Chapter 44
Brody
Directly after Justice exits the bedroom, I step out and onto the patio at the side of the house. Keep busy. Focus on yer clan.
Heavy fisted hands rest at my sides as I stalk to and fro in front of a wall fountain with azure glass tile. My face lifts to the bright blue sky. We don’t have days like this in Scotland. I’d beg for a sunny day as a wean to go fecking play outside. Today should be a gloomy day. Should be raining.
“Focus, Brody. Get her outta yer heid.”
I slip my phone from my leather jacket. It’s time for drastic moves after that display I just witnessed. I ring my cousin, Blythe. He’s the only one in the clan that has nae bràthairs. He’s the perfect accomplice if I’m planning on breaking clan rules.
“Put some feelers out,” I tell him the second he answers. “I made a deal with Clan McFarland.”
“Knox and James told me. James is hotter than potatoes in fish grease over his discussion with Bawbag Hank. The arsehole had him sweetening the deal as if the engagement wasn’t sufficient. Firth called and . . .” He prattles about a long list of cousins from here to the highlands who are stunned by my sudden change of heart.
“Blythe, listen,” I grit out, “talk to our associates.”
He sounds as if he was bowled over. “We gonna call it the way Cam suggested?”
“Not without them making the first move.” I pinch my brow. “This is new territory. My da says strike if necessary. They’re up to bat.”
“Nae. Brody, listen. First, yer da should make this order. Second, we gonna strike our pal, Kieran? He’s mourning his mam?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. My cousin was the last to leave Scotland, came for college. Blythe had a longer standing connection to the lad. I bite my fist, surprised by how much I agree with Blythe, though I’ll not tell him. Aye, Kieran was born to the wrong clan. I’ll kill my pal, though.
“Blythe, when my da gives ye a name, wit the feck do ya do with that name?”
“Find em, kill ‘em,” he growls. The stone-cold killer turns into a pussy. “But don’t give me that, Brody. This is a different situation. These are people we sat with at the table on New Year’s.”
“So, put out the fecking feelers, Blythe. Bring any concerning information ya have to me. Nobody else.” James and Knox tell each other everything. Next in line would be their older bràthair, Firth. It’s the same situation with our other cousins. Not Blythe. He’s a loner. I’m depending on him.
After a sigh, he responds, “Aye, Brody.”
I disconnect the call. Even a ruthless one like him will grow an empathetic bone for our allies. Same as Da, which placed us in this predicament. We could’ve murdered Ewan and his two dusty bawbags at Leith’s dinner party, stuffed the three of them in barrels. I’ve considered ways to crash his jet and send a message to Clan McFarland—Bawbag Hank included—that there has been a terrible accident.
Then I toss in Erika’s feelings, which is what happens when a murderer has a soul. Guilty conscience be damned.
A deep Scottish voice calls out from behind me. “So, ye have Blythe doing yer dirty work?”
I turn around, and Leith leans against the stucco right outside of the sliding glass door.
Not in the mood, I grouse, “Wit did ye hear?”
“ ‘Blythe, bring any news to me.’ Nae wiggle room in yer tone, Brody.” My brathair stares at me, threatening me to lie.
“Ye gonna clipe?”
“Nae snitch here.” He rolls his shoulders. “Ye should be happy to know our da had me cancel the tap I had on Ewan’s ringer and email. Ye set him straight before ye went to Scotland.”
I snort. “Much good as that did.”
“Why’d ye go and agree to actually marry Erika? Make it official?”
BawbagHank had to save Justice. But I’ll not share such cunt-like decisions. “Decided it’s time to settle down.”
His index finger jabs in my direction, and he frowns. “Bull-fecking-shite.”
I lean against the stone fountain. “Some arsehole in Boston was gonna take out Justice while she was visiting her family. The firemen twins were clear across the states, not able to assist.”