Chapter 25
Brody
Last night, I’d been desperate to be inside Justice. To have her beneath me, on top of me, in my mouth. Every time I touched her, I sought the blissful expression that crept over her face.
I run a hand over my beard.
I’m a fecking goner. For years, I appreciated one aroma in my beard—the conditioning treatment my barber makes.
Today, another fragrance has taken the number one slot. The scent of Justice’s pussy infuses my beard. I’d bottle it up, keep it. I laugh at myself, sitting up in bed beside her sleeping frame.
I am addicted. I’m tempted to wake Justice when I realize what woke me. My cellphone’s ringing again. I grab it from the nightstand, thumbprint about to collide with the away button.
I huff, answering Da.
“Son, meet me at the office in ten.”
“I’m not ten minutes away, Da. I’m at least twenty, and I—”
“Twenty then.” Click.
I come to a seated position. In the past, I could be sloshed under the fecking table, have sex with a lass, then still get a proper distance away from her afterward. However, I expected my first time waking up the next morning with this lass would include breakfast. Good thing I’ve made Justice pancakes before.
Da’s in one of his moods. The clock started the second he hung up in my face. Justice needs sleep, so I decide to leave her a quick note.
* * *
In Dominguez Hills, wrought iron gates surround the entire block. I pull up to the sign that says MacKenzie Freight and press the remote button above the rearview mirror. While the gate shifts open, I smooth over my crumpled dress shirt. Minutes later, I slide into reverse next to an orange 78’ Challenger.
“Feck, Knox is here,” I mutter. My cousin’s a part-time fireman and only helps with the important shipments a couple of times a month. He’s here early. I take it we’re all having a meeting. The other cars in the lot are familiar, belonging to loyal employees, only one of the vehicles I ain’t seen before. Sleek, sporty, nae plates—it has Camdyn’s name written all over it.
On the opposite side of the lot, lined near the building, half the fleet of big rigs are in today. The rest are on legal runs.
I enter through the maintenance area. One of the guys is under the hood of an older model Peterbilt. We still have two of them left and plan to ride ‘em into the ground before upgrading. That type of power practically lives forever.
In the office, Knox’s older bràthair, Firth, has a rag in hand. He’s changed from last night's suit. Cleaning supplies stick out of each pocket of his khaki shorts. He’s the only guy I know who will pick up a duster to clean the place and comes in on occasion for accounting stuff. He’s spooked by the private room down below, practically threw uphis entire fat-arse stomach the last time he saw me with hacksaws.
“Good morning,” he offers a good-natured smile.
“I’m late?” I ask.
“Last one, I’d say.” Firth places the rag on the tin desk, lifts the edges, and moves it to the side. He even reaches down to move the ratty gray rug from the ground and opens the trapdoor. “Leith came by earlier too. Offered his services.”
I cock a brow, hardly listening to him babble on about my bràthair’s hacker skills, and I head down the cement steps. There ain’t a dead body on the slab. There are breathing arseholes instead. Camdyn’s got a notepad in hand, fast at work. From the looks of it, he’s drawing, while Knox’s sort-of-twin, James, sits next to him. Erika’s in the leather chair that’s usually pushed behind the desk above us. Someone must’ve carried her down. Da’s leaning against the wall. Many of my other cousins loom around. The whole lot of them have changed their clothes while I’m still in my slacks and shiny shoes.
“Wit the feck are ye down here for?” I cut into my father’s speech. This is my sanctuary. I slaughter arseholes in preparation for scattering their carcasses across the nation.
“Leith’s gonna tap into Ewan’s business.” Camdyn continues to draw, not looking up while he adds, “Father’s paranoid. But then again, they’ve included this bitch in the middle of a MacKenzie coup. So?”
“Say that to my face,” Erika growls.
He still doesn’t look up, frown deepening while he sketches. “C’mere, then, bitch. I go to no one.”
Da ignores them. Erika and Cam have been bickering since Camdyn’s baws dropped.
“Brody,” Da turns to me, “we’re only takin’ precautionary measures. Ye told Ewan that you’d marry Erika. Half the clan back home’s elated. The other half’s concerned. Ye gave him yer word!”
“We’re not marrying.” I hold up a hand. My voice is calm, whereas his pitch has increased.
“See,” Erika snorts, “we lead him on for a little while.”
“You gave him yer word!” Da’s shout knocks at my eardrums.
Calm the feck down. My expression says it all.
“We’ve been here for a while if you can’t tell,” Camdyn says. Still, the bampot has his wee hand in what I can only assume is his coloring book. “Took us so long to diffuse Dad. As you can see, now I need to ground myself.” He pops his hand against the notebook. “So, calm him yourself this time.”
I watch Da’s fingers curl under, heavy weights at his sides. I really look over the faces of my clan. They’re tired. How fecking long have they been here? Voice laced in venom, I growl, “This discussion began without me?”