Yates hesitates, eyes peeled open. “Spanish boot.”
“Let’s keep going.” Camdyn rubs his hands together.
“Was I—”
“Yes, you were granted thirty more days of torture, my friend.” Camdyn pats Yates’ shoulder. “But three questions are mandatory. Then I’ll weasel Leith into having a heart and let bygones be bygones. Because I, for one, would hate to prolong death. Life is such a beautiful thing.”
Thenuggetgives a scared nod.
“Same torture device, The Boot, was used by certain criminals in the 1600s. A stone-cold killer,” Camdyn says, as if a game-show host, “by the name of Patrick Roy MacGregor went around causing mayhem. This was a beloved of his. What year was he captured!”
“Uh . . . Uh . . .”
“1600s.” Mybrathairoffers a hint, finishing off his apple.
“Sixteen-sixty . . .”
“Keep it coming,” Camdyn encourages in a deceptively supportive tone.
“Five. 1665.”
Grabbing a tuft of his hair, Camdyn groans. “Daaaamn, friend, you were so close. So close. 1667.”
“But . . .”
The kind smile on Camdyn’s face fades, leaving a vicious scowl. “Even if I had the authority to let you go, I’m not the nice one. He is.” Camdyn claps my shoulder. “Brother, will you let him go?”
I laugh at thenugget’smind games, shaking my head. “Ye done gabbingaff, Cam?”
“Proceed, big brother. The geek is a fucking idiot.” Mybrathairgrabs Yates by his mouth and nose. Yates’ air is constricted, then he’s relieved, in quick, sadistic successions. Camdyn’s forearms strain while he smothers Yates again. “Next time you look intomypersonal business,you little cunt—Wait, what am I saying? Won’t be a next time.”
“That’ll do, Cam.” I place a hand on his shoulder as Yates fades.
The placid look on Camdyn’s face evaporates. Smiling, he cocks his head to Yates. “I’m gonna cut the geek’s foot off. Go do some illegal gambling. If it’s as lucky as a rabbit’s foot, may I have the other?”
* * *
Hours later,a sliver of sun peeks through the sealed basement windows. I find it hard to imagine that I’d ever hate one person so much. Thearseholehas deprived me of sleep, forced me to kill, and manipulated my relationship with Chevelle into a steaming pile ofshite. Or maybe all my attempts to follow Chevelle’s contingencies did us in.Och, feck it.I admit I wanted to show my clan I was a man apart from them, a successful lad.
“Aye, the truth is somewhere in the middle,” I mutter. Tipping back a bottle of beer, I take a long swallow. I grab a searing skillet and place it over Yates’ wound.
“Can’t have ya bleeding out,” I bark as he whimpers, too weak from all the howling he’d done earlier. After Camdyn’s twisted game of Jeopardy, Yates had sobbed enough to fill a loch. I’d asked mybrathairabout hisbusiness, and he would only assure me it was considered legal, depending on whoye asked.
There’s the sound of a key in the lock. We all have one, so I wait as the doorknob turns and the door opens. Mam smiles, holding a piping hot mug of coffee. “How’s yer wound?”
“Good.” I kiss her cheek, taking the coffee. She’d stitched me up like a wee bairn late last night before she’d gone to bed.
Mam nods. “That’s my boy.Wittime did Cam disappear on ya?”
“A while back. Made like he was ordering folks in a billion-dollar boardroom. The American is a weirdnugget.” Witthe feck is my littlebrathairup to?
“Och, stop calling my bairn that.”
“Anugget?”
“The American. Jackass. Stop calling Cam the American.” She winks. “He’s a sneaky one.”
Aye, there’ll be nae snitching on Camdyn by asking Mam about his affairs.