The Marriage Contract (8 page)

That was the question, wasn’t it? Aiden’s insistence that he marry Callie was part of the reason they were in this shit storm to begin with. Teague sure as hell hoped his brother had thought about the potential consequences before he pulled the trigger on their plans. Though, if he had, he should have seen that this war was possible—even likely. So either he didn’t, or he’d been okay with the cost. “I’ll be sure to ask him.”

“You do that.” James hesitated. “Hey, Teague?”

“Yeah?”

“If we’re not both dead by the end of this, you want to grab a beer sometime?”

He laughed. “Yeah, for sure.”

“Good luck.” Then he was gone, leaving Teague alone with his thoughts.

It wasn’t a pretty place to be. He’d never once thought that his brother would hang him out to dry as a means to justify the end, but now he couldn’t shake the feeling that Aiden had done just that. He typed out a quick text.
Need to talk, STAT
.

Five seconds later he got his reply.
Library. Ten minutes
.

Enough time for him to jump in the shower. It felt a little like a betrayal to wash off the memory of Callie as soon as he walked through the damn door, but he needed his head on straight for confronting Aiden. He toweled off and dragged on a pair of jeans. Since his brother still hadn’t shown, he texted her.
Sleep sweet, angel. I’ll call you tomorrow
. He set his phone on the nightstand and ran his hands over his face. Maybe he should have waited to do this shit until morning when he was fresh, but he wasn’t going to be able to get a damn bit of sleep until he knew the truth.

Exactly ten minutes after he’d texted, Aiden walked into the library and closed the door. His brother was nothing if not punctual. Teague barely waited for him to drop onto the leather couch before he spoke, “Tell me that you didn’t pawn me off on Callista Sheridan to provoke a war with the Hallorans.”

“We didn’t fire the first shot. That was all Victor and his men.”

That wasn’t an answer, and Aiden damn well knew it. Teague crossed his arms over his chest. “I want the truth. If you and our father are using me in a grab for territory, I damn well deserve to know.”

“I do what’s best for our family. That’s all any of us do.” His brother’s face showed nothing. It was like looking at a stranger instead of his old partner in crime. He’d known Aiden was changing in recent years, but he’d been so wrapped up in his own misery that he hadn’t paid as close attention as he should have. A mistake, Teague realized now. He’d been sure his brother would support him over his father.

Now he couldn’t shake the feeling that belief was wrong.

“What happened to you?”

“I grew the fuck up.” Aiden paced from one side of the room to the other, agitation in every move. “And you know what I saw, Teague? Our father isn’t as cracked as we thought he was.”

His brother had to be insane to think that. Seamus O’Malley would have been perfectly at home a few centuries ago, ruling some kingdom and answering to no one. But he’d never moved into the future, and how he conducted the family now was damn near unforgivable. “He moves us around like pawns on his own personal chessboard.”

“He’s doing what it takes to keep our family safe. That calls for hard decisions, which you’d see if you pulled your head out of your ass long enough to look around and think about anyone but yourself. Times are changing, and we can’t afford to be on the wrong side of it.”

The words could have come straight from his father. Teague had ever been the disappointment—the son who wouldn’t fall in line, who questioned everything, who wasn’t cold enough to believe the end justified the means. Apparently Aiden didn’t have that problem. “I see things clearly enough.” Enough to know if he wanted to stop this shit, he was going to have to do it himself.

A small voice chose that moment to pipe up and demand to know what the fuck he thought he could do to stop it, but he ignored it. He’d find a way. He’d promised his sisters that he’d keep them safe, and now there was Callie to consider as well. Anything his family did to aggravate the issue painted a target on her back the same as it did his. Unacceptable.

Aiden made it all the way to his door before a thought occurred to him. “Brendan Halloran.”

His brother stopped. “What?”

“You responsible for that?”

He turned back. “You’ve got some goddamn nerve asking me that question with a straight face.”

Normally it never would have crossed his mind, but it was becoming increasingly clear that he’d been a hell of a lot more checked out than he’d realized. The ground had shifted beneath his feet, and he had no idea what the terrain would look like once things settled into place—or if he’d still consider Aiden on the side of angels.

Not that any of them could claim that. Not anymore.

And his brother still hadn’t given a direct answer. “Yes or no. I need to hear it from you directly.”

Aiden glared. “No.” Before Teague could relax, he went on, “Though I’d love to know who pulled the trigger so I can send them a fucking gift basket. Father was thinking about pushing Carrigan in his direction—until I looked into him.”

What the hell had Brendan been into that would give their father pause? The man really must have been a monster. Only something dire would make their father take him off the list for potential son-in-laws, given how advantageous it would be to merge their territory with the bordering Hallorans’.

And Callie had almost married him.

He shared a look with his brother, a moment of perfect understanding that was gone nearly as quickly as it’d come. Then Aiden was gone, too, closing the door softly behind him.

“Goddamn it.” Teague paced from one side of the room to the other, the movement doing nothing to calm him down. He was in the middle of a fight where he had no resources and not a single ally in his corner. How the fuck was he supposed to keep his younger siblings and Callie safe if he couldn’t even make his older brother listen to reason?

He dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed from memory. It would have been safer to grab a burner phone like he had every other time he’d called Finch, but he wasn’t in the mood to jump through those hoops. The man had some shit to answer for, and now was as good a time as any. It barely rang twice before Finch answered, “You shouldn’t be calling me from this phone.”

Teague didn’t ask how his private cell number was public information. It was the least of things they should know. “You know what’s going on with the Hallorans.”

It wasn’t a question but he answered anyway. “We’re aware of it.”

“Then why haven’t you done something?” For one of the most feared government agencies in the States, all they seemed to do was sit around with their thumbs up their collective asses.

“There are steps that have to be taken. You know that as well as I do.”

All he knew was that it was the same excuse they’d been feeding him for six months. It didn’t sit any better now than it had every other time he’d heard it. “If you’re not going to arrest someone—fine. But you need to get my sisters and Devlin out of here and into witness protection or some shit.” He’d ship off Callie if he thought for a second that she’d go, but at least if his sisters were safe he could focus his efforts on his fiancée. And Devlin…Of them all, Devlin alone had the ability to have a better life if someone just gave him the chance to get the hell away from the rest of the family.

“Now, son, I’ll see what I can do, but that kind of thing takes time.”

Another excuse. He resisted the urge to throw his phone across the room. “Make it take less time.” Teague hung up, adrenaline making him shake. He hated this shit, being helpless and relying on others to make things right. Hadn’t he learned a long time ago that the only way to get something done was to do it himself?

So the question remained—what would it take to bring this whole fucking mess to a standstill?

He poured himself a glass of whiskey, thinking hard. Victor Halloran might be one scary motherfucker, but he hadn’t crawled to the top of the food chain without having smarts to go with it—and war wasn’t smart no matter which way you looked at it. If he hadn’t just lost his son, he’d be more willing to let go of the insult of Callie marrying an O’Malley. The man had to want vengeance before anything else. Teague just had to position himself in a place where he could hand the old man his justice on a silver platter.

That meant he had to find Brendan Halloran’s killer.

C
arrigan O’Malley waited for her brother to stalk past where she stood in the little nook outside the library, bathed in shadow. Teague didn’t see her there, just like Aiden hadn’t before him. She’d learned at a very young age that if she wanted to find out the unfiltered truth, she had to eavesdrop. She’d gotten pretty good at it since then, which led to all sorts of interesting—and terrifying—discoveries.

Like the fact that Teague had someone with the FBI on speed dial.

She shook her head. He’d always been an idealist, even when they were kids. To him, everything was black and white, good or bad. Life didn’t work that way, especially
their
lives, but she already knew what had spurred him to take the leap from minor rebellion straight into being a true traitor.

His sisters.

Growing up, he’d always been the protector, the one who stood between them and the rest of the world. It was something he’d have been wise to grow out of—no one could save them, not really—but he hadn’t.

Why the feds, Teague? They aren’t going to help us unless they benefit, which means everything we love is going up in flames
.

She wouldn’t rat him out, though. They all had their secrets, from Aiden right down to Keira—the little parts of themselves they kept close and quiet, and refused to share. His might be more damaging than most, but hers were right up there in the running. If her father ever found out what she did on the nights she slipped her protection duty, he’d ship her off faster than she could say
fucked
.

And that was if she was lucky.

She stepped into the hall and headed in the direction of her room. Things were quiet at this time of night, the old house echoing strangely enough that when she was ten, she’d been sure there were at least a few resident ghosts. Now she knew better. The only one who haunted these halls was Carrigan, floating from one room to the next, never free enough to actually leave, never restful enough to just go along with the path her father had set out for her.

Marriage.

That was the only path for her and both her sisters. They would be married to an appropriate man—meaning, one who would serve the family business—and then go on to extend the empire with as many children as possible. The only chance she had of avoiding that fate was joining a convent—her father would be willing to give up a breeder for a nun.

She just wasn’t sure
she
was.

It was far too tempting to dwell on the choice that was bearing down on her, closing a cage around her ribs until each breath burned. She didn’t have much time left, the clock in her head ticking down in time with her biological clock, the buzzer ready to go off at any moment. More and more, her father kept making comments about her advancing age and how there wasn’t much time left at all if she was going to be good marriage material.

Easier to focus on her little brother’s problems than her own. She’d have to talk to him soon, to let him know she knew the sacrifice he was trying to make for them. He was selling his soul in the process—once the feds got their claws into you, you were never truly free—and that was the best-case scenario. If their father found out…

He’d kill Teague.

The realization settled in her chest, an added weight to the anvil she currently carried. Father might say family before all, but what Teague was doing was a betrayal no matter which way they spun it. He was a rat, and Father was famous for saying “Thou shall not suffer a rat to live.” He wouldn’t suddenly develop a forgiving streak just because it was his own flesh and blood slipping secrets to the enemy.

She closed her bedroom door behind her and sank to the floor. “God, Teague, what are you doing to us?”

Callie pushed the button on the treadmill to bring her speed up, desperate to outrun the thoughts and worries plaguing her. She would have preferred to run outside, but her father had forbidden it, given the situation with the Hallorans. Three days in this house and she was on the verge of going mad. Every time she turned around, there was some sort of furtive movement or quiet conversation—all of which stopped the second she walked into the room. She knew her father was trying to protect her. But she should be right there in the middle of all the planning instead of relegated to hurried updates from Micah between his running her father’s errands.

Papa told her to use this time to plan her wedding. As if picking out the perfect flowers and catering options were somehow more important than—or even equally important to—dealing with the Halloran threat.

She ran faster, until her breath sawed through her chest, and her legs felt like they couldn’t manage another step without toppling her onto her face. Only then did she hit the button to stop. She needed to get out of here, even if only for a few hours. If she didn’t, she was liable to start screaming and never stop—not the actions of a leader.

God, she was so incredibly tired. Tired of wearing the mask and pretending she was okay. Tired of fighting a losing battle with her father. Tired of acting like she wasn’t waking up every hour on the hour, sweat-soaked, with a cry just inside her lips, the memory of Brendan’s hands around her throat imprinted on her waking mind.

Her body shook as she climbed the stairs to her room, and she comforted herself by blaming it on the workout. But she couldn’t lie to herself as well as she seemed to be able to lie to those around her. Her once steady hands had become as jittery as an old woman’s. Once upon a time, Callie had thought herself a woman with nerves of steel.

Now she knew better.

She stripped and stepped into her shower, turning the heat up until it nearly scalded her skin. She ducked her head beneath the spray, her mind going to the single bright point in the last week. Teague. They’d texted here and there over the last few days, enough that she knew he was thinking of her, even though he was busy. She envied that ability to keep occupied, but he never failed to make her smile and help her forget her frustrations, if only for a little while.

Though continuing to talk to him only made
other
frustrations more apparent.

She closed her eyes and pictured his face, painting those wonderful cheekbones and that strong jaw with her mind, moving over his sensual mouth and to those soulful dark eyes. Eyes that had looked at her as if he wanted her more than he wanted his next breath. And his hands, wide palms and long fingers, knuckles decorated with tattoos that she fully intended to explore at the first available opportunity. Those hands had felt deliriously good on her skin, but they were nothing compared to his mouth between her legs.

Her hand coasted down her body as she took a step back into the memory. God, the way he’d touched her, a strange combination of tenderness and animal need, stoking a fire inside her that burned hotter than she could have dreamed. Callie slipped her hand between her legs, letting the water beat against her back as she stroked herself. It was all too easy to imagine it was
his
fingers on her, dipping inside her and then back out to play over her clit. She hissed out a breath, and did it again. Pressure built low in her stomach, deep and demanding, and she was only too happy to give in to the release bearing down on her. She moaned as she came, her lips forming his name. “Teague.”

The water had started to run lukewarm by the time she opened her eyes. She hadn’t told anyone about how their date had ended, but she’d given in to these little fantasy sessions every day since then. She shook her head and finished washing off. Her time with Teague was the only few hours in the last week where she hadn’t felt totally and completely out of control.

A reprieve, he’d called it, and he’d been right.

She wanted another reprieve.

Desperately.

She dried off and reached for her phone, not bothering to dress yet. His number was already programmed in as a contact and she pushed the button to call him. The phone rang and rang, and she was on the verge of hanging up when he answered, out of breath as if he’d been running. “Callie?”

“I want to see you.” Touch him, kiss him, cling to him until the ugly realities of her life faded into the background.

He paused and, when he spoke again, he was more composed. “What are you doing tonight? I have an apartment up near Boston University where we can talk without having to worry about…things.” He meant eavesdropping ears—or maybe he meant that they weren’t in danger of a drive-by there. She shuddered at the thought.

“That sounds wonderful. What time?” The sooner the better. She couldn’t imagine Papa protesting to her leaving the house to see her fiancé. If worse came to worst, she could always tell him it was part of the wedding planning.

“I have some information I’m trying to run down at the moment, but I can be there at seven.” He laughed. “It would also give me the opportunity to pick up some food. The only thing in the fridge is beer and a bottle of ketchup.”

“The important food groups.” It didn’t sound like he spent much time there, but maybe he didn’t cook. When it came to Teague, she had more questions than answers. She knew he could drive her out of her mind with a touch, but she had no idea what his relationship with his many siblings was, or what he would have chosen to do with his life if he weren’t an O’Malley.

A part of her, simple and selfish, wasn’t sure she even wanted to know. He made her feel good, and that was enough for now. The more they talked, the greater the chance was that she’d find something completely unforgivable—and vice versa. What if he thought her goals to bring the Sheridans onto the legal side of business were laughable? The idea turned her stomach. No, it was better that they kept things physical, where at least they knew they matched up.

“Callie?”

She blinked. From the tone of his voice, he’d said her name more than once. “I’m sorry, I missed that last part.”

“I could tell. I asked you what you wanted for dinner.”

Her answer sprang from her lips before she had a chance to call it back. “You.”

Teague moved through the market, Callie’s last word ringing in his ears the same way it had been all afternoon.
You
. There was no mistaking her meaning, and he still hadn’t decided what he was going to do about it. His first instinct was to take her up on the implied offer. But then common sense was quick to jump in and say that rushing things with the woman he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with wasn’t building the foundation in the most effective way possible. Sex was all well and good, but he wanted this shit between them to be about more than that.

He had to talk to her, to figure out where she was coming from. If she thought she could use her body to manipulate him…well, part of him was more than happy to go along with it. He wanted her like he hadn’t wanted another woman in living memory, and it was more than her tight body and the sweet sounds she made when she came. She was strong in an understated way that he was drawn to despite himself, and there were still the bruises on her throat to consider. He was nowhere close to willing to walk away from finding out who had laid a hand on her.

He paid for the groceries and walked back to his apartment, keeping an eye on his surroundings. This neighborhood wasn’t anything like some of the ones he was forced to frequent on family business, but danger could reach out and touch him anywhere in Boston. It paid to be aware of his surroundings. It was only because he was watching that he saw Callie walk up. She frowned, looking around as if she wasn’t sure she was in the right place. “Hey, angel.”

She jumped. “I didn’t see you there.”

“That’s less my being stealthy than your being distracted.” He nodded at the doorway behind her. “This is me.” As he led her up the narrow stairs to his door, he wondered what she’d think of the place. It was a far cry from the opulence of his family home—or the Sheridan residence. He’d never gotten close to either the Sheridan home or the Halloran one, but he knew enough to know both buildings were as large as the O’Malley residence, and surrounded by a similar-sized property. Compared to his little loft apartment, they might as well be on the moon.

But she smiled as she stepped inside. He set the groceries on the counter of the kitchen and put them away while she wandered around, pausing in front of the bookshelf filled with movies and video games. She picked up the photo on the top of it, and he didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know it was the one of him and his six siblings that his mother had insisted upon a few years ago. She spoke without looking up, “You all look so happy.”

It was one of the rare moments when they had been. It was in the time firmly planted
before
. Before Carrigan started shrinking under the pressure of a future she didn’t want. Before the shadows appeared in Sloan’s eyes and she stopped talking almost completely. Before Cillian’s attitude got so out of control that he was damn near unbearable.

Before Aiden turned into Seamus O’Malley 2.0.

He pushed the beer aside and set the various vegetables in the fridge. “We were.” Past tense. Always past tense.

“Sometimes I wish…” She set the picture back onto the bookshelf and squared her shoulders, seeming to force herself to finish the thought. “Sometimes I wish I had more siblings. Ronan and I weren’t as close in recent years as we were growing up, but his loss was still earth-shattering.”

And now she was alone. He shut the fridge and tried to picture life without his siblings. Over the years he’d loved them and damn near hated them to varying degrees, but he’d always had the comfort of their being
there
. He couldn’t imagine how deep the loss would go if something ever happened to any of them.

Yet another reason to put a stop to this war.

“I’m sorry about your brother.” He crossed over to her and did what he’d wanted to do ever since he saw her standing there on the sidewalk. He pulled her into his arms, something settling in his chest as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

“Sometimes I’m so
angry
at him. How could he be so stupid to drink and drive when we have half a dozen men ready and waiting to take us where we need to go if the situation calls for it?” A shudder worked its way through her body. “That makes me sound like a horrible person, doesn’t it?”