Chapter 28 Callum
CALLUM
By the time I leave the docks, the sun is already setting.
We caught two people trying to break into our warehouse today, from the Order, of course.
They didn't talk, no matter how persuasive I was. My slightly swollen knuckles and the spattered blood on my skin and shirt are a testament to their silence.
It makes no difference. Cormac dies next week. Zaria gives me the intel for another ritual they'll have, and this time, I'm bringing my army. Declan is amped up and ready. I still haven't told him, or anyone for that matter, about Zaria. I will when I'm ready.
And thinking of Zaria, it's been one week since she showed up in my room and never left.
We've been spending all our free time together, her body keeping my bed warm.
I can't seem to get enough of her. Once I crossed that line, it was like a dam breaking and everything came flooding in.
Even now, I'm speeding through Boston, faster than I should. Every mile puts me closer to the estate. Closer to her. To her body and lips.
Her scent is all over me, and I'm obsessed with it.
Even now, as I stop at a red light and tap the steering wheel impatiently, I catch myself smiling.
She's been doing that to me lately.
I pull into the estate just after seven. The gates close behind me, sealing the world out.
One of my men approaches as I get out of the car.
"Sir, the boxes have arrived," he says and nods over to them. "Where should we put them?"
I follow his gaze. Shit, I didn't think it'd be so many. There must be about twenty boxes of all different sizes stacked by the door.
The other night, as Zaria lay next to me asleep, I went online and bought a ton of history books. I figured if it's something she loves, she should have her own collection.
When they came, I was going to have a housekeeper make some room on the shelves in our library. Looks like I'm going to need to speed that process up and give her more than a few shelves.
"Put them in the garage for now," I say, and a few of my men walk over and start picking them up.
I walk into the house, and I hear Zaria's voice in the kitchen. She's talking to Linda, my chef.
I almost make it into the room when I hear Zaria's voice again.
"Stop right there," she says. "Turn around. I'm not ready yet."
"Ready?" I ask, confused. "For what?"
"Something. Do you have anything you can do for, uhh…" she trails off, "twenty minutes?"
I look down at my bloodstained hands. "Shower."
"Perfect. Do that and then come back," she says. "And that goes in there?"
"Goes in what?"
"Nothing, nothing," she says. "See you soon."
I give a short laugh and go upstairs to shower.
It doesn't take me twenty minutes, so I get dressed, and to kill some time, I go over shipping logs on my phone, signing off on paper towels and toilet paper on the customs paperwork, which seem innocent but are really guns and drugs that Declan will push on to Enzo and Ares in Chicago.
Once that's done, I slowly walk back down to the kitchen.
"You ready for me?" I ask, staying around the corner.
"Yes," she says.
I turn the corner, and she's standing by the island with a big smile on her face.
"For you," she says, and with both her hands, points to the plate next to her.
It's surrounded by tall, glowing candles and a short cup full of brown liquid.
"Colcannon with bacon," she says, and pointing to the glass, "and your favorite whiskey."
I step into the kitchen in disbelief. She did this for me?
I've killed men today. Beaten them until my knuckles split. And I come home to this, candles, her proud smile, a meal she made with her own hands.
I don't deserve this.
But standing here, looking at her waiting for my reaction, I realize something that scares the shit out of me, I want it anyway.
"You didn't have to do any of this," I say.
"Well," she says with a smile, "I made it, so let's see how you feel after trying it," she says, laughing.
"I'm sure it's going to be great," I say and lean in to kiss her.
"Sit, sit," she says and goes over to the stove, bringing another plate over. "We can eat it together. I've never had it."
I take a seat, and she sits next to me. I take a drink of whiskey, and it tastes better than it ever has before.
She looks at me intently, waiting for me to pick up my fork and try it.
I take a bite, and it's honestly the best I've had.
"Well?!" she says, sitting up straight. "Linda said that was your favorite bacon, so I used that."
"It's delicious, Zaria."
"Really?!"
I nod, swallowing. "Yes. I haven't had this in a long time. Wow," I say, taking another bite. "I forgot how good this is."
Zaria's face goes red from smiling so much. "I'm so happy," she says and tries it. "Oh, it is good," she says, laughing. "I did alright."
"Linda better watch out," I say.
"I'd cook for you every day, Callum," she says and looks at me, smiles, and turns away, "if you'd want."
I grab her chin, turning her to look at me. "I'd like that," I say, and kiss her.
We talk and eat, and while I've never had this as a main meal, I don't mind. She made it, and it's perfect.
"Oh, I thought," she says in between bites, "the Boston Red Sox are playing. Maybe we can watch a game. You said the other day you hadn't had time to watch them play this season."
I almost can't comprehend how her actions are making me feel. I'm not used to any of this from a woman.
"Sure," I say and lean into her, "if we can watch it in the bedroom."
She laughs and rolls her eyes. "Of course we can."
I take a few more sips of my whiskey, a few more bites of my food, and a few more kisses from her.
When we're done, she stands. "I can clean up."
"What?" I say. "No. I've got someone for that. Come on, you've done enough."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Okay, then let's go," she says and takes my glass and the bottle of whiskey.
We head up the stairs to my room. We sit on the couch in front of the TV, and she turns it on.
"Okay," she says, looking over the remote. "It's supposed to be on this channel," she says and raises the remote, pointing it at the TV.
The game turns on, and a smirk comes across my face.
"You making me sit here and watch this is the only way I would, so thank you," I say, leaning back against the couch. "Come sit next to me."
"In a second," she says and hands me a freshly poured glass, then walks around the couch behind me. "You just relax," she continues and starts rubbing my shoulders.
"Wow, I could get used to this," I say as a joke.
"Well, this is my way of taking care of you a little. With all that you've done for me, it's your turn for a little relaxing."
I want to say something in response, but the way she works on my shoulders and neck muscles makes me stay quiet and enjoy what she's doing.
No one's ever done this for me.
My entire life has been about carrying weight, being the one who never breaks. And here she is, trying to take some of that weight off my shoulders. Literally.
I should tell her she doesn't have to. That this isn't her job.
But I don't.
Because fuck, it feels good to let someone care.
"Oh, I wanted to thank you," she says, her hands sliding up into my hair, rubbing my scalp, "for the nightlights."
She saw them.
This morning, before I left for the day, I had one of the housekeepers put sixteen auto-sensor nightlights throughout the house so no hallway or room would be dark anymore. Zaria hadn't mentioned the house being too dark, but I didn't want her to have to.
"Yeah, I didn't want anyone tripping walking around at night," I say.
"Mmm-hmm," she says.
She continues rubbing me, and at some point, her hands start to come down the front of me, rubbing my chest. She leans against me, her breasts pressing up against my head.
"You keep doing that and I'll need you to rub something else," I say.
She leans down and kisses my cheek and whispers into my ear, "That's the point."
She walks around and stands in between my legs. I look up at her.
She smiles and drops to her knees and reaches for my belt.
"Tonight's all about you," she says, "and making you feel good."