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“Do you want children? We never discussed it before.” Nothing in his face suggests he doesn’t, and his soft questioning worries me. I chew my inner cheek and debate about whether to say what I really want. “You do, don’t you?” His rough voice lowers. Hand lifting my chin, he reconnects our eyes. Will my truth cost us our future? I’m sick to my stomach at the thought, but lying will serve us no purpose.
With a pained look, I shake my head.“The opposite. No, I don't want children, not after everything I’ve seen, dealt with, and when I think of Isabella,” I shudder. “I just can't bring a child into this world. Not when I know of its sickness.” My confession is met by silence; his dark stare holds mine emotionally. “I’m sorry if you feel differently.” I apologise, anxious I’ve tipped our new life on its axis.
Callan smiles warmly at me, bringing love into his usually dark features.“I don't,” he admits finally. “Seeing you earlier, I was worried you did.” I shake my head. His shoulders sag in relief. “I get you all to myself, then. Good.” His mouth skims mine.
“Just me and you.” I grin.
“Well, plus Isabella and Stalin.” He laughs, and I do too. I’m happy to be gaining more people: my own family unit. A real family for once.
“Oscar isn’t doing well,” I whisper, knowing this is no doubt a sore subject for him anyway.
“Oscar is fucking lucky I didn’t bleed him dry for selling you out,” he snaps. “He is a user. I told you this before.” His mouth turns down in disgust for my friend. “Look, he may have played the doting friend, but before you and I crossed paths, he would discuss you openly in Skyn. Everyoneknew he was your friend, and he used it to gain favour. I’m sure even some of it hit the press.”
I pull back, shocked. I picture how he was with me. I don’t believe him to be as two-facedas Callan is professing. I only ever discussed him with pride.
“Hey, don't dwell. It’s the past. I’m here now. This is all that matters. You, me, and our little island hideaway, our future.” He reminds me with conviction. Flicking eyes across my face, he shakes his head. “Kiss me.”
Two words, one demand, and I lean in, pressing soft lips to his. It’s swift and sweet, just what I needed to chase the disconcerting mood away. No matter what, I can’t lift the sense of guilt at duping Oscar into believing and grieving my death.
“Maybe, but he is in a mess now. It doesn't sit well with me,” I whisper.
“You forgive him?” he asks incredulously. “You could have died!”
“I know, but I don't want him to kill himself because he thinks I’m dead, and I’m not.” I frown at his big chest.
“You are, though, beautiful. Zara is gone. Your life is with me now. Oscar would have always given into those vices. It was only a matter of time before he did. You're not to blame,” he tells me softly. I bite my lip, unsure whether what he believes is true. I guess I will never know. I do know I can never contact Oscar, not after he sold me out. I can't trust him, not now, but I still love him.
“Can I ask you something?” It’s my turn now.
“Sure.”
“What is it you do, or did?” I never found out. He was always so secretive. Other than overhearing the odd conversation, Callan never admitted outright what he was involved in. I want the truth, even old truths, so we can move forward.
“Is it worth knowing when it’s in the past?” He frowns down at me, his deft finger running along the seam of my bikini top peeking out from my beach cover-up.
“Yes.” I nod. I want to know him, all of him.
“Well, the clubs were a front. They were legitimate, but Skyn was set up as a way to gain access to tap into the black market. I’d listen in to clients discussing deals, shipments, arms dealers, corrupt politicians, bad cops, bad lawyers, government officials, drug deals, and trafficking. It’s how I know Oscar discussed you, but mainly it was my window into that world. I intercepted trafficking shipments with the hope someone would have had contact with my mother, with Isabella, but each rescue was futile.” He tucks my hair behind my ear and runs his thumb down my cheek. “I knew in my gut it was them, though, the Yovenkos. They were at large in London when I was a teen. I’d heard their name time and time again, and we all knew what shit they were involved with. Girls were disappearing all over the shop, and nameless, homeless girls kept vanishing. I knew your father was onto something. They would never have killed him if he hadn't had something to hold against them.”
“What about your mother?” We’d never discussed her before he sent me away. Everything between being at Chloe’s to him sending me away had become a gigantic blur. I thought about it a lot and how he said the only people he loved were taken from him. If it was when he was a teen, how long was his family held by themand used as currency for the sick pleasure of other vile men?
“She died. Isabella said she overdosed years ago.” He seems so detached from it all.
“I’m sorry.” I kiss his cheek.
“Honestly, I’d rather she die than live like that. I’m glad I got Isabella out.” He affirms.
“I know bu—”
“Things were complicated with my mother before they were taken. I never respected her, or the life she led, or the life she gave Isabella and me.”
“In what way. I don't understand?”
His laugh is short and distasteful. “She was a prostitute. Isabella and I don't know who our fathers are. Honestly, I don't want to know. We roamed around a brothel, playing tag whilst she worked.” I shudder internally at the thought. His tone suggests he is happier she is dead. I want to hold him close and rid his demons, but Callan would hate my pity.
“She’s still your mum.”
“And she’s safer being where she is,” Callan mutters and clears his throat. I can sense he doesn’t want to talk about her.
