27. Callahan
TWENTY-SEVEN
callahan
I swallow down the growl clawing at the sides of my throat as I clean the blood from my bruised hand, knuckles slightly grazed from my victim’s teeth.
He isn’t finished—as in dead.
I don’t kill every person who crosses me, but in teaching certain lessons, letting a fucker sit and fester in his own fear and pain is useful.
And yeah, entertaining.
The phone call to Lucie goes to voicemail, but I don’t leave a message.
I shake the water from my hands and end the call.
Where the fuck is she?
She should be home.
Answering my goddamn call.
It wouldn’t bother me so much except she didn’t answer an hour ago, either.
Now I call Dec, who’s supposed to be on Lucie duty.
“What?” he says in that innocent voice that makes me suspicious every fucking time.
“ What? ” I snarl, mimicking him.
“Where the fuck is my wife? It doesn’t sound like you’re home. ”
“Calm down.”
“Declan, are you home?” My voice drops and is now dangerously quiet.
I think he gets the hint.
“I’m not,” my brother says.
“I’m in a bar of?—”
“Fuck.”
“Calm down, Cal. In a bar of a restaurant. I’m in the corner drinking a soda.” He sounds disgusted.
“Seems your little bird wanted to stretch her wings.”
“And you let her.”
I stalk out of the bathroom in the basement of the pawn shop, gripping the phone tight as my brother speaks.
“Come on, Cal. You can’t stop her. And I didn’t realize she was a prisoner. You know there’s a difference between prisoner and wife, right? Didn’t you say way before this you didn’t care what the de Rosa girl did—outside of blatant betrayal or y’know, shooting you dead—because you had the deal?”
I did say that.
Before I met the wrong de Rosa girl and married her.
Now… Fuck. It’s complicated and annoyance swells in my chest. “Who is she meeting?”
“Ah,” he says with a forced laugh.
“That.”
“Yes, that. Don’t make me fucking pistol-whip you when we get home. Or cut off your tiny pecker.”
“Christ, get it together, Cal. She’s having lunch with her dad. I’m watching. They’re on dessert. Okay? Well, her dad’s shoveling dessert into his face; I don’t think she has any. And she doesn’t look happy. Is that good or bad?”
Fuck, I don’t know, it could be either.
Her father getting her to meet him and her going without telling me isn’t good.
But why is she unhappy?
What did that bastard say to her?
“Don’t let them out of your sight,” I say.
“And Declan?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t tell her I know she’s with him.” I hang up .
“What was that about?” Seamus doesn’t look up from the glassed-off area of the closed pawn shop, a nice little place we use as a holding spot and a place to make all kinds of transactions.
We always keep either a For Sale or Sold sign in the window, and it changes with our mood.
Businesses come and go in this part of the Lower East Side, so this fits right in.
We look after the small businesses on this street—the bodega, corner bar, dry cleaner, taco shop, and the family-run restaurant.
All of it.
They pay us for protection, and that’s what we give them.
But today, we’re here for more than just protection.
We sometimes use the dry cleaner to move product, but we also make sure their other enterprises are kept off radars.
Our guest in the pawn shop is the kind of rat no one wants around.
They want him gone.
And I need to know if he’s just muscling in or is part of something bigger.
I’m guessing it’s the former, but anyone who’s extorting anyone under my protection is fucking with me and will be punished.
“Keep our guest unhappy and get whoever works on him to find out where the asshole’s operations might lead. I’ve had a discussion with him already.”
“We letting him go?”
“Only if he’s not tied to our friend Paddy or anyone else too nasty. I think he might just be trying to make a name for his gang. That’s on you to figure out. And if that’s the case, we let him go with the understanding that working with us is smarter than working against us.”
“Okay.” My brother nods, then looks up as I start for the door.
“But that’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” I stop before I reach the door and examine an old Nintendo in a box covered in dust. “Lucie’s at lunch with her father.”
“That a problem, Cal?”
“Not sure. I still don’t trust him.”
“You never trust anyone more than the base requirements. What’s different about this?” Seamus asks quietly.
“I don’t know. It just is. Maybe…” Shit.
Because it’s Lucie? Or is it the toxic fucking undercurrent I pick up from him?
“He’s hungry.”
“So are we.”
“I know. But… it just feels different.” I need to change the subject because these are dangerous waters.
Ones that lap up against Lucie, the tide pushing me closer to her with every fucking swell of the water.
“What about Paddy?”
“Well.” Seamus stops.
He taps on his laptop, then checks his iPad.
“Well.”
“What the fuck about a well? Did he fall down one?”
He slants me a look.
“You’re not funny, Cal. A man fitting his description has been seen here and there and it seems, at the club you’re buying. On the night you were there with Lucie. Someone we protect passed it along. He happened to be there with his girl and said he saw you, Cal, with your wife, and a man followed you.”
“Fits Paddy’s description.”
Seamus looks back at the laptop.
“You didn’t see him?”
“No, I didn’t fucking see him.”
“Well, our guy only saw you being followed to the second floor, but then the guy came down and passed the information along.”
I nod, not liking the fact that my preoccupation with Lucie stopped me from picking up on Paddy’s presence.
But I don’t expect Paddy to just follow me around like a fucking puppy .
He’s making a move.
“That it?” I ask.
He nods. “That’s it.”
I square my shoulders and push open the door of the pawn shop without another word.
I decide to walk. It’s a nice enough day, and the walk home isn’t that long.
I text Declan and tell him to let me know the minute she’s ready to leave the restaurant.
A car ride home might shave minutes off, depending on traffic, but I’m willing to go for it if it means beating my fucking bride home.
As I head home, I call her father to set up a meeting for next week with a contact he’s being dying to meet, one that isn’t in our agreement list, and one that I know for a fact is heading back to Europe.
A postponed meeting, a cancellation, they happen, but it’s a way for me to spend time with him and try and get information from him.
Of course, he doesn’t pick up because he’s occupied with his daughter, but I leave a short message.
He didn’t want me to know about their lunch for some reason, so I’m playing it like I don’t.
I’m not out to shaft him or anyone.
I don’t play it that way; I don’t have to.
The reputation I’ve built is one most would sell their soul for.
I’m hard, cruel, and violent.
I’ll kill in the blink of an eye, but my word means something.
I don’t double-cross.
But I will do what is necessary to protect what I’ve built.
My contact wouldn’t ever do business with de Rosa.
He’s got no love for American Italian mafia.
He’ll meet him as a favor to me if it comes down to it.
I just need to find out what de Rosa wants.
Because he wants something.
It’s not the bomb that bugs me.
It’s the favors he asks for.
Like I owe him or he’s out to see just how much he can get out of me.
Like I’m indebted to him or some shit.
It also pisses me off that he’s only seeing his daughter now.
A girl he’s not bothered himself with since he handed her over to me.
A father-daughter lunch isn’t common.
She’d have told me about it.
And I’d have been invited.
He wants something from her, which means he wants something from me.
“Fuck,” I mutter, opening the front door to my house.
I’m greeted by a barking, happy dog and an annoyed Torin who’s cuddling the damn kitten.
Do I even know these brothers?
Why are they so enamored with this scrap of fur?
“Thank Christ. I think he needs a walk.”
“Why’ve you got the cat, Tor?”
He shrugs, looking away.
“It’s… cute?”
“No, it’s a rat.” I look at him.
“You could have taken Arnold out.”
“I’m waiting for a call and doing some deep dives into the restaurant and the club.” He shakes his head as I clip the lead to a suddenly dancing Arnold.
“It all looks good. You can go ahead.”
I nod and lead Arnold outside.
We walk up and down the street, keeping an eye out for my girl.
His girl. Our girl.
Arnold does his business and then starts to pull me forward.
I can tell he wants to run but I’m not in the mood.
Declan can get his lazy ass outside for some exercise and take Arnold later.
I’m not exactly dressed for a run, and I want to be home when Lucie gets back.
Arnold gives a disapproving bark as he tries again to get me to run, but I just ruffle his fur, pet his velvet ears, and say, “Sorry, buddy. One of the guys will take you later. ”
I kneel and look him in the eye.
“And I promise I’ll take you for a run tomorrow. Extra long.”
He huffs air but doesn’t try to pull the lead again.
“Good boy. I wish the world was as good as you.”
I might not have a place in such a world, but that would be fine.
A few seconds later, an SUV pulls to a stop next to the curb outside the house.
The back door opens and Lucie climbs out.
We make eye contact and she freezes.
The SUV moves slowly into the street, no doubt to give Vincent a report on me, the cowardly fuck.
It’s right then that I decide I hate him.
I stop just short of wishing I never entered into the agreement.
I can’t wish that. I’d be working harder, pointlessly, and his name gets me places, makes me the kind of introductions I want without months of work.
And it gets me Lucie.
But the man?
I definitely hate him.
“Darling,” I say, letting the sarcasm drip, “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve been out.”
“No.” I place hand to heart and earn a reproachful growl from Benadog Arnold.
“Really?”
Her mouth thins, but she blushes and guilt shines everywhere.
“I’m allowed out, right?”
“Depends on where you went.”
She hesitates, then turns, marches up the stoop, and unlocks the door before disappearing inside.
Arnold growls at me, but I ignore him as two more cars pull up.
Declan gets out of one of them and a guard steps out of the second one.
He doesn’t even look at me, just heads down the street to check things out.
Clive’s in the driver’s seat of the car Dec jumped out of, and maybe it’s all overkill as there’s another guard down the street, but I want twenty-four seven surveillance of the area.
Posting an obvious guard is good in certain circumstances, as is having one in the house, but I like to constantly have the street watched in order to get a long-term feel of my surroundings.
I’m finally calm enough to give in to Arnold’s pull on the leash to head inside.
We head in and I unclip the leash.
Arnold doesn’t waste any time leaping onto Declan.
And I go upstairs to find my Lucie.
I close the door of the bedroom behind me.
“Where were you?”
“Out.”
I sigh.
“Come the fuck here.”
For a moment, I don’t think she’s going to do it, and if it was anyone else, I’d be pissed the fuck off.
But with her? It generates fingers along my cock excitement.
Disobedience suits her, even if it flares for just a few fleeting seconds.
“And if I don’t?”
“Do you want to find out what’ll happen?”
Something hot sparks in her eyes and my cock throbs.
“Depends on the punishment.”
“Really? I’ll file that away. Come. Here.”
This time she does and she presses against me.
I take her mouth in a deep, hard kiss, my tongue twisting with hers.
The passion and heat the connection brings comes in like a storm, and behind it, I taste something like desperation.
I’ll get the truth. I know the truth.
But I want it from her.
Her hands are on my chest, twisting at my nipple piercings, the little deviant that she is.
And fuck yeah, I think about taking her to the best piercer in the city.
I don’t know who that is, but I’ll find out.
I want to see her nipples pierced, her clit too.
Of course, that’d take someone touching her and ruining her pristine state, but a man can fucking dream.
I slide a hand in her hair and pull her away.
“Knees.”
She slips down, using me to do so, and when she’s there, mouth close to my rock-hard dick, her hot breath taunting it beneath the confines of my pants, she looks up and twists something inside of me.
“Where were you?”
Her eyes slip from mine for a nanosecond but I catch it.
“Dad called.”
“Does that often, does he?” More sarcasm and she rolls her eyes in response.
“He wanted to have lunch. Mom and Dad both.”
Fucking lies.
There are, as I keep saying, consequences.
“Take out my cock and make me come. You have three minutes. I’ll time you. And you can use your hands on my balls.” I look at my watch.
“Go.”
Hunger rolls over her face and it’s real.
It spikes the aching need in me higher, and I know I might not make it the full three minutes.
Her hands shake as she frees me and pulls me out of my boxer briefs.
She licks and kisses me, fingers massaging and playing with my balls.
Her tongue slides over the piercings, and she sucks on every motherfucking one.
Nope, definitely not going to make it.
So I settle back, giving myself the private goal of two minutes.
Then she starts to pull me deep.
That hot wetness is familiar, perfect, and she sucks me hard, going all the way down and choking.
I feel it, hear it. The sounds she makes are music, the vibrations a masterpiece.
She starts to bob her head, taking me all the way down and nearly all the way out.
Each time she sucks, her tongue slips along the underside of my cock.
The soft scrape of her teeth on my flesh and the pull on my piercings adds to the experience, and now I honestly don’t think I can make it two fucking minutes.
Shit.
What did her father say to make her lie?
It’s such a stupid lie, he must have said something.
And she has to suffer.
I can make her, edge her for a day and not let her come.
Oh, fuck. My body is alive, and I feel the tingle from the bottom of my feet as it surges up through my balls and spine.
She sucks me down her throat and both gags and swallows, the beat of those contractions too much.
I grab her hair tight, force her farther onto me as the need for release rolls up, making my dick pulse.
I come hard down her throat and she fucking swallows it.
My cock doesn’t even have room to jerk because she’s sucking and holding me so tight.
When I’m done, I let her go and she slides off my cock.
I stagger back against the wall.
Fuck me.
This girl, she’s?—
No.
I don’t allow myself to even finish the thought.
She’s nothing. A means to an end.
And if I tell myself that enough, maybe I’ll believe it.