Chapter 18
Brody
Justice Flowers’ lovely voice wraps around my cock, slides up and down the length of it, taunting, not granting the bloody fecking release. Then she asks me such a question. Wit made me guarded?
Why does she always take it there? Gotta be so touchy-feely. Get into my mind. But she’ll not let me go to the places I’ve been contemplating on her body. Her pussy, her mouth, her arse. Nae. I’ve to restrain myself while she dissects pieces of me.
Give me a wee piece of ya, lass. Och, I ain’t aiming for a piece of her, though. I’ll not stop until I taste the very last drop of Misses Flowers. So, I’ll bide my time, answer her silly questions.
Guarded, I muse, scratching my beard. “Ye want me to tell ya I was scarred as a fecking laddie? That when I arrived in the States for school, my accent got me in some squabbles on account that ye Americans have accents.”
“Awww, you were bullied? I’m sorry.” Her sultry eyes warm over. I could play this one of two ways—one, the sympathy card. Every lass has a heart for a guy who’s been bullied. Two, be the honest to God bawbag that I am.
I’m an arsehole. That, I am.
“Nae, not bullied,” I growl, sitting wide legged. “Sweetheart, I handled every motherfecker who refused to shut his mouth. Back to ye, Justice. Ye’re a strong one. Five years, nae clan to have yer back?”
In a tiny voice, she murmurs, “Thank you.”
“But the fact of the matter is, I didn’t let some pretty-eyed girl weaken me. Ain’t got nae guard up, lass. That’s Leith and Chevelle’s story. Not mine.”
“Okay . . .”
“I know ye get off from crying apparently—”
Justice folds her arms. “I don’t.”
“That’s how I see it from all those sob stories on the teleybox. The fact is, my da trained me to always make it home. That ain’t a fecking option if I’m letting feelings lead, and I have nae focus. I’m not guarded. I call that normal.”
She’s pushed the food away from her and scoffs. “Then what am I?”
“Crybabies like ye,” I jut my chin, “ye all are the weird ones, Justice.”
“I’m the weird one,” she murmurs. “Hmmm. Impassive, insensitive, apathetic, those are positive, normal traits.”
“Those are the traits for survival where I’m from. Aye, normal for the motherfeckers who wanna be left standing when the dust clears.” I glance at the clock. I’d promised Erika to return to the hospital tonight, which I did. The second she was sound asleep, I left again.
While Justice is still a conquest of mine, I’ll be taking my time, savoring her. I pull out a couple of dollars as a tip.
“I’ll follow you back to my bràthair’s.” Justice is an object to me, a trinket that can be set aside. Might as well pursue her while we wait for Ewan McFarland to make his first move. He’s now aware of Erika’s accident. Trouble’s brewing, and if I’ve read Justice Flower’s correctly, she’ll still be here when I’m ready to collect.
* * *
This morning, Mam and Eddy were at the hospital when Erika was discharged. She was supposed to stay a couple more nights but threatened all our lives if she missed Leith and Chevelle’s party.
When I arrive at my parents’ house around five, a wee moving van is out front. My cousin Firth’s signing off on the hospital-grade furnishings that Erika had said she didn’t need.
In a crisp black suit, I’m about to ask for help with my tie when Firth groans, “Why not wear a tartan? Wit’s this black-tie attire. Do ye even know how to knot that thing?” He gestures to my tie.
“Ye’re the white-collar laddie. Ye should know.” I loop the tie around the back of my neck.
“Why, because I’ve a regular job?” Firth signs another document from a lad in uniform. “Just because I walk the line unlike the rest of me clan, that’s supposed to mean I can tie those things? I get enough from those rascals, Knox and James. Go rag on Leith.”
“Where’s my da?”
“Office.”
I head into the house, slip the tie in my back pocket, and rub my hands together. Da returned from his meeting with the Romans and had nae words for his three eldest. Before he left, he was done with us.