FIFTY-SEVEN ACOOOOOIG, AT YOUR SERVICE #2
Callan softens at my declaration, sticks out his hand again, and doesn’t let it drop until I shake it.
That has my shoulders sagging—somehow, without meaning to, I realize I just passed a test that I couldn’t afford to fail.
Callan might look sweeter than an ice cream sundae complete with sprinkles, hot fudge, and chocolate syrup, but there’s more to that whackadoodle brain of his than I first thought.
He turns to Shay. “You better not let her down.”
Shay’s gaze locks on Callan’s. “I don’t intend to.” And finally, the dick-measuring contest ends and they also shake hands. “You can understand why this is being kept under wraps, Callan.”
“Oh, for sure. But if I brought this up with anyone, they’d think I was nuts,” is his cheery reply.
“Especially as I’m pretty sure Conor O’Donnelly is a crack white hat who has ties to the Irish Mob.
Seeing as I don’t have a death wish, I’ll say this—you’ll need all the help from the Veronians you can get and the years between now and your eligibility to run to clear your name.
That kind of stench is difficult to evade. Trust me, I’d know.”
“You’re Clyde’s boy?” It comes as no shock to me that Conor’s done some investigating of his own while we were talking.
“Yes. Unfortunately.”
“Is he guilty?”
Callan’s laugh is bitter. It’s in such a stark contrast to his earlier cheerfulness that it makes it all the more jarring to witness now. “Oh, yes. I hope he rots. I hate men who hurt women, and that’s my father through and through.”
“I think we can all agree with that,” I rasp.
“You sure you’re ready for what they’ll ask of you?”
“I’m sure that I’m not.”
Callan nods. “I find that pretty reassuring. Do we agree that we keep this conversation under wraps so our mutual friends don’t think we’re all monsters? Either that or insane? It’s taken me a long time to make friends. I’d hate to scare them away by being, well, me.”
I snort. “I think we can agree on that.”
Shay dips his chin.
“So the Dyers are Veronians,” Conor echoes.
“They are.”
“If Sr. is paying off the faculty, who knows what else he’s doing.
“Callan, I’ll gladly help the cause, but just so you know, if you betray Seamus or Victoria, it’ll be the last thing you do.”
For a nerd, I’m impressed with his calm response in the face of a deadly threat.
Conor’s a white-hat hacker, sure, but he’s killed before. His girlfriend was an elite soldier who could end Callan in his sleep. Never mind what the rest of the family could do to him…
“Like I said, I find it hard to make friends, Conor. I’m certainly not in the habit of betraying them.”
Relieved that he’s working with us, I take a breath.
Conor bows his head. “That’s good to hear.”
As he and Conor divvy up the tasks Callan sets to enact his plan, I get the feeling we just dodged a bullet…
…that’s heading Dyers's way.
I wet my lips. “Um, guys?” When that earns me the attention of all three men, I pull a face. “We might have less time than we think to make this happen.”
“To bring Dyers down?”
“Yes.”
Conor studies me. “What did you do?”
“I was testing a theory,” I whine.
“Victoria!” Shay protests. “What now?”
“There was a meet-up. There were eyes on us. I asked those eyes if Veronians have a brand because Derek Dyers had exposed his…”
“Wow. You just signed his death warrant.”
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse,” Callan expresses.
I can’t say I didn’t know there’d be repercussions to Dyers's idiocy. But death?
“If he dies, what do we tell Denver and Zach?” Shay hisses.
Callan rubs his brow. “Denny’s already shared some of her plans with me. They’ll humiliate him but nothing hardcore.”
“Won’t matter if he’s dead,” Shay snipes. “Fuck, I shouldn’t be involved in this conversation!”
That ruffles Callan’s feathers. “Do you know how many backdoor deals and terrible crimes you’ll have to commit to become president? Buckle up, baby politician, because if you can’t deal with this, you can’t run a country.”
Shay turns red, but Conor interrupts with: “He’s right, Seamus. You’re perfectly willing for Victoria to get her hands dirty so you can keep yours clean. That isn’t the son your mother raised.”
My best friend blanches like Conor slapped him.
“I’m doing—”
Callan clucks his tongue. “No. You’re doing this for him, Victoria. I can’t see you wanting to do this for shits and giggles. The least he can do is have your back.”
I can feel my cheeks pinken.
With all eyes on him, Shay eventually apologizes, “I’m sorry, V.”
“You don’t have to be.”
He curls his arm around my shoulders and presses his temple to mine. “Yes, I do.”
“I didn’t think it’d be this deep,” I admit. “So why would you?”
“You don’t get into bed with the devil without knowing that he doesn’t use lube.”
“That’s some imagery, Callan,” Conor applauds.
And somehow, I just know that Callan has made another friend.
I roll my eyes at the pair of them. “So, what’s the plan?”
“We compound my eight-part plan with Denver’s and make Dyers's life hell so that he isn’t too sad about dying?”
“Wow, harsh.” I tut. “Fine.”
“Fine,” Shay mumbles against my hair, but from his tension, I know he’s not happy about this.
I can’t say that I blame him.
And honestly, I don’t regret telling the Veronians about Dyers's brand snafu.
The fucker’s a rapist, a monster, and rabid animals need putting down…