Chapter 59
Brody
“Sugar, I need ye to top me off,” Kieran slurs to the lass who’s been serving us. “Coffee this time. Brody, ye need coffee, mate?”
“Nae,” I mutter, glancing down at a text message from Blythe. One word in Gaelic—Clean. Thank God. Our business is in good standing.
Kieran’s eyes bite shut, and he scrubs a hand over his face. “I wasn’t fecking ready to return to Boston. Lost my da, then my mam. Ye know, my da was murdered bloody fecking brutally, Brody.”
“Aye.” I glare at him.
“Who stabs someone forty-seven times, Brody? I don’t count the times I’ve stabbed a lad, but I’d be fecking damned if it was forty-seven times.” He drops his head into his hands on the table.
Yerfecking Da’s deid because of ye, Kieran. Though not because Kieran fecked up. Nae, before his parents died, Kieran did everything right. He owned Boston free and clear. His name kept arseholes in order, Bawbag Hank too. Kieran chose a ruthless lifestyle to lead. His Irish da, having nae clan affiliation, was low hanging fruit for the likes of Kieran’s enemies, though. Feck. This is why we have sympathy for ye, bawbag. Me, Blythe, the whole lot of us were yer enforcers.
“We should order another pint.” I tell the lass when she comes over with coffee and an empty mug.
“Sir, I,” she looks at us both, “he’s a sweetheart, and my boss would fire me for getting him too drunk.”
Fecker ain’t a sweetheart. He’s piss drunk, still a stone-cold killer too. And I need the scabby wankstain drunker.
“Girl, ye know who I am. Another pint,” I grit, snatching the empty mug.
She places the coffee carafe onto the table and turns to walk away. Not before I catch the glower she shoots my way. Well, feck ye too. I slide the coffee toward the edge of the table.
“Ye know, I went a couple of months sober, Brody,” Kieran slurs. “After my mam, I’ve never been so sober in my fecking life.”
“That so?” I’ll say I would trust the motherfecker with my life before Nolan called me. But his parents’ deaths have grown him a conscious and a cunt.
I grab the two red ales the server sets down, push mine toward the edge of the table, and hand over his. Drink up, deid man.
“Ye would think, I’d never touched a bevvy, eh? Mam never went a day sober after Da died. Five feet tall, one hundred pounds, but I couldn’t reach her, couldn’t help her. Nobody could. Beginning of the year, Nan spent a few weeks in Scotland with her, tried to clean her up. Every time I see Aunt Nan, I’ve the biggest fecking hug for her.”
Aunt Nan, my fecking arse. Mam’s nae relation to ye! Now, drink.
Kieran leans forward, his hair billowing around his broad shoulders and sticking out like a rooster as his forehead taps the table a couple of times.
Maybe he is sloshed enough?
“When I get back to Boston, I’m thinking of asking Blythe to move there. He has that sweetheart he keeps seeing, still, aye?”
“Aye and why?”I roll my eyes.
“Synergy, mate. So that ye all can feel more invested. Or he could run Boston. We’ll not tell Ewan that MacKenzies are running Boston.” He places his finger to his lips, sloppy smile and all. “Shhh, wit my uncle don’t know won’t hurt him.”
“Ye trust a MacKenzie that much?” I ask, or are ya setting the scene while ye wait for the cops to come into our empty nest, aye?
“Trust ye? I fecking said Aunt Nan helped my mam. Cleaned the vomit and the shite. Mam shite herself all the time.” In a gruff, deliberate tone, he growls out, “To see yer mam and have to clean her like a bairn. That fecks with yer head. That’s the type of shite that makes me realize why someone could stab me fecking father forty-seven times!”
The waitress glances our way. Instead of telling him to shut the feck up, she gives me a pleading look. In a couple of hours, the man she has a moral bone for, and my mate, will be fish food.
It’s been ten minutes since James texted that our trucks were clean of any illegal merchandise. Now, Ewan’s texting Kieran. I glance at Kieran’s cellphone and read the notification: Twenty minutes out.
If my mate’s pretending to be pished, he’s doing a shite job at it. He lifts his phone. “Ugh, Uncle Ewan’s almost here. He’s one of those micromanagers that forgets to bloody micromanage. I’ll not be able to drive myself. Ye feel like heiding over to the airport with me?”
“Aye. Where exactly are we going?” With a conciliatory smile, I get up. My entire family will be there to pick up Ewan McFarland. The two of ye can die together.