Nan smiles at me when she notices me watching Jamie. She says, “Our Jamie hasn’t got it as easy as Cam. Open a book, skim a page, and it all goes here.” She points to her forehead. “Ye are doing an amazing job, wean.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He looks up, and I swear his turquoise eyes gloss over. Sheesh, the kiddo’s going on sixteen. If he were a girl, I’d wonder if this were that time of the month.
Nan digs into the massive refrigerator. “Ye want a steak?”
“Oh, please, don’t go through the trouble.”
“Justice, this is normal. We’ve got a thousand hairy cows in the Highland’s, sweet—”
“Jamie, buck the fuck up,” Camdyn says from the entrance to the kitchen. I glance over. I hadn’t noticed his slightly younger brother slinking from the breakfast nook. Jamie’s a couple of inches taller than Cam, though he lacks in the muscle and confidence departments.
“Cam,” Nan grits.
“Mom, Jamie needs to square his shoulders. Well, hello, Justice.” Cam eyes me, leaving his brother to escape. I eye him over too. He’s in jeans and a sleeveless shirt that displays his affection for knives and snakes. The morbid art covers every scrap of skin on his impressive, jacked arms.
Camdyn sinks onto the stool next to me. Resting his elbow on the countertop, he consumes me like a piece of chocolate.
“Camdyn, keep yer eyes in yer heid,” Nan warns from the pantry.
“I am. This one’s been claimed.” There’s a teasing twinkle in his eyes. He licks his lips. “My big bro treating you well?”
His massive shoulder nudges against my arm. “C’mon, sweetie, I’m here for you, always.”
“Sure,” my reply is sweetly sarcastic. “I can read you well.”
“Don’t read me.” There’s a flicker in his hypnotic gaze that tells me I’d rather not fall into the bottomless pit of his mind. “Just know this, Justice. Whatever Little Brody can do, I can do better.”
I chuckle. “You’re trouble, huh?”
The wolf pauses a beat. “Your smile’s growing on me. I’ll put you in the friend category.”
I perch a brow. So far, I suspect Camdyn regards women as conquests, no worse than Brody. Women are objects to twist, bend, and torment. “What other categories are there?”
That must pique his interest again because he swivels in the stool until his knees skim my hip. “Friend, toy, en . . .”
Nan exits the pantry. I have to give Camdyn credit for his adaptability. He transitions from devious to approachable. “Where’s our bestie, Justice?” Since I’m taken aback by his stance, he adds, “Chevelle?”
It was too perfect, too friendly. I offer a hesitant reply. “On her way, I guess.”
“I already asked,” Nan says, “Justice here, will not tell me if the lass is pregnant.”
“Damn,” Camdyn sighs. This time, I feel he’s being genuine when asking, “How will my girl, Mia, react to a new baby?”
Big Brody enters the room, “Nan,” he growls, then eyes me. “Good morning, Justice. Our house is yer home, sweetheart.”
Nan sets out the Worcestershire sauce she grabbed from the fridge. “I’ve told the lass that, Brody. Why do ye look so?”
“We’ll be needing to meet Ewan McFarland. His private plane arrives in an hour. Justice, ye might as well be hearing this. Those feckers are all deid today. Ye are not to leave the house. Camdyn, rally yer bràthairs.”
“Yes, sir.” Again, Camdyn’s entire façade has shifted. An obedient soldier rises from his chair.
“Wit did they do, Brody Boy?” Nan plants her hands onto the wooden countertop, her buxom chest heaving.
Mr. MacKenzie clears his throat. “Cops been tipped off. They’re set to—”
She murmurs, “Nolan?”
“Aye, he told us.”