The Highest Bidder

Chapter One

In which we meet Ethan. And a body burrito.

Ethan…

“Wait. What do ya mean, it’s already done?”

I kick the corpse I’d just stabbed over onto the tarp, rolling him up like a dead body burrito. “I mean it’s done, Michael. Ya think I’m sittin’ around while ya waffle about, holding your dick? I have a schedule, ya bampot.”

My cousin’s laughter brays in my ear while I duct-tape my burrito and haul him into the boot of my car. “I’m driving at the speed of light to get there, mate. It’s not my fault you’re an impetuous arsehole.”

Slamming the lid shut, I look around me quickly. Not a soul out and no surveillance cameras to disable. The desolate location was the only thing this dump had going for it. The safe house the target had been squatting in was so truly shitty that I’d have picked death over another ten minutes on that spongy floor with the black mold reaching out to caress my head in every doorway.

Hell, if the Chieftain hadn’t wanted this one to be quick and quiet, I could have left the man there and he would have died in a matter of days from the clouds of rat feces and salmonella from the garbage stacking up in the kitchen, no doubt since the beginning of time.

There are headlights in the distance, coming at me with a fair rate of speed.

“Now you’re coming, ya lazy bastard?” I slide into the driver’s seat. If I’d had my Maserati MC20, I would peel out of here so fast that Michael could only see my smoking tire tracks. But I’m on the job. I’m driving a sensible-looking beige sedan that looks like every other beige sedan on the fecking planet.

Still…

Slamming my foot on the gas pedal, I flip him off as I pass him with all the speed my masterful beige sedan can handle. There’s a cloud of dust behind me as he spins around, still cursing into my headset.

“You just didn’t want me in on that job, admit it. Would ya lose your cred as The Demon if ya had a little help?”

We’re relaxing in the VIP section of Sonhos e Pesadelos - Dreams and Nightmares - in Lisbon, Portugal and the whiny sod is still complaining. The lounge overlooks the entire club, and with low pools of light and secluded seating, partygoers down on the dance floor can’t see us, though we can see them. The deep leather couches are extremely comfortable, which is good since hefting that dead arsehole out of the boot and into the trash pit we buried him in twinged my neck. This is my reward for a job well done and I’m still dealing with Michael’s petulant expression.

“Let it go, arseface. I nearly always work alone. Why did ya insist on doing this job with me in the first place?”

Irritably finishing his glass of Glenfiddich, he says, “Because I wanted to spend some quality time, ya bastard. I’ve not been seeing ya around the estate, hell- I canna remember the last time ya were even in Glasgow. We’re clan, that counts for something.”

Our smiling server delivers his new drink by leaning over the table so far that she may as well have tucked it between her boobs and given Michael’s appreciative leer, he woulda’ preferred it too.

“Back to the topic,” he says, giving her one last grin, “your role in the MacTavish clan is a somewhat… lonely job.”

“I’m not lonely,” I cut him off, “and I canna use a crowd of idiots to do my work. Admit it, you’ve been pining away for me and needing a cuddle, eh?”

“I’d pour this drink over your head but it’s a really good scotch,” he sneers. “But back to it. Being all isolated in your line of work makes ya daft. Ya remember when Uncle Lachlan brought a surface-to-air missile to Sunday dinner?” He attempts to look serious for a full fifteen seconds before we both burst into laughter.

“Ah, god. The look on the Lady Elspeth’s face when he dragged it inside.” I’m howling.

Michael’s no better, aspirating a mouthful of that well-aged Scotch up his nose. “What was it for? Someone’s birthday?”

“Aye, Uncle Dougal’s remember?” I say, “He’s got enough firepower by now to blow a hole in the side of the planet.”

“That’s what I mean, though, Uncle Lachlan was clan executioner and finder o’ lost things until ya took it over. Ya dinna want to turn into him.”

Lachlan MacTavish, youngest son of Cormac Sr. and the Lady Elspeth and our uncle is charitably called “a loose cannon” in our family circles.

The problem is, his bizarre antics seem to be making more sense to me these days.

Shite. Maybe Michael is right.

He senses my hesitation, leaping into the gap. “We got the weekend off. We’re gonna drink, find some hot girls to have fun with, and act like random arseholes on holiday for three days. No thinking about work.”

Rubbing the back of my neck, I groan. “I’m thinking our Chieftain has a list of targets I have not yet acquired, cousin.”

“Not this weekend,” he says, clinking his glass with mine. “Now let’s find a pretty lass to dance with, like the one in the teal dress? It’s like she’s ringing the dinner bell for my cock.”

And at that moment, when I can finally feel my shoulders relax and I’m no longer gritting my back molars hard enough to crack one as I’m leaning into my cousin’s suggestion of drunken debauchery…

That’s the moment my phone rings.

“Dinna ya answer that!” Michael snaps.

The Imperial March from ‘Star Wars’ blares from my phone. “My special ringtone for your Da,” I say, “our Chieftain? The big bastard in charge?”

“So close,” he says morosely, “we were so fecking close to a proper wasted weekend.”

“Aye, Chieftain?” I move to a quiet staff hallway to take Uncle Cormac’s call.

“I got the results from the job,” he says, “well done, lad. Was my son of any assistance?”

“Ya wanting me to be honest?”

“Never mind,” he laughs, then he’s all back to business. “I’m sorry to be putting ya back to work after the promise of a weekend off and sending my son to raise hell with ya, but we have a problem.”

“Aye?”

“I’ll send you the data on our secure server, but I need ya to pick up a girl,” he says.

“I’m taking out a woman?” I ask, “We dinna kill females.”

“I dinna want ya killing her, but it’s urgent she’s picked up immediately. Ya remember Gavin Masters?”

“Arms dealer, US?”

“That’s him. His daughter took a runner. She’s been seen in Europe, most recently in Italy. She’s attracting a lot of attention and none of it is good. I need ya to pluck her out of whatever hellhole student hostel she’s hiding in and bring her back.”

My brow wrinkles. “Ya want her at the MacTavish estate or home to Daddy?”

“I want her brought here,” he says. “There’s something off about his request. He’s a good ally stateside, but I don’t trust him. Let’s have a sit down with her before we send her home.”

“What’s off about his request?”

Cormac pauses for a moment. “His request is, if you canna successfully extract her, kill her.”