Brutal Prince Bonus Scene (Brutal Birthright, #1.5)(58)

“Yes!” Nessa says sweetly.

“We’ve been ready to go for twenty minutes,” I lie. “Where were you?”

“Taking a leak,” Jack says.

He holds open the back door so Ness and I can slide inside.

I lean back against the leather seat, not really believing him.

I’m quiet on the drive back to the Griffins’ mansion, wondering how in the fuck I’m going to avoid Oliver Castle in the future. About halfway home, I get a text from Callum saying:

Come meet me in the library when you get back.





I get out of the car as soon as it stops moving, hurrying into the pleasantly cool house and heading directly up the stairs to the library.

Callum is sitting in one of the new armchairs—cream leather this time, instead of brown. I take a seat in the chair opposite.

He looks pale and composed in his dark suit. I can already tell that he found something, from the resolute set of his shoulders.

Before he says anything, I want to tell him about Oliver showing up on campus. The problem is that Oliver groping me the other night was the one and only time I’ve seen Callum lose his temper. It’s a sore subject between us. I’m not exactly looking forward to bringing it up. Especially when we’ve been working so well together.

Before I can start, Callum says, “We found one of the shooters. Not the Butcher, though. Your brothers think we should smash up Zajac’s casino tonight. Try to flush him out.”

“Are you going with them?” I ask.

He steels himself, and says, “Yes. And you could come, too. If you wanted.”

I can tell it’s not what he wants at all, but he’s offering it, not even waiting for me to make the demand.

Now I definitely don’t want to tell him about Oliver.

Instead, I say, “I do want to come.”

Callum looks slightly pained but doesn’t take his offer back.

It’s funny that he invited me into the library. I haven’t stepped foot in here since the first night we met.

The restored portrait of his great-great-however many greats-grandmother is back above the mantel. Also the carriage clock and the hourglass. But no watch anymore.

Callum already knows what I’m looking at.

“The watch was mine, the clock is Riona’s, and the hourglass is Nessa’s,” he says.

“What do they mean?” I ask him, not sure if I even want to know.

“My grandfather passed them down to us when we were born. He said, ‘All we have is time.’”

“Were you close to him?” I ask.

“Yeah.” Callum nods. “Closer than anyone.”

Fuck, I hate feeling guilty. Why did I grab that fucking watch? If I’d never touched it . . .

I wouldn’t be here right now, I guess. Looking at Callum’s lean, handsome face.

“I’m . . . sorry about that,” I say.

Callum shakes his head, like he forgot it was even lost.

“That’s in the past, Aida. Let’s concern ourselves with tonight.”





20





Callum





As we start hunting down the Butcher, I have to admit, I’m pretty fucking glad I’ve got Aida’s brothers on my side. My father might have been right that I was too arrogant, too sure of our dominance. I’m spread thin, trying to secure deals, whip up votes, and put a lid on Zajac, all at the same time.

Funnily enough, I’m quite enjoying having Aida on my team, too. When she’s not setting our library on fire or chucking my most beloved possession over a railing, she’s actually pretty fucking helpful. I use the license plate number she spotted to track down one of Zajac’s men, the one who owns the Land Rover used in the drive-by. His name is Jan Kowalski, but everybody calls him Rollie.

I call Dante and Nero so we can run him down together.

We find him at a used-car dealership in East Garfield. The Butcher owns several car dealerships and repair shops. He can kill two birds with one stone, laundering money through car sales, while chopping up and reselling the cars stolen by his minions.

Nero goes around back while Dante and I walk through the front door looking for Rollie. I already know what he looks like, having had minor dealings with him in the past. Thanks to his idiotically public social media, Dante and Nero have also had the pleasure of scrolling through pictures of Rollie getting smashed at the pub, Rollie showing off the new pair of Yeezys he probably stole, and Rollie receiving the world’s worst tattoo of a pair of praying hands.

So, we recognize him fairly easily in the service bay of the dealership. He’s wearing coveralls. A filthy bandana ties back his longish sandy-colored hair. As soon as he sees Dante’s bulk in the doorway, he chucks away the oil pan from the F150 he’s servicing and tries to sprint out the bay doors like a fucking jackrabbit.

Unfortunately for him, Nero is already lying in wait behind a stack of tires. If Rollie is a rabbit, Nero is a greyhound—lean, swift, and utterly ruthless. He hooks Rollie’s legs with a tire iron, then pounces on his back, pinning him to the ground.

Meanwhile, Dante knocks out the manager with a brutal right cross, and I do a quick sweep of the shop to make sure we haven’t missed any other employees.

I find a mechanic crouched down behind a BMW. He’s older and lacks any of the usual markers of the Polish mafia—tattoos, gold chains, and gaudy rings—so I assume he just works on the cars and isn’t one of the Butcher’s soldiers.