We all went our separate ways and I headed for Richard’s office. The damn thing was demolished, and it made me angry to walk through. I picked up books. Placed pieces of paper back where they belonged. I gathered up files and picked up the lamp that had broken while falling off the desk. Every shard of glass saturated me with anger. Every tipped-over book painted a better picture of what happened to him. I studied the door. I ran my fingertips over the smooth brass handles. And as I looked at the softly splintered wood on the door, an image ran through my mind.
Several of them, in fact.
My stepfather opened the door before trying to close it. Wood splintered as the door forced itself open, his body thrown back over his desk, hence the lamp and his papers all shoved toward the back wall. I looked at his chair in the corner. Scratched and scraped, as if a struggle had occurred. I saw a flash of his body there. His stomach pinned to it. His hands, scraping at the plastic. Trying to reach for anything to defend himself.
The intruder was unexpected and armed. But Richard saw him as a threat.
Which meant he very much knew his assailant.
After cleaning up his office, I pulled his chair over to the desk. I pulled out files, trying to figure out what was going on and what had been wrapped up. Most of the projects I remembered him speaking about over the phone during our monthly update meetings had been closed down. Either due to police investigations that compromised them, or their successful finish had been reached. I pulled out his financier documents. I flipped through all the way to the section of people that owed him money. There was no reason in this world why the Callaghan Family couldn't still collect on debts simply because Richard had gone missing.
And the first name I came to also gave me my first suspect.
I pressed my finger against the name. Daly, James. Current patriarch of the Daly Family. Oh, he owed a massive debt. A fortune for an advance on a truck rental contract for the family’s distillery. The interest alone had mounted into the tens of thousands of dollars. I furrowed my brow, wondering why the hell Richard hadn’t collected on this deal. Or slaughtered the son in the process.
I needed answers to these questions. And repayment needed to happen now.
Lest the Callaghan’s looked as if we were soft.
“Thoman? I know you’re out there,” I said.
Footsteps fell into Richard’s study as I looked up.
“Do you need anything?” I asked.
“Just here for if you need something,” he said.
“Good. Because I do. Call Mr. Daly and tell him I’m on the way. Let him know I’m conducting a personal house call for a debt he owes. And if he doesn’t have my first payment, we’ll have to have a more private conversation.
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
I stood from the chair as I smoothed my hands down my suit.
“Have the driver pull around front. Let him know where we’re headed. The Callaghan family stops for no one and nothing,” I said.
“Of course, sir. The car will be waiting for you.”
3
Ciara
I shook as I stood there standing next to my bodyguard. He’d guarded me, full-stop, since I was five or six years old. I was terrified just standing there, in a room with my mother sitting on the couch. She was stoic as stone, with way too much makeup on her face. She stared at the wall, refusing to look at me. As if I were the last thing on the planet she wanted to acknowledge.
I’d never seen my mother look so defeated.
I studied her face. The scarf around her neck. It was much too hot still to have a scarf. Especially with a fire going in the fireplace. Hiding bruises, no doubt. Her and Father had fought more these days. Louder and louder before crashes were heard. Before her screams echoed off the walls before Father’s growls receded into the back of the house. A place I was never allowed to go.
God only knew what he kept back there.
“I’ve got your payment! Just follow me, you imbecile!”
“You’d do right to understand who you’re speaking with.”
“Right now, I’m speaking with some stuck-up heir to some throne that isn’t his.”
“And until my father returns, you answer to me. Just as it has always been.”
My father’s voice made me flinch. But the voice of the other man was oddly soothing in a weird sort of way. Despite my father’s anger, he didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t sound shaken or deterred from his original goal. He had come to collect. And collect, he would.
Especially when he saw my breasts spilling out of this dress.
My father’s voice grew hushed. I couldn't hear what they were saying any longer, but I did pick up a few words. Something like “millions.” And “debt.” Interest. Tens. Thousands. Something about the distillery. I blinked my eyes rapidly, trying to keep my tears at bay. My worst nightmare realized, and things simply seemed to get worse. There was no way in hell I could repay that kind of debt. Not with the scars my body had.
My face.
I turned my head to try and find a mirror. And instead, I found my bodyguard staring at me. His eyes, scanning my body. His hands cupped in front of him. Covering the bulge that grew between his legs. I snapped my face to the front and tried not to pay attention to him. Tried not to focus on how he licked his lips at the corner of my eye. I closed my eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath. The man that had watched me from when I was nothing but a toddler, and now? He wanted to take me. Make me his.
Just like the man with my father would.
Please, someone take me out of my misery.
I was much too scared to say anything. And Mom still wouldn't look my way. My bodyguard turned to face me, stepping a little too close. His body heat made me feel stifled. My legs tensed. He peered down my dress, looking at my breasts. And I snorted as I drew in a soft breath.
“You’d do well to silence yourself,” Mom said softly.
I sniffled as I turned away. I didn’t dare move from my position. I only hoped the bodyguard didn’t lay a finger on me. I needed something else to focus on. Something else to take my mind off the hellhole swirling around me.
Yes. My face. Was my makeup okay?
I scanned the room, trying to find a reflective surface. My eyes darted along the walls, hoping for a window. Or a mirror. Or a vase that reflected my distorted face. I hadn’t been in this room much. The fireplace room had always been reserved for business meetings. I wasn’t allowed in it without explicit permission and accompaniment. So, this “old” room in the house felt like a newly-added wing.
One that held the death of my childhood.
I needed to make sure I had the scar on my face covered up. I mean, my body had a lot of small scars here and there. Falls I took as a child. Things my father threw at me that knicked me as I dodged his anger. But nothing compared to the last time I had made him angry. The last time he had lashed out at me. I had disobeyed him. Talked back to him when he wanted me to keep silent. I fought him on going to prom. I wanted to go so badly. And in the end, I decided to sneak out. Get dressed up and call a cab to take me to the venue where the dance was held.
I should’ve known I couldn't escape my father, though. Because as I stepped out of that cab, my bodyguard waited for me. Ready to push me right back into that cab before following us back home in his black SUV.
With my father’s wrath meeting me at the door.
“You dare disobey me!?”
The crash of a vase on the floor made my mother scream that night. Scream so loudly her voice went hoarse.
“You dare go against my wishes for some dance!? Put yourself in danger!?”
My cheek stung with phantom pains as the memory of his hand cracking across my face stung my mind.
“Was it for a boy? Huh? You ready to get on your knees? Part those legs? Bare some pathetic little monster children?”
And when I cried out for him to stop, it only got worse.
I closed my eyes and kept my tears at bay. I felt my chest
jumping, though. I felt my bodyguard staring at it, too. I had to stop caring. I had to stop feeling. I had to stop assuming that life would get better. That night, my father picked up a vase and threw it at my head. Chucked it right at me. And when I ducked, I turned. Shielded my head, but not my face. It shattered against the wall. Mom shrieked at the top of her lungs. And when I felt the searing pain across my face, I knew what had happened.
Especially once I opened my eyes and saw blood dripping to the floor.
The aftermath of that one fight was the only time my father ever showed me any ounce of care. He got me the best doctors to stitch me up. He got me the best medication to heal my wounds. He got me the best anti-scar cream to rub on it every night. Anything to preserve my beauty. Anything to preserve my selling stock. He didn’t do it because he loved me. He did it because he almost destroyed what made me a pawn in all his schemes.
How beautiful I had apparently turned out.
But no matter how scary this man might be—no matter what he wanted from me—I knew I’d never fear him more than my father. More than my father’s anger. Because my father’s anger was the stuff of nightmares. The stuff of horror stories. There were psychopaths more emotional and contributing than my father. There were sociopaths that cared more about their loved ones than he cared about me.
“Blade! Bring her!”
Father’s voice filled the room and I whipped my eyes over to Mom. Her chest jumped. She swallowed hard. And then, she finally looked at me. Her head slowly turned. Her dead eyes stared deeply into mine. And I could have sworn I saw sorrow passing behind her eyes. I wanted to rush to her. I wanted to hug her one last time. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her and that I didn’t blame her for any of this. That I didn’t blame her for marrying our father. That I didn’t blame her for the way our lives turned out.
I blamed him for this.
I blamed Father for this.
“Come. Before he gets angrier,” Blade said.
My bodyguard’s voice caught my ear and I nodded. I pulled my eyes away from my mother and followed him down the hallway. I kept my eyes ahead. I rolled my shoulders back. I walked with grace, my heels barely clicking against the floor. Silent and small. That was what my father taught me to be. Never eat too much, never speak too loudly, and never speak unless spoken to. Move as if the world could see you but appear invisible. That was the Daly Lady Way.
But apparently, I wasn’t walking quickly enough.
“I said, pick up the pace.”
Blade growled at me as his hand came down around my arm. My eyes widened, and every ounce of grace I might have had was gone. I stumbled on my heels. He tugged me along, closer and closer to my father’s office. My shoulders collapsed, tears pouring over the edges of my eyes. I chastised myself for not being strong enough. For being a bumbling, nightmare of a mess.
He tossed me into my father’s office. I fell to the floor. My father scoffed before he commanded Blade to leave. I quickly scurried to my feet, trying to keep my breasts and my butt cheeks from falling out of my clothing. I sniffled and held my head high. I drew in a deep breath and stopped my tears in their tracks. I didn’t even want to look at the man. The one standing beside me. The man with the eyes that drilled into me.
The man whose shoes I saw when Blade tossed me to the floor.
I stared at my father. The look of disgust on his face was enough to break my heart. I quickly swiped at my cheeks, hoping and praying my makeup hadn’t budged. Or gone anywhere. My mother invested in waterproof makeup for a reason. She taught me how to use it. How to get it off. How to make it work in my favor. And as I drew in a deep breath, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror above Father’s head.
Which meant I caught a glimpse of the man circling me.
I whipped my head over to look at him. To take him in. He looked nothing like I imagined he would. Mostly, because he looked young. I didn’t recognize him, and I recognized everyone my father interacted with. Was he new?
“Look at me,” he said.
That low voice rumbled my ribcage. The steady, calm voice of the man my father had yelled at. Pathetic, how my father could lose his cool but someone half his age could keep theirs. His hand gripped my chin, forcing my eyes to his. And when I gazed into them, I found myself breathless.
Brown, with specks of blue.
They’re beautiful.
Everything about him was beautiful. He had a strong jawline. Clean-shaven, despite the shadowed appearance around his cheeks. His eyes studied my face, and it gave me a chance to study him. The softly crooked lean of his nose. The intensity of his stare. His thick head of hair swept off to the side and intricately groomed. His all-black suit tailored itself to his body. Hugging him and showcasing the strength he had underneath. He was tall. He hunched in order to study me. And when my eyes met his, his thumb ran along my cheek. Along the edge of my scar.
Before something flashed behind his eyes.
Oh, no. He saw it. He’s going to give me back.
“Well? Do we have a deal, Callaghan?”
This man is a Callaghan?
“You'll wait for my word or you won’t get a deal at all,” the man said coolly.
I didn’t even know what the deal was. But I had an idea.
His hand fell away from my chin. He gripped his hands behind his back. He walked around me, his speckled eyes gazing up and down my form. I blushed, reddening, from head to toe. I hated feeling as if I were on display. I just wanted to stay in the shadows. Slink away and fade into nothing.
“You have my word she’s still a virgin,” Father said.
“You've already said that.”
“You're looking at her as if you don’t believe me.”
“Not what I’m looking at, Mr. Daly.”
His hand moved to the back of my leg and I flinched, swallowing a squeal. His fingertips played on another one of my scars. One I got after Father hit me. The first time he hit me, actually. Well, the first time I could remember. I was eleven and running through the house. I came around a corner and he backhanded me with his knuckles, causing me to stumble into a sharp corner. It pierced my skin. His hand broke my nose. And as a result, I had a nose job at twelve to fix the crookedness of the damage.
As well as seventeen stitches to close up the gap on the back of my thigh.
“Well?” Father asked.
The man’s hand slid away from my body and I sighed, but not with relief. I didn’t know why I sighed. I guess because I had been holding my breath.
Why was I holding my breath?
“Yes. I’ll take her. Your debt is cleared, Mr. Daly.”
“No!”
Mom shrieked from the other room. Father rose up from his desk. My bodyguard chuckled outside the door as he shook the mysterious man’s hand. I watched my life flash before my eyes. I sunk into the dark abyss that tried swallowing me whole all my life.
“I appreciate your services, Mr. Callaghan,” Father said.
“I’ll take good care of her,” the man said.
“I don’t give a damn what you do. Just make sure you clear that debt.”
Arms wrapped around my waist and I struggled against them. I clawed at the hands around me as I was lifted off my feet and tossed over someone’s shoulder as my father chuckled. Mom cried all the way down the hallway, calling out my name as I kicked and screamed. Blade groaned out in pain, and he smacked my ass in order to keep me silent.
“You touch my property like that again and I’ll have that hand of yours mounted. Do you hear me?”
The mysterious man’s voice boomed across the foyer, causing everyone to stop.
“Well? The man asked you a question,” Father said.
Blade nodded. “Yes, sir.”
And with silent tears streaming down my cheeks, I fell limp. Fighting did me no good. The cool air of the night hit my bare skin, causing me to shiver. Bile crept up the back of my throat. Blade tossed me into an all-black town car. He slammed the door and peered t
hrough the window, running his hand through his hair. Then, the doors locked themselves closed. Sealing me in. Sealing my fate.
Giving me no time to pack any of my things before sending me off into servitude for the rest of my life.
4
Declan
I eyed Daly up and down before I made my way out of his home. With my suit coat buttoned and my hand in my pocket, I watched as the scar-necked bodyguard who tossed my new prize over his shoulder like he owned the damn place walked back toward me. He licked his lips. Snickered at me, as if he had the place to do such a thing.
So, I reached out and fisted his shirt.
“What the—”
“You listen to me, and you listen well. If you ever—and I mean ever—handle my property the way you just handled it, I’ll slaughter you. Is that understood?”
I glared at him, waiting for him to nod. And when he finally did, I released him.
“Good. I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding,” I said.
I walked over to the black town car and saw it rocking on its chassis. She was trying to get out, tugging at the locked door and beating against the window. She had a lot of spunk, this one. She also had a lot of fear, though. I stood by the window, waiting for her to settle down. Waiting for her to get it all out of her system. And when the very last sniffle fell from her nose, I tapped on the car window twice.
Before it unlocked.
I opened the door and slipped into the car. My prize scurried away from me, pressing herself against the other door. Her eyes widened. She looked around as if she had no idea what was happening to her. My eyes studied her. The slender features. Her long, blonde hair. Those dark green eyes she inherited from her mother. Not the boring brown of her father.
Thank fuck.
“My name is Declan Callaghan. What’s your name?”
Her eyes whipped over to mine and she sniffled again.
“Ciara Daly, sir.”
I waved my hand in the air. “No ‘sir’ necessary here.”
Declan: The Callaghan Mafia #1 Page 3
