Hurt (The Hurt Series, #1)

by Lydia Michaels

  He stifled a groan as he forced his legs to the floor and sat up. “Ye know I cannae resist yer magical tea. I’ll take it in my usual cup, please.”

  She gathered up her dollies and the wee kettle and plastic cups. Dropping her treasures on the carpet by his feet, she set up the saucers and cups again, pretending to carefully fill each one.

  “Careful, it’s very hot,” she warned, handing him the wee pink cup and saucer.

  He pinched the handle between two gnarled fingers and sipped gingerly, pretending to burn his lips. “Mmm, delicious.”

  She giggled, her green eyes dancing over the rim of her own cup. “How come ye slept down here again?”

  “I fell asleep readin’ a book.”

  “It must not ’ave been anythin’ good then.”

  He chuckled. “Must not ’ave been.”

  She refilled their tea and fluffed the ruffles of her dolly’s dress. He frowned, not recalling the name of that one, or seeing it before.

  “And who is this?” He was used to having tea with Mr. Ruffington and Honeypot—the bears. They were married but going through some troubles, according to Uma.

  “This is LeeLee.”

  “Oh. Pleased to meet you, LeeLee.”

  Uma lifted the doll to shake his hands, its eyes fluttered, and he frowned, noting the vintage porcelain face and somewhat ratty hair. It dinnae look new.

  “Nice to meet ye, Uncle Callan,” Uma said, speaking for the doll. Its clothing looked hand- made, different from anything they sold in American toy stores.

  “Where did you say LeeLee came from?”

  “The lady gave her to me.”

  “Which lady?” Elspeth sometimes took Uma to the market with her. Perhaps a woman at the store sold them the doll.

  “The lady who visits me.”

  A cold chill settled in his veins. He gently hooked a finger under Uma’s chin, drawing her gaze up to his. “What lady?”

  Wide green eyes blinked up at him, wavering with uncertainty. “The one who sings to me?”

  “Someone comes to the house?” He scowled and yelled, “Elspeth?”

  “Uncle Callan, am I in trouble?”

  “No. Where’s Elsie?”

  Uma’s lip trembled. “She’s makin’ lunch. Do I have to give LeeLee back?”

  He stood and went to the library door, shouting for Elspeth again. “No, angel. But ye need te tell me who gave ye the dolly. Did she have a name?”

  “I dinnae ken her name. She just comes here every once in a while and plays with me.”

  “She comes to the house?”

  With fidgeting impatience, he marched into the hall. “Elspeth, I need you in here. Now.” Returning to Uma, he crouched low, putting himself on her eye level. “Listen to me, Uma. I need to know what the lady who gave you the dolly looked like. What color hair did she have? What color skin? Was she inside the house? When was she here? Who let her in?”

  Her eyes widened as he overwhelmed her with questions. The bright green pupils swam behind a wall of tears as two large drops fell down her fair cheeks.

  “Callan, what is it?”

  He stood and took the doll from Uma, marching it to Elspeth. “Where did she get this?”

  “LeeLee!” Uma cried.

  Elspeth shook her head. “I’ve never seen it before a few days ago. I assumed you gave it to her.”

  “I dinnae give her this doll. She says a lady did. Has someone been to the house?” he shouted.

  “No.” Elspeth appeared genuinely shocked by this information.

  Uma continued to cry, so he handed her back the doll, only slightly consoling her. Trying to control his temper, he dragged a hand through his hair.

  “Is it possible she found it in the house? It looks like an antique.”

  He shook his head. He’d searched the house when they moved in. He would have found it and probably given it to her himself. And he believed Uma wouldnae lie to him.

  “...Silver buckles at his knee. He'll come back and marry me, Bonny Bobby Shafto.”

  Callan turned to Uma who sang softly to the doll, his eyes unblinking and his head swimming with a disembodied sense of déjà vu. His heart thundered, and his blood ran cold. “Who taught her that rhyme?”

  “I dinnae ken,” Elspeth answered.

  Uma looked up at him and smiled tremulously. “The lady taught me it.”

  “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He grabbed Uma off the floor and shoved her into Elspeth’s arms. “Leave. Get her out of the house. Take your mobile and dinnae stop drivin’ until I call you.”

  Elspeth’s panicked stare widened. “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s Innis. She’s been here.”

  “What?” Her arms closed protectively around Uma.

  “Just go. I’ll search the house.” He reached to the top of the hutch and pulled down a revolver, checking that the chamber was full. “Now!”

  She raced out the door with Uma on her hip, and he watched as the car sped away, his thumb unlocking the safety on the gun as he crept silently through the hall. At the grandfather clock, he swiped his bowie knife hidden in the compartment with the clock face and held it at his hip.

  “Innis?” His eyes scanned the empty den, his feet walking the perimeter and flicking the heavy drapes as he inspected the locks on each window.

  “I dinnae want to hurt ye, love. Just come out, and we’ll talk.”

  He moved slowly, his eyes alert. The library was empty, as was the dining room and parlor.

  “I want to help ye, Innis.”

  Keeping his back to the wall, he worked his way up the stairs to the second floor. His socked foot pushed open the door to the first bedroom. He worked his way through all the rooms and closets and bathrooms, finding no window unlocked and no traces of her.

  When he reached Uma’s bedroom, the last place she could be, he prepared himself for anything. “We can talk about ye seeing Uma, but ye have to talk to me first.” That was the agreement.

  He angled his head, peeking under the bed, spotting only a few tumbles of dust and Honeypot the bear.

  Keeping his breathing calm, he clutched the bowie knife in his teeth and reached for the closet doorknob. The second it clicked, he yanked it open.

  He let out a breath and pulled the knife from his mouth. Pivoting, he faced the bedroom door. “Innis,” he yelled. “Enough of this.”

  He’d told her not to come back unless she wanted help, told her Uma would be his first priority and she’d have to go through him first. This was not part of the plan.

  Something caught his ear, and he stilled. A soft clatter from downstairs.

  He raced out of the room, taking the steps two at a time and following the noise to the kitchen. His feet slipped over the polished floor, his legs kicking out from under him as he came crashing down on his hip and nearly stabbing himself as the gun flung out of his grip. He lunged to his feet and bolted toward the kitchen, swiping up his revolver from where it spun on the floor.

  A clatter of pots and pans slammed like thunder, and he burst into the kitchen, catching a flash of motion behind the island. He cocked the gun.

  “Dinnae fuckin’ move or I’ll put a bullet through yer fuckin’ skull, ye crazy bitch.”

  The blood rushed from his lips as a pale-faced Emery rose from behind the counter, hands spread and shaking. The knife clattered to the ground, and he lowered the muzzle of the gun.

  “What the hell...”

  “The front door was open.” Hands still in the air, she glanced at the groceries on the counter. “I was going to surprise you with breakfast in bed.”

  Her eyes welled with tears, and he cursed, stashing the gun on the counter and rushing around the island to gather her in his arms. She dinnae go easily, her body stiff and unyielding as he pressed his face into her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, love. I thought ye were someone else.” How could he have left the door unlocked?

  “Who?” she choked.

  “It makes no diff
erence.” Jesus, he’d almost shot her.

  She was trembling from head to toe. He pressed his lips to her pulse.

  “Is that a real gun?”

  He shut his eyes, wishing he could rewind his life. “Aye.”

  “You need to put it away before Uma finds it.”

  Sometimes her thought processes surprised him. “She’s out with Elspeth.” He needed to call her and let her know it was safe to come home. He reluctantly let Emery go and held out a staying hand. “Wait here.”

  He returned the weapons to their hiding spots, but grabbed a smaller knife on the way back, sheathing it and tucking it inside his jeans. Emery hadnae moved an inch.

  He tried to act casual, rubbing his hands together and peeking in the brown paper bag on the counter. “What are we making for breakfast?”

  She stared at him, eyes wide and unblinking. He gave up any hope of acting like this hadn’t happened and sighed.

  “I wouldnae have shot ye, Em’ry. I’ve never accidentally hurt someone.”

  She blinked. “But if I was the crazy bitch you were expecting?”

  His gaze dropped to the carton of eggs. “I wouldnae have shot her either.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Callan, why did you think a crazy bitch was in your house? Who is she?”

  Was that jealousy he sensed in her voice? The sharp glare in her eyes held enough fire to wither a man’s bollocks right off the stem.

  He swallowed, knowing he had to tell her more unflattering truth. “My sister.”

  Her jaw unhinged and she gawked at him. “Your sister’s dead.”

  “Not ... truly. The Innis I grew up with is gone, but the woman she became is still very much alive and very much insane. And possibly lurking around the house.”

  Her head shook. “I don’t understand.”

  His lips firmed. “I think she came to see Uma, possibly gave her a doll.”

  “But Uma rarely leaves... Oh, my God, you think she was in your house?”

  He nodded, brows lifted. Now she was gettin’ it. “Aye. Last I saw her, she was covered in blood and singing songs like a lunatic, starin’ into space.”

  She gasped. “Can you call someone?”

  “She’s my responsibility. I’ll find her. Or I willnae. But she cannae see Uma again without coming to me first. She should know I’d never allow that.”

  “Is Uma in danger? Should you guys come to my house—”

  He caught her hand and smiled, appreciating her concern, but certain if Innis was around, she already figured out Emery and where she lived. “That willnae be necessary. But I’d like ye te stay here with us for a while. With the trial coming up, it might be a good idea te spend the nights together.”

  “What about Ernie?”

  “Bring him. Uma would love it.”

  She blinked up at him, a strange look in her eyes he’d never seen before. “O—kay. But ... this is just temporary, right?”

  He stilled, now understanding the look. Would she be opposed to something more than temporary? Would he? It all depended on how much time they had before he had to take care of Blaine.

  “Let’s play it by ear.”

  She nodded. “How do you like your eggs?”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Saratoga Springs, New York—America

  Present day

  She might be a little bit crazy. Callan pointed a gun at her, and five minutes later she agreed to temporarily move in with him. Her and her cat. Yeah, she definitely wasn’t making sensible choices, but her gut told her this was right.

  If his sister was unstable enough to freak him out to the point that he needed a gun and a big Crocodile Dundee knife, then Emery knew enough to be afraid. And when life got scary, she turned to Callan.

  It didn’t matter that he had weapons and a track record of killing bad guys. How was that any different than a celebrated veteran who made the world a little safer?

  She trusted him. She trusted his moral compass and his conviction to protect those he loved. She counted herself lucky to be one of those people, which was why she’d packed a bag and her cat and spent the night.

  She’d been excited to finally have a full sleepover with him, but it turned out Callan rarely slept. He followed her to bed, they fooled around, he read, and when she opened her eyes, he was gone.

  She’d slipped downstairs to get a glass of water, thinking he might be in the library, but the house was dark and unfamiliar, so she quickly returned upstairs, never figuring out where he’d run off to.

  “Where were you last night?” she asked, sliding a noodle onto a long thread of yarn.

  “This one next,” Uma said, handing her another macaroni for the necklace they were making.

  Soft wind murmured through the trees where they sat, enjoying a hidden pocket of beauty on Callan’s property. The sweet scent of smoke and burning twigs tinged the air.

  “I couldnae sleep, and I dinnae want te wake ye with the light, so I went downstairs te read.”

  A golden riot of leaves spun up from the ground as a breeze burst through the garden, lifting the corners of the tartan blanket. Long strands of Uma’s black hair elevated like silk cobwebs as she focused intently on stringing the macaroni necklace.

  Emery fixed the blanket and returned her stare to Callan. “When I got up to get a glass of water you weren’t in the library.”

  He sipped coffee from a vintage thermos, silently watching Uma thread the necklace. “Sometimes I walk the yard at night. Ye must have just missed me.” His lashes hung low over his eyes—hiding something.

  “Can I eat a noodle?”

  Emery looked back at Uma. “Sure. It won’t taste good.”

  She bit into the hard shell and crunched, her little face scrunching with disappointment.

  Emery laughed. “How is it?”

  “It tastes like shite!” She spat the hard, crushed noodle into the grass.

  She never heard a little girl swear so much, but Callan and Elspeth never seemed to correct her, so she rarely commented.

  “There.” Emery tied a knot at the end of the string, closing the necklace. She slipped it over Uma’s head. She admired the new jewelry, lifting the whistle dangling from the front.

  Callan sat up and inspected the whistle, giving it a blow. “Now, when do you use it?”

  “When I see the lady or a stranger at the house.”

  He brushed a hand over her head. “Very good, angel.”

  The whistle was only one change after Callan learned his sister had visited the house uninvited. New locks had been installed on all the windows and doors, and he’d stashed several hidden cameras around the property. Safety measures shouldn’t make her feel less safe, but they sort of did because they made her more aware of danger.

  “Are we done now?” Uma asked.

  “One more thing.” Callan lunged forward, tumbled her to the blanket, and she squealed as he lifted her shirt and blew raspberries on her belly.

  Uma’s laughter vibrated the open air, and Emery’s face pulled with a smile. The way he played with his niece and adored her, protected her so completely, made her fall a hundred feet deeper in love with him.

  “Do Em’ry!” Uma shouted.

  Callan shot her a sidelong glance, and her heart skipped a beat. “No, no—ah!”

  He tackled her to her back, and she laughed as he yanked up her shirt. Wet bubbles blew into her stomach, tickling and vibrating. She laughed and tried to squirm away, but he had her pinned, tucked safely in the lighthearted moment, captured in a way she never wanted to escape. Safe.

  Uma’s infectious laugh rose until she couldn’t contain her joy and started to cough out of excitement.

  “Uma!” Elspeth called from the house. “Time te come in for yer lesson.”

  They froze, and Uma pouted. “I have te go, now.”

  Callan held Emery’s wrists at her side, and she panted, out of breath. “We can play some more after your lessons,” she promised.

  “Go on, now,” C
allan pushed, and Uma obediently ran off. He glanced down at her, and something shifted in his gaze. “You’re twice as beautiful when you’re tousled.” His hips rocked suggestively.

  “We’re out in the open.”

  “No one can see us. Uma’s classroom’s on the other side of the house.” He dropped his head, catching the hem of her shirt between his lips and lifting it over her breasts. “I want you.”

  Her breathing shifted, a hungry ache forming at her core. It only took one look from him, and she was on fire.

  His mouth closed over the lace of her bra, a wet mark seeping through the thin material to her puckering skin. “Callan.”

  “Hush. Let me have you.”

  She tried to relax, knowing anyone could catch them. She shut her eyes, giving over to the pleasure as his body shifted over hers and his familiar weight anchored her to the ground.

  His arousal pressed into her, and she lifted her hips, craving the friction. He moved her arms over her head and pressed them into the blanket, an unspoken warning for her to stay like that.

  Sliding the cups of her bra down, the material cradled her breasts, and he suckled and bit, teasing the tips in a way that drove her wild. By the time he pressed his fingers into the front of her pants, she was sopping wet.

  He groaned, sliding a finger through the soft seam of her sex. “You’re always so warm here.”

  She moaned, lifting her hips and opening for him to press deeper. He teased and rubbed, and soon her cries bullied the wind. She shattered, right there on a blanket in the middle of his yard.

  He had her pants off before her brain caught on. “Callan! We can’t.”

  “I need you.” His hips pressed between her thighs and while he appeared fully dressed, her legs were bare. He nudged her tender folds, sliding the broad tip in and teasing her.

  Her head fell back, too much temptation to care about the consequences. “Hurry,” she begged.

  He thrust and filled her. Her nails dug through his shirt, pressing into the solid muscle of his back. He pulled out, nearly leaving her, and jabbed forward again.

  Sometimes he took her with aching tenderness. Other times he hardly took at all, lavishing attention on her body in ways she innately knew men didn’t typically do. And then there were times like this, times when he took nothing but gave her everything. It was as if he wanted—no needed—to get so deep inside of her she’d never get him out.