“Heh,bawbag, I’m not predictable.”
“Alright, I’ll nibble. You’re a fair dictator, yeah . . . Oh, what thefeckam I talking about, you fair—fatarsechance! Is it the bird chick?” He huffs.
In the background, someone is calling Leith’s name, sparing me the discussion of Ava’s right to freedom. I’ll be damned if she’s not freewith me.
“Were out of Ziplock bags for the Fruit Loops.” I overhear his wife complaining.
“Aye, okay, hen.” Leith clears his throat, and I assume he’s covered the receiver because his response muffles.
Seconds later, he mutters, “I spend an arm, a leg, and a wee baby toe for the Disney backstage passes. Front of the line passes. Over thefeckingmoon passes! Under thearsecrack passes—”
“Where are you taking the lassies?” I ask incredulously.
“When you called a few minutes ago, and I had to sneak away from Chevelle. I lead this conversation withMickey Mouse! You have no idea what I’m referring to, Kieran?”
“No.”
“And you’re not holding a gun to Tybalt’s person?”
“No!” Infuriated, I flex my fist and must grab the rope before Tybalt’s skull cracks against the marble floor.
“He’s alive?”
“Funny you should ask, mate. The nugget’s inverted, red as a tomato, too. You’re not the only one who can do a science experiment, Mr.FeckingMIT.”
“Ha-ha, numptybawbag. Let Tybalt go, Kieran. He’s a good head on his shoulders. Marty did too. I should speak to Tybalt about your security system.”
“Why’s that?” I crouch down, eyes roaming over Tybalt’s strained face. His short hair trails the ground now that I had almost dropped him.
“I still haven’t the slightest idea who came to your home.” Leith pauses to huff.
“Then maybe you should get a second major, Leith. Should I send you his head?”
“His head?” The computer whiz gasps.
“Yeah, the head of the lad in the car. You know, search his DNA or something.” Clasping Tybalt’s face, I give a swift jerk, ending his life.Find out something!
Leith chortles. “Nah, I’ll pass. Maybe your new guy can assist with finding out, Kier. I’m not on your payroll, remember?”
“Tybalt didn’t make it,Bawbag,” I growl. “Kiera’shere.Find out who.”
I press the end call button. Leith MacKenzie may not work for me, but the gravity in mentioning my little sister's name will urge him to become more useful. I text Leith a photo of the dead bampot, a bullet piercing his skull too. Now, all I've to do is keep my wee sister and my sweet taste of addiction safe.
30
Ava
Not a single nightmare branded my tattered soul last night. A man, sporting a whole boneyard’s worth of flowers and skulls emblazoned across his chest and even more tattoos on his arms, embraced me. My stomach lurches. I can’t help but fantasize over Kieran.Had I shared a minor detail of my life yesterday?Oye,I divulged how my parents met.
Adnan’s out of the question. When I speak of him, my blood pressure raises to deadly levels.
“So, you’re telling me . . .” Kiera measures each vicious-capped word while staring down the armed guard stationed at the double door. She’d pulled me out of bed an hour after Kieran brushed a kiss on what he assumed was my slumbering lips and left.
Now, at her urging, we’re donning another pair of riding clothes. She snaps, “Wecan’t even meander out thefeckingdoor, walk a couple of yards to the stables, no?”
“Ms. McFarland, it’s not a couple of yards.” The henchman clears his throat, slowly feeding the denial.
“I have said I’m not a McFarland! My father’s surname was not McFarland!” She hustles a few paces, spine lengthened.