Page 7 of Callous Shot

“You’re still here? Want me to chase you through the woods? I was reconsidering getting involved in the hunt, but if you wanna play…”

My jaw clenched as I spun to face Daniel. What was he doing back here? Hadn’t he had enough of being in my presence, like I had being in his? “I have no interest in your immature little games.”

“Why? Don’t you play games at your fancy boarding school? I’ve heard the rumours about the shit that goes on in the crypts, so don’t act as if you’re all fucking high and mighty.”

“Fuck off.”

“Please do,” he said. Tapping his mask against the wall, he tilted his head, studying me with his piercing gaze. I held it, refusing to be the first to look away.

It had been months since I’d seen him in person, and I’d somehow forgotten how stubborn he was. I moved closer in an attempt to get him to back down, but the second my chest brushed against his, his fisted hand flew up between us. Metal gleamed in the dim light.

He had a knuckleduster.

I swallowed hard. “That’s illegal,” I rasped. “You could be looking at six months’ imprisonment. Four years if you’re gonna take it anywhere public.”

His lips kicked up at the corners as if I’d said something amusing. I hated the way he managed to turn the tables on me. “No shit. Did you forget I’m a criminal? No one’s gonna imprison me for this, anyway. I’m irrelevant.”

“You’re not fucking irrelevant,” I bit out without thinking, then immediately wished I could choke back the words.

“I am when it comes to the law,” he drawled lazily. “But it’s nice to know you care about my chances of being locked up.”

“I don’t give a shit. I hope it happens.”

“Do you?” His clenched hand landed on my shoulder, the knuckleduster a solid weight through the fabric of my jacket, and I froze at the sudden contact.

“You wouldn’t fucking dare,” I warned him as he dragged his fist across my collarbone.

“No?” Cold metal pressed against my throat. “Wanna find out? Or would you prefer my knife?”

“I’d prefer you to leave me the fuck alone. If I hadn’t been coerced into this favour⁠—”

“A favour you’ve already done,” he interrupted. “Now, get the fuck off Thorpe property before I use this.” Pressing harder, he leaned into me. I pushed back against him for a second and then suddenly jerked away, making him stumble.

A string of swear words fell from his lips, but I didn’t stick around to hear them. Turning on my heel, I ducked around the side of the building and melted into the shadows. Keeping to the cover of darkness, I made my way towards the tall, foreboding entry gates and out onto the road. Waiting on a dark, deserted country lane was better than this.

Honestly, it didn’t matter where I waited. As long as it was far away from Daniel Hoyton.

3

LINCOLN

PRESENT DAY

Leaving the uni library behind, I made my way across the campus to the car park, attempting to unclench my jaw and flex my rigid spine as I walked. It was an impossible task, though. Between my unexpected interaction with Daniel Hoyton and my upcoming visit to the sprawling estate that my parents called home, my entire body was filled with tension.

I’d lived in dorms for roughly nine months of the year ever since I began boarding at Hatherley Hall’s prep school, aged seven, and consequently, my parents’ estate had never felt like a home to me. Tonight, though, I was going back. Not out of choice, but because I needed information on this Operation Foxglove situation, and my uncle Mike and his ten-year-old daughter, Tilly, lived in the old gamekeeper’s cottage on the edge of the estate.

My late grandfather was almost as much of an asshole as my dad, and his will had specified that my dad would inherit both the main Bellingham estate and the majority of his financial investments, worth millions. Meanwhile, my uncle inherited the gamekeeper’s cottage and a lump sum of seven hundred and fifty grand. The reason? My uncle was the product of my grandfather’s affair with my dad’s private tutor, so in my grandfather’s eyes, he wasn’t legitimate. Never mind that it took two to make a baby.

My family was fucked up, that was for sure.

Pulling out of the car park, I left Whelford in my rear-view mirror as I navigated my Aston Martin DBX 707 through the Cotswold countryside lanes until I reached the tall gates that marked the entrance to my family estate. I slowed down, fishing my set of keys from the centre console and hitting the button that would open the gates.

My tyres crunched across the gravel as I turned the wheel to the left, ignoring the sweeping driveway that led up to the main house. As soon as the cottage came in sight with no sign of either of my parents or their cars, I could feel my shoulders relaxing. The tension that had been there since Daniel had accosted me outside the library finally faded away, and my lips curved upwards.

I parked next to Mike’s Kia Sportage, and almost as soon as I’d switched off the engine, the cottage door opened, and Tilly came bounding out with a wide smile on her face.

“Link!” She leapt at me, and I caught her, laughing. “I saw you from the window! I didn’t know you were coming! Me and Dad are making pizzas! You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you?”