Chapter Thirty-Eight Lexie
My hands are too full, so when I reach for the door to Callum’s office, my sketchbook falls to the floor.
I sigh, putting down my can of Mountain Dew on the side table nearby and tucking my phone into my bra, before crouching down to start scooping up the loose pages that fluttered across the floor.
The sound of Callum and Roscoe’s conversation drifts through the door that’s slightly ajar.
“—everything’s been handled and cleaned,” Roscoe states. Shoving the papers back into my sketchbook, I can’t help but listen.
“Good,” Callum says. “I won’t pretend that killing those fuckers was for the job. Harris’ check was a bonus. People who sell minors like that deserve to suffer; they got what was coming to them.”
“It’s too bad there were complications,” Roscoe says gravely, making me pause.
“You think the casualties could have been avoided?”
“No.” Roscoe’s answer has my stomach dropping. “But they were innocent, we could’ve gone when the marks were alone.”
Innocents, as in innocent deaths? Callum went after the men who took Lottie and ended up with casualties. And Senator Harris paid him to do it.
Anger and disbelief bubble up inside me. The hammering in my chest has my fight or flight instincts kicking in. I can’t stand here and listen to this anymore.
Leaving my sketchbook where it sits on the floor, I straighten my shoulders before pushing through the door.
“How many?” I demand answers. Both men turn to look at me in surprise, but it doesn’t last long. My challenging gaze tells them I heard their conversation.
“Lexie—” I completely ignore Callum, instead turning my demanding gaze to Roscoe.
“How many casualties?” I want answers, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Just two.” Roscoe’s gruff answer isn’t nearly enough, I need details.
“Who?”
“Lexie.” This time it’s Roscoe trying to dissuade me from the topic, making my stomach churn. The fact that he doesn’t want to say it makes me imagine the worst.
“Who?” My voice rises. “Women? Children?” Roscoe’s eyes cut to Callum, asking his boss for permission. Callum gives no indication, simply staring at me with his jaw clenched, hands gripping his desk tightly. The tension in his body has my anxiety rising.
“The girlfriend to one of the men we hit caught a stray bullet.” The knot in my stomach tightens. His voice tells me there’s something else, something he’s not saying.
“And?” I’m already getting emotional, but I’m not letting this go.
“She was seven months pregnant.” Callum’s words hit me like a punch to the stomach, my heart stopping in my chest. I turn my horrified eyes to land on him. Callum gazes back, rigid as a statue.
“The baby?” Despite the nausea clawing at me I have to ask. When he doesn’t answer, the tears prick behind my eyes. “Tell me.”
“He didn’t make it,” Callum replies heavily. The crushing sadness forces the air from my lungs. “They had to deliver him too soon. He only lived for three hours, there was no way he could survive without his mother.”
“You did this?” I ask him.
“It wasn’t part of the plan.”
“You knew it was a possibility, Callum. You never do anything without knowing every single possible outcome.”
“Casualties are always a risk. It’s a cost of doing business. Collateral damage.”
“Are you really trying to justify this to me right now? This wasn’t business,” I spit back. “It was murder. Callous, reckless murder.”
“I don’t have to justify anything to you.
” Callum’s voice darkens at the implication.
His need for control is twisting into anger and it’s stoking my own rage.
“It’s the reality of the situation. Her boyfriend made some bad decisions, and his family is the price he paid for them.
That woman knew who she was sleeping with, and she chose to have a child with him anyway.
She decided to take that risk with both of their lives, and it ended up getting her and her baby killed. ”
I still, my body shifting from fiery hostility into cold contempt.
He can’t possibly think that. Callum, the man who holds me at night so I can sleep—who makes sure I drink enough water and watches over me so diligently—couldn’t have possibly just said that.
Because if this is how he truly feels, then I don’t know him at all.
This complete disregard for the well-being of others is staggering.
Devastating.
“Is that what you’d say if it was me?” I ask, despair weighing on my chest. “I know who I’m sleeping with, or at least I thought I did. Am I going to pay for your sins with my life?”
“Of course not,” Callum replies tersely, bracing his hands on his desk like he needs the support. “I’d never let that happen.”
“I’m sure the man who just lost everything told the mother of his child the same thing.”
“It’s different for us and you know it.”
“Do I? You clearly don’t value human life; I’ve seen it firsthand. So why am I trusting you to protect mine? That woman had a name. Do you even know it? Did you even bother to find out?”
“Lexie—”
“Of course not. Why would you bother with details like that, they’re irrelevant to you. You’re just a machine—a cold, calculating computer only weighing risks for reward and nothing else.”
“Not with you, Dewdrop.” He steps around the desk, but I take a responding step back.
“I can’t even look at you.” I shake my head, a tear falling down my cheek and landing on my top. The second tear slides down more slowly, dramatically, making Callum frown.
“Wait, come back,” he says, voice strained as I turn on my heel to walk out the door. “Lexie!”
I think I love him, but how can I love a man like this?
I believe so strongly in the importance of innocent human life and what they can bring to the world.
It’s why I chose to work in medicine—to help people.
How can I possibly love a man who destroys lives without so much as a second thought?
A pregnant woman and her unborn child used as a fuse to blow up a man’s life.
Callum’s not just a killer, he’s a robot—devoid of any capacity for human emotion.
So how can I love him? And how can he possibly care about me?
He hasn’t told me that he loves me, but it’s there—between every word he speaks, in every look.
It’s implied with every bottle of water and stroke of my hair at night.
But he’s never said it, and I’m an idiot for thinking he does.
That he even can. Maybe this whole time I’ve been looking for signs of something that doesn’t exist.
“Where are you going?” He’s right behind me, towering over me with each step as I move through the penthouse in search of an escape. I can’t deal with him right now. Or maybe ever again after what he’s done. Right now it feels impossible to ever get past this.
“Anywhere but here.” I just want to curl up in my bed and cry. Alone.
“Stop, we can talk about this.” There’s an edge to his voice I haven’t heard before. It’s panic.
“We did talk, and there’s nothing left to say. What’s done is done, you can’t take it back. No returns.” My anger has his own words firing at him like bullets. The ammo hits him right where I aimed, dead center.
“Don’t fucking say that.” The dark edge in his husky voice is raw with conviction. When I reach my room, his hand on my arm catches me. I shake off his touch, batting his hand away. It’s a small relief when he takes the hint and steps back.
“Leave me alone.”
“Let me in, Lexie,” Callum insists, stepping into the doorway so I can’t close the door. So I can’t shut him out. He’s radiating concern, his passionate eyes on me silently pleading.
“You said you’ll always give me what I need,” I remind him, the tears now streaming down my face freely. “Right now, I need to be alone, and away from you.” The tremble in my voice is unmistakable.
A line appears between his brows as he reaches out and swipes a tear from my top lip, his fingers surprisingly gentle compared to how rigidly his body is crowding the doorway. Each muscle is tightly coiled, no doubt fighting the urge to force his way into the room and throw me over his shoulder.
“I’ll give you anything. Anything but that,” he rasps. I inch away from him, putting space between us. When he reaches for me again, I avoid his touch.
If he doesn’t leave, if he keeps insisting, I’m going to cave and let him in. My desperation for him to leave wars with my need for him to wrap me in his strong arms and hold me. Callum is the reason I’m so devastated, but he’s also the one person who can take all the pain away.
“I need you to go. Are you going back on your word?” A sob escapes me, and I need to wrap my arms around my middle to keep myself together. I’m about to crumble, and seeing the pained look in Callum’s hazel eyes only pushes me closer to the edge.
“No,” he forces through clenched teeth, his eyes searching my face intently.
“Then walk away.” I stare him down, even when tears blur my vision. Callum moves to reach for me again, but he thinks better of it and pulls back—instead crossing his arms over his chest.
“I’ll let you close this door, but I’m not walking away from you.” His tone is low, and rough with something that sounds a lot like emotion.
“Please, go.” This time my voice is barely above a whisper, hitting him straight in the chest. He begrudgingly takes a step back to clear the doorway, his arms bracing on either side of the doorframe.
When I close the door and turn the lock, the sound of his deep voice carries with it the string of curses uttered violently under his breath.
Falling onto the bed, I kick my shoes off before crawling under the covers. No longer trying to hold back, I sob freely into my pillow.