Chapter 37
Brody
It took my cousin James a solid week to get the package and return it to me. A loud continuous beep rings out as the big rig slowly reverses into the truck port. The morning sun is eclipsed the closer it gets. The rig lurches to a stop, and the only light is from the dim bulbs above.
James climbs out of the truck. His shoes reverberate on the concrete. He’s wearing a hoodie and gloves and stuffs his hands in his jeans. “I’m tired.”
“Then why’d it take ye so long? I was expecting ye yesterday.”
His hazel eyes bug at me. “I had me a couple of hours at rest stops.” He turns toward the padlock.
“Ye said ye’re tired?”
“Aye, but I get to welcome our package. Least I could do.” He fusses with the lock, letting it clatter to the ground. “I had to hear Hank’s mouth.”
“Och,” This is my form of an apology. Hank’s the most hated Scot in Boston.
James throws the keys to me. “Hank said I owe him a favor?”
“Ye too?” I snort.
“Aye. Hank said the idiot was trying to break into a house when—”
“Which house?” I growl.
“Does it matter?”
“Aye! I’m sure Hank said.”I suck in air. Justice was so close to danger that night. She and her parents. Feck.
“He did. I forgot. Also, I don’t think it matters.” He shrugs, swinging the doors open. “Hanksaid the nugget had a problem getting in the house. Lights turned on, alarm sounded, and everything. Hankisn’t satisfied with the agreement the two of ye have.”
“Hank can choke on my baw hairs.” Folding my arms, I glance into the trailer. The lad’s wedged himself into the farthest corner. “That’s a wee fecker. Easy mission for ye and the likes of the nugget, Hank. So again, I ask wit took ye so long.”
James mutters about my impatience and hoists himself inside. He stomps over to our guest. “Ye!”
The package rouses awake, arms wrapped around himself.
James pulls up his hoodie to show the Glock in his waistband. “I’ve had enough of ye! I would kill—”
“James, hurry the feck up. Bring him to me,” I snap.
My package moves into turtle-on-its-back position, fists and Converse sneakers airborne. James anticipates his move, and like a cobra, reaches out, grabbing the idiot’s ankle and yanks.
A muffled scream emits from the duct tape over my enemy’s mouth.
“Why wasn’t he tied up?” I cock a brow as James heads back over.
“I ran out of tape.” He tugs until the idiot’s head and upper body bounces off the step and onto the ground.
I grip the guy’s collar. My knuckles press into his throat. “Bawbag, remember me?”
Wilmer snarls against the duct tape.
“Tsk, tsk.” I give a wide-toothed grin. “Ye’re here to learn ya don’t threaten a MacKenzie. I ain’t the only fecking MacKenzie who’s gonna teach you that lesson.”
James fists his hair. “I’m knackered because of ye. But I’m wide awake now for this.”
“And again, I’ll say, even more MacKenzies wanna meet ya.” I gesture to James. We move in tandem. I remove my fists from Wilmer’s collar. James gets behind him, giving him a snug-hug, bicep wrapped around his throat.