by Vivian Wood
Her mouth thinned. She looked away.
“You’re on a plane, tomorrow,” he said, standing. “Better get some beauty sleep.”
He left her like that, staring away into the empty night sky.
Going to his room, he closed the door and fell down on the bed, exhausted. He closed his eyes, thinking of what a clusterfuck they were in. Sleep pulled him down immediately, dreamlessly.
THUNK.
His eyes snapped open, and he glanced at the clock.
3 a.m.
His brain was fuzzy from all the alcohol, but he had definitely heard a noise. Hadn’t he?
He got up and crept to his door. Nothing in the hallway, only dark silence. He picked up his gun, sticking it in his waistband for good measure.
Pushing his door open, he went straight to Viola’s room. He found her bed empty, suitcases tossed all over the room.
His fists tightened. No way was she going to escape him, not after what she’d done.
Callum went to the main room, surprised to see the door wide open. For being a filthy liar, she sure wasn’t sneaky.
He followed the corridor out to find Jay passed out, probably hit with a stun gun.
Now she’s in real trouble, he thought.
He took the stairs down to the parking lot. Looking around, he struck out at random, scanning the area wildly.
There! Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure hurrying toward River Street. It had to be Viola. She was carrying what looked like a small bag of possessions.
Behind her, he saw a car start and begin to roll after her. Viola raced by several blocks of parks, seemingly intent on her goal.
Danger. Fallon or the Valettis, he wasn’t sure which, but neither had good intentions.
He started running, drawing his gun. If that car wanted to grab her, they had another thing coming.
As if sensing her followers, Viola took a random left across an open bit of park, cutting almost completely back in the direction she came.
She saw Callum at the same time she heard the squeal of tires. She stopped, then ran back the other way, sprinting toward River Street. The car had to go around the block, leaving Callum the closest to Viola.
He was gaining on her…
She reached River Street before he did, running hopelessly for shelter. Everything was closed at this hour, all the lights out. He was almost close enough to touch her now; if she just threw those possessions down, she would probably be able to outrun him.
Callum reached her just as the car did. The vehicle slowed down, one of the doors opening. He saw a man tuck and roll out of the car, realized that they were trying for a quick grab rather than a drive-by shooting.
Good. A kidnapping they could outlive.
He stopped and shot at the strange man, managed to wound him. The man howled, which gave Callum the perfect opportunity to shoot him in the leg.
He saw the car pull away with a squeal of tires, abandoning their attempt midway through. When the would-be kidnapper fled, albeit less able than before, Callum turned to Viola.
Viola had stopped, and now stood and stared at Callum. He marched over to her, grabbed her by the waist hard enough to make her gasp, and kissed her with every ounce of fury and worry he had inside him.
She melted into the kiss, burying her hands into his hair, pressing closer.
When he finally pulled back, they were both a little breathless. He looked down into her eyes for a second, then leaned his forehead against hers.
Fuck. He couldn’t just let her leave like this, couldn’t let her leave at all.
“Come on,” he said softly, taking her hand and leading her back to the parking lot. “We need to talk, but we have to get somewhere safe first.”
Calling a cab, he brooded over where that might be. He guessed that they would go to another hotel, one where they had no history. The cab would take care of any tracking devices that may have been planted on his car.
Viola was quiet, almost downtrodden in the cab. Maybe because she realized what was up against her. The Irish and Italian mafias were both after her, ready to use her as a bargaining chip in the hateful game they played.
And him? He didn’t quite know what his end goal was, just that he wasn’t ready to let her go.
They ended up at a nice hotel about ten miles away, one that Callum had been eyeing for a while. Once they got up to their room, Viola sunk into a chair and refused to look at Callum.
“Viola, tell me the whole story. Don’t leave anything out.”
Callum settled on a corner of the bed, waiting. She looked at him, her eyes full of tears.
“He was going to sell me to the highest bidder. Amongst his rich friends. So I ran.”
“Tell me about the… fiancé.”
She looked away. “It was my third year of college. Jason was… a really nice guy. And rich. I knew without a doubt that he would always take care of me. He insisted on asking my father for my hand in marriage. I tried to tell him…”
She broke down sobbing. Callum’s hands itched to comfort her, but he stayed put.
“You tried to tell him that your father was mobbed up?”
She glanced at him, then shook her head.
“I didn’t know. Or if I knew, I didn’t pay attention. And then after… after Jason… I realized, once my father was introducing me to my potential future husbands at the funeral. I was so shocked, I just… I knew I had to run. Change my name.”
“So you used a fake name?”
“My mom’s, before she was a Valetti. She was a fairly famous runway model, Grace Walker.”
The name didn’t ring any bells, but then again why would it?
“What I don’t understand is… you have a troubled past. You’re on the run. You’d do best to avoid everything to do with the Black Saints… Why did you save me?”
He leaned forward, looking right in her eyes. And for a second, for a flash, he saw the truth.
There, gleaming in those sapphire pools, plain as day.
Love.
Pure, simple, and unmistakable.
Then she launched herself at him, her lips seeking his. She was comforting herself, wrapping herself in him.
And he allowed it. Encouraged it. Even needed it, the solace of her flesh.
Why?
Why did he need her so much?
Soon all thought was lost as she pulled him down, down…
24
Viola woke the next day to an empty bed.
She sat up, wondering if this was to be her life. Waking up and finding Callum gone, worrying if he’d finally taken on a job too dangerous for him.
Of course, that would be assuming that Callum hadn’t decided to return her to the Valettis. He had declared his intention to do exactly that only yesterday.
Was she a fool to trust him?
Throwing back the covers, she got up and ordered room service. She showered, dressed, and when she was done the room service arrived. She thanked the attendant and tipped well, ushering him out of the room.
She put the cart near the table and flipped on the television.
When the phone rang, it confused her. She muted the TV, moving toward the room phone. But one step toward it, and she could tell that wasn’t the hotel phone ringing.
She turned back toward the room service tray. Shaking, she uncovered the tray.
Right there, next to her cheese omelette, she found a phone.
And it was ringing.
She had a sour taste in her mouth as she answered.
“Hello?”
“Viola,” came her father’s voice. “Don’t hang up, or the message will be delivered in a less pleasant way.”
Viola thought she was going to be sick. Her father was calling her, something she never saw happening… but should’ve foreseen from the moment she shot a stranger.
“I am very disappointed in you, Viola. Running around some redneck backwater, fucking who knows how many pieces of Cúram trash… There’s a first-class ticke
t waiting for you at the airport. You’ll be on a plane tomorrow, or I will order several people to hunt down your Irish boy and his friends.”
Viola couldn’t breathe.
“See you tomorrow, darling.”
The call ended, and Viola let the phone slip from her hands.
What the hell was she supposed to do? It wasn’t like she could call the police, her father was too clever for that. He probably owned half the New York police force, anyway.
She got up and started pacing.
She went through a thousand different ideas.
She and Callum could run away together, just the two of them.
Fly up to New York, assassinate her dad herself.
Just plain don’t go!
Viola turned them over and over in her mind, but one by one she discarded them. In the end, it came down to the deal her father had offered her: her life for Callum’s.
Which was worth more?
Viola knew that answer without even asking herself. She couldn’t drag him into this, because she loved him.
She would be on that plane to New York tomorrow. She sat down and cried, really cried, mourning the loss of the relationship. Callum cared about her, but he would move on.
Guys like him always did.
When she was done, she dried her tears. Dusk approached already, and she needed to prepare.
She was going to give him the best sex of his life as his going-away present. Unquestionably, unforgettably good. Ruining other women for him eternally, that kind of good.
When he came home, she was wearing her silk teddy, which she was unable to part with. It would always remind her of him, especially after tonight.
She waited for him on the bed, watching his every move. He came in the door and stopped dead, surprised.
“Hey,” he said, taking off his jacket and shoes.
“Hey.” She cocked a finger at him, and he sunk down on the bed beside her. “I want you. All of you, filling me up.”
He kissed her fiercely, spearing his hands in her long blonde locks. She opened to him, taking control, pushing him onto his back.
His hands were everywhere, running down to touch her breasts, skimming around to touch her ass.
“I like this,” he said, pulling on the teddy. “I like this a lot.”
She smiled, kissing him. She unbuttoned his shirt, taking it off. Then she undid his belt, kissing down as she went. She got his pants and underwear off, got back on top of him, and fisted his cock.
It was magnificent, long and pink and veiny as hell. She salivated a little, looking at it.
When she ran her tongue from the base of his cock to the very tip, he made a sound of pent-up longing. She took him in her mouth, inch by inch, but it wasn’t enough.
He growled and pushed her head down a little, always needing to be the one in control. She’d show him otherwise.
She worked her way back to the top, using her tongue against the sensitive underside. Alternating between that and taking him deep, it was only minutes before he pulled her away.
At her protests, he merely shook his head. “There’s time for that later.”
Then he was rolling her onto her back, growling as he pushed the teddy up and off. Her breasts were freed, and she bit her lip as he palmed them.
Heat suffused through her body, in two direct lines from her nipples to her pussy.
“Ah!” she cried.
“Such beauty,” he marveled as he bent down and took one nipple in his mouth. He sucked on it, making her back arch. When he released it in favor of the other, she called out his name.
“Please, Callum!”
“Please what?” he asked with a crocodile grin.
“Please…”
The brush of his fingers against her core was like a live wire. He bent to kiss her breast again, his fingers coaxing, opening her to his view.
She moaned when he kissed his way down to her pussy, discovering her with a series of slow licks that sent her sky high. He shifted himself, pressing one hand on the top of her sex, while the other explored.
Callum found her clit with his tongue, running lazy circles around it, driving her wild. One finger dipped inside her core, then brushed backward.
Is he—?
He chose that moment to focus on her clit, while sliding his finger around and around the tight balloon knot. She was crazed with the need to cum, and when he focused in on her clit again and pressed his finger there…
He slowed his pace, gave her a second to get used to the feeling of his finger in her ass, grinding in rhythm. She was ashamed to find she liked it, moaned every time he moved in her.
It was so taboo, so wrong…
He picked up the pace, his mouth moving faster. A second finger begged entrance, and she was so wet, so close…
She exploded, riding high on a wave of sensation that wouldn’t stop. She called his name as she came, a blessing or a curse, she didn’t know.
Before she even finished, she was on her hands and knees. Callum entered her in one brutal stroke, making them both cry out. He filled her completely, possessed her utterly, stole her very breath.
He did it again, and again. Over and over, he stroked into her with every bit of his strength. Her body shifted tracks, realized what was coming.
Every nerve ending cried out for fulfillment. She moved with him, strove with him until she couldn’t, until she saw the edge of the precipice from down below.
She came, shouting his name, even as he was granted his release. He stiffened and grabbed her hips hard, bruising her flesh as he pumped his cum into her.
They fell on the bed like that, all sweaty and tangled. Him rolling over and gathering her close, kissing her head.
Her heart swelled. Wasn’t that the emotion she wanted him to feel? Love?
Any other girl would pray that he would feel love, find it in his heart to forgive her. But her?
She was hoping that he would move on. Even though the thought of another girl in his bed made her miserable, at least he would be alive.
She waited what felt like aeons, until she was really and truly sure he was asleep.
Then she got up like a thief in the night, dressing in clothes that she’d laid out earlier. She put out the note she’d painstakingly prepared, then picked up her bag.
She turned to look at Callum, sleeping peacefully.
She’d remember him like this, happy and relaxed. It was nice to know she’d had some influence on his life, however brief…
She forced herself to sneak out, waiting until she was in the taxi to let the tears come again.
Goodbye, Callum…
25
Dear Callum,
From the first time I laid eyes on you, I knew you were trouble. Perhaps that’s why I couldn’t stay away. Tonight, though, I know I have to go. It’s the smart thing to do, for all our sakes.
Please don’t come after me.
Take care,
Viola
Callum crumpled the note in his palm.
“Take care,” he growled into a pint of whisky. “You take care.”
“Talking to yourself?” asked Cor, over the jukebox. They were at a bar with good music, that was all Callum knew. “Oi, stop reading that damned note. Give it to me.”
He reached for the note, but Callum was quick. He pulled it out of Cormac’s reach and stuck it in his pocket. “Fuck off.”
“Look, here’s the thing,” Cormac said. “Moping over Violet—”
“It’s Viola, you fucking—”
“Shhh, shhh. Listen to me. Moping over her is useless. Look around you. Everywhere you look, there’s a Grade A piece of ass. Which you can’t enjoy until you’re not halfway in the hole,” he said, sliding the pint of whisky away. “So you sober up.”
“I’m not interested in anyone else,” Callum said glumly.
“Look, she did you a favor. If she hadn’t left you, you’d be looking at the same girl for the rest of your life. The same girl, can you imagine
?”
“Maybe that’s what I wanted!” Callum shouted, drawing attention from several bar patrons.
“You’re talking crazy,” Cor said, shaking his head. “You’re drunker than I thought.”
“If she would’ve given me a little more time, I would’ve told her that…”
Things started to go blurry.
“Callum… Callum!”
Cor’s voice was the last thing he heard.
Callum woke to a complete bulldozer of a headache.
“Ohhh…” he groaned.
He was in his apartment, on the couch. No idea how he’d gotten here, though.
That wasn’t a good sign. He didn’t blackout or pass out, not since his teenage years.
“We’re not going back to that, are we?” he asked himself.
He got to his feet gingerly and went to his bathroom, the long-ago memory of what it felt like to shower and shave with a hangover rising to the surface. He dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, since he’d been given the week off to straighten up.
Jesus, he thought, sitting down on his bed. She left me.
It took him a minute of sitting there in terrible pain before he could get moving again.
Thinking, will it ever feel better?
And then, worse: what if it doesn’t?
He dragged his sorry ass into the kitchen, found Declan sitting there. He shot Dec a questioning look as he went to the fridge.
“I got you home last night. I stayed to make sure you weren’t going to vomit and asphyxiate in your sleep.”
Callum gave Dec an apologetic look as he pulled out the orange juice. “Sorry.”
He took a swig and immediately felt better. Then he realized that she brought the juice here, something about Vitamin C being a good way to start the day.
He put the cap on the orange juice, and sat it on the counter. Then he moved the juice to the counter beside the fridge and pulled one of the kitchen island seats around, so he wouldn’t have to look at it.
“What’d the juice ever do to you?” Declan asked.