Chapter 20 Twenty
Kian.
I was pissed. Beyond pissed. The kind of anger that sits low in your gut like hot lead, burning slow and steady, refusing to cool no matter how many slow breaths you force yourself to take.
My fork twirled a piece of potato on my plate. Round and round, mindless, the creamy mash turning into a lumpy spiral I had no intention of eating. Beside me, Fianna was actually eating. Small, deliberate bites. Her lips closing around the fork, the faint hum of satisfaction she let out when the flavors hit.
She didn’t acknowledge me putting food on her plate, not once. Not a thank you, not a glance, not even a flicker of surprise.
Stubborn fucking witch.
My mind kept dragging me back to the moment I walked through the front door.
Her. On his lap.
Caleb’s arms around her waist like they belonged there. Her head tucked against his shoulder. The way she lit up, actually lit up, when she saw him. Threw herself at him. Let him kiss her hair again and again like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Yeah. I had cameras in my whole house, so I watched the interactions.
For one blinding second I had almost lost it. My fist clenched when I entered and was ready to cross the room and put him through the goddamn wall. Brother or not. The only thing that stopped me was the old man’s presence, and the fact that turning the dinner into a bloodbath wouldn’t be a nice thing to do.
But I saw it.
I’ve always seen it.
Caleb doesn’t look at her like a brother. Never has. Not when we were teenagers running the same circles, not when she was sixteen and he was twenty and already too fucking quiet, too fucking watchful. I had caught the way his eyes lingered, too long, too soft, too hungry when she wasn’t looking. The way he would find excuses to touch her shoulder, her hair, her hand. Protective, sure. But protective, the way a man guards something he wants to own.
And she was blind to it. Completely fucking blind.
Dinner dragged on in near silence. Forks scraping plates. The occasional grunt from the old man. Fianna ate steadily, her eyes on her food, and her lips still faintly swollen from the kiss. From me. I could still taste her. The faint cherry of whatever gloss she had worn before I ruined it.
When the plates were finally cleared,
Callahan cleared his throat.
“Kian. Let’s have a word.”
I stared blankly at him for a minute, assessing, then pushed my chair back and stood. Fianna’s eyes flicked up because she was always curious, but then she looked away.
I followed the old man out to the balcony. Night air hit me, cool, carrying the faint salt of the sea even this far inland. I pulled a cigarette from my pocket, lit it with a flick of my lighter, inhaled deep. The burn helped. A little.
He leaned on the railing, his cane tapping once against the stone.
“I assume you want to talk about the Slanes,” I said, exhaling smoke into the dark.
He nodded slowly. “Them. And Fianna.”
My brows lifted.
He sighed. The kind of old-man heavy. “She’s never been out from under my roof before. Not really. I worry how she’s adjusting. If she’s… safe. Happy.”
“She’s managing,” I said. “The only real issue is the lockdown. Can’t go out until security’s airtight.”
He nodded. “That part’s been handled. Faster than expected. But I need you to hear me clearly, Kian.”
I took another drag, and waited for him to continue.
“Two days ago the Slanes hit Ronan and Caleb. Ordered the attack themselves. They killed two of their bodyguards. Though, we managed to kill a few of theirs as well.”
My blood went cold. “What the fuck?”
“They are making their point loudly.” His voice dropped. “Fianna doesn’t know. I don’t want her to know, at least, not yet. But that means she doesn’t leave your sight. Not for a second. Maximum security or not, I want eyes on her at all times until we deal with the Slanes. She’s everything to me. You understand?”
I exhaled slowly, smoke curling into the night. “I understand. Nothing touches her. Not while she’s with me.”
He studied me for a long moment, then reached out and tapped my shoulder once.
“Good man.”
Then he turned and limped back inside. I stayed out there, cigarette burning down between my fingers, my mind racing.
How the hell was I supposed to tell her she couldn’t even go to the club with me the second time? That the one tiny sliver of freedom she had clawed out of this arrangement was gone? She would fight me. Scream her lungs out. Hate me more.
But I would rather her hate me alive than risk her safety. A few minutes later, I suddenly felt a movement behind me.
I didn’t turn. I knew who it was. I knew the bastard was going to come look for me and he didn’t fail.
Caleb stepped up beside me, his hands in his pockets, staring out at the city lights. His jaw was tight and his eyes were narrowed at me.
“What the fuck are you doing out here?” I asked, my voice low.
He looked away from me. “Fifi doesn’t like you.”
The nickname grated my brain like nails on bone.
“She will leave you,” he continued, his voice quiet but vicious. “Sooner or later. She always does.”
Anger flared hot in my chest. I flicked ash over the railing. “Very soon she is going to see exactly who you are.”
He snorted. “She has never caught on before. What makes you think she will now?”
He stepped closer, too close. His voice dropped to a whisper only I could hear.
“Enjoy her while you can, Callahan.”
I turned my head slowly and met his eyes.
“Fuck you.”
He chuckled darkly, then turned and walked back inside. The cigarette burned down to the filter. I crushed it under my boot. He was right about one thing. Fianna would leave.
We had an agreement. End of the arrangement, end of us. No strings. No future. Just temporary proximity until the threat passed.
But hearing him say it in a certain way made something ugly twist in my gut.
I went back inside.
The dining room was empty. The family was gone. Tara was wiping down the table; Fianna—Fianna—was beside her, her sleeves rolled up, stacking plates with careful precision.
I stopped dead in the doorway.
Fianna Callahan, neat-freak princess who once told me she would rather die than touch a dish sponge, was clearing a table.
I rubbed my eyes. Twice.
She was still there.
“Tara,” I said quietly. “You can finish tomorrow.”
Tara glanced between us, smiled softly, and slipped out.
Fianna didn’t stop. Just kept stacking.
“Fianna, come here.”
She froze. Glared over her shoulder. “I’m busy. Say whatever you want to say from there.”
I growled low. “You won’t like it if I come get you myself.”
She straightened slowly, her hands on her hips. And she glared harder at me. “What the fuck is your problem? Go to your club. Go do whatever it is you do when you’re not ruining my night.”
I dropped into one of the dining chairs, and shrugged. “I want to spend time with you.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Then she threw the dish towel onto the table with a wet slap and stalked over. Stopped right in front of me. Stared down like she was trying to set me on fire with her eyes.
I couldn’t help it. I chuckled.
“What?” she snapped.
“Can’t a man stay in his own house anymore?”
She sighed dramatically, and sank into the chair across from me. “This is very unusual. Did my grandfather say something to you?”
“Like what?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Something about the Slanes? Some new rule?”
I shook my head, then cleared my throat. “He said I should take care of you. And that we should have a baby soon.”
She burst out laughing, but I know nothing was funny to her. That was the evil laughter. “Nice try. Callahan would never say that.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You shouldn’t be so sure.”
She glared. “Keep dreaming, Sullivan.”
I sighed, looking out the window, at nothing. “Fine.”
Silence stretched. Not comfortable. Not uncomfortable. Just… there.
She yawned widely, unselfconscious. “I’m sleepy. I’m going to bed.”
I shrugged. “You don’t have to announce it.”
She shook her head. “You never deserve my kindness.” Then, quieter: “Fuck you.”
I chuckled again. “Goodnight, Red.”
She froze mid-step. Turned slowly. “What did you just call me?”
I feigned innocence. “What?”
“Come on. You called me something.”
I worked my throat. Let the word sit on my
tongue a second before I gave it to her.
“Red.”
She squinted. “Why are you calling me a color?”
I leaned back in the chair. “I can call you whatever I want.”
“No.” She stepped closer. “You can’t just name me after a color for no reason.”
I tilted my head. “Who says there’s no reason?”
She crossed her arms. “Because what the fuck is Red? Seriously. I hate you so much.”
I nodded slowly, narrowing my eyes at her.
“I will take that as a reminder.”
She flipped me off, two fingers, Irish style, and marched out of the room.
I watched her go.
Red.