“Not . . .dead . . . ineveryaspect of the word.”
Heart ready to implode in my chest, I wait a couple of beats for Ava to ridicule me or say I’ve lost it. She’s had every right to say so since the day we met. Instead, her tiny fingers weave through mine as I fist the steering wheel with one hand.
Darkness descends on the horizon, and Mam soon disappears as I listen to Ava’s peaceful slumber. I drive so long the storm we left behind catches up with us. Bands of rain run across the windshield. The force makes the wipers ineffective, causing me to pull off the road for a while.
Almost three hours later, we’ve arrived in the heart of Glasgow. Clouds have formed over a full moon. I’m parked outside of a stone tenement, tagged in graffiti.
I’ve a couple of lookouts who’re to observe each floor and report to me. Also, most of the MacKenzies are on the west coast of the States. The few still here are older and may not recall Kiera either.
At Ava’s insistence, I wait for a call from one of the henchmen who did a quiet search of the grounds. I run the flat of my hand over the nape of my neck. I can see myself shooting down every door. I am calculating. But add Kiera into the equation, and it takes every fiber in my being to see reason.
My cellphone trills, and Ava rouses at my side, waking with a start.
“Oye Dios,” she murmurs, stifling a yawn. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I . . . fell asleep. Where are we? This looks like a city.”
I pat her thigh, answering the phone. “What?”
The guy on the other end of the line tells me he’s spotted an adolescent girl fitting Kiera’s description. In less than ten minutes, Ava and I find the structure among the hundreds around it. Flickering streetlights too stubborn to go out paint the picture. Up a couple of levels in the middle, a fire had overtaken the building. We take the stairs to one of those decrepit floors and stroll through the halls—fecking shitehole.
“The walls are paper-thin,” Ava murmurs, casting a critical eye over the hallway. “I’ll bet they were just like this before the fire.”
Under her breath, she further suggests these people have lived through injustice after injustice. Next, she’s muttering about how the fire could’ve been from faulty wires. Her voice is wrought with emotion—a heaping more than I’ve ever felt for another soul.Mam had the same heart of gold.
A few doors ahead, four of my men are on guard, guns fisted close to their chests. I signal one, and the shaggy-headedbawbagnods.
Oh, thank God. My hand tucks beneath my jacket while Ava mouths, “No.”
“No, what?” I whisper.
“Put it away.” She proceeds to gesture to them, inferring the same.
I clutch Ava’s arm, brushing my lips along the shell of her ear. “And you wonder why I never take you anywhere.”
“Here, I always assumed it was because of myfreespirit.” She stalks ahead, lifts her slender fist to knock, and I grab her hand.
“Not sofeckingfast, little bird. You don’t call the shots here.” Scooping an arm about her waist, I yank her backward, just as the guy with the shaggy hair kicks in the door.
“You,” I order the henchman nearest to us, “takeher.”
While Ava complains, pushing away, his eyes latch onto mine, requesting more instruction.
Against my better judgment, I don’t order her down to the car. “Just stay here.” I point a stiff finger at the ground.
Squaring my shoulders, I stalk into the one-room tenement. The kitchen area is closest to me. A loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter are on the counter. I stalk past the area where a wee table would go.
My eyes close at the sight of a filthy mattress on the floor.Oh, Kiera . . .My sister’s long, dark hair is to me. Her body presses against a skinny guy who holds her. Amotherfeckerwhose eyes are the size of an elephant'sbaws. Afraid, they clutch each other.
“Grab him! I’m gonna torture youso bad, laddie!”
37
Ava
“Iwould rather mop the ocean than stick around, Kieran, if you kill this kid. I will walk away right now!” I command, having kneed theidiotaholding me back in the balls.
Stiff-jawed, Kieran flicks his thumb over the safety of his revolver and jams it into his waistband. “Are you satisfied?”
“No!”