Almost Innocent

by Carina Adams

  “I almost believed that. Then I remembered…” I stood, bracing my hands on the top of my desk and leaning over it, unable to stop my reaction. “You’re a fucking liar.”

  He laughed, lips twisting into a cocky smirk. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” He stepped up to the other side of my desk and set his glass on the surface between us as if he owned it. “Just know I could describe where every one of her birthmarks are, and what she felt like on the inside, long before you ever could.”

  I hit him. My mind screamed at me to wait, to push the anger down and let him keep spewing his lies so I could find out what had really happened, but my arm reacted. As my fist connected with his nose and I heard that satisfying crunch of cartilage breaking, I realized that no amount of pain I handed out would be enough to satisfy my depraved need.

  He clutched his gushing nose and laughed like a madman. “Sore spot?” he asked, his voice muffled. Before I could answer, he backed up and fell into the chair, still laughing. “Jesus, you’re so fucking predictable where she’s concerned.”

  The fucking dick wasn’t fazed. And he wasn’t afraid. He would be. By the time this was over, he would be pissing himself in fear. I reached into the top drawer, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped his blood from my hand almost nonchalantly before I pulled out my favorite toys.

  “Look at it this way,” he told me as he leaned his head back, “Dustin had already broken in every hole. She was all used up by the time I got there. Shame you didn’t join in the fun sooner. Not many women can say they’ve had all three Callaghan brothers.”

  “You’re not my brother.” I moved around the front of my desk, leaned back against it, and crossed one ankle over the other.

  When he finally sat up, he did a double take, eyes moving to the pieces next to me: my favorite Buck knife, the Desert Eagle I’d gotten after my first real kill, and the M9 my dad had given me years ago.

  “You’re right. I’m not. Still, it’s too bad. Dustin and I spent too many nights to count tag-teaming that sweet ass of hers. You could have joined us and we’da gone for a four-way.” He smirked as my fingers twitched next to the gun. “You’re not gonna shoot me. Not over some two-bit hooker.”

  I nodded slowly, smiling. “You’re right. I’m not going to shoot you over a two-bit hooker.”

  I lifted the Beretta and shot. No need to aim, because I didn’t really care where it hit him. Mid-calf, knee, ankle. It was more of a love tap than anything—a promise of what was coming. Either way, he’d be in pain, and if he happened to make it out of this alive, he’d be missing an appendage.

  The shock on his face, the way his mouth fell open right before a howl escaped, and the frantic way he clutched the spot that was once his kneecap was almost as satisfying as the sound of the bullet pulverizing bone.

  I shrugged. “I shot you because of Fiona.”

  His nostrils flared, and his eyes showed nothing but pure hatred as he looked at me. It was probably the first time I’d ever seen the real him. It was a pitiful and disgusting sight.

  He hadn’t been carrying when he walked in, probably wanting to make sure I didn’t get too suspicious. Or maybe it was because he was that pathetically cocky. Either way, he’d made a dumb-ass move. As he reached for the gun that wasn’t there and realization dawned that he couldn’t do jack shit to defend himself, he actually looked as if he might cry.

  “Oh, man up.” I wanted to roll my eyes at his theatrics, but instead I let sarcasm fill my voice. “You may never walk again, but it’s not gonna kill you.”

  “You made your fucking point.”

  “Did I?” I set the gun back on the desk. “Do I have your attention?”

  He nodded once, eyes still narrowed.

  “Why Fi and Ezra?”

  “Jesus, for a smart man, you are the dumbest fuck I’ve ever met.” He swallowed. He was a mess, blood still oozing down his face from his nose, and now blood from his knee pooling on my floor. “I’m not telling you shit.”

  I picked up the M9 again, this time pointing it at his other leg but moving down to his foot. One quick pull of the trigger and there was a hole in the top of his work boot.

  Mark grunted, but the bastard was strong. I’d seen tougher men cry over that kind of pain. I’d have to try harder.

  “Why Fi and Ezra?” I asked again.

  Mark only smirked. He wasn’t going to answer until I dragged it from him.

  I slid the gun back onto the desk and lifted the knife. I twirled the tip on one finger before tossing it in the air and catching it. Then I pointed it at him. “Talk.”

  Mark narrowed his eyes as he watched the silver blade reflect the light. Finally, he blew out a long breath, closing his eyes for just a second. “Ezra was a target from the minute he married your sister. Callaghans don’t like outsiders, you know that. We protect our own. He was digging into shit he had no right digging into. Dustin thought he was a Fed, undercover. Fucking Fi before he could fuck us all.”

  “Dustin was delusional.”

  “Maybe,” Mark grit out, talking through the pain. “But there was something up with that guy. Fi was blind to it. We went there that night just to talk to him. Fucker wouldn’t tell us shit, so Dustin had a little fun. Fi came down, saw us.”

  I couldn’t catch my breath. She’d seen them torturing her husband, and she hadn’t told me. “So you turned on your blood?”

  He lifted a shaking hand from his knee and splayed it out on his thigh as if to prove how tough he was. “She turned on us first.” He chuckled, a hollow and terrifying sound. “Bitch told me that she was going to tell you. Warned me that you were going to come after me—‘butcher me in my sleep,’ she said. So Jason and I shut her up.”

  Jason? I’d never even thought about the fact that it could have been more than Dusty and Mark. I should have. I’d find Dustin’s best friend, wherever that fuck had disappeared to, and I’d carve him to bits.

  I’d shut up snitches before—a few broken jaws, a pistol whip or two. But I’d never raped a woman. They hadn’t just “shut her up.” They’d destroyed her.

  The idea that my sister had been hurt simply because she told someone she was going to tell me what he’d done would have made me hurt him. The memory of how she’d looked, beaten and broken, when I made it to the hospital had me slamming the steel blade through his hand and into his thigh.

  Not near his femoral artery. I wanted him alive for a while longer, and I wanted him to feel nothing but pain with each breath. It was his dominant side, and the knife would tear his hand to shit when I yanked it back out. Sharp inhales and groans filled the room as he tried not to scream.

  “Why Gabby?”

  He glared, fighting for breath. “What?”

  “Gabby!” I almost demanded, reaching behind me. My fingers closed around the grip of the Desert Eagle, and I yanked it around in front of me before shoving between his pale fingers onto his good knee. “If you want to walk again, try the truth this time.”

  “Why not?” he replied instantly, the pain making his voice heavy. “You’d fucking drooled over her, following her around like a little puppy dog for years. Dustin talked about her pussy constantly. When he offered her to me one night, I wasn’t going to turn her down.” He tucked his chin, raising his eyebrows and giving me a slight, closed-lipped smile. “You’d had my brother for eighteen goddamn years. It was my turn to have something you wanted but would never have.”

  “You mean something you’d never have. Gabby would never have looked at a sadistic fuck like you. You think raping a defenseless woman makes you a man?”

  His laugh filled the room. “Rape? No, she loved every minute of it. She’d beg me to stop, plead with me, but I knew it was just an act. Just like you do.”

  I backhanded the gun across his cheek hard enough to leave a giant gash before I grabbed a handful of his hair. I held his head still and shoved the barrel against his temple as hard as I could, letting him know I was ready to end this.

  �
�You think you can kill me?” His cocky tone made my fingers ache to do just that. “You can’t!” Droplets of blood flew out of his mouth as he yelled. There was no panic in his voice though. Only the joy of a man who thought he had the upper hand. “The second I go missing, someone hunts down that whore you love.”

  I froze, the words taking me by surprise.

  Mark took that chance to keep talking. “You really think some pissed off brother was following your ass around the other night?” He chuckled. “Nah, Dec. Use the goddamned brain that your daddy bragged about constantly. Dustin’s people have been waiting, biding their time. Now that we have all the pieces, we’re ready to collect the debt.”

  My mind whirled. No one my brother knew would be stupid enough to go after Gabs—they’d go after me. Mark was saying whatever he could to keep breathing.

  “I thought that Colin had hidden her as far away from here as he could get her. I looked, put out feelers in other states, tried to find her. Offered a good price. I never looked here.” He shook his head slightly, his energy waning. “Then I’m in here one day and find a file on her. Pictures. Her entire life laid out for me to see. A treasure map to my prize.”

  He was babbling. Blood loss did that. Only a few minutes more. I wanted—no, I needed—to hear him admit it. I would never be able to give Gabby the apology she deserved, not that an apology would even begin to cover it. I needed to be able to tell her that the monster had died knowing he’d done something wrong.

  “I don’t know how you hid her from me for so long.” He was mumbling, blood still trickling out of his mouth. “But now we all know where she is. It’s only a matter of time before we get to her.”

  It was my turn to laugh as I stepped back, leaning on my desk once more. He was a pathetic excuse for a Callaghan. I’d expected more of a fight from him. “You’ll never get to her, you piece of shit. They can come for me all they want. They’ll never fucking find her.”

  “I’ll always find her.” He laughed. “I’ll always be with her.” His head rolled to the side before he lifted it, a determined look crossing his features. “I’m always with her. She wants me with her. I don’t know what she told you, but she fucking loved riding my dick almost as much as she loved me. Why do you think she tried so hard to protect my son?”

  I jerked back. Bile rose in my throat. No. Grady couldn’t be his son. Grady was Dustin’s. But those eyes. The same brown eyes that had once belonged to my brother, the ones that sparkled on my nephew, were the ones staring back at me now.

  No.

  “The whore and Grady are mine,” Mark snarled as he lifted his good hand, closed it over the handle of my knife, and pulled the blade from his flesh so slowly I could almost feel the pain. “I want what’s mine, Declan. You can shoot me, you can torture me, but I’m not stopping until I get what’s mine.”

  I watched in amazement as the crazy motherfucker stood, his jeans shredded and matted as blood flowed out of him faster than it had been moments before. There was nothing left of his left knee, no way it could support his weight, yet he lunged forward as if he was going to stab me. If it had been a movie, it might have been amusing.

  It only pissed me off.

  “Yes, you are.” I lifted and fired.

  The knife clattered to the floor as Mark jerked his head up and smirked. The fucker actually smirked as he pressed his hands to the growing red stain in the middle of his stomach. “You can’t erase the fact that Grady is mine. Every time you look at him, you’ll remember.”

  He stumbled back, falling onto his ass before he made it to the chair. A pile of nothing as his life oozed onto my carpet. A stark contrast to the man he’d been only moments before.

  I’d wanted to drag it out. Torture him, the way he obviously had Fiona and Gabby. Make him suffer for days.

  “You can’t erase the fact that Grady is mine.” The words echoed through my mind, and I shook my head to try to drown them out.

  I should have ripped out his fucking tongue. Because those words would probably haunt me for the rest of my life.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Gabby

  I stood at the end of my driveway, staring down the road, barely breathing as I listened for the sound of tires crunching gravel or the roar of a truck engine. It was freakishly quiet. I’d never seen the neighborhood like this. Maybe there had been an accident and traffic was being detoured, or maybe the road had been blocked off. Then again, maybe it was always like this in the middle of the day on Monday.

  “Litt’l One?” Conall called from where he stood, arms leaning on the roof of my car, watching me with a concerned look. “We can’t wait any longer.”

  “He’s not coming?” I asked rhetorically as I glanced at Conall quickly before snapping my eyes back to the road. “He’s really not coming?”

  I couldn’t believe it. Declan hadn’t come. It was time for me to leave, and I couldn’t stall any longer. I’d watched for him, hoped that he would come almost every second of the last twenty-four hours. But Declan wasn’t coming to say good-bye.

  Deep down, really deep down, I’d known he wasn’t going to.

  Yet I still had expected him to surprise me. I’d clung to the belief that Declan was still the same person he’d always been and that, no matter what, he would do the right thing. He’d always shown up, year after year, time after time, when he didn’t have to. For me.

  I turned back to the house I adored. I had memories everywhere here. Grady ripping the tulips that filled my flower bed out by their roots one sunny morning, just to give them to me. His first bike, and the skinned knee that came with his first fall. His first day of school, and how I sat on the steps and cried long after the bus had disappeared from sight.

  This was our home. Our life. Our memories. I didn’t want to leave. I shook my head.

  “Gabriella,” Conall called again, a hint of worry in his voice as if he knew what I was thinking. “It’s time.”

  My memories could come with me, but what about the things that couldn’t? My job, my friends, Grady’s friends? My mom… I didn’t talk to the woman often, and usually only when she needed money, but wouldn’t she wonder why her daughter stopped returning her calls? How could we randomly pack up one day and leave it all behind?

  I heard Conall talking, but I was too distracted to listen. Maybe we could make it work—maybe we could stay here. Moira had once offered to get me a guard, someone to be around constantly and protect us. I’d turned her down because I thought Mark was gone and I didn’t want the attention a guard brought. But if it would keep Grady and me safe and give us the chance to live here, I would do it.

  If I stayed here, I could make things right with Declan. Hound him until he agreed to see me, then I could make him listen. I’d beg for forgiveness for keeping something like that from him. I wouldn’t give up until the two of us were back to where we should be. Until he knew how much I loved him.

  I wasn’t leaving. I couldn’t. Not with so much unfinished business.

  “Gabby?” Fiona’s soft voice startled me. I hadn’t heard her get out of the car, let alone creep up next to me. “It’s time to go.”

  I glanced into my dear friend’s face, seeing more than worry in the way her features twisted into a slight frown. “I can’t go, Fi.”

  “Yes, you can.” Her hand closed around mine. “I’ll help you. I know this is hard, but we can do this together.”

  She’d cried when I told her we were leaving, breaking my heart and making me beg her to come with us. She’d agreed immediately. She was my family. I didn’t know what I’d do without her.

  “What if he comes after we’ve gone?”

  “Honey”—her eyes bore into mine—“what if someone else comes before we get on that plane? We have to go.”

  She was right, of course. Conall was here, as were two of his men, and for this second, we were safe. That didn’t mean we would be tomorrow. Or the next day. There were too many unanswered questions, too many things that were out of
place, too many coincidences. I needed to get Grady out, if only for a little while.

  I nodded with one last look at the road, hoping to see Declan’s truck. The street was silent and empty. I brushed away my tears, swallowed my sadness, and walked to the car.

  We rode to the airport in silence. Fiona and Grady were in the back, each staring out their window and lost in thought, and I rode shotgun. The second car stayed close behind us. Nothing else was suspicious. No other cars followed us. Yet when we pulled into the jetport, I felt myself relax a little.

  The chartered jet was waiting for us on the tarmac, and in true Callaghan style, Conall drove right up to it and popped the trunk as valets rushed to help us get our luggage. Once his men were out of the second car—one standing at the tail of the plane, one toward the nose, both staring out into open space—Conall unlocked our doors.

  Grady let out an excited whoop and ran up the steps, where another one of Conall’s men stood, arms crossed. Fi shot me a worried look but hurried after my son.

  I leaned back against the car, staring at the large white jet for far too long. I needed to bite the bullet and climb the goddamned stairs. Fear held me back.

  “I’ll send the girls as soon as you get settled,” Conall promised again, stopping next to me.

  The dogs were keeping Moira company for now, until he could get us to wherever in the hell he was taking us and get us settled in. I hoped it was soon. I’d never been away from Zahira for more than a few days—a week, tops. And Fiona’s girls were her children. She’d go into withdrawals before long.

  “Will I ever see Moira again?” I hadn’t thought to ask. The idea that I might not was a sad one, which surprised me. There was no love lost between the two of us, but she loved Grady with every fiber of her being. It was easy to see in the way she looked at him. The way she’d always looked at Declan. “I didn’t say good-bye.”