Chapter 30 Callum
CALLUM
My phone rattling on the nightstand wakes me.
I groan, half-asleep, and reach across the bed on instinct.
My palm finds cold sheets. No warm skin. No soft breath. No tangled hair across my forearm.
My eyes open.
The other side of the bed is empty.
I blink against the sunlight coming in through the curtains and look around the room. Her side of the bed is empty. No sounds from the bathroom. No shadow moving through the doorway.
My phone will not stop, so I grab it and squint at the screen.
Keira.
"Hello," I say, my voice rough from sleep.
"Were you asleep? Wow, I'm surprised."
I sit up and rub my eyes with the heel of my hand. "Yeah. What's up?"
"It's Shadowharbor. Their office has been calling me almost every day about that meeting."
My stomach tightens. The fog of sleep lifts instantly.
"No," I say, and toss the covers off of me. "We are not meeting with them."
"Yeah, I know. I know. But…"
I swing my feet to the floor and stand. The ground is cold under my bare soles. I take two steps toward the bathroom door.
"I'm close to fixing this, Keira," I say. "Stay away from them."
She sighs, and I can picture the face she is making.
"You keep saying that," she says. "But Cal, I feel like you're doing it all on your own. I know you're the fearless leader now and all, but we are a family, a team, you know."
I walk to the bathroom and glance inside. Empty. No steam on the mirror. No wet towels. Nothing.
"I know," I say, stepping back into the bedroom. "It'll all make sense soon, but I will make sure it's handled."
"I know you will, Cal. It's just…"
Another call comes in, and I look at my screen.
"It's Declan," I say, cutting her off.
"Oh, okay, take it. Love you."
"Love you," I say, and switch over. "What's up?"
"You need to get down here."
I freeze mid-step.
"Down where?"
"Warehouse 407."
I take a slow breath. "Why?"
"Because it's fucking gone!"
I grip the phone so hard the edges dig into my palm. "What do you mean, gone?"
"I mean burned to the ground. Everything destroyed, Cal. Millions fucking up in smoke."
"Is it those mother fuckers?" I ask as my mind runs the inventory automatically.
It's these kinds of losses that make people bold, make smaller rivals I have not even thought about come for you when they think you're bleeding from a much larger fish.
"Yeah, those fucking cult pieces of shit."
"Okay," I say, and walk into my closet and start grabbing clothes. "I'm on my way." I hang up.
"FUCK!" The word tears out of me as I get dressed.
I finish and snatch my gun from the drawer, slide it into my side holster, and step out into the hallway, then pause.
Zaria.
She's probably in her room.
I move down the hall toward Zaria's door and push it open without knocking.
The sound of running water greets me.
The bathroom light is on. The door is shut, but I can hear the steady hiss of running water. She's in the shower.
I step inside the room and start toward the bathroom, but stop halfway across the room.
I am too worked up. Too full of violence. Too close to ripping something apart with my hands.
The last thing I need is to snap at her after everything she did last night.
"I'll speak to her when I get back," I say under my breath.
I turn around and pull the door shut behind me.
Downstairs, my driver is waiting near the front door. He straightens when he sees me. I walk past him without slowing. "Let's go. Warehouse 407."
He hurries ahead to open the front door, then jogs to the SUV and pulls the back door open. I slide in, and the door shuts behind me.
The engine roars to life, and we pull out of the driveway.
Every red light we hit feels like a taunt. My leg bounces. My fist curls and uncurls against my thigh. I stare out the window, watching the city blur past, but soon all I see is smoke.
It is a shitty feeling, knowing when you are driving toward a fire, it is your building causing the sky to darken with thick clouds.
We pull up to the scene, and police tape is already stretched across the perimeter. Firefighters swarm the wreckage, their hoses spraying arcs of water into the collapsing structure.
I do not wait for my driver to open the door. I shove it open myself and step out.
The first thing I feel is the heat, radiating off the wreckage.
Then the smoke hits me and stings my throat.
Declan is standing off to the side with Shane and a few of our men. His arms are crossed, his face set in a grim mask.
"Son of a bitch," I say as I walk up to him.
"Yeah," Declan says, staring at the burning building.
"Good news is we've got insurance, so…" He shrugs.
I shake my head. "I'm not worried about the building. It's the products inside that we'll have to front."
Declan exhales through his nose. "Yeah…"
"Do we have any surveillance left?"
"Yeah," Declan says, and pulls out his phone. He swipes through it, then turns the screen toward me.
The video shows a few men in masks scale a ladder up to the camera. One of them holds up two black feathers, the Morrígan calling cards. They light them on fire, and the feed cuts out.
"That's the end of it," Declan says, and shoves his phone back into his pocket.
I stare at the charred remains of the warehouse, grinding my teeth together.
A firefighter approaches us, helmet tilted back, face streaked with soot. His eyes go between Declan and me.
"We've got an issue," he says.
"Yeah," I say, letting frustration bleed through. "My fucking warehouse is gone."
He glances back at the smoldering wreckage. "Yeah, well, we've also got a body."
Declan's head snaps toward the man. "Shit," he says, then looks at me, then at Shane. "Who was working?"
Shane shakes his head. "All our men are accounted for."
The firefighter shakes his head. "No. This is a woman."
"A woman?" I repeat.
"Yeah."
I look at Declan, then back at the firefighter.
"Nothing to do with us," I say.
"Well, it was in your building, so it's going to create some issues."
I step closer. "Then make them go away."
The firefighter swallows. His eyes shift down, and he nods. "I know who you are. I don't want any trouble. Homicide detectives are here. I can't really tell them to leave."
"I'll deal with them," Declan says.
"No," I say. "I'll handle this. You try and find out who's on that video."
I turn back to the firefighter. "Take me to the detectives."
He leads me through the chaos, firefighters barking orders, hoses snaking across the pavement, the crack and groan of the building collapsing in on itself.
Two detectives stand near a black sedan, one of them scribbling in a notepad. The other looks up as we approach.
I recognize him immediately, and he recognizes me too.
"Shit, this your building?" he asks.
Well, this will be easy.
I nod.
My dad had me do the payroll runs from time to time. Said it was the most important job, since you looked every man in the face who was working for you.
This one's been on our payroll for years.
"Sorry, Mr. Killaney," he says, his tone apologetic. "You mind coming to the station for some questions? Just a formality so I can close this."
"Sure," I say. "My driver will follow you."
The detective nods and gestures to his partner. They get inside their sedan, and I turn back to my SUV.
As my driver pulls out onto the road, following the detectives, I look back at my destroyed building, trying to brush it off, like it is not the city leaving its mark on me, like this is not because I've been focusing so much on her.
Now a small part of me regrets not getting in that shower with her this morning when I heard the water running. I did not need to hurry here to see this shit, and she would have calmed me.
Fuck this Morrígan Order.