“Very.”
“I’m not!” Ewan’s dark gaze zips past us all. “I’ve more sense in my pinkie than the lot of ye have in yer whole body.”
Erika pants. “Da, tell them, please! Tell us what’s wrong.”
Ewan tosses his head back with a wolfish laugh. “Listen,” he pauses, “what’s wrong is my daughter’s a defective whore.”
On his knees, Kieran thrusts his forearm at his uncle’s neck. “Ye don’t get to fecking talk about Erika because ye are weak, Ewan!”
Ewan turns his angry eyes on his nephew. “Kieran, ye sniveling—”
“Aye,” I growl. “Wit’s it he should tell us, now? Kieran, ye almost caught yerself up at the pub earlier.”
Kieran scoffs. “Feck ye, Brody. I thought I was having a last drink with me mate before ye did something stupid—like formally agree to marriage—I’d nae idea it would be this stupid! Now, Ewan, Erika will do anything for ye. It stops now!”
Ewan pushes back at him. “She’s defective. A MacKenzie bitch now, eh? Ye too, Kieran?”
Kieran swings his forehead at his uncle’s nose. Blood trickles down Ewan’s shocked face. I remember the old lad a bit more vicious than this—he’d back up all his talk. Now, he just sits there, bleeding.
“Ye needed that, Uncle Ewan,” Kieran snorts. “FYI, if I felt like dying today, there’d be more bloody fecking deid.”
With blood smeared across his lips, Ewan levels a steady look my way, ignoring the menacing glares of my clan.
James and Knox hold Erika back while she tries to pitch herself from Leith’s arms.
“You’re dying, Da! Stop being so vindictive. Stop pissing off yer friends because ya feel weak and useless. If you’ve done anything,” she croaks, “please stop.”
“Who’s dying?” Someone asks.
“Ewan,” Kieran grits out. “Going a wee bit senile too.”
“Ewan?” My father’s tone changes.
“He didn’t snitch on Clan MacKenzie,” Erika cries, letting herself rest in Leith’s arms again.
“She called Hank on the way here,” Leith says. “He didn’t know I was listening. He admitted to having some random hooker call the 1-800 tip line for the cops yesterday. He was pissed about Kieran breaking his legs.”
“That’s wit I fecking told ye, Brody!” Kieran’s fists cut through the air. “Motherfecker! I crushed my second cousin’s knees for ye.”
“Ye said . . .” I snap my fingers, trying to recall the conversation at the Irish pub. Feck, he said he handled it. Huh. Well, I assume Bawbag Hank would be deid if he weren’t Clan McFarland.
“I fecking handled it!” Kieran frowns.
“Well,” I jerk a shoulder, “then who tried to kill me?”
“Someone tried to kill ye?” Erika gasps.
“Nobody fecking likes ye,” Kieran adds, jumping to his feet. “Until about ten minutes ago, ye had one non-MacKenzie on yer side, me, motherfecker.”
My da helps Ewan up, looking his friend over. Ewan looks weak and feeble at the moment. I glare at Leith. “Who’s with the laddies and lassies?”
Leith rustles his hand through his reddish-blond hair and mutters, “Jamie . . . and Hen . . . and Justice.”
“Aw, fuck,” Camdyn groans. “What the fuck, bro? Were you just going to list them all off? You forgot Lachlan, Jake, Mia. All defenseless!”
Dammit, Justice was right! Recalling how terribly wrong I’ve been today, I grip Leith’s collar and growl out. “I need to get to the house now!”