Page 8 of Dark Succession (The O’Malleys #1)

Micah braced his elbows on the granite counter. “You can’t bring every person loyal to your family into this house, Callie. You know that.”

Yes, she knew that, but it didn’t make the impulse disappear. She frowned at him. “What other option do I have? Patrolling the territory won’t do a damn bit of good. We don’t have enough men to keep an enemy out, so it’s a waste of resources.”

Micah’s dark eyes saw too much. “You’re not solely responsible for this. Colm will have some thoughts, I’m sure.”

Yes, Papa would, if she could just corner him long enough to talk . She’d suspect he was avoiding her if there wasn’t so much else going on. Still, she didn’t like being left out of the loop. Callie traced the dark-veined pattern of the countertop with a single finger. “They’re our people. ”

“And they knew what they signed up for.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “But I’ll talk to the men about getting a few extra patrols out until we figure something else out.”

It wasn’t enough, and they both knew it. But it was better than nothing. “Okay.”

He stood. “Don’t you have a date to get ready for?”

Emma chose that moment to swoop in with a plate of toast. “Eat something before you go, Miss Callie.” She straightened her apron and gave Callie a stern look.

“You’re so nervous, you’re jumping at shadows and God alone knows you won’t be eating while you’re out with this O’Malley boy. This will settle your stomach.”

Since her stomach was currently tied up into a maze of knots, she wasn’t sure she could manage even the light snack. But she’d learned a long time ago that Emma was usually right about these things, so she dutifully picked up a piece of toast and took a bite.

Emma nodded. “Good. And you—” She pointed a dark finger at her son. “You watch our Callie’s back tonight. You keep her safe.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Micah ducked his head. “It’d be easier to do if she wasn’t slipping her guard every time I turned around.”

“Stop trying to get me into trouble with your mother.” When he just raised his brows, she glared. “I shouldn’t have even told you about going out with Teague tonight.”

“If you hadn’t, then I would have had to track your ass down, and gotten my ass reamed for letting you drive off without an escort.”

“Micah! Language.”

“Sorry, Mama.” He nodded at the door. “Callie, go get dressed up. Knock that O’Malley bastard’s socks off—sorry again, Mama—and see what his family is up to while you’re at it.”

She laughed, even though her stomach did a slow turn at another go-round with Teague. “I’ll be sure to get all his dirty little secrets.” She grabbed the plate and stood. “I’ll bring this back down when I’m done.”

“Thank you, Callie.” Emma’s dark eyes, so similar to her son’s, were sympathetic. “You try to have a good time tonight, you hear?”

“I’ll do my best.” As soon as she left the safe haven of the kitchen, all the fears that had been plaguing her rushed back to the forefront of her mind.

Where had Papa been all day?

She dreaded finding out what he’d been up to. Or, rather, what he’d commanded his men to get up to. This was a significant step in the wrong direction. Worse, it was all her fault. If she hadn’t gone looking for Brendan, things never would have gotten so out of control, and he’d still be alive.

God, the realization that she was the cause of his death was still almost enough to have her running for the bathroom.

Would it get better over time? A small part of her almost hoped that it wouldn’t, because that would mean she was different from her father and every Sheridan who’d come before her.

Papa wasn’t one to brag about his kills, but Ronan used to huddle down with Callie and whisper about the things he heard Papa’s men talking about.

The same man who’d taught her how to ride a bike was also a man who’d killed dozens of people in the name of business and revenge.

She still had problems reconciling the two, even though she’d seen more glimpses of that side of him in the last few months than she had in all the twentyfive years leading up to it.

She shivered, the small hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention. Callie turned a slow circle after she shut her bedroom door, but there was no one in the room except her. “Someone just walked over my grave.” She shivered again.

Nothing good would come of this—any of it.

Which was exactly why she’d agreed to go to dinner with Teague tonight.

They needed to have a meeting of minds and see if they could come up with a way to get this runaway train back under control.

She had a feeling that, left to their own devices, the patriarchs of the three families would be only too happy to set Boston aflame to serve their own purposes.

And she was the spark that set the whole explosion into motion.

Feeling sick all over again, she grabbed the nearest dress and pulled it on.

It was a red number that did wonderful things for her cleavage, but the effect would be dimmed by the scarf required to cover her fading bruises.

She wound the light fabric around her throat, wondering how Teague would react.

It was imperative that she didn’t give anything away.

If he knew she was the cause of all this…

There was nothing stopping him from announcing it to the world and turning her over to the Hallorans for justice. Papa might fight for her, but even all the strength he could summon wouldn’t be enough if the other two families thought her death would see justice served.

She stopped. What if I turned myself in?

Would it be enough to stop this? If it was, wasn’t she honor bound to tell the truth?

She slipped on her heels and headed for the garage.

Tonight, she was driving herself. Micah would be following at a discreet distance, but at least she’d have the illusion of freedom.

Callie grabbed the first keys her hand touched, and rolled her eyes when the Cadillac chirped in response.

She’d prefer something a little subtler, but in the grand scheme of things, her vehicle choice didn’t matter a damn bit.

Besides, with the bulletproof glass and reinforced body, this SUV was really more of a tank.

If they were truly going to war with the Hallorans, she couldn’t have picked anything safer.

The drive to the restaurant was blissfully uneventful, and it didn’t hit her until she was walking through the front doors that she’d voluntarily agreed to meet Teague alone.

Trepidation rose, but she shoved it back.

She was more than capable of having a conversation with a man in public without fearing for her safety.

But her body wasn’t listening to reason, her skin breaking out in goose bumps and her throat closing.

Despite the open floor plan of the restaurant and the low light from candles and conveniently placed lamps, the walls seemed to be inching closer, until she hunched her shoulders in response.

“Callista?”

She jumped, tripping over her heels, and would have gone down if a hand didn’t grab her upper arm and haul her to her feet.

She found herself looking up into Teague’s dark eyes.

Had she thought them cold? They were dark fire, so deep and soulful that they should belong to a poet instead of an O’Malley who may or may not be the enemy .

He gentled his grip. “Are you okay? You look spooked.”

If he only knew. She’d never been a victim of panic attacks before. But then, she’d never killed anyone before, either. A hysterical laugh tried to muscle its way out of her mouth, but she clamped her teeth together until the urge passed. “I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am.” She couldn’t quite banish the tension from her shoulders, but she managed a half smile.

Teague looked unconvinced. “Our table is this way. I thought some privacy would be our best option.”

Some, but not too much. She took a shaky breath and tried to steel herself. Panicking like this wasn’t an option. Panicking at all wasn’t an option. How was she supposed to lead her people into the future if she couldn’t even hold herself together?

Because this is exactly the sort of thing I want to avoid. Murder isn’t supposed to be an option .

The table he led her to was situated on the other side of a half wall, and lit by two small candles.

She slid into the chair that gave her a view of most of the rest of the room, and Teague took the one directly to her right, also putting his back to the wall.

They shared a humorless smile. Old habits died hard, apparently.

The waitress appeared and took their drink orders.

Once Callie had her wine in hand, she shifted in her seat to look fully at him.

“You have me here. What is it you plan to do with me?” The words came out low and flirty, as if inviting him to think dark thoughts.

Which wasn’t what she’d intended… even if she was suddenly thinking exactly those types of thoughts.

It was all too easy to step back into that alley and remember the feel of his hard muscles beneath her hands and how he’d taken her mouth as if he had every right to it.

Teague leaned back, his tumbler of whiskey hanging loosely in his hand. “I could think of a few things.”

Focus. You’re here to figure out how to solve a problem. Not to flirt.

She couldn’t quite manage to tear her gaze away from the curve of his lips. Everything else about him was so hard and rough, as if carved from stone. But those lips? They were sensual and full and promised the kind of pleasures she could only dream of. She shook her head. “I imagine so.”

“Tell me something.”

She tensed. He was going to ask her about the bruises again. She was sure of it. “What would you like to know?”

“Were you and Brendan together?”

Callie laughed, the sound broken. “No. I’d never met him when my father decided that we should be married.”