Chapter 63
Brody
Ilive in a black and white world. Nae Bonny colors. Nae middle ground. Someone either deserves to live, and I allow it because they have not crossed me. Or an arsehole deserves to die, and I take pleasure in tormenting them until their last breath.
Justice and I once argued about forgiveness and patting a dog on his head when the wee fecker needed to be put down.
Case in point, Ewan McFarland.
Ewan glances at the detail, murdered in cold blood at his feet while slowly climbing down the steps. His hands are up.
Cautiously, I enter the private plane. He has said the rest of his clan traveled commercial for the party tonight. I’m fisting my tartan knife in my left hand, which rests next to the .9 mm Kieran had hidden. I’d taken it from my mate as he glared daggers through me.
Fecka big gun like Camdyn carries. When sweeping a potentially dangerous area, a weapon close to the chest is best. The cockpit is closed. I hustle down four rows of comfy leather seats as Camdyn tries the knob.
“Locked?” I grumble, reconvening with him at the door.
Holding his AR at his side, he kicks in the door. There ain’t much room aside from the two seats. A pilot has crouched down between the chair and gears. One round from Camdyn’s AR decimates the left side of the pilot’s skull.
“All clear.” Camdyn exits the plane. I stand there for a beat. It’s rare we kill someone innocent. If Camdyn hadn’t followed me inside looking for action, the same outcome would’ve unfolded. But damned Justice Flowers, my lass’s good heart has softened mine too.
I can hardly look in Kieran’s direction. He’d stood in front of the first bullet meant for me. His head has dropped. He’s returned to the place where bad motherfeckers like us go when an arsehole touches the hair on the head of someone they love. He’s grieving his mam and da, something he’d like to do in peace. Ewan turns a slow circle, cursing all of our existences. The nugget hasn’t shut his mouth since slinking down the planes’ steps.
Kieran rouses when Camdyn passes by him.
My bràthair mirrors his menacing scowl then he winks. “Sorry, Kieran, but you and this bitch, gotta go.”
As Ewan turns, more guns point at him. He grits out. “I expected this from ye all. Blythe. Little Brody! Ye never appreciated the gifts we gave ye. I could kick myself up the fecking backside for trusting ya. Ye are all deid!”
“Say that to me face.” A grave, low voice creeps from the entrance of the hangar. Da strolls into the open area, Mam at his side. My clan steps aside as they enter the fray, nae weapons in hand. With faces of brick and stone, they glare at Ewan McFarland.
“Brody Boy,” Kieran speaks up, regarding him with the customary respect. “Take nae offense to yer mate. This is all a misunderstanding.”
“Ain’t nae fecking misunderstanding,” Da says.
“Ye, nae confusion here. Only regret.” Ewan laughs wryly. “I should’ve killed the whole lot of ye. The whole Clan Mackenzie obliterated in the blink of an eye. My mistake.”
“Aye, yer mistake.” Da takes the AR from Camdyn’s hand, nudging the barrel to Ewan’s jaw. “Say that to my face, bràthair.”
In the blink of an eye, Kieran has Knox’s sawed-off shotgun. I’ve got his nine tracked on him, and all the other weapons are trained on him too. But Kieran’s pointing the gun to the ground. He rolls his eyes while my cousin’s ruddy face burns in shock.
“Uncle Ewan, shut the feck up. Little Brody, I’m gonna fecking forget the last couple of minutes, mate. We’re all amped up, aye? Aunt Nan,” his eyes soften on her, “ye mindyer conversation with me mam?”
Looking lethal, Mam glares straight through him. “Ye should stop trying to help, Kieran. I miss my friend, and I love ye like blood, son. But we’re gonna deid ye. I’ll pray to God that ye see yer mam again—in death—though.”