Page 9 of Pucking Possessive (Kings of Castlebrook #2)

LILAC

I ’m late.

Of course I’m late.

The GPS rerouted me through two winding back roads, and I circled the block twice, trying to find the valet stand. My phone buzzes for the third time since I parked, and I know it’s Vincent.

He’s going to mention it. Of course he is. Because being late means I’m unreliable. Flighty. Emotional. All things he and my parents believe I need to be “fixed” for.

This dinner is the compromise for my parents not ripping me out of school after the whole mansion debacle.

My brother, of course, made things so much worse.

According to my mother, he left out the fact that he had sex with my friend Lexi in the woods while her boyfriend stood idly by.

Instead, he told her that he only showed up that night because he was worried about my poor choices.

Speaking of poor choices. I was grilled about Callum, and what’s going on between us.

Mom didn’t laugh when I said, “I wish someone would tell me.” Apparently, my brother decided it would be good to tell our parents that he thinks I’m sneaking around with Callum.

Like it would be a crime to date him. I always thought that my parents liked Callum because they took him in when he was a kid.

He killed his own father in self-defense, and there was a lot of turmoil in his family due to everything that was going on.

I found out last night that Callum’s grandmother paid my parents to take him in.

I don’t know why, but the thought made me tear up.

I think because Callum has always praised them for stepping up for him.

I don’t want to keep secrets from him, but I hope he never finds out.

I think it would hurt him dearly. One thing I can say is that what I’ve felt for him has always been genuine.

I just need to get away from my parents hold, and soon.

I’m looking into it, but I’m pretty sure my grandmother’s estate is paying for my tuition at Castlebrook, which would mean they can’t do anything to me or force me to come home.

If that’s not the case, then I need to make some hard decisions.

I’ve never had a job, but I’d rather struggle trying to find one and pay my own way, even if that means having to drop out of school.

I’m only here tonight to buy some time until I can figure things out.

All I can think about is that dead girl and Mina’s scared eyes just before she was shoved down the stairs.

When the police made it clear that they thought we were just a bunch of reckless college students, I shut down. There was no use in arguing with them when we had no proof of what happened that night.

I take a deep breath, smooth my hands down the front of my soft lavender sweater, and push open the door to Laurent’s.

It’s the kind of restaurant with white tablecloths, low lighting, and an imported bottle of water that costs more than my favorite jeans.

Vincent insisted on sending a car for me, or picking me up himself, but I made what felt like seventy-four excuses to be able to drive myself.

He’s pushy, but in a polished way that makes other people think he’s just looking out for whatever girl he’s trying to push into doing something.

I spot my Vincent right away despite only having seen a picture Mom sent of him.

He’s already seated. His posture is perfect. His expression? Annoyed. But controlled. Too controlled.

He’s older than me by a few years. I think Mom said he’s twenty-five, but he looks like a politician twice that age.

I paste on a polite smile and make my way over, trying to ignore the way his eyes rake over me like he’s evaluating a business transaction. He doesn’t rise to greet me.

"You're late." He clears his throat and sips a glass of ice water. “This is why I wanted to send a car for you. You wouldn’t have been late if you would have listened to me.”

I want to run away.

"I got lost," I say, sliding into the chair across from him. I tug my sleeves down over my wrists. "I’m sorry."

He doesn’t acknowledge the apology. Instead, he just lifts his glass of wine and takes a sip, looking down his nose at me. "I already ordered for us. You’ll be having the filet mignon. Medium rare. It’s the best thing on the menu."

My stomach twists. "I don’t eat meat."

He waves a dismissive hand. "You’ll like it."

I blink. "I really won’t. I haven’t had red meat since sixth grade."

He doesn’t respond.

Instead, he leans forward and says, "Your parents and your brother are on board with this little arrangement between us. After what happened last weekend, they’re concerned about your ability to make sound choices."

I roll my eyes, biting my bottom lip to keep from saying something he can use against me.

I don’t need a lecture from my almost-arranged fiancé.

And I definitely don’t need him bringing up the mansion, like what happened there was my fault.

Vincent wasn’t there that night, and he has no idea what he’s talking about.

"Don’t bite your lip. That," he says smoothly, "is not a very becoming expression. Especially on such a pretty face."

My jaw tightens.

I open my mouth to tell him, again, that I’m not interested in an arranged marriage.

I’m not even curious why he is interested in any of this.

Surely he could flash his money at most of the girls in The Falls, and they’d be down to eat dead animals with him in an overpriced restaurant.

I wonder if he thinks I’m playing hard-to-get or if he knows that I’m here because my parents threatened to pull me out of school if I didn’t come.

That I’d rather walk into traffic than entertain the idea of marrying him.

But before I can get a word out the entrance door opens, and I instantly see him out of my peripherals.

Callum. Gray sweatpants, backward hat, and the demeanor of a rabid wildebeest.

He strides into the restaurant like he owns it, like he was summoned by the devil himself. He’s not in sweats or jeans. His dark hair peeks out from the edges of his hat, eyes locked on mine like he’s letting me know that he’s not leaving here without me.

He winks at me, and I forget how to breathe.

Callum drops into the chair next to me, all easy smiles, like this is normal. Like he belongs here. Like he isn’t going to blow this entire evening up from the inside out.

Vincent bristles. "Excuse me, we’re in the middle of a private dinner."

Callum doesn’t even glance at him. "Yeah? Well, you’re not anymore."

I flick my gaze toward the door and spot Tristan lurking near the host stand.

Our eyes meet and he rolls his big green eyes, pointing to the watch on his wrist and then makes a side spiral motion with his pointer finger.

I widen my eyes and nearly laugh at his absurdity.

Like, I’m so sorry that my night of hell is an inconvenience to him and I’ll try to wrap up my mortification as soon as possible.

Of course Callum brought backup. But not Hayden, I notice.

No, because if Hayden had come, there would already be broken plates and probably some broken furniture.

Vincent glares. "If you don’t mind, we’re on a date?—"

"Oh, I do mind," Callum cuts in, still smiling, but his eyes are trained on his opponent. "And you’re not on a date. Now run along."

The waitress arrives, setting two plates on the table. Mine is a slab of bloody steak.

Callum shoves it away from me with disgust. "She doesn’t eat meat."

The waitress stammers, looking between us like she’s confused if she should even listen to Callum.

Vincent’s jaw ticks. "Your parents are going to be very disappointed in how this evening has turned out."

Callum picks up Vincent’s wine glass and swirls it elegantly, something I’m sure he learned from watching my parents, before he splashes it in his face.

"I’d think twice before threatening her."

Vincent slams his napkin onto the table.

His face twists in irritation, but then something cruel flickers across his features.

He looks between us, eyes narrowed, then says, loud enough for several nearby tables to hear, "Are you fucking Lilac?

Is that what this is about? Pissing on your territory like a dog? "

A hush falls over the immediate area. Forks pause midair. Heads turn.

My stomach drops to my knees, face flaming hot.

Callum doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. But the heat behind his eyes is volcanic.

"Choose your next words carefully," he says, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound so angry.

Vincent scoffs. "Do you even know who I am?"

Callum rises slowly, shoulders loose, controlled. Calm.

"Your name doesn’t matter," he says, and I don’t doubt him when he adds, "All I see is a dead man."

Vincent hesitates, then straightens before he speaks to me. "I was promised a virgin, but you’re pretty enough that my offer for marriage stands. I suggest you consider it, because I can promise you the alternative isn’t pleasant."

He turns on his heel and heads for the door.

As he passes by, Tristan sticks out his foot as if it’s a reflex. He doesn’t smirk or even acknowledge that the man is close to him.

Vincent crashes to the floor.

The gasp that echoes through the room is masked by my hand clapping over my mouth.

It’s exactly how Tristan trips people on the ice.

Deliberate. Effortless. He’s not loud about it like Hayden, giving a play-by-play when he’s causing a ruckus.

It dawns on me in this moment that this is why the three of them are such good friends.

They complement each other in ways they probably don’t even understand.

I glance at Callum. He’s frowning as he watches Vincent get up and try to maintain his composure as he slinks out of the restaurant.

"Did my brother tell you I was here?" I ask

Callum blinks. "Adam knew you were here?"

I nod, confused. "If he didn’t tell you, then how did you know?"

His eyes narrow, but then he exhales. "It’s not important. We need to figure out a solution if your parents are going to keep pushing this on you. I can’t let him take you anywhere."

"I don’t think there is one," I whisper. "They’re not letting it go. Vincent’s from the Warshaw family. This has less to do with my choices and more to do with Dad wanting ties to them."

Callum reaches for my hand, tugging me gently to my feet.

"There’s always a solution, bambi. Always."

The nickname makes my chest ache, and I hate that I feel so emotional. I’m blaming it on the fact that I saw my teammate murdered in front of me, but I know it’s so much more than that.

When we get outside, Callum guides me toward his truck, his hand still wrapped around mine. Not too tight, just the right amount.

When he rubs his thumb over my knuckles, my breath catches. As we reach the truck, he stops, turning to face me.

"Keys."

I blink up at him. "What?"

"Your keys."

I hand them over.

He tosses them to Tristan.

Tristan lifts a hand in a mock wave before sliding into my car and pulling out of the lot without another word. He really does not like anyone except Winter, and I’m sure there are dark reasons behind the way he acts, but it’s kind of endearing.

"What are you doing?" I ask, half laughing, half confused.

"Tristan’s taking your car back. You’re riding with me. We’re going to figure this whole thing out."

"Why?" I whisper. "Why do you care? Why are you doing this?"

Callum steps closer. The truck is behind me now. I feel the cold steel against my back as he crowds into my space.

He lifts a hand, brushing a piece of hair behind my ear.

His voice sounds raw when he says, "Because I care about you. And the thought of that fucker touching you makes me want to kill him."

And for once, I feel safe.

I feel seen.