The Marriage Contract (18 page)

“The mistake is yours, fuckers.”

The first bullet tore into the brick next to him, surreally loud. He dropped to the ground, dragging Devlin with him, cursing himself to hell and back for not getting them a damn cab. The shots kept going for what felt like an eternity, but was most likely a few seconds.

A second voice joined the first. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“I need to—” A footstep in their direction.

“
Now
.”

The door slammed and the SUV peeled out, flying down the street just as sirens cut through the night. Teague slowly pushed himself up. His ribs hurt like someone had dealt him a vicious blow to the chest, but nothing felt worse than bruises. “Aiden?”

“We’re good.”

“Thank Christ.”

A low groan brought his attention around to Devlin. He frowned. “You okay?”

Another groan, this one eerily wet sounding. It took his brain a second too long to process what he was hearing. He crawled to Devlin’s side, nearly falling over himself in his hurry. “Devlin?”

He lay on his back, his hands clutching his chest. Teague lifted one, finding it soaked with red. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Aiden!”

His oldest brother was there in a flash, covering Devlin’s hands with his own and pressing down. “9-1-1, Teague, now.”

His fingers, slick with blood, slid over the screen of his phone. Teague had to take a deep breath, wipe them off, and then dial. He gave their location and information to the operator and then tossed the phone to Cillian. “Keep talking.”

Teague dragged off his shirt. “Here, use this.”

They moved Devlin’s hands and put more pressure on the wound. In the streetlights, his eyes looked strange and glassy, like he wasn’t seeing them at all. His hands fluttered against Teague’s, the little spasms ripping his heart to shreds. “Hang on, just hang the fuck on. The ambulance is coming.”

“Cillian, tell them to hurry the fuck up!” Aiden’s hands joined Teague’s. “Devlin, it will be okay. It’s got to be okay.”

The fear and dread in his brother’s voice hit Teague almost as hard as the blood now trickling from the corner of Devlin’s mouth. He took one last wet gasping breath, and then lay still. “No. No, no, no, no, no.” He stopped clutching the now-soaked shirt and lifted his youngest brother’s head. “Stay with us. Goddamn it, Devlin. No!”

This couldn’t be happening.

It had to be a nightmare. In a second he’d wake up, shudder at his overactive imagination, and reassure himself that reality would never be so cruel.

Except he didn’t wake up.

Red and white lights flashed over Devlin’s still face, and then Teague was pulled away by men in white uniforms. He struggled, fighting off their hands. “Not me,
not me
. Help Devlin.”

A third man looked up from where he knelt, his fingers against Devlin’s neck. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do.”

Teague’s legs went out from under him, and he slumped to the ground. “Where were you? Why didn’t you get here quicker?”

One of the paramedics shook his head. “We got here in record time—” His partner stopped him with a hand on his arm.

Aiden dropped next to Teague. “I…”

“I know.” He couldn’t stop looking at Devlin, half expecting him to sit up. The sound of throwing up finally made him tear his gaze away, only to find Cillian puking in the street. That got him moving—anything to hold off reality for a little while longer. He knelt next to Cillian and put his hand on his back. “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it’d never be okay again.

Tears streamed down Cillian’s face. “He’s gone. Goddamn it, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not
Devlin
.”

Not Devlin. The only one of them who might have actually succeeded in getting free. Not Devlin, the kindest, smartest man he knew. No, not even a man. He was barely twenty. He couldn’t even legally drink yet. His life had been laid out before him, there for the taking.

Now he was gone forever, snuffed out in a war that wasn’t his.

Cillian’s head hung between his shoulders, hiding his expression. “It was the Hallorans.”

“Not now.” He couldn’t deal with talk of the future, not when their entire present was being systematically ripped to shreds. Something occurred to him. “Someone has to call our parents.”

And tell them Devlin was dead.

I
t went off without a hitch.”

Callie sat next to Papa while John gave his report. There had been significant damage done to the Hallorans’ property, no casualties, and they slipped away into the night before the Hallorans showed up to investigate. She leaned forward in her chair. “The night guards?”

“We incapacitated them like you ordered.”

Her breath left her in a nearly inaudible sigh.
Thank God
. The attack had been a necessary evil, but getting a low-level guard killed for no reason would have weighed heavy on her conscience. They had parents, possibly even children. They didn’t deserve to be dragged into this. In an ideal world, no one would die before they got this conflict resolved.

But this wasn’t an ideal world.

She cleared her throat. “Well done.”

“Get some rest.” Papa waited for the man to leave the office before he turned to her. “You were right.”

Pleasure at his approval threatened to go to her head. He’d never withheld it from her growing up, but it had always been something she strived for. She didn’t let it guide every choice she made these days, but the need to make him happy was always there in the back of her mind. “There are more ways to hurt someone than taking their life.”

“Halloran doesn’t feel that way. He’ll strike back, and he’ll strike back to hurt.” He suddenly looked tired, the lines around his mouth and eyes deepening. “Stay close, Callie. I couldn’t bear it if you…”

One more reason she couldn’t turn herself over to the Hallorans. If something happened to her, the last of her father’s children, it might actually kill Papa. She covered his hand with her own. “I’ll be careful, but you know as well as I do that I can’t hide away in the house like a princess in a tower. This won’t be the last conflict, and the men need to see that I can lead.”

“I know. Good lord, Callie, I know that.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re more than capable of leading, but I’m human. I want to protect my daughter.”

“I understand.” But there were no guarantees. Papa knew that. It had been decades since the Sheridans warred with another family. All she remembered of it was her mother taking her and Ronan out of town and a wonderful summer spent in the country. She hadn’t understood then the new lines around her father’s face when they’d returned.

She did now.

She squeezed his hand. “It won’t be like before.” It wasn’t a promise she could make, but that didn’t stop her. Last time, he’d systematically killed the head of the MacNamara clan, and all three of his grown sons. She couldn’t allow him to make that decision again. He had enough deaths on his soul.

Hell,
she
had enough deaths on her soul, and they totaled out at one.

But she would add as many as it took to save her father from more—and to save Teague from adding any at all. She glanced at the clock on Papa’s desk. It was approaching noon and she still hadn’t heard from him. Worry flickered through her, but she firmly ignored it. When they’d spoken last night, it was clear he was drinking with his brothers. It was entirely possible that he was sleeping off an epic hangover. There was no reason for the hairs to be rising on the back of her neck. She pulled her hair over one shoulder, combing her fingers through in it in an effort to distract herself.

“You’re strong, Callie. You’ll get through this.”

“We both will,” she said firmly. She was nowhere near ready to take over the family. The sheer amount of responsibility her father shouldered on a daily basis was staggering. She could do it. She knew she could. But it meant her father was no longer strong enough to do it himself. She wasn’t ready to acknowledge that, even if he was.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. “Excuse me.” She slipped it out, finding a text from Teague. Three little words, but every cell in her body cried out in warning that something was terribly wrong.

I need you
.

It was tempting—too tempting—to act like he was talking in a physical way, but instinct said that wasn’t the case. Something had gone terribly wrong. She typed out a quick reply.
Where and when?

His answer confirmed her worry was founded.
My parents’ home. Now.
Callie pushed to her feet. “I’ve got to go.”

“Is something wrong?”

Yes!
She made an effort to keep her voice calm and her body relaxed, even though all she wanted to do was tear out of the room and rush to Teague’s side. “I don’t know.”

Papa nodded. “Take Micah and one of the other men with you.”

“I will.” It wouldn’t slow her down much, and the added safety was necessary, even if only to get her to Teague’s side without interruption. She pressed a kiss to the top of her father’s head and strode from the room. It took seconds to grab her purse and text Micah to meet her in the garage. He was there before she was, dangling the keys from the SUV from his fingers.

“Do you want to drive, or should I?”

She was so rattled, it was entirely possible she’d end up wrecking the damn car. “It’d be best of you do. But, Micah, drive
fast
.”

He nodded and opened the door for her. Another man, one of the new recruits whose name she couldn’t quite place, slipped silently into the backseat. No one said a word as Micah pulled out of the garage and onto the street.

Callie took a deep breath. “To the O’Malleys’.” She kept checking her phone, but there was nothing new from Teague. She resisted the urge to text him again and ask what was going on. Barely. She’d find out soon enough.

That wasn’t nearly as much of a comfort as she’d have liked it to be.

She shouldn’t be remotely surprised that the O’Malleys’ home was on Beacon Hill. They might not be able have a legitimate claim as Boston’s elite, but they certainly reeked of new money parading as old money. Still…

She stepped out of the SUV, unable to stop herself from feeling intimidated. The front door towered over her, seemingly ready to gobble her up the moment she missed a step, the tree-lined street giving every brownstone an aura of hushed secrecy. She tried to dismiss the feeling as pure fancy, but she couldn’t quite shake it. She looked at Micah.

He frowned. “Don’t even think about it. We’re going in with you.”

It might be cowardly to feel the level of gratitude flowing through her at his words, but she had no idea what she was walking into. She didn’t
think
she’d be in danger from anyone in the O’Malley family, but she couldn’t be sure. And, because she couldn’t be sure, she allowed Micah and the other man to fall in behind her as she climbed the steps to the massive door and raised her hand to knock.

It opened before she made contact. Considering the sheer size of the house and how it brought to mind old money, she half expected to see a butler. But it was Keira who stood there, her hazel eyes bloodshot and her face red and swollen from crying. “Callie.”

That was all the warning she got before the girl threw herself into Callie’s arms. She looked over her head at Micah, who shrugged. Apparently he was done helping. She smoothed down Keira’s dark hair, trying to breathe around the stranglehold she had on her ribs. “I’m here. What’s going on?”

“It’s so horrible.” Her body shook. “It’s Devlin. He’s…”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence for Callie to understand. She knew this grief, recognized it on an intimate level. Shock nearly sent her to her knees.
No. Oh no, no, no
. She hugged the girl tight. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

Keira only cried harder, her entire body a giant clench as she lifted her head. It only took one look in her eyes to realize this was surface reaction. There was a part of the girl who hadn’t caught up with the news yet and, when it truly hit, the results would be devastating. And it could happen at any time. Callie gently guided her into the house. “Where is everyone?”

“The living room.” She sniffed.

“Can you show me?”

“Yeah.” Keira straightened her shoulders, and Callie could actually see her drawing her walls around her. It was slightly terrifying to watch. The girl had lost the shine of innocence that she’d had only last night. Now there was a hardened, brittle feel to her that made Callie’s heart ache.

In this world, everyone had to grow up sometime, but she hated that this happened to
any
of them—especially to the starry-eyed girl who’d danced and laughed and had the time of her life just twelve short hours ago.

She followed Keira through the house, taking in the dark woods and deep green on the walls. This place practically screamed masculine power, and the feeling of being swallowed whole came back with a vengeance.
This
was the place Teague had grown up in? She couldn’t begin to imagine children playing in these halls, or getting into the kinds of trouble that only young kids seemed to find. It was all so…uptight.

Her home was a similar size, but aside from Papa’s office and the single room they kept spotless to receive important guests, it felt more lived in. Comfortable. It was the kind of place where a person could prop their feet up and relax. Exactly the opposite of this place. She glanced down at the floor, half-sure she’d tracked dirt all over the spotless wood floors.

She was focusing on the house so she didn’t have to think about the scene she was going to walk into. She knew that. It was easier dealing with the decorating than with what was coming. Teague’s brother…Old hurt rose, no less potent for the months that had passed.
Oh, Ronan.
She knew all too well what the people in this house were feeling right now, and there was a very large part of her that wanted to turn on her heel and get out of here as fast as she could run. She didn’t want the memories, didn’t want the grief, didn’t want the tears.

But Teague needed her.

She lifted her chin and kept her steps steady as they turned a corner and approached a pair of double doors. Raised male voices gave her pause. She recognized Teague’s, even through the fury and pain it held. “This is what you wanted, Aiden. War. Are you happy now?”

“This isn’t what I wanted.” This voice was quieter, but no less full of poisonous emotions. “This was
never
what I wanted.”

“That’s what war is. Death of the people you care about. I swear to God—”

Keira opened the door. The room was large with soulless—and no doubt horrendously expensive—art covering the walls and a carefully arranged set of white couches dominating the space. Not that anyone except Sloan was currently utilizing the furniture. She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, her gaze a thousand miles away. There was another man—a brother if his similarities to Aiden were any sign—standing well back, a bottle of what looked like whiskey in his hands.

And there was Teague, standing toe to toe with his older brother and looking ready to go several rounds. He stopped when he saw her, his dark eyes containing so much pain, she was helpless to resist going to him. She stepped into the room, and glanced over her shoulder to keep Micah and his partner out. He nodded, though he didn’t look happy about it. Callie turned back to find Teague directly in front of her.

She reached out to touch him, but hesitated. He didn’t appear as brittle as Keira, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t. Before she could decide whether to make contact or not, he took her hand and pulled her into his arms.

“You’re here.”

She hugged him like he’d fly apart if she let go. “I’m here.”

He stepped back, but took hold of her hand. “Aiden, we’re not done.”

The man he’d looked about ready to come to blows with dropped onto the couch across from Sloan. “I figured.”

Teague nodded and led her out of the room. He didn’t say a single thing as they passed through yet more halls, finally climbing a narrow set of stairs and slipping into a room that must be his. She didn’t get much chance to look around, because he shut the door and then she was back in his arms, his hold so tight, she thought she heard her ribs creak. “What can I do?”

“Just hold me.” His voice was thick against her temple. “I need a few minutes.”

“Okay.” She could do that. Words wouldn’t do a single thing, but if this gave him any kind of comfort, she was more than happy to hang on to him until night fell and reality called. He nudged her back to the bed in short little steps and sat down, pulling her into his lap.

“It was my fault.”

She tensed. “It couldn’t possibly be.”

“Cillian was drunk. We all were. I thought it’d be brilliant to walk home.” He sounded like a man kissably close to rock bottom. “They caught us less than two blocks from the pub.”

Her heart stopped. “They?” Even as she asked, she knew what the answer was. She’d been a stupid fool not to consider it before. If something happened to Teague’s youngest brother, there was one likely culprit. God, she never hoped she’d be wrong so much as in that moment.

“The Hallorans.”

She closed her eyes, the weight on her shoulders threatening to crush her. If Teague was looking for someone to blame, he had to look no further than the woman in his arms.
Her fault
. Her actions had put this whole thing into motion, and now his little brother’s death was on her hands.

If Teague found out, he’d never forgive her.

She wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive herself.

The tide that had been drowning Teague since he realized Devlin would never follow through on his many dreams retreated slightly with Callie in his arms. It wasn’t gone. He knew that. He didn’t
want
it gone. To move on his with life as if nothing was wrong would be unforgivable. There was a gaping hole in his chest and it didn’t show signs of closing anytime soon.

He closed his eyes and inhaled Callie’s rose scent. “Devlin was…” His throat tried to close.

She hugged him tighter, careful of his bruised side. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

“I know. I want to. I need to…” He didn’t even know. His life hadn’t been untouched by pain up to this point, but calling what he was feeling pain was a gross understatement. There was an abyss inside him that had never existed before, ready to swallow him whole.