“So, the whiskey was strong.” She purses her lips. “Then your little brother drove you home.”
“Camdyn wasn’t too bad. He was six, eh, seven, but we survived.”
“So, what are you quitting?”
“Drugs.” I shrug.
“Oh, no.” She wiggles her finger, sexy lips pursed. “You married the boring chick: no illegal substances, no money laundering, no murder. Hell, no rich boy shit, for instance, snorting coke. No murder—I feel the need to repeat that for some reason.”
Coughing, I give my chest a few slaps. The cough turns into a laugh of sorts as she tells me whatever it is will work out.
* * *
Late in the afternoon,I arrive at MacKenzie Freight’s headquarters in Dominguez Hills. Too paranoid to drive the Audi, I left it at home. Chevelle had asked how hen one got there, and I told her I hired a service to ship my Audi home. Stillup tae high doh, I slam the door to my Chevy when one of the truckers shakes his head.
“Leith, you’re the flashy MacKenzie. Still, don’t you go disrespecting the classic.”
I lift my middle finger as the trucker laughs and start for the loading dock. I’m back peddling when I notice the sight of my da instead of Brody.
He’s parallel to the ground and sliding from beneath a few gadgets.
Da glances up at me. “Well, ye’re walking about like this is a dreichday.”
“Nae,” I reply, adding a smile since it’s too late to retreat. “Just thinking is all.”
“Tell me about it, son.” He wipes his soiled hands on the back of his jeans and proceeds to get up.
Da stands at my height, looking me straight in the eye. Bloodyfeckin’great. Our last conversation comes to mind—his admiration for my hustle—or lack thereof. I disregard his question with one of my own. “Where’s Brody?”
He places his hand on my shoulder. “No matter how old ye are, Leith, Ye’re my bairn. I was braggin’ on ye the other day. But if I’m too auld to understand—”
I cut him off, feeling worse than anedafter a silly infraction. “It’s not that, Da.”
“Then I’ll tell ye something. There’s a difference between smarts and wisdom. May not have much of the former when it comes to ye and Cam.” He continues to grumble about mybrathair, who I assume hasn’t been home since his suspension.
Dammit, Cam.He’d texted me yesterday saying he’d be back on Monday to watch the girls. Thenuggethad the audacity to ask how long he should get suspended this time, or if I prefer, he gets expelled until all my troubles were sorted out.
When I responded that his services weren’t blooded needed, he stopped replying.
With the auld lad still gabbing off, I cut in. “Da—”
“Nae, all I’m tryin’ to say is,whit’s furye’llno go byye!”
At Da’s statement about what will be will be, I feel bad for not bringing my issue to him ages ago. He’s always said I can come to him for anything. But we’re in two different fields. Wewere.My issues should revolve around programming and deciphering code, not murder and mayhem.
“Da . . . I . . .”
“Awright,yaweebawbag!”
We turn around to see Brody wearing a light blue plastic suit, tied up with duct tape at his ankles and wrists. He’s in full-on rampage gear—gloves, paper slippers, and a cap on his head—finished off by goggles over his eyes.
The brute clips my shoulder hard, a not-so-subtle warning to shut mygeggie.“Ye’re late, Leith.”
As my brows pinch together in confusion, there’s a flash in Brody’s eyes. Silently, he turns away from Da and me, heading into the cinderblock building.
With nothing left to say to my da, I follow after him.Shite, I’m a pure mess for not coming clean about the weasel blackmailing me.
I glance Brody up and down. Theeejitlooks like a walkingfeckin’condom. Though he’s in a dirty business, only a wee bit of blood sprinkles his sleeves.