Page 37 of Callous Shot

“Your cousin’s upstairs,” he reminded me, his fingers curving around my wrist. When had he managed to get his arms free? “I can’t— Fucking hell, Bellingham. She shouldn’t be around me, and I can’t be around you without wanting to murder you.” His thumb pressed into the fine bones on the underside of my wrist in warning.

Acting without thinking—which seemed to keep happening when Daniel Hoyton was concerned—I angled my head, taking his lobe between my teeth. He hissed when I bit down, his thumb pressing harder into my skin. I stifled my wince just in time.

Releasing his ear, I slid my hand up the hard lines of his chest, back to his throat. I gripped his jaw, angling his head to the side so I could meet his hateful gaze. “Your second point is very fucking mutual, Hoyton.”

“Yeah, so this is a lost cause. Let me go, and we can forget this ever happened. I’ll walk out of here, and you won’t have to see me again, like you wanted when you blocked me.”

“Did you miss me, baby?” My tone dripped with mockery, but at the word “baby,” he completely stopped breathing, his pupils growing huge as he stared at me in shock.

“Don’t fucking call me baby,” he snarled venomously, yanking his body away from mine. He twisted, shoving at my chest and sending me staggering backwards. Then he turned on his heel, stalking down the hallway to the front door, and this time, I let him go.

18

DAN

“Going somewhere?”

Swearing under my breath, I slowly turned around to find Sergeant Bellingham at the bottom of the stairs. He jerked his head towards the lounge in a clear command.

My heart pounded. You know how you automatically feel guilty when you see an officer, even if you’ve done nothing wrong? Imagine you’re from an actual crime family, and multiply that guilt by ten thousand.

“I need some air,” I muttered, rubbing at my temples. The throbbing in my head was getting worse. It had been manageable until Lincoln bellend Bellingham had decided to antagonise me. A few minutes of suffering his presence, and it felt as if my brain was trying to pound its way out of my skull.

“Are you okay?”

The voice was closer than I expected. My eyes flew open—when had I closed them?—to find Lincoln’s uncle regarding me with concern.

“I’m fine. It’s just a headache.”

He peered at me more closely, and I knew the second he noticed the lump on the side of my forehead because his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “How did you get that?”

“I had a disagreement with a rock.” There was no way I was going to even hint at the truth—that I’d been in a fight with a Bratva henchman. I wasn’t stupid.

“Really.” He regarded me flatly, and I shrugged.

“What are you talking about? What happened?” Lincoln was suddenly pushing his way in between his uncle and me, his frantic gaze scanning my head.

Wait. Frantic? I must’ve been mistaken. This headache was making me hallucinate.

A choked sound escaped from his throat when his eyes landed on the bump. “What the fuck? I didn’t see that.”

“It was on the opposite side to where you were sitting. I don’t know why you’re both getting so worked up about it. It’s just a bump. It’ll be gone in a few days. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

They both folded their arms over their chests, staring me down with identical hard, uncompromising expressions on their faces. If my brain hadn’t been pounding against my skull, I would’ve treated them to one of my witty remarks, but as it was, my remaining working brain cells were telling me to get pain relief. Now.

“Link. Deal with this. You know where the first aid stuff is. I only came down to get Tilly some water, but I’ll be back as soon as she’s ready to sleep.” Sergeant Bellingham pointed his finger at me. “You. Don’t even think about stepping foot outside of this house until I’ve had a word with you.”

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. Why hadn’t time machines been invented yet? If I could turn back time, I never would’ve sought out my enemy.

A hand landed on my arm, and I bristled at the touch.

“Stop fighting me for one fucking second,” Lincoln growled. He gripped the material of my hoodie, tugging more gently than I’d expected, and I went with him reluctantly. Only because I didn’t have any other choice. His uncle had made sure of that.

Also, who was he to tell me to stop fighting him? He antagonised me just as much. Hypocritical knobhead.

We ended up in the kitchen, where he shoved me onto a rickety wooden stool at the kitchen island. Future Lincoln was going to seriously regret manhandling me. As soon as we were out of the enemy stronghold, he needed to watch his back.

“How did you get this?” He was standing way too close, his brows pulled together and his hot breath hitting my forehead as he examined the lump on my head.