The Marriage Contract (2 page)

“No one did. That’s the point. They brokered the deal in secret—or as secret as anything is these days. You already know the name of the game. They were consolidating power.” Her tone told him her thoughts on
that
.

A deal between the Hallorans and the Sheridans would have sunk them. They held territory on either side of the O’Malleys, and he had no doubt that it wouldn’t take long for them to start eating away at the edges, with the aim of crushing Teague’s family and their business between them. The Boston underworld was a fat purse, but that kind of money only went so far when split three ways. Take out the largest competitor and… Yeah, he could see the reasoning behind Sheridan selling his daughter off to the Hallorans.

But, shit, everyone knew what a sadistic fuck Brendan was. His family didn’t draw the same lines the other two did, and he had no problem exploiting the human trafficking they dabbled in and creating his own little harem. Word had it that when Brendan played with those girls, most of the time he broke them beyond repair.

What kind of man would knowingly sentence his daughter to that?

And why the hell were his two older siblings bringing this information to
him
? He glanced between them. “It sounds like the girl dodged a bullet.”

“Most definitely.” Now apparently it was Aiden’s turn to talk. “She’s the heir to the Sheridan fortune—and all their territory—which means she’s going to be the most sought-after woman in Boston. The vultures will be circling by the end of the day.”

“Which is bullshit.”

Aiden glanced at Carrigan, his expression shuttered. “Which is bullshit, sure. But we’d be stupid to sit back and let someone else swoop in and snatch up this opportunity.”

Teague’s stomach twisted, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was standing on the train tracks and feeling the rumble of an incoming engine. “I’m not seeing what this shit has to do with me.”

“That’s the thing.” Aiden shifted. “If someone’s going to secure an alliance with the Sheridan family, why not one of us?”

The twisting in his stomach developed teeth, but he fought to keep his voice light. “Then I suppose I should congratulate you on your impending nuptials.”

“Actually, we’re here to congratulate
you
.” Aiden held up a hand. “Just hear me out. I can’t marry her. Our father already has a couple candidates in mind for me, and any of them would expand our territory exponentially.”

“Then what about Cillian? He’s old enough to play husband to the Sheridan girl.”

Carrigan shook her head. “That won’t work and you know it. The Sheridans might forgive our passing over Aiden and offering you, but it would be insulting to go to any of our younger siblings.”

Jesus Christ. Teague looked at the alcohol cabinet on the far wall. Surely it wasn’t too early to start drinking? Even as the thought crossed his mind, he pushed to his feet. It might be too early, but this wasn’t a conversation he was willing to have stone-cold sober. “No.”

“Don’t say no. You haven’t even heard us out.”

He didn’t have to. He knew what they would say.
It’s your duty to your family. Father has given you excessive freedom to mess around with your interests. It’s time to repay all those favors you tallied up.
He poured himself a splash of whiskey and then kept pouring until the glass was full. “Didn’t arranged marriages go the way of the dinosaurs a couple decades ago?”

“Maybe for other families. Not for ours.”

He knew that. Fuck, he wished he
didn’t
know it so well. The rules of polite society were different for his family than they were for your average Joe. He’d learned a long time ago that the money and connections came with more strings than a spider’s web. And walking away wasn’t an option, because that same money and those connections would be ruthlessly deployed to bring any prodigal sons or daughters back into the fold—whether they wanted to come or not.

Teague took a healthy swallow of the whiskey. “You can’t seriously be asking me to marry some woman I’ve never met from a family we were raised to hate.”

“I’m not.” Aiden paused, and it was like the whole room held its breath. “Father is.”

Just like that, the fight went out of him. He could argue his brother and sister to a standstill and even, occasionally, come out on top. Their father? His word was law, and he had no problem ruthlessly playing upon his children’s weak spots to get what he wanted. Teague had learned that the hard way when he was still young enough to believe that there was another life—another option—out there for him. “I need some time to think.”

“You don’t have much.”

Teague didn’t turn at the sound of the library door opening and closing, because he knew both siblings hadn’t left. “This is bullshit and you know it.”

“I know.” Carrigan plucked the glass out of his hand and took a sip. It was only then that he saw her hand was shaking. “You know Father made an offhand comment last night at the dinner you conveniently missed? He thinks it’s time for me to shit or get off the pot.” She laughed softly at the look on his face. “He didn’t say it in so many words, but the meaning was the same. My goddamn biological clock is ticking away in his ear, and the man wants heirs.”

He watched her finish the whiskey. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” She set the glass down with the care of someone who wanted to throw it across the room. “I’m as much in a cage as you are—as we all are—but I can’t talk to anyone about it.”

He knew the feeling. It all came down to the bottom line—family. It didn’t matter what was good for the individual as long as the family’s interests as a whole were served. “You can talk to me.”

Her smile was so sad, it would have broken his heart if he had anything left to break. “No, Teague, I really can’t.” With that, she turned and floated out of the room, leaving him alone in his misery.

He refilled his glass and went back to his seat on the couch. It was tempting to shoot the whole thing back and chase oblivion, but he needed his wits about him if he was going to get through this in the best position possible. The idea was absurd. The best position possible? He was a drowning man with no land in sight and the sharks were circling. There was nothing to do but pick the best way to die.

Each sip, carefully controlled, gave him some much-needed distance. He mentally stepped to the side and forced himself to look at the situation without the tangled mess of emotions in his chest. There might be no way out, but he could make the best of it regardless. The Sheridans had been a thorn in the family’s side for as long as there had been both Sheridans and O’Malleys in Boston. They might be looking to bolster their strength, but it wouldn’t take much to weaken their position.

He took another drink. No, it wouldn’t take much at all. And if he were with the Sheridans, he wouldn’t be
here
, so there was something to be said for that as well. The further he got from his father’s grasp, the easier it would be to slip free when the time came.

Slip free? The pipe dream of a child. He knew better by now…but that didn’t stop the tiny flare of hope inside him. It was a mistake not to crush it—if he didn’t now, then someone else would, and it would hurt more that way. Reality had a nasty way of intruding on pipe dreams, and the reality was that marrying into the Sheridan family wasn’t likely to give him an out. It would entangle him further in the type of life he wanted to escape. They may have a different last name and territory, but the type of beast was identical to the O’Malleys.

But if there was a chance to be free—truly free—wouldn’t he be a fool not to take it?

He picked up the book his brother had knocked to the floor, and carefully marked his page before closing it. He couldn’t leave Carrigan behind. Hell, he’d be a selfish prick to leave
any
of his sisters behind. And his youngest brother, Devlin, was the least suited of all of them for this life. The thought of hauling three women and Devlin into hiding with him…Teague shuddered. It was impossible. He couldn’t run without them, and he couldn’t run
with
them.

So what the fuck was he going to do?

He laughed, the sound harsh from his throat. He was going to do exactly what he was told, like a good little piece-of-shit son. He was going to marry the Sheridan woman.

C
allie followed her father into the reception hall, barely keeping her questions in check. All day, he’d acted as if nothing was wrong, and now he’d dragged her here even though she
knew
she wasn’t marrying Brendan any longer. She pressed a hand to her stomach, silently commanding it to stop churning. She hadn’t been able to keep anything down today, and four scalding showers weren’t enough to wash away what she’d done.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to bring the Sheridan empire, such as it was, into the future. They had enough clean money for legitimate investments now to be on the up-and-up, and she had fully intended to be the one to make the transition.

Now?

She looked at her hands, pale and clean despite the blood she was sure she could feel drenching them. Now, she was no better than her father and all the men who’d come before her.

She could almost hear Ronan in her head, as if he stood right next to her.
Jump the back fence and meet me in the park. We can be at the airport before they even know we’re gone.
An old joke of theirs—all the various ways they’d slip away from their protection detail and flee for another country. He’d stopped playing when he hit eighteen and graduated high school, but she’d never stopped her side of things.

I miss you so much, big brother. If you were here, none of this would have happened. Why, oh why, didn’t you call a cab that night?

She rubbed the old ache in her chest and allowed herself to really consider running for three seconds before she discarded the idea. Papa wouldn’t be alive forever—not when he’d aged decades in a matter of months after her brother died. Between his blood pressure skyrocketing and the doctor’s dire warnings about lifestyle choices and his heart’s ability to cope, he needed her.

If she left now, she might be able to live what passed for a normal life, but it was a selfish dream. When her father passed…God, that hurt to even think about…his generals would rise up in a battle for power that would hurt the very people they were supposed to protect. Oh, they might not see it that way, but Callie did. Without her here to fight for them to become a legitimate business, things would continue to stay the same way they’d always been.

And
that
was unacceptable.

She stopped just inside the massive room where they were supposed to have the party to announce her engagement, frowning. It was full to the brim with people. She recognized enough familiar faces to know that half of them were hers, but…

Those weren’t Halloran men.

Papa approached, an older man next to him. She looked into those dark eyes and her entire body went cold. Seamus O’Malley. The O’Malleys were the other third to the Irish underground, but they were barely better than street thugs. They were everything she was trying to get the Sheridans away from. He scanned her as if judging her worth.

Which was apparently exactly what he was doing, because he turned to her father. “She’s as exquisite as you promised. Teague will be as pleased as I am.”

Oh no. No, no, no
. This couldn’t possibly be happening. But, as she looked from one man to the other, she realized that it was. Brendan’s death hadn’t changed anything. Her father had merely switched out grooms, like they were paper dolls he’d assembled to do his bidding.
Without telling her
.

Her calming breaths weren’t doing much more than making her light-headed. She felt like she’d just chewed off her leg to escape an animal trap, only to fall into a pit of sharpened stakes. “I…I need to use the ladies’ room. Excuse me, please.”

She spun blindly without waiting for an answer, needing to be anywhere but here. A scream worked its way up her throat, clashing against her closed teeth, demanding release. She couldn’t let it out. If she started screaming, she wasn’t going to stop. She pushed through the doors, moved down the hallway and through another set to the quiet of the alley.

Would this O’Malley man be any better than Brendan was? She’d met the heir, Aiden, before, and he’d been nice enough—courteous, even. Their family didn’t have the same reputation the Hallorans did, but that didn’t mean
this
man wasn’t as much of a monster as Brendan had been.

Would he…

She pressed her hands to her mouth.
I don’t think I can do it again. I’m going to have nightmares for the rest of my life about what happened to Brendan.
She leaned against the brick wall and closed her eyes, concentrating on breathing and very carefully not thinking about the fact that she’d spent several hours with her father today going over the past quarter’s finances of several of the restaurants she ran for the family—and he hadn’t seen fit to mention this turn of events.

It would be okay. It
had
to be okay. If this Teague was a monster, too, well she already knew she was capable of defending herself. Her stomach twisted at the thought.
Please, God, please don’t make me do it again
. There had to be another way—a better way to protect her family. She was so wrapped up in her misery, she didn’t realize she was no longer alone until a rough male voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “Want a smoke?”

Callie opened her eyes to a man offering her an opened pack of cigarettes. He was attractive in a brutish sort of way, his jaw square, cheekbones to kill for, and shoulders filling out his expensive suit in a way that didn’t look the least bit comfortable.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Now’s as good a time to start as any.” He shook one out and handed it to her, and then lit the one dangling between his lips.

She started to hand hers back and then reconsidered. What was one cigarette going to hurt? It certainly couldn’t make the night any worse. “Ah…thank you.”

He offered the lighter, cupping the flame between his big hands, and waited for her to lean in and light it. It felt shockingly intimate, as if they were sharing a secret or other such nonsense. She looked away, inhaling sharply, and started coughing. “Oh God.”

“Inhaling might not be the smartest idea.” He didn’t seem to have a problem with it, exhaling a stream of smoke that temporarily shielded his face from her. “I hear we’re going to be married.”

This
was Teague O’Malley? She tensed, but he seemed content to stand in this dark alley with her and share his cigarettes. Now that she knew what to look for, she recognized the same coloring that his father and older brother had—sun-darkened skin and near-black hair. His dark eyes weren’t as cold as Seamus’s, but that didn’t comfort her in the least. All it meant was that he was a better liar than his father was. “What do you think about that?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter what either of us thinks, does it?”

Her father knew how important it was not to undermine her authority now that she was the heir, and he was usually willing to sit down and hash things out with her before making a decision that would impact their family and business on multiple levels. A decision like choosing the man she was going to marry. But he hadn’t even consulted her. And she fully intended to find out why at the earliest available opportunity. It was too late to back out now. Not only would it insult the O’Malleys, who shared too much of their border to provoke into anything beyond the occasional skirmishes, but it’d further weaken a position that couldn’t afford to take any more hits. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

She tried her cigarette again, and this time the smoke went down smoother. Her head spun a bit, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, so she did it a third time, watching him out of the corner of her eye. She wanted to know why he’d followed her out here—if there was something he’d wanted to say that couldn’t be said in front of both their combined families—but he seemed content to enjoy his cigarette in silence. Maybe he’d needed the respite as much as she had?

The escape—from strategizing, from talking, from questioning—was a gift, no matter how strangely packaged. She closed her eyes, letting her thoughts drift further away with each exhale. All too soon, it’d be time to step back into the chaos and let the events neither of them could stop begin, but right now they were just two strangers, sharing a moment of silence.

Can we really be strangers if we’re already engaged?

She pushed the thought away, determined to enjoy this stolen moment in time before reality set back in. By the time she finished her cigarette, her hands had almost stopped shaking. She crushed the remaining bit under the toe of her sky-high heels and turned for the door.

Only to find her way blocked by Teague.

He was taller up close, well over six feet, and broader as well. The man looked like a bruiser, which was fitting because it was exactly what he was. He stared down at her with beautiful dark eyes, and her demand that he get out of her way died in her throat. While she was debating her options, he reached up, quick as a snake, and snagged the silk scarf around her neck. She made a grab at it, but it was too late.

Teague took a step closer, and then another, backing her against the wall, his eyes narrowing at her neck. “Show me.”

“Leave me alone.” Was that her voice, weak and wavering? She took a shuddering breath, all her hard-won calm disappearing. “Get out of my way.”

He kept going as if he hadn’t heard her, stopping less than an arm’s reach away. God, he seemed big this close up—bigger than Brendan, bigger than her brother had been. He cupped her chin, his grip painless but completely unmovable, and tilted her head back to bare her neck. “Who hurt you?” There was a promise of violence in every line of his body.

“No one.”

“Now, I may not be the smartest man in the world, Callista, but I know what the imprint of a man’s hands on a woman’s neck looks like.” His thumb moved, tracing the line of Brendan’s fingers that she could still feel digging into her skin. Teague’s touch didn’t hurt, though. It felt…almost good.

She swallowed, the move pressing her throat more firmly against his thumb. “I—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

She shivered under that unrelenting gaze, and licked her lips, all too aware of how he tracked the movement. “It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right. Because I’m going to kill the bastard.” He kept stroking her skin, his touch doing strange things to parts of her body that weren’t anywhere near her neck. “Tell me his name.”

She wouldn’t, even if the man who’d hurt her wasn’t already dead. Even in their messed-up world, murder was a last resort—something to be avoided at all costs—not something you did for a woman you barely knew. “No.”

“Your father hasn’t been keeping what’s his safe.” Another stroke, this one closer to her jawline. “That’s his mistake—one I won’t be making as well. His name, Callista.”

Oh God, oh God, oh God.
She had to get a handle on this now. She’d never considered herself one to crack under pressure, but this man put his hands on her and spoke in that quiet, confident way that promised violence to anyone who touched her, and she was dangerously close to losing control.
Which
kind of control was up for grabs, so she went with the least likely to reveal her secret.

She kissed him, her heels giving her enough height that she barely had to go up on her toes. Her lips brushed his, and for one interminable second she was sure neither of them took a breath.

Then his arms were around her, and he took the last step to bring their chests flush together and her back against the wall. Even knowing she should be panicking at being pinned, she slipped her arms around his neck and traced the seam of his lips with her tongue.

That was all it took.

He let go of her throat to cup the back of her head, and then she was in the middle of the single most devastating kiss of her life. His tongue stroked hers, claiming her mouth—her body—as his own. His hands stayed in place even as he continued the assault on her mouth, his touch headier than the nicotine. She arched against him, tilting her head to allow him better access, and he growled in approval.

Whatever she’d expected from this kiss, it certainly hadn’t been desire. Though
desire
was too tame a word. She’d felt desire before, and this wasn’t it. This was…need. All-consuming need that devoured everything in its path, leaving only destruction in its wake.

Teague couldn’t get enough of her. He should back off, should let her know he recognized her kiss for the distraction ploy it was, should get back to figuring out who the fuck put their hands on her. But he couldn’t think beyond the way she softened against him and how unbelievably good she tasted.

He allowed himself to skate a hand up her side and run his thumb along the underside of her breast.
Holy shit
. There was nothing between them but a thin layer of fabric. She moaned, so he moved up a little more, circling her nipple, and giving a moan of his own when her entire body quaked.

This
was the woman his father demanded he marry?

Christ, if he only knew, he’d take this away from Teague just like he had every other thing of value. The thought should have been a sobering one, but he was too far gone.

Somewhere to the left of them, a male throat cleared.

He tore away from her at the same time she shoved him, but Teague had only moved to stand in front of her, putting himself between her and whoever had just entered the alley. He took in the man with a single look—tall, big-ass shoulders, and black. That suit was most definitely hiding a gun in a shoulder holster, and he probably had at least one more on his person.

Callista pushed past him, shooting him a look. “Micah.”

The man—Micah—crossed his arms over his massive chest. “They’re looking for you, Callie. And I guess they’re looking for
you
, too.”

“Then we’d best get back.” Callista snatched the scarf out of Teague’s hands and wrapped it around her throat once more, hiding the marks.

It was like being doused in a bucket of cold water. She’d played him, and he’d been only too happy to go for it. Teague cursed himself as they disappeared into the building. He paced the alley, his desire for the woman dwindling as memories assaulted him.