Hard Up(15)

“Cal…” Declan said.

Callum glanced at his friend, cocking a brow.

“You can’t get involved with her,” Declan said slowly.

“I’m not going to.”

Now it was Declan’s turn to arch a brow. “I’m just guessing here, but from the way she looked at you at the bar… I think you already fucked her.”

Callum pulled a face.

“So what?”

“So, she’s fucking hot as hell and you’re a fucking manwhore who can’t keep it in his pants. Blonde, big tits, talks all soft and breathy? Just your goddamned type,” Declan uttered.

Declan had him there. Viola was exactly Callum’s type.

“Yeah, well. I figure I’ve learned one thing in the last few years,” Callum said. “And that’s the fact that I like being free of bullet holes more than I like getting my dick wet. I’ve already been shot once near her, she’s definitely bad fucking luck.”

Declan winced. The Irish blood in their veins made the Black Saints take the concept of bad luck very, very seriously. Maybe the good behavior and obedience of Catholicism hadn’t stuck with them, but the superstitions sure as hell had.

“You need to make things crystal fucking clear with her, the second I leave. Otherwise there’s gonna be baggage,” Declan said.

“Baggage, huh?” Callum asked, eyeing Viola as she opened cabinets in the kitchen, seemingly unafraid to make herself at home.

Declan reached out and snapped his fingers in front of Callum’s face. Callum gritted his teeth. He hated when people put their hands in his face. Anyone other than Declan or Cormac did that, they’d end up with broken fingers.

“This is what I’m talking about, right here,” Declan said. “You fuck her, you dump her, she goes running to the Valettis or the Richetti familia or whoever the fuck. Next thing you know, you and me and Cor are all fucking riddled with those bullet holes you claim to be trying to avoid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Callum said, pushing Declan’s hand away. “I get it.”

“Look at me,” Declan insisted. “Do. Not. Fuck. Her.”

“Okay, message received,” Callum groused.

“I’m off to go calm Cor down, probably hear him bitch about you for a fucking hour,” Declan said, moving toward the French doors.

“Good luck with that.”

Declan shot him a look. “My job is easy. You’re the one who has to call your uncle and tell him how fucked we are.”

Callum winced. His Uncle Fallon was notoriously mercurial, so there was no telling if Callum’s story would enrage or bore the head of the Cúram.

“Yeah. Fuck,” Callum muttered.

“And if I were you, I wouldn’t tell him about your passenger here,” Declan said, jerking his thumb toward Viola. “If you don’t want her to take a long walk to the Harbor, you need to get rid of her before Fallon even knows she’s here.”

Long walk to the Harbor meaning Viola’s body would turn up as a Jane Doe floating in Boston Harbor. It was the Cúram’s way of silencing unimportant, but pesky witnesses.

Callum just waved a hand at Declan, who rolled his eyes and headed out. Callum stayed on the balcony, watching Declan give Viola a silent salute as he left.

Viola turned and stared at Callum, a question written clearly on her face.

What now?

“What now, indeed,” he muttered to himself.

He had no idea what to do with her. He still had to work, still had to come and go, would still have to handle sensitive conversations. She was going to be a huge problem, because the more she saw and heard in his presence, the more danger she was in.

She’d saved his life, and Callum had sworn to himself that he would protect her.

But was bringing her into his life protecting her, or signing her death warrant?





8





Viola nosed through Callum’s cupboards and fridge as she watched his balcony meeting. She was starving, hadn’t eaten in half a day, but the drama outside was pretty riveting, too. Cormac stormed out of the loft first, with Declan leaving in a hurry not long after that.

She kept an eye on him as she made herself a peanut butter sandwich, bread and peanut butter being the only actual foods in Callum’s fridge. The rest was just wine, liquor, and various kinds of spicy mustard.

He didn’t come inside after the other two Black Saints departed. He pulled out his phone and had a long conversation, gesturing a lot as he talked. He looked angry, especially the moments when he glanced back at her.

I didn’t even want to come here, she thought. I could be driving across the state line right now, heading north through Tennessee.

She took her sandwich back to the starkly impersonal guest bedroom, then spent a few minutes scattering dust bunnies and shaking out the bed linens.