Chapter 106

CALLUM

Everything went to hell in a heartbeat.

In the blink of an eye, my world was turned upside down.

I was terrified for Maddison when the first bullet was fired, but then I saw her in action.

She was a force to be reckoned with, charging at her father with a fury that was palpable.

The second bullet was less alarming. The likelihood of her hurting anyone else dropped significantly.

I had only loaded three bullets, just in case, and the third was a relief—no more potential harm could come from my gun.

You might wonder why I only keep my gun half-loaded.

In a real crisis, it could be a fatal mistake, but knowing that the rest of the team is armed and licensed has always been enough reassurance for me.

My heart is pounding as I take in the scene before me.

Two men are on the floor, bleeding out from my bullets, but that doesn’t ease my panic.

I glance around, noting that the team has done exactly as instructed.

They’ve cleared the room of Frank Fairweather’s supposed right-hand men, though they hardly lived up to their titles.

None of them fought hard enough, or dirty enough, in my opinion.

I take a few steps toward Maddison, my heart sinking when she pulls the trigger once.

A look of confusion crosses her face, and it shocks me.

Then she pulls the trigger again and again, playing a futile game of Russian roulette with an empty gun.

As I approach her, I reach for my gun, but she turns it on me in warning.

“Callum! Maddison! No!” Violet’s panicked voice rings out from behind me.

Despite her fear—and perhaps because of her love for me—she manages to break through the wall of six men surrounding her at my command.

The men grumble behind me, and I catch a glimpse of Violet’s red hair in my peripheral vision.

I’m impressed that she managed to move six highly trained individuals on her own.

But I’m also disappointed—those men should have been able to hold her back.

Violet moves to stand beside me, reaching out to take the gun that’s pointed at me.

I never thought I’d be relieved to have a gun pointed at me, but I’d rather it be aimed at me than at Violet or Maddison.

Maybe I feel this way because I know the gun is empty.

Even as Violet reaches for Maddison, I pull her back, using my grip on her wrist to guide her behind me.

I know there’s no risk of a bullet hitting her, but the butt of a gun could still knock her out if Maddison decided to use it as a weapon.

“Cal,” Violet whispers my name.

“Quiet, baby,” I reply, using the tone I reserve for our private moments.

She meets my gaze, obeying my command, and I’m finally able to fully shield her with my body.

“Maddison, give me my gun,” I say, extending my hand.

Her eyes flicker from my face to my hand, then to the gun in her own hand.

For a moment, I think she’s going to hand it over without a fight, but she surprises me. She opens the barrel of the gun, revealing it to be empty, and her disappointment is palpable.

Was this her plan all along? Did she really want to end her life?

“Maddison, the gun?” I ask again, taking a few steps closer.

Now I’m right in front of her, close enough to see the sweat glistening on her skin and the tremor in her lower lip. I reach out, taking her hand and my gun in mine, feeling her body shaking with adrenaline.

“Drop the gun, Maddison. It’s useless to you now. You must realize I only loaded half the barrel.”

“Why did you let me down like that? I could have ended my misery, left this life behind!” Her body shakes with each word.

She truly wanted to end her life, and for some reason, that thought saddens me. She lets go of the gun.

I quickly tuck it into my holster, hidden beneath my shirt, and then I guide the little girl to my wife.

“Where are the other girls, the shipment?” I ask while Violet holds the trembling child close to her.

Both of them collapse to the floor, probably because Maddison has used up all her energy in her suicide attempt. I can’t even begin to imagine the kind of strength that would take, but I’m certain that such a decision would have drained her, both physically and emotionally.

“Downstairs, they were sent down to sleep…” she whispers, her voice devoid of any emotion.

I turn to the six men who were supposed to protect my wife, the same six men who failed miserably against a woman who weighed no more than one hundred and twenty pounds and was barely four feet tall.

“Go downstairs and check on the children. Don’t touch anything, or at least try to touch as little as possible. They’ll be dusting this whole damn place for prints.”

“Yes, sir,” they respond.

I watch them disperse throughout the building before my attention returns to the gun in my holster.

I know I shouldn’t, but I pull it out and stare at it with revulsion. Maddison almost lost her life to this weapon—my weapon; the thought sends shivers down my spine.

I head to the bar, looking for something to wipe off her prints from the gun. All I find is hand sanitizer, but it’ll have to do.

I pour the sanitizer over the gun, knowing it’ll need a proper cleaning when I get home—a task Elizabeth will no doubt help me with. Then I start scrubbing the entire thing vigorously.

Making sure no trace of her is left behind. Then I hold the gun, touching the handle, barrel, and trigger to leave my own prints.

If anyone examines the gun, they’ll trace it back to me. I guess I could claim they were a high-risk threat—lie that it was either them or the girls.

The officer will likely believe me; after all, I’ve been on the force for nearly half my life. It’s funny—before I met Violet, I would never have considered deceiving the police or framing myself.

But here I am, doing it again. I guess sometimes serving justice means bending the rules, and I’ve come to terms with that.