28. Lucie
TWENTY-EIGHT
lucie
“Meet me downstairs in five, Lucie,” Cal says.
He tucks himself away, then pulls me up to kiss me softly.
It’s a sweet, slow kiss, and I find it hard to stand since he always seems to turn my legs into limp spaghetti noodles.
But he ruins the moment by abruptly releasing me, then heads into the bathroom to wash up.
A tiny shiver runs through me at the sight of him running damp fingers through his hair.
It somehow makes him look more dangerous.
More alluring.
God help me.
All that dark, disheveled hair and the scruff of his beard.
The absolute disregard for what just happened between us.
It all crashes into me with the force of a brick to the chest. Then he turns, meets my eye, and says, “You also lost. So…”
“So?”
“Consequences.”
And then he leaves me.
I want to shower and put on layers to annoy him, but I don’t.
There’s no time. I’ve learned that Callahan’s a man of his word and he’s already annoyed.
I don’t want to add salt to the gaping wound.
I lied to him, which part of me knows was pointless and stupid.
I should have told him I met Dad alone.
But that’d be weirder than him and Mom seeing me for lunch together.
At least then it could have been written off as Mom’s idea.
I shiver when I remember the hard, cold eyes of the man who rushed past me to get into the restaurant, like I was in his way.
Dad and Callahan both have me jumping at freaking shadows.
And Callahan’s reaction when he met me outside the house pretty much screamed he didn’t believe my bullshit story.
But if I’d have told him it was just Dad I met?
Callahan would know something was up.
I have to tell him.
But how?
How the hell do I tell Callahan what Dad said?
I can’t. I don’t even really know what he was really asking when he mentioned the whole thing about taking sides since he was so evasive.
My husband would interpret it in the way my heart is, and then…
Callahan will kill him.
I bite down on my lip and dial my father’s number.
Unusually, he picks up almost immediately.
“Lucia?”
“Dad…” I don’t have much time for this call, but I need to tell him.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
I close my eyes.
“I can’t betray Callahan.” Pausing for a second, I gulp down a breath.
“You raised me to be a real wife, a dutiful one, and now I am, so I have to be loyal to him. And Dad, I know I have to be loyal to you, too. The best way for that is for you both to talk and to stick to your deal.”
“And if he turns against me?”
“He won’t.” I don’t even need to think about that.
Callahan’s hard but fair.
I live with him, I see it.
Roles reversed… I’d like to believe they’d be the same in that way.
And that Dad would be loyal, too.
“He wanted to strike a deal with you and he came to the table with what you wanted. I know he’s a man who lives by his word, and the fact he put it all in writing means you can trust him. Don’t you think?”
Dad doesn’t say anything for a while; in fact, for so long that I’m tempted to hang up or panic.
But then he chuckles.
“Good, good, you passed the test,” he says.
“And I know family comes first, but loyal to us both, yes… yes, that’s the right answer. You’re the glue holding it all together, Lucia.”
I breathe a silent sigh of relief.
“Is Mom?—?”
“I have to go, but don’t tell him about this.” Dad hangs up, and then I look at my phone.
Shit, I’m out of time.
I rush down the stairs, coming to a stop at the voices in the living room.
Seamus must be back because he’s talking.
“No, Cal, I swear I saw him?—”
“He’s starting to be seen. Good. I want my hands on O’Sullivan. Put word out that he’s to be brought to me.” Callahan’s voice holds that dark and deadly tone that makes me shiver, makes me glad he’s not out to get me.
“I’ll help find him, Cal,” Declan says.
There’s a snarl, followed by a bark and something hits the wall.
“Are you fucking insane, Dec? You keep the fuck away from any search. We’re luring him out, not starting a war. I don’t want a war with Paddy. I want him gone from this planet. By my hand.” There’s a pause.
“You’re on Arnold duty. I’m taking my wife out for the afternoon. Tonight, I’ll be on the hunt.”
That sends icicles shooting down to my toes.
“You sure you wanna do that?” Seamus asks Callahan.
“He’ll protect her,” Torin says.
“I’ll get started on the info you want.”
“Lucie’s safe with me. Aren’t you, Lucie Joy?”
I grit my teeth.
Of course he knows I’m there.
I step out from behind a column and into the living room, narrowly missing Clawzilla, who hisses and takes cover between Arnold’s feet.
“Who’s O’Sullivan?” I’ve asked this before and expect the same nonanswer as before, which is exactly what I get.
“We’re going out.” Callahan meets Torin’s gaze.
“I want any haunts that might be viable.”
Callahan takes my bag, leaves it on the coat rack, and rushes me out and into a waiting town car with Clive behind the wheel.
He doesn’t tell me where we’re going, but it’s clear when we arrive in SoHo and head into a designer clothing store.
Callahan’s all business as he picks things out and piles them up, then he slaps a credit card down on the counter.
Once everything’s bagged and delivered to the car, he takes me to four more places and I follow, quietly fuming.
It isn’t that the shops don’t have gorgeous things with even more outrageous price tags than the ones I saw when I went out with Declan, it’s just…
Shoes, lingerie, bags, coats, casual wear, tops, and one—one—pair of pants, along with an array of beautiful dresses, and I’m like a passenger, a bystander.
No input. No say.
“What’s that face for, Lucie Joy?” he asks as he casually holds his credit card out for the excited shop girl .
I narrow my eyes at her because I think some of her excitement is coming from her close proximity to Callahan, whom she can’t have.
He’s mine.
He smiles slow and comes close.
“I asked a question,” he murmurs in my ear.
“Why are you looking out of sorts?” He licks my ear and I swallow a small moan.
“Although I know what the second face was for. Don’t worry, these eyes are just for you.”
I turn into him, slide a hand down from his waist to his crotch, and grip his cock.
“That’s not my worry.”
“That’s for you, too.”
I let him go.
And when she’s rung up the sale and packaged everything, Clive comes in to help Callahan take the rest to the car.
By the time we finish at the sixth shop, evening approaches.
He keeps checking his watch as the places and streets start to empty.
Once we’re outside, I cross my arms and turn to him.
“Why did you bring me if you were going to choose everything?”
“I’ve got taste, love.”
“One of those dresses was see-through.” I know it’s meant to be worn with a body stocking or something, but I don’t care.
He takes my hand, threads his fingers with mine, and says, “I never said I had good taste. Come on.”
Callahan drags me over to Wooster Street, not caring that Clive has to drive a block to follow us.
There’s something thrilling being with Cal.
Like he went from talk of danger to dragging me around like he has no cares.
But I know he does that because there’s a reckless streak in him.
Which isn’t good. Is it?
I try and focus on that when he pulls me to a stop.
“Here we are.”
“Where’s here? ”
“You want to shop on my dime. Then in here, you have free rein.”
We’re in front of a nondescript shop front, with windows that have a soaped-over look.
No name. Nothing.
He presses a buzzer and a supermodel answers.
She probably isn’t a supermodel, but she’s tall, statuesque, thin with fantastic boobs, and a face that could stop traffic and earn her a million bucks.
“Mr. Murphy. Lucie, come in.”
I shoot him a dirty look, but he smirks.
And then… my jaw drops.
It’s beyond insane. There are exactly two racks in the store, with about six dresses each on them.
A red curved leather sofa takes up the center of the store, and there’s a big red curtain that drapes on the floor opposite.
On the far side is a slender counter with an iPad set up and some jewelry on display, a stunning pair of heels on a pedestal, and a designer bag so ridiculously ornate and small it has to be worth a fortune.
Then I see the name in red cursive.
This designer is impossibly high-end.
The clothes and accessories are sought after and an appointment at their secret location is booked months ahead.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
How the fuck did Callahan pull this off?
What am I thinking? It’s Callahan.
It really doesn’t take long to look at the dresses, and I pretty much fall in love with them all.
Callahan sits on the sofa, sipping a whiskey that Mistress Bombshell—my name for her—brings out for him.
She leaves the bottle, and he stays put on the couch, watching me.
She then models a whole bunch of other outfits and coats, and as she does that, he keeps glancing at me.
And then he seems to pick the ones I like .
“What do you want to try on, Lucie?”
I swallow.
“I…”
I’m not used to this.
My nerves are razor-edged.
When I went shopping with his brother, it was for a revenge spree.
This time it’s under his gaze, and I almost want to go back to his checklist spree where I follow him around.
“She’ll have them all in the dressing room,” he says, “along with the other things you put in there.”
“Very good, Mr. Murphy.”
As she disappears, I hiss, “Do you know how much everything costs in here?”
“Very much so, including buying out the space for the evening. She’ll make herself scarce in the back when the room’s ready. And you… you’ll tell me all about lunch today.”
Oh, shit.
A wave of heat surges up inside of me.
“It was just lunch. I had a salad.”
“Yummy,” he mutters in disgust. “I bet that was your choice.”
“Maybe it was.”
“I warned you about consequences, didn’t I?”
I swallow, then take his drink and down it, burning my throat in the process.
“Not gonna help, Lucie.”
He fills up his glass as Mistress Bombshell pulls back the curtain.
“All yours. Press the buzzer when you’re ready.”
Then, like a traitor, she disappears through an almost invisible door in the back.
“We could just take everything and leave.”
He prods me into the dressing room which is like a giant walk-in closet surrounded with mirrors and perfect lighting.
There’s a red armchair and a red bench, and apart from all the clothes on racks, there’s an array of shoes, stockings, bags, and lingerie.
“This place doesn’t do anything as vulgar as payments on the spot. They’ve got my details. She’ll pack and send us all the purchases.” He sits on the armchair.
“Now strip.”
Slowly I get undressed and finally, at his nod, I take off my underwear, too.
He crooks his finger and I walk to him until I’m between his thighs.
Callahan slides a hand up between my thighs and strokes my pussy, making the ache wind higher.
Blood rushes to my clit, making it throb.
He doesn’t touch it, though.
He’s tormenting me. I know it.
“Who did you have lunch with?”
“I told you.”
He pushes two fingers into me and sips from his refilled glass as he lazily finger fucks me, his thumb stroking just along the side of my clit.
I could come from this alone.
“Who, Lucie?”
“My parents.”
He adds another finger, curling them.
“Who?”
“I told you.”
He stops and pulls free.
“The red panties and bra. Black stockings.”
I’m shaking as I put them on, knowing that no one can sell these after this.
But I think he’s going to buy the lingerie, anyway.
“Left to right, model the dresses.”
The first one is fitted, short, and without asking me to, I slide my feet into the heels.
They’re the perfect fit.
“Take off the panties.”
I glare, wiggling out of them.
And he frees his cock, lazily stroking himself.
“Bend over and play with your cunt.”
“No.”
He considers me.
“Do it. Now.”
I don’t want to, but that tone demands I don’t disobey, so I push the dress up and do as he asked, stroking a finger through my wetness.
“Open up, Lucie. Hold your pussy open for me.”
Humiliation burns in my face as I do, the air whispering against me.
And I look in the mirror.
Callahan is up from his seat and suddenly behind me.
He grasps the cheeks of my ass, pushing his cock into my pussy, stretching me and filling me up.
I shudder hard.
He starts to slowly pump me.
“You’re not going to come. I’m going to come in you, and then you’ll try on the other dresses, dripping, and you’ll tell me the truth. Got it? This is your punishment.”
Callahan fucks me slow and deep and starts to rub my clit until I can feel it, the orgasm coming, but he can feel that inner quiver, too.
He meets my gaze in the mirror and pulls out.
“Take off the dress, Lucie. We’ll get that. Try on some more.”
I do, shaking.
And to my own eternal humiliation I start to flirt, stroke his cock, and when I have on a pretty dress with a low baby doll neckline, I push him onto the bench, then climb on top of him, sinking down, taking him deep.
“You’re not going to win,” he says.
“I am.”
“Bring it the fuck on, Lucie Joy.”
I pull down the top of the bra and free my breasts.
He sucks and licks them, then looks at me.
“Ride me hard.”
I do.
I undulate on him, trying to get off.
I mash my clit into him, the drag of his piercings almost excruciating pleasure, and when he bites my throat, I start to bounce on him, the fullness not enough.
I need more, I need all of him, and I’m getting there.
I can feel it build, the wild heat of the orgasm, the flutter inside, the pulsing of my clit as I rub it into him.
I hold him tight, bouncing harder.
I’m almost there, I’m?—
He grabs me and hauls me off him, then shoves my head down on his cock as he comes in my mouth.
“Not a fucking drop spilled or I’ll punish you for a week.”
I don’t want to be punished.
I don’t even know what he’d do, but if it’s this, him almost letting me come and denying me, I’ll take a beating.
I swallow him down. Every drop.
Just like he wanted.
Then I rip myself away and wipe my mouth.
“Asshole.”
“I guess we’ll take it all. Wear that one home. No panties.”
And the fucker presses the call button as he buttons up his pants.
I don’t speak to him for most of the ride home, but I do ask one thing, “Who’s O’Sullivan?”
“A sick fuck who tried to kill Declan when he was really young. I’m going to finish him. He’s not your business,” he says.
“And I mean that kindly. I’m protecting you. Tell me what your father wanted.”
“To make sure you treated me right,” I say.
And he just nods. Not believing me.
Callahan leaves with his brothers when we get home.
Something’s happened, I can tell, because he goes from being annoyed at me about Dad to stone-cold killer.
Under strict orders to stay home, I stare at the packages that are sitting in the hall, my shoulders slumping as my face falls into my hands .
Shit… what if something happens to him?
I don’t want that. I’m trying to protect him and Dad.
And… I grab my phone out of my bag and text him to be safe when my phone lights up.
Dad.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“I need you to do an urgent favor for me. I’m in a meeting and I need a package picked up and delivered.”
“Okay…”
“Good,” he says.
“I’ll send a car?—”
“Mikey?”
“Mikey’s busy. Be outside your place in five minutes. They’ll take you to Greyson’s on Forty-Seventh Street, you know the place I took you and your sister to years ago in the Diamond District? Ask for Rosenbaum, tell him you’re my daughter. He’ll have a package. It’s small. The car will take the package to me,” Dad says.
“But I need someone to pick it up. You.”
Before I can say anything else, Dad hangs up.
I leave the house, leaving a barking Arnold behind me.
A car pulls right up to the curb.
I’m typing a text when someone jumps out of the back seat.
I’ve seen the man before.
At the restaurant.
“D-did my dad send you?”
I quickly press send just before he smiles, showing me way too many crooked teeth.
He reaches into his waistband, pulls a gun, and points it at me.
“No. You’re the cocksucker’s slut. Just who I need. Get in.”
Irish.
And it hits me.
I think this is O’Sullivan. Fuck.