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 considered himself 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 swung, 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.
The whole thing was just wrong. She would have liked a small private event, not the circus the O’Malleys seemed determined to throw together. She understood the reasoning—the wedding had become a physical representation of their refusing to be cowed by their enemy—but the whole process was as pleasurable as walking over a bed of nails.
There were so many other things she needed to be doing. She hadn’t been down to Moira’s in nearly a week. It had been running just fine under the manager, Janey, before Callie graduated, and it would continue running just fine once she was forced to focus most of her energy on the other Sheridan assets, but she still liked the hands-on approach.
She’d been dropping balls left and right since that night at the strip club, and this wedding planning business threatened to be just another distraction. She didn’t care about the flowers or the venue or the guest list, and Aileen damn well knew it. So did Papa. But because she was the feminine half of this partnership, she was expected to pretty herself up and be delighted by the colossal waste of time.
If she had a normal life, she would have been enjoying every second of this, towing friends behind her to the various appointments, looking forward to the moment when the love of her life slipped a ring on her finger.
But she didn’t have a normal life—she was a goddamn Sheridan—and she hadn’t even been allowed to choose her groom. Thoughts of Teague brought a tired smile to her face. He was the sole high point, but thoughts of him too quickly turned to whom she’d been supposed to marry.
Brendan.
She rubbed a hand over her chest, the massive house suddenly feeling altogether too small. She needed to talk to Papa, to get this all out into the open once and for all. Maybe if she could tell someone about what she’d done, the awful weight on her chest would become bearable. She peeked