Kieran took a lass from the hotel and forced her to leave with him. I helped the lad get her to the airstrip. The fecker guilt-tripped me into it, which was the least I could do for the attempt on his life.
I answer the phone, smiling at Justice in the passenger seat. She carries on her conversation with her parents since I need a moment.
“Ye in Boston yet?”
“Soon enough.”
“Ye let yer little birdie go?”
“Nae. My little birdie forfeited her life when she was about to kill herself at the hotel, remember?”
“Ain’t that her call?”
“Nae because she’s mine now, Brody. She has a good life. Food—”
“Ye’re not raping—”
“Feck nae,” Kieran spits. “Training—”
“Training?”
An amused chuckle grates my ear. “Listen, Brody. Ye confuse me with Ewan. She’s broken. I’m mending her. I lost memam and da. Now, I’ve me wee birdie.”
“What about yer weesister?”
He huffs into the phone. “My sister has her caretakers. The closer I get to my sister, the more likely she’s to die, so feck nae. Eh, listen, that’s a discussion for another time. Since we laid Hank to rest, Blythe’s heading his first shipment in Boston. Support yer cousin while he assimilates to his new role for me. I asked Erika first, but she and Ewan are talkin’ about family counseling—same therapist Jamie and Nan uses.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah, a much better scenario than his quest for heirs. So, for now, help Blythe. When my little birdie is ready to flap her wings—”
“Ye set her free, Kieran?” I feel like I’m a fecking cunt for asking. Before Justice crashed into my life, my business was my business, same for the next lad.
“We will be in Boston. I’d not bring her a second sooner.”
“Because she will run?”
“Aye, bawbag. If that’s wit ye pursuing. Aye, she’ll run.”
“Then let the lass g—”
He hangs up.
Exhaling heavy, I get back into the truck. Justice ran from me, but at least I knew the lass gave a shite.
My woman’s warm brown eyes glide over me. Though silent, she’s curious about my call.
“Kieran,” I tell her. “He’s good,” I lie.
Relief washes over her face. We’ll not have any clan disasters this week—seven whole days with her parents.
Feck me.
I love her so much that when Mrs. Flowers called me discreetly asking to visit California instead of us coming to them, I caved. I knew it was to ease her concerns for her only daughter.
“Where to?” I ask.
“I found a restaurant near Chevelle’s new pub. That way, we can feed my dad before doing anything else—”