, trying to figure out if they’d moved anything or if there was any indication that they had no intention of sitting here and waiting to be murdered.

Nothing. Or, at least, she didn’t think so. Damn it, she couldn’t be sure.

But it was too late to do anything more. The footsteps stopped outside the door.

She dropped onto the bed next to Carrigan, hoping she could shield any inconsistencies with her body. They both looked over as the door opened, and Callie’s stomach lurched into her throat. Brendan .

The man moved fully into the room, and the image shattered.

Not Brendan. But they were close enough in looks that this had to be another brother.

He eyed them, his gaze lingering too long on Carrigan’s bare legs for Callie’s peace of mind.

She shifted, trying to draw his attention, even though his creepy blue eyes gave her chills. “What do you want? ”

“So you’re the bitch who killed my brother.” He leaned against the wall, but she wasn’t fooled. His body was tensed, ready to spring into motion at a second’s notice. “You’re prettier than I expected.”

It sounded like a compliment, but she couldn’t shake the instinct demanding she go for his throat.

So she stayed silent. That didn’t stop him, though.

He shifted closer. “You’re going to die for what you did.

But not for a long, long time.” He grinned.

“Baby, I’m going to enjoy breaking you.” His gaze moved back to Carrigan. “Both of you.”

“Ricky.”

Callie jumped, but the man didn’t. Obviously he’d heard James approach. He didn’t turn. “Yeah?”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“Yeah, sure.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “I’ll be seeing you two again real soon.”

James waited for his brother to walk out of the room before he turned his attention on them. “Make whatever peace with God you can. You only have tonight.”

Then he was gone, too, shutting the door behind him.

Callie sagged, adrenaline beating against the inside of her skull like she’d just been in the middle of a fight.

Carrigan sat up, the cuffs dangling from her hands.

“It’s almost a shame those two are going to miss out on their entertainment tomorrow. ”

How could the woman joke at a time like this?

Callie kept her mouth shut, because she was afraid if she opened it, she’d start screaming and never stop.

So she held very still and watched the minutes tick by on the clock; the slow movement of time, much steadier than her heartbeat, grounded her.

She finally took a breath and made an effort to unlock her muscles.

“I don’t suppose you can pick a door lock as well as your handcuffs? ”

“Old doors? Not so much. But the ones they have in new houses like this?” Carrigan motioned to the heavy wood door between them and the rest of the house. “Piece of cake.”

She certainly was a woman of unexpected talents. Callie moved to the window and glanced at the sky. They were well on their way to dusk, but it would be a good hour yet before they could make a move. “How did you learn to pick locks?”

“Aiden taught me.” She smiled, though it was a touch bittersweet.

“He convinced one of the men to teach him, and he passed it along to Teague and me. Though Teague never quite picked it up. I have a natural skill for it, I guess.” She shook her head.

“And a tendency to want to be where I’m not supposed to. ”

“It sucks being shut out for your own protection.” She’d dealt with that time and again growing up.

Even as young as ten, Ronan was considered mature enough to sit in on meetings with Papa, while she was told to go play with her dolls.

She’d resented it then, but that resentment only grew the older she got.

Even when she’d stepped up to take over the legitimate side of the business, Papa had done his best to shield her from the uglier sides of what being a Sheridan meant.

And then Ronan was gone, between one breath and another, and it was left to her to fill the shoes he’d left behind.

She didn’t feel guilty about that early resentment, really, but most days she wished she could go back to being that naive girl who didn’t know any better.

“So-called protection. They blind us and then are surprised when we’re gunned down because we had no way to keep ourselves safe.” Carrigan looked away, her shoulders bowing in. “That didn’t help Devlin.”

“I’m so sorry.” My fault. God, wouldn’t she ever learn that apologizing after the fact wasn’t worth the words that came out of her mouth? “I know that doesn’t mean much now, but I was trying to make it right by coming here.”

Carrigan snorted. “Is that what you were doing?”

“I killed Brendan.” It shouldn’t get easier to say those words, but they still flowed off her tongue. “This is all my fault.”

The woman turned on the bed to face her fully. “That’s a crock of shit.”

“Excuse me?”