Chapter 24
POV: Sorsha
Callum organized everything and made sure my father was buried. I insisted he be laid far from my mother—she didn’t need him close, not even in death.
We didn’t hold a funeral; no one would have come anyway. And if there had been one, I would have gone only out of duty.
Ryan and Edith still hadn’t been found, but that wasn’t my problem.
Sighing with pleasure, I leaned back in the tub, my thoughts spiraling. I wanted to surprise Callum, to slip into his bed while he was bathing, but nerves twisted through me.
What if we went further than kissing, and I didn’t like it? Would he be angry if I told him to stop?
Maybe I should be clear from the start—that I wouldn’t go beyond kissing, just sleep beside him. Yes, that felt both prudent and thrilling. It would let me keep control.
Wrapping myself in a towel, I peeked out of the bathroom door, rushed to my room, and shouted, “You can bathe now.”
“Thanks.”
Pulling on my nightdress, I waited until the bathroom door clicked shut before sneaking into his room. As always, his bed was perfectly made.
I ran my hands over the blanket, pulled it back, and slipped beneath it, sliding to one side to leave space for him.
My heart pounded, my palms slick. I waited.
Usually, he wasn’t long, but tonight he seemed to take forever.
Finally, the bathroom door opened. I held my breath.
He walked in with only a towel slung low around his waist. He tugged it free before he spotted me. His eyes widened, and he froze.
I couldn’t help it—my gaze dropped to his manhood, hardening by the second.
“Oh.” The sound escaped me in a rush, and I couldn’t look away.
Callum snatched the towel from the floor and covered himself. We stared at each other, suspended in the silence.
“Am I interpreting this correctly?” His voice was deep and low, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
My cramped fingers released their grip on the blanket.
“I thought we could kiss some, and maybe I could sleep beside you,” I said softly.
He nodded slowly but didn’t move.
“I don’t want you to get angry—that’s why I’m telling you now. Just in case I have to stop you and… you do.” The words tumbled out, but they’d sounded better in my head.
“Mmm.” Callum nodded again. Moving to the shelf, he pulled down a loose pair of sleep pants and slipped them on, leaving his chest bare.
He still had his back to me–maybe this had been a mistake.
Then he turned. Two strides brought him to the bed, and he slipped beneath the blanket, staring up at the ceiling.
I didn’t move. Not an inch.
“Okay,” he said softly, rolling onto his side.
Our eyes met. One arm curved around me, pulling me close without quite touching. His other slid beneath my head, and then—gently, carefully—he kissed me.
This time, I opened my mouth and kissed him back, my hand sliding up the warmth of his chest.
Snuggling closer, I pressed our bodies together— and then I understood why he’d been keeping me from touching him.
His manhood was hard, insistent, pressing against me.
He groaned and pulled me closer— then a loud knock echoed through the house, shattering the moment.
Callum stiffened, rolling onto his back.
“I will kill them,” he snapped.
I caught his arm. “Don’t do that. I’ll go see who it is.”
“No. You think I’d let you open the door in your nightdress?”
He slipped out of bed, dragged on his clothes, and strode out.
“In bed already?” a voice called.
“What the fuck do you want?” Callum growled, slamming the door behind him.
I waited, but he didn’t come back, panic prickled. I hurried into my dress and ran toward the sound of voices.
Before I reached the doorway, I heard it—though only one voice. Callum wasn’t speaking, and that silence frightened me more than rage.
I yanked the door open. A man stood outside, palms raised as if begging Callum to stay calm. Without thinking, I darted between them, facing the stranger as I wound my arms tight around Callum.
“Mrs. Sullivan, yes?” The man smiled—well-dressed, somewhere in his fifties.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“My name is Gordon Jones. I’m a good friend of your husband’s.”
Callum scoffed and tried to peel my arms off. I clung tighter, refusing to let go. When he shoved me back, I didn’t think—I hurled myself at him. He caught me on instinct, and I wrapped my arms and legs tight around his body.
“Callum’s never mentioned you,” I pressed.
“What are you doing?” Callum hissed, though his hands on me were still gentle.
I kissed him softly. “Shh. Let me handle this.”
“Let’s have tea,” I suggested brightly.
“He’s not stepping into my house,” Callum declared, his voice clipped.
The man smiled faintly. “To answer your question—I organize Callum’s fights. Normally, I wouldn’t force the issue, but he took another fighter’s place when he faced Clash. Now that fighter wants the bout he was promised.”
I felt Callum’s chest expand beneath me, his breath sharp, his hands no longer gentle but tight, braced as though holding himself back. Before the fury could break loose, I seized his mouth with mine.
My lips crashed against his, fierce and unyielding. For a heartbeat, he resisted—his mouth hard, unresponsive—then something shifted. His lips softened, and the kiss deepened, hungry and consuming.
The world narrowed to that moment: his breath mingling with mine, the taut lines of his body slowly unwinding under my touch.
I broke the kiss only when my lungs burned. “Let’s have tea,” I whispered, feeling his rage falter, slipping away like air from a storm.
“Okay,” he agreed.
“The missus knows how to deal with you—take the edge off,” Gordon cackled, the sound raising every hair on my body.
I didn’t like him.
Callum carried me inside, Gordon slipping in quietly behind us. Why hadn’t he told the other fighter that Callum wasn’t interested?
When he set me down and lit the oil lamps, I shot Gordon another look. Was he here for money?
I busied myself with the kettle, relieved the fire hadn’t gone out. The simple task steadied me as water hissed and boiled.
When I placed a steaming cup in Callum’s hands, he drained it in one swallow. Gordon, by contrast, only sipped, eyeing me over the rim of his cup as though testing for poison.
“Who is he?” Callum rasped, anger just under the surface.
“He goes by The Don. Shorter than you, but wiry. I’ve seen him fight, but he’s tightly controlled, so I don’t know if he is a berserker.”
“Why the fuck did you make me the offer?”
Gordon wrung his hands. “He overheard me telling Hammer that I’d seen you. You have a reputation, so he insisted I get you to face Clash. It was a prior conclusion that Clash would beat Hammer,” he paused, then added with a sigh, “He wants to fight you.”
“I don’t give a shit. I’m retired.”
“He won’t back off,” Gordon said.
“Since when is this my problem, and why are you here so late?” Callum bristled.
“Because I had no choice,” he said. “My reputation is on the line.”
Callum drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. I slipped my arms around him from behind at once.
“Callum won’t be fighting. If you want the ten crowns back, I’ll give them to you,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.