Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Even if it means some poor girl who might have just been defending herself is going to die?”
Teague stared at the wall, trying to come up with an answer that wasn’t cold and heartless and completely self-serving. If he were a better man, he’d let this search go. His father’s men were better equipped to deal with the inevitable violence of war than some runaway who’d gotten in over her head. But war never came without collateral damage, and it was the thought of one of his younger siblings or, worse in some ways, Callie being hurt that had him turning back to James. “Yes.”
He was a bastard and a half for sacrificing a woman who was likely already a victim for the sake of those he loved, but he’d own that.
“Cold.” James finished his beer. “I can’t make promises and I don’t particularly support this, but there’s a chance it would be enough for my old man. A chance, Teague. I can’t guarantee anything.”
It wasn’t the firm agreement he’d wanted, but a chance was better than being turned down flat. There wasn’t much he could bring to the table as leverage, so he had to work with what he had. “I have to do whatever it takes to put a stop to this.”
“Yeah, I know.” He didn’t look too happy about it.
Teague drained his beer and set it back on the table. “It was good seeing you—though I wish it was under better circumstances.”
James’s smile was brief and more than a little bitter. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? There are no better circumstances.”
He nodded, because the man was right. This was their lot in life. At least it had perks from time to time, though he would have given them up in a heartbeat for some office job that he was able to leave behind when he came home and a family whose biggest drama was his parents not liking one of his sister’s boyfriends. But that was a pipe dream that would never be realized.
He had to deal with facts, and right now that meant minimizing the damage Victor Halloran was inclined to do. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Wish I could say I look forward to it.”
Teague turned and walked through the bar. There were more men than there had been when he came in, and every single one of them followed his movements over the rim of their drinks. The small hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he had to make an effort to keep his pace measured and slow. If they knew he was worried, it would be like sharks scenting blood. Normally, he wouldn’t be too concerned—he was more than capable of handling himself—but he was on enemy territory and alone. The disadvantages of his current position were legion.
He pushed through the door and onto the street, the warm night air doing nothing to combat the chill running up his spine. He waited for the door to click shut behind him—and then for someone to follow him out—but a second passed and then another, until it became clear no one was coming. He’d hoped James wouldn’t send someone after him.
But he wouldn’t bet his life on it.
He adjusted his jacket and started down the street to where he’d parked. He’d done what he’d come here to do. It might not be enough—at this point there was no telling if anything he did would be enough—but it was something. James hadn’t shot him down, even if he’d opened the door to dark thoughts Teague didn’t like considering. He’d never thought of himself as anything like his father, but the call he’d made tonight was something Seamus O’Malley would be proud of.
Family first. Everyone else dead last.
The thought made him sick to his stomach.
A scrape of a shoe against concrete had him turning to look behind him. He got a glimpse of three dark figures as he caught a fist in the gut. He grunted, doubling over, and was already moving to return the blow before the pain crippled him. He struck, hitting a man in the jaw, and turned for the second attacker.
Before he could swing, something crashed into the back of his head and everything went black.
CHAPTER TEN
Callie blew out a sigh of relief when she was finally able to shut the front door on the back of the two O’Malley women. If she never saw another floral arrangement or tasted another bite of tester cake, it would be too soon. Aileen had seemed determined to fit six months of wedding plans into a single day, and she’d made a damn good job of it.
Worse, she promised to circle around next week sometime for dress shopping.
Callie hadn’t spent significant time fantasizing about what her wedding would be like as a young girl, and once she graduated from college, took over Moira’s, and began supervising the assortment of other businesses the Sheridans owned, she simply hadn’t had the time to really consider what a marriage—even a political marriage—would mean as far as planning went.