The Marriage Contract (3 page)

Yeah, he’d seen those marks before. He’d been young—maybe six or seven—the first and only time his father put his hands on his mother. Teague wasn’t sure what the fight had even been about, but the image of Seamus’s hands around his mother’s neck wasn’t something he’d ever been able to forget.

Or the quiet words she’d managed to squeeze out.
You put your hands on me again, and I’ll kill you in your sleep
. His father had laughed it off, but he’d never touched her like that again. Even then, Teague had wanted to step in, to do something to help his mother, even if she so blatantly hadn’t needed it.

It didn’t matter what had happened in the past. He couldn’t change it any more than he could fly to the moon. But he sure as fuck wasn’t going to stand by while someone hurt his goddamn fiancée. He wasn’t sure when he’d decided to accept that he was getting married—maybe it was when she’d closed her eyes and leaned against the brick wall, letting that hint of vulnerability show—but he’d gone and done it.

Besides, it was blatantly clear that Callista Sheridan couldn’t protect herself, and her father wasn’t interested in trying. A woman like that…He closed his eyes and gave himself a full five seconds to remember how good she’d felt in his arms, readily responding to his every touch.
Christ
. A woman like that wasn’t meant to be squandered on pieces of shit like whoever had hurt her—or on Teague, for that matter. He had no illusions about being good enough for her, but he was too goddamn selfish to back off now.

Even if he’d had a choice in the matter.

“Looks like you’re having a good time.”

He knew that voice. Teague turned around, staring at the mouth of the alley until one shadow detached from the wall and sauntered over. “What are you doing here?”

John Finch leaned against the wall in nearly the same place where Callista had just been. “You should have called.”

“I didn’t think the goddamn feds would care one way or another who I got engaged to.” He was lying through his teeth. They wanted to know every detail he could provide, no matter how insignificant he found it.

“We care about everything you do.” Finch pinned him with those steely gray eyes. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”

Yeah, because he’d been seriously reconsidering the whole thing. It seemed like a great plan to slip information to the cops from time to time—anything to weaken his father’s hold on their portion of Boston. If he ended up in jail, it would free Teague and the rest of his family.

Or so he’d thought.

After months of tips and insider information, nothing had happened.
Nothing
. He knew these investigations took time, but he’d given them more than enough to put Seamus away for years—and still they wanted more. They didn’t care that his father would be only too happy to kill him if he ever found out what Teague was doing. Hell, Teague didn’t particularly care about that, either. He just wanted the man to go down in flames. He shook out another cigarette and lit up.

“Those things will kill you, you know.”

“There are worse ways to go.”

“You’ve got that right.” Finch laughed, but the sound died nearly before it’d begun. “We need to talk. Sooner rather than later.”

He debated telling the man to fuck off, but if Finch was desperate enough to waylay him here, where anyone could catch them talking, then he was desperate enough to keep popping up. “I’ll call you.”

“Do that.” He turned and started walking toward the street. “By the way—congratulations on your engagement.”

Teague watched him walk away, wondering why the hell the fed sounded so damn pleased by this development.

James Halloran followed his younger brother, Ricky, into their father’s office. His last remaining brother. The monster that had woken in his chest at the news of Brendan’s death only seemed to get more vicious with each hour that passed. It didn’t matter if he was inside or under the open sky—there just wasn’t enough fucking air. All he wanted was some time and space to come to terms with the new order of the world. A world that didn’t have his older brother in it.

He knew well enough that Brendan has his faults—more faults than virtues, though James would never say as much to anyone outside their immediate family. But to kill him like that…There was no honor in that death. He shook his head and closed the door behind him. Right. Because honor would make this hellish situation so much fucking better.

Their father sat in his great chair before a roaring fire, his gaze trained on some memory that seemed a million miles away. James stopped walking, wishing he could leave the old man alone. The news of Brendan’s death was horrific enough, but what he had to report now was going to send Victor over the edge.

And he’d take what was left of their family with him.

Ricky, the idiot, had no such reservations. “We have news.”

Victor shook himself and seemed to come back to them. “You’ve found out who’s killed your brother.”

“No, but—”

“Then why are you here?” He practically roared it, his voice loud enough to have come from a man twice his size.

Ricky shrank back, like a dog that’d been kicked one too many times, and it was everything James could do not to join him. For all his sins, Brendan had always stood between his younger brothers and their father, and now he was gone. Christ, every time he thought that, the claws shredding his chest seemed to grow. He stepped forward, all too aware that he was about to put himself into the warpath. “There’s something else.”

“Then stop standing there with your thumb up your ass, and spit it out.”

Easier said than done. He took a deep breath. “The Sheridan girl—the one who was supposed to marry Brendan—is now marrying Teague O’Malley. They’re announcing it tonight.” Possibly right this second.

Victor’s cane hit the floor with a meaty thump, and he pushed himself to his feet. “Tonight.”

It wasn’t a question but he answered it anyway. “Yes.”

“That bastard didn’t even give me the courtesy of informing me himself.” He turned to the fire again, muttering under his breath. “Should have passed the girl to one of the other boys. Both worthless pieces of shit, but that’s the proper way to do things.”

Jesus
. James didn’t have to look at Ricky to know there was naked pain in his brother’s eyes. They’d never measured up to Victor’s standards, and in recent years he’d stopped pretending he’d ever done more than tolerate their presence. James stared at the portrait over the mantel, wondering for the millionth time what their mother had seen in this angry, bitter man. She’d loved her boys, and loved them fiercely, right up until the cancer stole her from them fifteen years ago. Maybe it was better that way—better that she’d gone the way of the angels before she’d seen the men they’d become.

Ricky shifted. “Father, we can’t let this insult stand. Brendan’s body isn’t even cold and they’re already pawning that bitch off on someone else.”

James shot him a look that he pointedly ignored. He doubted the dynamics in the Sheridan family were all that much different than theirs—meaning Callista Sheridan had no say in this mess. It was her father to blame. “Don’t be disrespectful.”

“Your brother’s right for once. Sheridan is spitting in the face of our grief, and I won’t stand for it.” Victor turned to them. With the fire framing his body, he looked like a devil who’d crawled his way up from hell. He turned his steely blue eyes on James. “We’re going to war.”

E
veryone was taking their seats as Teague slipped through the doors and made his way to the half of the table that had been designated for the O’Malley family. He met Callista’s gaze, a primal satisfaction he had no right to soaring through him at the glazed look in her eyes and the way her lips were reddened and plumped from kissing him. He stopped in front of her. “We’ll be talking later.”

He could see the exact moment the mask slipped into place, her desire replaced by cold disinterest. “I don’t think so.” That was fine. She could hide behind the mask for as long as she liked—they’d be married and sharing a home shortly, and there would be no more opportunities to dodge him then.

So he gave her a tight smile and took his place on the other side of his parents. Sitting this close to his father was enough to give him indigestion at the best of times, and tonight was hardly that, despite the silver lining of actually being attracted to Callista.

His mother leaned closer and dug her fingers into his forearm. She looked particularly put together tonight, her dress designed to show off the fact that she was still willowy and beautiful despite having brought seven children into this world. “I know you don’t want this, but it’s vital you keep any theatrics to yourself.”

Theatrics. Like he was a spoiled little boy who was in danger of throwing a tantrum when he didn’t get what he wanted. The old anger rose again, but he managed to wrangle it out of his voice. “I’ll be good.”

Her green eyes were sympathetic, even if her grip wasn’t. “This is for the best. You’ll see.” It was always like this with her. In her own way, Aileen O’Malley was just as much of a hard-ass as her husband—possibly even more so.

“Whatever you say.” And then there was no more time for talking, because his father and Sheridan rose. Teague tuned them out as they went through what were no doubt practiced speeches. They were just words—words about putting old arguments to rest and starting fresh with a new generation and a peace and booming business that would benefit all.

If anyone in this room thought for a second that this marriage would put an end to the backbiting and squabbling over territory, they were delusional. It was a patch, and not even a good one at that. No one spoke about the fact that, less than twenty-four hours ago, Callista had been engaged to another man.

He leaned back and watched her out of the corner of his eye. Was she broken up about Brendan’s death? She seemed smart enough to be worried about marrying a man whom she didn’t know, but he might have mistaken nerves for grief. It was hard to say. Teague accepted the beer Aiden handed him and took a long drink. A cigarette and a kiss weren’t enough to get a good read on a person. A part of him would like to chalk the whole thing up to her being overcome with desire, but he knew better. She hadn’t wanted to answer the question about her bruises, so she’d made a move on him.

Was the abuser a boyfriend? He doubted she’d chosen this path any more than he had, so it was entirely possible. Teague took another sip of his beer, waiting for the irrational jealousy to ease. Though he doubted his father had been faithful at any point in his marriage, creating an extramarital arrangement hadn’t been something he’d really considered before he met her. Now? There was no fucking away.

Christ, he was a mess.

He jumped when the room broke into applause, and then Aiden elbowed him, jerking his chin to say Teague should be on his feet. Shit. He pushed out of his chair at the same time as Callista. Sheridan watched them both, but it was Seamus who roared, “Let’s see a kiss from the happy couple.”

Happy couple, his ass. His father was punishing him for dazing off during the speeches and, under the attention of far too many people, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do except obey. He passed Seamus, earning a painful shoulder clasp, and stopped in front of Callista. She looked a little pale, and he started to say…Fuck, he didn’t know. Something comforting.

But then she turned to the audience with a smile that somehow managed to convey happiness and nerves, like a princess playing to her subjects. She went onto her toes and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. The near-innocent contact still sent a bolt of sheer lust through him, and it was everything he could do not to drag her back against his body when she leaned away.

Teague turned to go back to his seat, but his parents had moved down while he was distracted, leaving the seat open directly next to Callista. It figured. He sank into the chair and leaned closer to her. “You will tell me his name.”

Her smile didn’t so much as twitch. “Not likely.”

Why protect the man? Because the perpetrator was a man. The handprint was nearly as large as Teague’s would have been. “Do you care about him that much?”

She shot him a look. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business one way or another.”

“It became my business the second you agreed to marry me.” Where the fuck had
that
come from? He had no business feeling possessive of this woman, future wife or not.

“You were the second choice.”

The words stung far more than they should have. Of course he’d known as much, but hearing her say it with such derision? The woman had claws, and apparently she wasn’t afraid to use them. He leaned closer. “And did you moan so prettily when that piece of shit Halloran had his tongue down your throat?”

She started tapping the table with her fingers. “Of course.”

Liar
. It was in every tense muscle in her body, and the way she wouldn’t quite meet his gaze. He covered her hand with his own, his entire body perking up at the feel of her skin against his. “I don’t think so.”

“Could you
be
any more arrogant?”

“Probably.” God help him, but he was actually
enjoying
himself. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She huffed out a breath. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. You O’Malleys are all the same.”

“Careful there, Callista.” He liked the way she twitched when he said her name. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“I know enough.”

He couldn’t bring himself to argue with her, mostly because she was right. His family was full of thugs, liars, and cheats—with a scattering of murderers thrown in for spice. But then, hers was, too. “Those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”

She went pale, her lips parting as if she couldn’t quite catch her breath. What the hell? He hadn’t said anything particularly horrible. He squeezed her hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?”

Prickly thing, wasn’t she? “You just went as pale as if you’d seen a ghost, and now you look about ready to lose your dinner.”

“I’m not feeling well. That’s all.” She seemed to realize she still had her hand in his and jerked it away. “If you’d stop touching and taunting me, the nausea is sure to pass.”

“Nice try.” He used a single finger under her chin to force her to meet his gaze. “You have a lot of secrets, angel. I’m going to enjoy finding them out.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Tell me something.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think I will.”

Her sass was a subtle thing. The words were delivered with a perfectly polite pitch, but she hadn’t given an inch since they met. Even knowing his life would be a whole hell of a lot easier if she were a submissive little mouse, he liked that she seemed to have a spine made of steel. “How do you feel about being sold off into marriage for the sake of your family?”

“I—”

A scream cut through the low chatter of the hall, followed by sharp sounds similar to a car backfiring. Gunshots. There was a breathless pause while Teague tried to process the fact that someone was shooting, and then he
moved
, grabbing Callista and dragging her beneath the table. It wasn’t an ideal position because they were on a raised stage above the other tables, but any cover was better than no cover. He shielded her body with his, while he scanned the room.

O’Malley men had done the same thing he just had with the rest of his siblings, and a good portion of the guests. There were only a handful of idiots running for the doors. He met the gaze of one of his father’s men, Liam, and jerked his chin toward the exits. The scream had come from there.

They had to figure out who had pulled the trigger, and they had to figure it out now.

Callie squirmed in Teague’s grip, trying not to notice how good he felt against her while she searched for her father. “Papa!”

“I’m here.” He waved a hand from the other side of a wall of muscle that was John, his personal bodyguard.

Thank God
. She allowed herself to relax a little. Whatever else had gone wrong, her father was okay. She glanced at Teague, taking in the intent way he searched the room. “What happened?”

“That’s what we’re about to find out.” He let out a breath. “We can get up now.”

She followed his gaze to where a man had just come back inside. One of his? It had all happened so fast, she couldn’t begin to say if it had been an attack or something else altogether less sinister. But all rational responses aside, her gut said this wasn’t all caused by an accident of some sort. No, this had been intentional.

It was nearly impossible to climb out from beneath a table with any level of grace, so she took Teague’s offered hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Or that was the excuse she told herself. It certainly wasn’t that she wanted to feel his skin against hers again.

Papa was already in motion, shouting orders in direct counterpoint to Teague’s father. The end result was the same—a group of men rushing to the main doors to find answers.

The man who’d come back in the doors approached their table and spoke in a low voice. “A drive-by. One of the guests was winged, but the bleeding has already stopped.”

A drive-by? Who would dare?

But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew. “Halloran.”

“It makes sense.” Teague frowned. “Apparently he’s not too keen on the idea of you switching out husbands without missing a beat.”

She took a step back, removing her hand from his. For a moment there, she’d almost forgotten that he was an O’Malley and little better than an enemy. She turned away from him and stepped carefully around the fallen chairs to her father. She nodded at Micah, one of her father’s long-term men. “Talk to the couple outside. Find out everything you can.” She waited for him to head toward the doors to turn to her father. “Papa, I think it was the Hallorans.”

“Victor Halloran might be a crazy bastard, but not even he’s crazy enough to attack both our family and the O’Malleys at the same time. No, it must be someone else—some hotshot kid with a gun and more balls than sense who wants bragging rights for a skirmish with the Sheridans.”

She might have believed that under different circumstances, but she’d seen firsthand how grief for Ronan had changed and warped her father, affecting both his judgment and his health. And that was
without
someone heaping humiliation on top of it like they’d effectively done with Victor Halloran.

But he wouldn’t listen to reason, and now wasn’t the time to argue about it. “Papa, we need to go home and regroup.”

“Nonsense. The boys will take care of things.”

She reined in her temper through sheer force of will. “Someone drove by and fired on innocent bystanders to prove that they could.”

“Yes, and if we scurry like rats to our den, they will know they have the upper hand.” He straightened, towering over her. “I’ve been in this game longer than you’ve been alive, daughter.”

The same argument-ending statement he always made when he decided she was being too lippy. There would be no reasoning with him now, and if he backed down, it was a weakness he wouldn’t allow himself to show. There was no option but to stay here and be a sitting duck for whatever attack the Hallorans had planned next.

Maybe they’re done for the night.
Wishful thinking and she knew it. Maybe they were, but it was always smarter to overestimate your enemy than to hope for the best. She tried to put herself into Victor Halloran’s shoes. From everything she’d heard, he’d done wet work for a prominent empire in New York before deciding to branch out for himself and carve out a piece of Boston. He’d worked his way up the ranks and created a reputation so brutal, people here had folded for him without a fight. She’d bet everything she owned that he wasn’t done for the night.

Callie motioned to John. He hesitated, looking at her father, but finally crossed over the stand next to her chair. “Yes?”

“Set up a perimeter around the building.” Making a show of strength was all well and good, but they’d have to be fools not to put some extra security in place to protect the guests here. Even her father would acknowledge that—already had if the small smile he wore was any indication. He’d done that sort of thing from the time she was a child, setting up a situation and allowing her to learn how to take the lead. She’d basked in his approval when she made the correct decision. Now? Now, she just wanted their people taken care of.

“Will do.”

Satisfied that they were as safe as they could be, she reached for her glass of champagne before realizing it had been tipped over during the scramble for cover. Just as she turned to search for another, Teague appeared by her side. “Thought you could use this to settle you nerves.”

“My nerves are just fine, thank you very much.” It was
anger
giving her the shakes, not fear. Mostly. But she still accepted the tumbler and eyed the amber liquid. “Scotch?”

“Whiskey.”

Of course. She rarely touched the stuff, but now wasn’t the time to quibble over foolish things like this. The liquid shot fire down her throat, a blaze that slowly eased and settled into comfortable warmth in her stomach. She blinked at Teague, her eyes watering a little.

He watched her like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or be worried. God, she wasn’t sure which he should do, either, so she took another—smaller—sip. “My father insists that we stay and continue the party.”

“That seems to be the plan.” And he didn’t look any more pleased with it than she was.