Neither was Ava.
With a grunt, Brody sits on the couch. “Kier, we found Hector. Well, Leith did. I just thought mentioning my brother’s name might ratchet your blood pressure.”
I roll my eyes. “Where’s Hector?”
“Dead. Funny thing about the cartel. You’ve got to get yourself in a good position. Higher-ups are harder to touch.”
“Who did Hector in?” I lean an elbow against the textured wall. “Was he affiliated with—”
“Yup, the Resnovs and aye, the Resnovs. He snuck around that Simeonfecker. When you make a deal with the likes of ‘em, you make a deal for life. So, why were you so interested in a nobody like him? You’ve worked with the Mexicans for years.”
“First, I’d not ask Simeon to piss on my head while I burned in hell. Second, Hector deserved to die. End of story.”
“Okay? So, we good then? No go to kill thearseholewho killed him?” Brody places his hands up. “Because my da’s still associating with the Italians after Leith and Twigs. And ya know, what that Russian pieceo’shitedid to the Italians. We want no part of the Resnovs.”
“I know.” My heart sinks. Maybe I’m a greedy, undeservingfecklike Mam’s ghost said. Although . . . I figure it’s all just my guilty conscience. But I had planned to find those Colombians and bring their heads to my little bird for atonement.
43
Kieran
With recessed lighting, Donahue’s Pub doesn’t look half bad. Every surface area is sticky, floors and tabletops included. I still don’t understand why they allow folks to tag thefeckingwalls.Aye, you were here.Who bloody gives afeck?I’m seated at a bunch of tables shoved together. A waitress is handing a permanent marker to Kiera, who’s turned her chair toward the wall. Uncle Ewan has gone in search of Old Donahue to complain about the lack ofclothnapkins for the chair that the waitress has cleanedtwiceat his insistence.
Kier, get in the mood.No, I’m feeling like a bloodybawbag. I roll my shoulders and pull at the pint until the amber liquid recedes in my mug.
“Hey!” Erika drinks in the waitress’arsewhile she waits for her pen. “Leave it here and go get my cousin and me a hunner more beers.”
“Yes, ma—”
“Ain’t no ma’am.” Erika wags a finger. “Call medaddy.”
With the roll of her eyes, the waitress stalks away.
I glare at my cousin.
Erika snaps, “What, Kier? ‘Was a joke.”
“Joke myarse. That woman calls youdaddy.You’re skedaddling after thatarse.”
Situated in her seat, Kiera drops the marker. “Can someone saylawsuit?”
Our cousin snorts. “Lassie, you’re too smart for my blood. Kier, ya know the girlschoolsmeevery time I drive her home.”
I’m tossing back another boilermaker when I notice Big Brody through the crowd. Ewan’s caught up with him, and the deep scowl’s gone from his face. They’ve each got an arm slinked over the other. In my uncle’s hand is a top-shelf whiskey. The stuffy, old devil probably squeezed the bottle out of Donahue. Trailing behind the two mates are Brody’s entire clan. All but Nan, and come to think of it, it doesn’t appear their second-oldest teenage son, Jamie, has tagged along. All the guys squeeze about the tables as other guests come toward us.
“Uncle Brody!” Kiera springs from her chair, hustling around the long row to get to him. I always sit with my back facing the wall to view any threats. By the time I get around the table, Little Brody’s tugging his short beard.
“Kiera, what ya think about me?The newer, improved Brody?”
“Nobody can forget the likes of you,bawbag. But your father here is theoriginal,” I say.
“Original? No,” Ewan scoffs, clasping Brody’s arm. “Where’d you think the nameBrody Boycame from?” My uncle affectionately calls his friend the name the senior Brody has so hated.
Big Brody matches his aggression, gripping his arm too. “Aye, I’mBrody Boy, as long as that whiskey keeps flowing, mate.”
I’m fraternizing with both Brodys, my uncle, and Blythe at one side of the table. Kiera chats with their youngest three sons, Jake, Lachlan, and Rory, on the other. That littleshite, Rory, shakes a basket of nuts in front of Lach, who has a peanut allergy. While I watch Kiera’s lips move, she reminds Rory to play nice. A smile breaks across my face for the first time. The weefeckeris my kind ofarsehole. Leave it to the little nugget to make my day after months of gloom.
The second I look forward again, my gaze clashes with LeithfeckingMacKenzie. Mia’s astride his hip, and his wife is nowhere in sight. My wee guardian angel hops down from her father, calling out to her partner in crime, little Jake MacKenzie. Firth’s wife holds their wee bairn.Right. There’s no one to protect him. I’m gonna light up his arse.