Chapter 2
Callum
Indelible (adj) impossible to erase or forget
The steady ticking of the clock on the wall is punctuated now and again by distant rumbles of thunder.
I stand at the window in my darkened study, a neat glass of whiskey in my hand, looking out at the dreary evening.
The clouds are dark, impenetrable, oppressive.
How fitting, I think to myself as I take a long drink from the glass.
I feel the burn spread through my chest, then into my bloodstream like a warm rush.
In the distance, across the darkening line of oaks and pines, I can just make out the roof of the Collins’ place. Her place.
Tonight, she doesn’t have a choice in the matter. I smile to myself as the whiskey burns its way down my throat and anticipation builds inside me.
Callum 16 Years Old
“Will you be able to get out tomorrow night to go to the party at Lincoln’s?” I asked.
Maeve was lying on her back, staring at the night sky.
My hand rested lightly on her stomach, and I watched her closely, trying to concentrate.
We were tucked away in a small section of her mother’s garden where the bushes were tall enough to give us privacy.
It had always been a special spot of ours.
As kids, we’d hide here during games of hide and seek with Thadg, Orin and Ronan.
But these days, things between Maeve and me were… different.
As I stared at her, I realized that she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
Her long, strawberry blonde hair fanned out around her head on the grass, and her light green eyes slowly drifted between constellations in the night sky.
I could see them reflected there, could see every freckle on her nose.
Her fingers ran lightly over the top of my hand aimlessly, and her lips curved in a small smile.
“You’re staring at me again,” she whispered, still looking at the stars.
“I’m always staring at you.”
“I know,” she said, turning toward me. “I like it.”
“Good. Because I like doing it. Now about the party…”
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” she said with a sigh. “Nessa is going to be my cover. We’re telling my dad that we’ll be studying at her house.”
“Great,” I reply, hoping I sounded pleasant and not annoyed.
Nessa was something else, and not in a good way.
She was a brat, really. She seemed to feel a sense of superiority since her father, Liam, was also in the business.
Everyone else knew the truth, though. He was only part of the business because he’d been married to Cormac’s late sister Eimear, and even now, was only “in” on a need-to-know basis.
There was something off about Liam. Something I couldn’t put my finger on, and apparently Cormac felt the same, always keeping him at arm’s length.
There was something off about Nessa, too, but that one was easier to figure out.
It was all part of her roleplay as some kind of mafia princess.
Any time Ronan, Thadg, or Orin were around, she was all high-pitched giggles, grasping their arms and flipping her hair, asking them questions about what was happening in the warehouses.
Not to mention the fact that she was always inviting me to spend time with her alone, without Maeve.
She’d long since given up asking me for information, but still tried shamelessly to seduce me.
I’d managed to successfully dodge that bullet so far, though.
I just wrote it off as desperation to fit in with us, to be a real part of “the life,” as she called it.
I just wasn’t sure whether I should tell Maeve or not.
They were best friends and cousins, and I knew Maeve would feel betrayed, regardless of how pathetic Nessa really was.
And Maeve was in short supply of friends.
Cormac was very protective, and he carefully monitored her comings and goings.
He had damn good reason to, of course, but Maeve couldn’t be in the loop on that.
Not yet, anyway. I didn’t feel great about keeping things from her, but ever since we were kids, I’d had this primal need to protect her at all costs.
And sometimes, that meant keeping things from her.
Maeve was still staring at me, running her fingers through my hair.
It felt so good. I closed my eyes and inhaled heavily, taking in the scent of her vanilla lotion.
I leaned closer and buried my face at the base of her neck, kissing her collarbone as I slid my hand over her waist and pulled her against me.
I felt her fingers tighten in my hair, heard her whimper quietly, and I lost it.
I slid my hand up her back and brought my lips to hers, kissing her deeply.
Things started heating up quickly. Without thinking, I rolled on top of her, sliding my knee between her legs.
She gasped as I kissed her neck. I lifted her shirt, letting my fingers trail across her skin, and began kissing down her stomach.
She arched her back, and I felt her fingernails sink into my shoulders.
A groan rumbled in my chest as I reached the edge of her jeans, my fingers fumbling to unbutton them.
“Callum,” she moaned, her voice a hoarse whisper. I paused and looked up at her.
“Callum, I don’t… I don’t want my first time to be in the backyard of my dad's house.”
I sighed and pulled her shirt back down, then crawled back up so that my face was hovering just above hers. She was biting her lip nervously, and I felt like an eejit.
“While I would love nothing more than to ravage you,” I say, waggling my eyebrows suggestively, “I do want our first time to be special. So, if you’re not feeling it, I’m not feeling it.”
Her brows rose, and she sagged, releasing a breath I didn’t realize she had been holding. “You’re not upset?”
I laughed and shook my head, gazing down at her. “Maeve,” I said, dipping my head so that our noses were almost touching, ”How could I be upset? I love you. You’re the most important thing to me. Not sex.”
She smiled up at me and kissed me lightly. Without a word, I sat back on my heels and reached into my back pocket for the little green box I’d stashed there. I held it out in front of me like an offering at her altar, and she leaned up on her elbows, her eyes wide.
“Maeve, I… I know we’re still teenagers, and it seems crazy, but… I want to promise you that I’ll always love you, always care for you, and always be right there when you need me. Hell,” I said with a nervous laugh, “I’ll even be there when you think you don’t need me.”
She laughed breathlessly, and I gave her a wink as I opened the box to reveal the promise ring I’d designed for her—a rich blue sapphire surrounded by tiny white diamonds, set in a gold band.
I’d been saving for it for over a year. Good thing business was booming.
If only the business were something normal, like a used car lot or a furniture store.
Then, things would be perfect, and we wouldn’t be having to sneak around like this.
She was now sitting up with silent tears falling from her eyes. She just held out her left hand, and I slid it on. Perfect fit.
“I love you, Maeve Collins.”
She grabbed my face and kissed me, hard at first, but her lips softened, then parted, and I felt myself starting to lose it again.
I pulled her to me, and she wrapped her arms around my neck.
I rolled onto my back, bringing her with me.
The feeling of her body lying against mine was…
Fuck, I couldn’t think straight. I stroked her tongue with mine slowly, then caught her bottom lip between my teeth as I pulled her hips down into me.
She gasped softly, and I growled playfully in response.
I wonder what it is about this girl that has me so hooked as we lose ourselves in each other.
A knock at the door jolts me from my thoughts. Just the memory of her has me excited. I clear my throat and adjust myself.
“Come in,” I say softly.
Ronan throws the door open dramatically and walks in with a wry grin, wearing a pair of dark slacks and a black button-up shirt.
“We clean up nicely, brother,” he says, holding out his arms as if presenting himself.
“What did you do, raid my closet?” I say, my brows raised as I look at him, then down at my outfit. We’re matching. “Do I not pay you enough to buy your own clothes?”
Ronan chuckles, slapping me on the shoulder jovially, then pouring himself a drink from the decanter on my desk.
Ronan isn't my actual brother, but he very well could have been. His father, Eoin, was my father’s enforcer, so Ronan had grown up on the estate and was practically raised alongside me.
His mother had died from a drug overdose when he was five years old, and he needed someone to fill that absence.
My mother, Aisling, had done her best, taking him under her wing and treating him like another son.
These days, Ronan was not only my best friend but also my right hand.
When I take my father Niall’s place as head of the family business, Ronan will take Eoin’s place as the primary enforcer.
The boss-enforcer relationship is incredibly sacred in our line of work, built on years of experience and trust. Over the years, Ronan and I had watched my father and Eoin run the business and all of their men with an iron fist, learning everything we could from them.
But where Eoin’s demeanor was cold and stony, Ronan’s was…
not. Eoin wouldn’t hesitate to break someone’s jaw, while Ronan preferred more of a swaggered approach, cracking jokes and taking the measure of a situation before deciding exactly how to break someone.
We used to be very much alike in that department, but the past nine years had been hard, and I’d grown a little more serious and a lot more angry.
We did still look similar, and those who didn’t know any better assumed we were brothers. Both of us had dark, chocolate brown hair and light eyes, but mine were blue while his were a dark shade of green, darker than Maeve’s pale green.
Maeve. Her face blazes in my mind once again, and I can’t believe I’m about to sit down to dinner with her.
I wonder what’s going through her mind right now, whether she’s nervous, excited, or pissed off.
This will already be a shock to her. As far as she knows, our two families have been at odds for almost a decade.
Throw me into the mix, and it’s a perfect storm for the most awkward dinner of the century.
Ronan clapped a firm hand on my shoulder, pulling me back to reality.
"It’s about that time. You ready?” he asked, looking at me closely, his eyes slightly narrowed. I sigh and toss back the rest of the whiskey.
“Nope,” I say brightly, setting the glass down on the table and straightening my collar.
We walk out of my study with Ronan leading the way.
I shove my fists into my pockets, roll my shoulders, and take a deep breath.
I feel antsy, uncomfortable in my skin. My muscles tense with every step I take and the adrenaline is only slightly dulled by the whiskey.
Thanks to years of boxing and more unofficial kinds of combat, I’m usually at ease in my body. Not tonight, though.
I follow Ronan down the dimly lit hallway, our steps echoing off the high ceilings from the polished oak floors.
We pass evenly spaced sconces illuminating portraits of past generations of Egan’s, intricate landscapes, and curious abstract pieces, all commissioned and collected by my mother: philanthropist, art connoisseur, and stone-cold mafia magnate.
I smile despite myself as I descend the stairs behind Ronan, who is whistling and swinging his arms loosely, entirely at ease. Bastard.
At the bottom of the stairs, my father is helping my mother into her coat.
“There you two are,” she says, smiling as her eyes dart back and forth between Ronan and me, no doubt taking in our similar appearances.
“Upon my word, boys,” my father says as he turns toward us. “Looks like you’re dressed for a funeral.”
Ronan smirks and claps me on the back jovially. “Well, sir, the night is young. There may be one yet.”
“Looks like the rain has cleared up some,” my father says, glancing out of the front windows. “It was absolutely pissing earlier.”
“Niall,” my mother says plaintively, rolling her eyes. “Alright, let’s get going.”
We walk out the carved double doors together, and I see Ronan’s blacked-out Bentley Continental GT parked in the circular driveway.
He had never been one to ask for anything, but after hearing him talk about the car over and over again, as if it were his long-lost lover, I broke down and bought it.
He drives everywhere, anyway. Loves driving, actually, so I figured he might as well drive something he likes.
We all stroll toward the cars, my parents chatting with Ronan animatedly. I catch a glimpse of Eoin’s shadowed profile in my parents’ black G-Wagon, waiting patiently. He was never one for conversation, preferring to stick to the sidelines and shadows.
“See you there,” my mother says, looking back at me over her shoulder before climbing in through the door my father had opened for her. I smile tightly at her and nod. My father closes the door behind her, then claps a hand on my shoulder.
“Steady now, son,” he says, then climbs into the passenger seat. Eoin nods at me from the driver’s seat, his brow permanently furrowed. I nod back as my father closes the door, and watch them pull around the circle and down the driveway.
I sigh and turn toward the Bentley. Ronan has his forearms propped on the roof, watching me.
“I don’t know, man,” he says casually, looking up at the cloudy night sky. “I have a good feeling about all this.”
“I wish I shared your optimism,” I say, opening the passenger door and sliding in.
Since the Collins place is so close, the drive seems to take only seconds.
I watch the darkening trees and looming houses pass by in a blur as I lean against the door, my elbow propped on the armrest. I can feel the nerves start to set in, anchoring under my skin, and I can hear the blood rushing in my ears.
Fuck, I think as we cross through the gate into the Collins estate, where I’d spent a large portion of my childhood. The sound of the gravel shifting from the weight of the tires fills the silence, and finally, we come to a stop, parking in the wide driveway next to my parents’ SUV.
Here we go, I think as I school my face to indifference and climb out of the car.