Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
C allum
Turning the den off the back of the house into a game room was Freya’s idea. She’s the host, not me. I love a good party, but to me, planning one is like having teeth pulled. I like the bigger picture, leaving the finer details to her.
Like this room.
She thought of everything, including this corner for me, knowing I don’t play games. There are tables around the room, one with a shiny black-and-white painted chess board for its top. Open shelves along the walls display colorful games. There is a built-in bar and a popcorn machine for larger gatherings. Tonight, Nan has brought them a tray of snacks and hot chocolate.
I’ll stick with my liquor .
With a whisky in one hand and a cigar in the other, I sit in my black-and-gray checkered chair and watch the girls from my corner of the room.
Wearing black leggings and an oversized pink sweatshirt, Fiona sits lightly on her bottom in her wooden chair. She shifts her weight so as not to sit on the same spot of her punished bottom for too long. She coughs, waving the smoke away. “Maybe we should name the house Smokey Joe’s Cigar Shack.”
Freya snaps at me. “Callum put that thing out. You have a cigar room if you want to smoke.”
Next to my chair is a table with a lamp, offering a soft glow, a perfectly sized coaster for my tumbler, and a stone ashtray for my cigar, carved to depict Odin’s wall of Knowledge. She’s banned me from smoking anywhere in the house other than my cigar room. But she knew I’d smoke. So here Odin is.
Putting out my cigar, I change the subject. “What about Blushing Estates for a house name?” A private joke to myself about the color of Fiona’s spanked bottom.
“Blech! Too girly,” Freya says. She lays her tiles down, a triumphant smile on her face. “T-i-t-a-n. Titan.” She adds up a monstrous number of points.
Fiona stares down at the board, unintimidated. “Hmm…let’s see.” A moment later, she’s laying down the word trumpet, playing off Fiona’s words and accumulating a vast store of points.
Settling back in her chair for Freya’s turn, Fiona thinks. “What about Norse Garden? You’ve done a lovely job bringing your heritage to the home with your renovations and furnishings. And the grounds are so lush. You’ve got all types of plants growing here.”
Freya looks up from the board, tapping a finger against her chin as she mulls. “Norse Garden. It has a nice sound to it, don’t it?”
“Doesn’t it,” I correct her. “Leave that cockney shite talk at work.”
“Och, Callum. I can’t help it if I spend my days in a melting pot of cultures. Unlike you, who’ve only surrounded yourself with tattooed leather-clad men who can barely put together a sentence.” Freya snaps down her tiles, collecting her points.
“They are more than capable of putting together a sentence. They just choose not to. We don’t gossip all day like you lassies,” I say.
“You think I have time for gossip in that office? Please. I’m going over codes, reviewing the law to the letter day in, day out.” She laughs. “Now, at night, that’s a different situation. We girls do love to tell a tale over a shared bottle of wine down at O’Malley’s.”
“I don’t gossip, Callum,” Fiona says softly.
And I know it to be true. Such a sweet, innocent girl. How I’d love to corrupt her.
I take a sip of Frisky Whisky, a smokey, spicy gift from my distillery friend, Fredrick, and return to the name. Norse Garden.
“The name does sound nice, but it needs something heavy to it, telling the general public a man lives here as well.” I run a hand over my beard. “Norse Garden Estate. ”
“Aye,” Fiona says. “I love it!”
“Aye,” Freya agrees. “Norse Garden Estate it is.”
“I could make you a seal of the house if you’d like,” Fiona offers shyly.
Freya reaches across the table, smiling as she puts a hand over Fiona’s. “We’d love that, Fiona.”
Our housekeeper, Kathy, pops into the room, holding the bulky white cordless. “Phone call for Fiona.”
“Who’s calling,” I demand.
“Her da,” Kathy says.
Fiona gives me a hopeful look. “Can I take it?”
“Aye,” I say, giving a nod.
“I’m sorry you had to trek over here for me, Kathy.” Fiona eyes me. “Life would be much simpler if I had my cell phone.”
I had her phone taken from her first thing when she arrived. “Phones are traceable and seriously dangerous. Take it in the library if ye want privacy.”
Seeing the look on my face, she nods, thanking Kathy as she takes the phone and scurries away to the library.
We can hear the door softly closing behind her.
I have secret pathways leading into the guest rooms and hidden cameras in my halls, kitchen, and garage bays. I use only landlines. I trust my team, but I can record any conversation had on my property.
In Fiona’s absence, Freya raises a brow to me. “Why can’t she have her phone? It can’t be that big of a risk. ”
“‘Tis. It’s for her safety. She’s lucky I gave her father the number.”
“Why did you?” Freya sizes me up. “Was it because you knew she’d be worried about him?”
“Freya, your sense for reading other people’s minds, especially my own, is not only annoying but uncanny.”
“Why do you think I have a ninety percent success rate for winning cases?” I start to open my mouth to correct her and remind her of a failed case, but she stops me with, “Callum Burnes, you know that one with the onions doesn’t count. Don’t even bring that up right now.”
“Something smelled off about that client from the beginning,” I joke.
“Haha. So funny. You know better than to bring up that putrid case. How was I to know the supervisor of a dehydrated spice production plant was also lying through his teeth about his injuries? What an actor.”
“The man did have a lot of layers to him.”
“Stop. Seriously.” She taps a Scrabble tile against the tabletop. “New topic. How about a wee kitten to keep her company? Something cute and fluffy to win her over?”
“You know the rule, Freya?—”
She talks over me, mimicking me with an overly deep tone I find extremely annoying. “NO ANIMALS in this house! Not after all the money we’ve put into it!”
I typically don’t take my drink with ice, but luckily, tonight, I did. I pluck a cube from my glass and toss it at her .
She waves me away. “Stop it! Anyway, back to you. I’m surprised you gave her da the number, but I’m happy you did. It’s sweet you dinnae want her worried. You do have a soft spot under that armor of muscle.”
“Not a chance.” I straighten my spine, sitting tall in my chair. “And if she thinks she’s going to be late to dinner again, she’s sorely mistaken.”
“Callum, I know it's early days, but you really must stop being such an ass if you’re going to get this girl to marry you.”
“I’m just being myself,” I say.
Freya rolls her eyes. “Exactly.”
“What more can I do?” I ask.
She widens her eyes, pleading. “The kitten.”
I threaten to pluck another cube. “No kitten.”
“Fine!” She tosses the letter-playing piece back into the box. “How ‘bout you try being sweet for a change?”
I give a belly laugh. “Me? Sweet? When have ye ever heard someone use that word to describe a Burnes man?”
Fiona returns before Freya can dole out any more useless advice.
We quickly mask our faces from our disagreement, focusing on Fiona’s return to the game room.
Her face is paler than usual.
Freya and I share a glance.
“Come sit.” Freya pats the seat of Fiona’s open chair. “How was your da, honey? ”
She looks at Freya. “He said he’s quitting drinking.”
I put my glass down. “That’s fantastic.”
“Aye. He was clear, present… and apologized for all those years—” Overwhelmed, she reaches up to brush away a tear. Pushing back her seat, she stands right back up. “You know, I’m growing tired. Can we leave the game for tomorrow? I need my bed.”
“Of course, sweetheart.” Freya stands to hug her.
Fiona gives me a polite nod. “G’night.”
“Goodnight.” I swirl my glass, watching the dark honey whisky move.
When she’s out of earshot, Freya joins me, curling into the open leather chair at my side.
“Good for her da, but whisky for me, please.” Taking the cup from my hand, she takes a deep sip. “God. This is good.”
“Fredrick’s stuff,” I say. I grab the bottle from the side table and fill the glass for her.
“Thanks.” She takes another sip, savoring the warm, flavorful liquor. “From Frisky Whisky? The new one on the West End?”
I nod. “The very place.”
“That distillery is supposed to be the city’s new hotspot. The girls and I are going as soon as it opens next month.”
I stare at Fiona’s wake. “Don’t invite her.”
“Why not?” Freya eyes me .
I shake my head. “The wildest bar she’s been to is the Hobgoblin. She’s got no need to be in nightclubs.”
“Be nice,” Freya says. “She’s our guest.”
“It’s not about being nice,” I say. “It’s about being safe. She’s too naive. I don’t want her out.”
“You can’t control her every move,” Freya sighs.
“I can and I will. I brought her here to be my bride. I’ll not wait much longer.” I run a hand over my beard. “You still have the contract, right?”
She nods. “One marriage certificate. Forged for the bride, signed by the groom, and two witnesses, sealed, and only has yet to be delivered.” She eyes me. “But as I’ve told you, Callum. I have my own morally gray code, and I’d really like this to be our last resort?—”
“You promised me you’d help me with this. Are you backing out?”
“Nope. No. Nothing like that.” She shakes her head. “You know where my allegiances lie. I’m just saying…if we could do this the natural way.” She takes a sip of her whisky. “You know, boy abducts girl, girl gets Stockholm syndrome and falls for her captor—I’d feel much more confident about not losing my license.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Still, keep the contract in a safe place. I’ll drag her down the aisle if I must.”
Freya hands me the glass. “I’m off to bed as well. Promise me you won’t stay up too late?”
I finish the last sip. “You know I won’t make a promise I can’t keep.”
She leaves me, her laughter trailing behind her as she goes.
I go to the kitchen to leave the glass in the sink. Once the girls are safely upstairs, I head to the Great Hall, where my men wait for me. I open the heavy oak doors to find them mingling around the table, sampling the whisky Fredrick has brought with him.
He’s a distiller by trade, but the nightclub he houses the distillery in is a business funded by us Burnes. He’s working undercover for me, opening the new hotspot, as Freya calls it, using his staff as eyes and ears to observe men who flash their cash, those who can afford top shelf but live in social housing, flats subsidized by the council. We’ll hire many young people from the island who have been eager to try life in the city but didn’t want to leave the warm embrace of family.
We trust them. They’re loyal to us. They will help us bring down the devils.
“Gather around, men,” I say.
Their faces are stoic and determined as they choose seats around me in the dimly lit room, the torches flickering from the iron sconces on the walls. The air is thick with a palpable energy that crackles between us like electricity.In this room, I host a collection of family members, Bayne’s family, as well as men who have sought me out.
Men who were loyal to the Hoax and happy enough trading arms or drugs, but when it came to people, they left, looking for a new gang to join. These men, ex-insiders, have provided much of our early intel, helping us get into place to research the Hoax’s comings and goings.
I stand at the head of the long oak table, my gaze sweeping over the faces of my loyal men. Bayne, tanned and fresh from his honeymoon to my left, and Declan, my most loyal man in Glasgow, to my right.
The soft glow of the torches flickers across their hardened features, casting shadows that dance like ghosts across the stone walls. In front of me, a map sprawls across the polished surface, dotted with black “X’s.” The X is swirled at the four tips of the letter, mimicking the one the Hoax uses for a symbol.
I’ve stared at those hideous wee “X’s” for so long that I’m starting to see them in my dreams. Starting to have them in my writing. Luckily, there are only a few words with “x” in them.
The “X’s” on the map mark the territory of our rivals.
One in red ink, just over the bridge that travels over the river Clyde, marking a warehouse where they store goods.
Several “X’s” on apartment buildings where they rent one-bedroom “safehouses” to store their “livestock,” as they so respectfully refer to their prisoners; the brothel, an older brick home in a darker part of the city; and several other spaces we know they operate but haven’t yet figured out what those places are used for.
My men report on their findings one by one, their voices low and tinged with simmering tension. They speak of whispered rumors and shadowy dealings of young women disappearing into the night only to reappear as broken shells of their former selves.
Or never reappearing at all.
I clench my jaw, my fists tightening as I listen to their accounts.
The Hoax may think they are untouchable, hidden behind their web of deceit and violence. But they need to find out who they're dealing with. They don't know the lengths I will go to protect what is mine and who is under my care.
But my men do.
Thus far, not a single woman from our island has been put in harm’s way, shielded from the dangers of the city, from these men.
This rival gang dares to traffic young women in their despicable sex rings. They think they can operate in this city without consequences, and so far, they have. But they are sorely mistaken if they think they can continue.
We will not stand idly by while innocents are exploited and abused for profit.No, we will strike back with all the fury of a storm at sea, with the brutality of my Viking ancestors.
My day-to-day job is selling illegal arms. It’s how I make my money. The sea connects Glasgow to the island and England and Ireland, places hungry for arms that can’t be found on their lands. Freya has her own cash-laden side hustles, taking an occasional bribe if there’s a cause she deems worthy and working her magic in the courts.
One family that she was particularly fond of, she did a two-for-one deal, earning acquittals for two family members facing time.
“We need to strike. And soon.” I turn to my right-hand man, Declan, the man I sent to collect Fiona, his steely gaze locked on mine. He nods once, a silent signal that he is ready for whatever comes next. “We won’t be able to stop them outright, but surely we can find a way to weaken them. ”
The room falls silent, the weight of our shared mission heavy in the air. Declan's eyes gleam with determination as he speaks, his voice steady and unwavering. "We have been gathering information on their operations for months now. We know their weaknesses and routines. We know where they store their weapons and where they hold their meetings. It's time we start to make a plan to use that knowledge to our advantage." His words hang in the air, mingling with the tension that comes before a dangerous mission.
I step forward, my hand tracing a line on the map before us. "When we are ready, we will hit them where it hurts the most. We will dismantle their supply chain and disrupt their operations until they are left scrambling in the dark. Meanwhile, Fredrick’s team from the island will be working the nightlife, particularly the distillery, keeping their eyes open and ears to the ground. It’s amazing, the secrets spilled after a few glasses of good whisky." The plan begins to take shape in my mind, a dangerous dance of strategy and risk.
Declan, Bayne, and Fredrick all agree to the plan. But they disagree with my timeline. Bayne puts a hand on my arm. “Don’t rush this, Callum. We need more intel before we strike.”
“Do we? Declan, Fredrick, weigh in.”
Declan and Fredrick back him up, both stating their own points for waiting a wee bit longer before we strike. With Fiona now in Glasgow, I want a resolution as soon as possible, but I heed their advice.
Timing is a dance we have perfected over the years that has kept us one step ahead of our enemies. It takes time and patience. A rushed mission is often a botched one, risking lives. We have to choose our time to strike carefully .
To my disappointment, that time isn’t now.
“We must create the perfect plan and then wait for the right moment to execute it. We wait. And we watch.” My men nod in silent agreement.
“Let’s get oan wae it, shall we?” A rallying cry of “Ayes” fills the Great Hall.
We disperse, eager to return to work. I’m grateful my team is as dedicated to our cause as I am. My men and I have to weaken the Hoax. I’ll be burying myself in work, putting the pieces together to take them down.
Because now, I’ve brought the person who means the most to me into their line of sight.