“If ye give Erika a child, a girl,” he begins. It may be the lack of sun, but Kieran’s face grows dark. The shadows play up a maniacal look. “Have a girl, ye keep at it until ye give Erika a boy, and ye give that son to us . . .” He pauses.
I’m not connecting the dots. This shite is madness, and I’ll take it as Kieran still grieving his mam. He usually runs Boston but gave it up about half a year ago while she was dying. He. Has. Lost. It.
Ewan never had half a brain.
With a crazed shove of his hand, Kieran’s black hair sticks up like a porcupine. “Listen, ye and I think differently, Brody. When we settle down, we will want not only numbers for our clan but weans to love. My Uncle Ewan’s mind ain’t conforming to those same desires. He wants an heir.”
I let my head fall, glare at the gravel beneath my boots, then look Kieran in the eye. “So, give the lass bairns. Once Erika has a son, Ewan wants the laddie for himself? A McFarland, aye? Wit of the other weans, Kieran?”
He shrugs. “Maybe ye’re a one shot-shooter, aye? Have a boy on the first round?”
“Wit of the fecking other weans, Kieran,” I growl, “if they’re all girls?”
“Real men have sons.” He again grabs a tuft of his hair. “Nan loves weans. Give yer mam all the girls. She has all of ye because she wanted a girl. See! I’m fecking helping everyone out.”
Laughing, I run a hand over my face. “This is insanity.”
“The lassies will be MacKenzie and the laddie,” Kieran drums his hands over the roof of a red sports car, “only one laddie necessary. He will be—”
“McFarland. Who will convince Erika of this?”
His eyes float away. “Ya know, my uncle. Erika’s his daughter.”
“So, feck her wishes, aye? Sounds like rape to me, Kieran.”
Kieran’s hands drop into his pockets. “Honestly, I said the same to Ewan when he suggested it the first time.”
“How many times—”
“A lot,” he grits out, muscles working beneath his clenched jaw. He’s settled. Kieran’s been in the presence of a nugget, nae, a sociopath far too long. When Kieran and I were young, we were one and the same. Pick up a torture device for self-care. We kept life simple, shite like that.
“Och, when we were laddies,” I point a rigid finger at him, “did ye give Ewan a smack for letting off on Erika after her mam died?”
“We were fecking laddies, Brody.”He grounds himself with a hard sigh. “I . . . I can’t fathom why Ewan’s stubborn as a highland cow ‘bout this. It’s strange. It really is.”
“Ya think?” I drop my hands on top of my head, glancing across the lot where the guard has posted himself again. He has a napkin against the side of his face. Bloody bastard should’ve kept me out. I shouldn’t be here. The MacKenzie and McFarland union is a heap of dog shite.
“Brody,” Kieran huffs. “Erika wouldn’t need a lot of convincing. She’ll do anything for her da. She will. Trust me, Brody. Erika don’twalk the way she talks when it comes to Ewan.”
My mouth twists. “Because she’s feckingafraid of him.”
“Blow yer bawbag in a fecking mug—that would probably work for my uncle.” He gags. “Soon as we get this ironed out, we can all go back to normal. Nae tension from either clan. That’s all I want. Nae tension.”
“Listen to me good. The day the lass is done with Ewan, I’m done. Nae disrespect to ye, we grew up like blood. Cousins.”
“Don’t fecking tell me this,” he murmurs. His pitch increases into a vow. “I’m trying my fecking best here. Ye don’t think I know who gives a flying feck about that bawbag, about my entire clan, aye?”
“Feck him. Feck ye!” I do an about-face.
“Well, feck ye too! Ye can act like a scabby wankstain. I’m fighting for our clans.”
Our clans have been united, it seems, since forever. I’m ready to pull the trigger on it. Instead, I round on the guard posted at the gate again.
“Ye got comfortable, mate. Big fecking mistake.” Fisting my knife, I stab straight into his throat and slide across the length of it. Bloody flawless. Like a hot, sharp blade through cold butter. Feck a Glasgow smile. The McFarland guard ain’t getting up from that.