A snarling tone echoes in my ear.
Kill him.
I love Leith, madly. “I can’t see him with someone else,” I mutter.
I drive straight through a stop sign. I can’t return home, not now. I can’t stomach the sight of Mia’s face. Last call for alcohol isn’t for another two hours. I drive aimlessly, long past the mandatory bar closing time. Faint light furrows across the dark sky when I pull up to a gated community. I realize the trouble I’m getting myself into. And I don’t care.
“Least I didn’t become my father just now,” I snort—no jealous rampage for me. My index finger jabs the buttons for Michie’s house. I expect no response, but the Devil is always prepared to tempt you.
His voice blares through the speaker. “Who is it?”
“Michie? You’re home.”
“Damn, Chevelle. Give me a sec.” The gate creeps open at a foreboding snail’s pace. But I don’t want to care, and Michie has given me a good reason not to in the past. He’s attractive, older. Funny like Leith, but so unlike my husband—a sardonic humor.
Rows of homes are on either side. I pull into the driveway, and I sit in the car, hands on the steering wheel. The cool morning air caresses my heated, tear-stained face.
Michie is dressed in a V-neck and a pair of cotton pants that should be illegal. He leans against the driver's side door. His captivating eyes see straight through me. In his dreamy Japanese accent, he says, “So, everything’s perfect?”
I offer a broken, hardly audible, “No.”
Chapter 42
Leith
“Yelet her leave!”I’m naked as the day I wasfeckin’born. The towel around my waist fell when I ran after my beloved wife and my dream car. Fists heavy at my sides, I turn toward mybrathair. In a second, I’ve assessed the scene. The clutter of alcohol on the ground. Her undying revulsion of Brody. She probably saw Erika comforting me through the window.Shite!
“Ye let my wife skedaddle aff?” With each word, I step toward him. “Ye weeBawbag.”
“Shut—”
“Nae, actually, ye’re a big.Feckin’. Pathetic. Idiot!”
“Get outta my face, Leith,” Brody mutters, running a hand over his beard. “Go put on some tighty-whities or something. Ye’re a bleeding spectacle! This isn’t a drunken night on clan land.”
Aye, I’m a sight. Something in me broke. The sequence of events evades me now. I can’t remember more than a minute ago. A half-hour ago. Yesterday. I’m drowning in the thought of my wifeleaving me.Whatever occurred before is nae concern of mine. Not now. My heart just fled the scene, and someone’ll pay. Brody’ll pay.
I grip my olderbrathair’sflannel with one hand, fist ready to clobber him.
“She hates me, Leith. I couldn’t—”
“Chevellehatesye? Yefeckin’eejit, she hatesme!” My arm hammers through the air, slicing so hard itswooshes.
Brody deflects the punch that should’ve knocked him on hisarse. I’ll admit, too much bloody passion and emotion went into that hook. Nae strategy. Nae hit thefeckin’target.
He shoves me back a few paces. “Leith, yer wife wants to kill ya right ‘bout now. Slaughter ye! Calm down,brathair.”
“Leith, ye should be happy,” Erika softly suggests.
“Wit’swith the two of ye?” Brody laughs. “I dinna mean the hugging, but why should he be happy? I’m missing something.”
While Brody’s query has caught him off guard, I bullrush him into the grass.Bingo. This is how one takes down a bloodyGruffalo.My knees clobber into his abdomen. I’ve let off a fury of punches when Erika grips my throat from behind.
“Calm down, Leith!”
I twist, bringing her down too. Erika tumbles over as my hook slides across Brody’s jaw. Mybrathairgrapples me, flipping us.
Shite. The wind knocks outta me. Brody’s forearm rests against my throat. I breathe in grass, looking into the smoggy sky. There are fewer stars here.