Chapter Thirty-One
Gretchen
Whatever's going out there, I'm positive it's a bad, bad, bad thing.
I mean, Dougal MacWraith is here, so it must be horrible news.
I try like hell to avoid letting on that I'm freaking out on the inside despite the fact no one will hear me since I'm hiding in the bedroom.
Dougal gives me the willies---the supercharged version.
I wish I had a gun or a knife or, jeez, even a wrench would do.
Kirk might have supernatural stunt-man skills, but all I have is the basic computer skills any virtual assistant might acquire.
Kirk ordered me to hide in the bedroom.
Screw that.
I'll be damned if I'm going to cower in the bedroom while an evil bastard threatens Kirk.
Instead, I throw on Kirk's discarded shirt, which hits me at mid-thigh, and a pair of underwear.
Not exactly battle armor, but it's better than facing the enemy naked.
When I march back into the living room, both men whirl around to look at me.
Kirk's face darkens with fury, but there's a flicker of something else in his eyes.
Not fear for himself, I realize with a jolt, but for me.
Dougal MacWraith is standing in the living room, twirling that damn key.
"Ah, and here she is," Dougal drawls. "The lovely Gretchen. I was beginning to think Balfour was keeping you in the closet."
I set my hands on my hips and adopt an attitude that I hope will impress the slimy piece of garbage. "What do you want, MacWraith?"
He sniffs derisively. "Ahmno talking to a lass. This is a man's conversation."
A man's what? Ohh, I would love to sock him in the jaw. But I'd probably just hurt my hand and cause him not even a whiff of pain. "Is your pissing match over yet? Or should I order some Chinese food?"
"Haud yer wheesht," Dougal snarls at me. "That means keep your bloody mouth shut, woman."
My jaw drops. Did he seriously tell me to shut up in Scottish? The sheer audacity of this guy makes my blood boil. I take a step forward, but Kirk throws his arm out, blocking my path.
"Dinnae speak to her like that," he snarls at Dougal. "And get the fuck out of my flat."
The evil bastard smirks, seeming entirely too comfortable standing here in someone else's living room. "Still hiding behind your brawn rather than your brain, I see. Some things never change."
I can feel Kirk tensing up beside me, like a predator preparing to pounce. The tension in the room feels like an electric current.
"What do you want?" Kirk demands again.
Dougal tucks the keys into his pocket with deliberate slowness, then dials a number on his phone, making sure Kirk and I both hear it. "Come in, gents. I don't think Balfour has figured out what I aim to do, not yet. But it's time to show him."
Show-and-tell with Dougal doesn't sound like any fun at all. The word gents implies he's got goons on the way. I can barely breathe, and I feel a touch lightheaded. Yeah, this is what ice-cold, bone-deep fear feels like.
The door swings open, and five men enter the flat. The one who seems to be in charge surveys the area with cool calculation. When the slimeball's gaze lands on me, I see nothing but cold detachment. This man and his buddies would murder me and Kirk without a single regret.
Kirk starts to move toward me.
But Dougal raises one finger in a ticktock motion. "Not so fast, lass. Ye havenae met my clan. They aren't related to one another by blood, but we are family of a sort---in the manner of the mafia in America or Italy."
The men gather around Dougal in a semicircle, with the top jackass himself standing in front.
I swallow hard. The dryness in my throat makes it difficult. The way these men stare at us---like we're nothing more than obstacles to remove---sends ice rushing through my veins.
The word "clan" makes my skin crawl. I've seen enough crime movies to know what these guys are capable of. Kirk shifts slightly, positioning himself more firmly between me and Dougal's men.
One of the goons takes a menacing step toward me, but Dougal holds up his hand. "She's got spirit, I'll give her that."
Kirk angles his body to shield me better. "Ye've made yer point. "Now take yer men and leave before the situation gets ugly."
Dougal laughs, bending slightly and slapping his thigh. "Ugly? Oh, Kirk, my lad, ye havenae even seen ugly yet."
The bastard looks back at his goons and issues orders in what must be Gaelic. Whatever the scumbag said, Kirk clearly doesn't like it.
Dougal turns to me wearing an evil smile. "Here is the new arrangement, Balfour. Kenny still belongs to me, but now, so does the bonnie Gretchen."
"Like hell she does," Kirk snarls with barely contained rage as he moves closer, squaring his shoulders.
I can the muscles in his back tensing beneath his skin. So, I grab Kirk's arm, though not to hold him back---because honestly, I don't think I could if I tried---but to let him know I'm with him. Whatever this is, we're facing it together.
Dougal's smile doesn't falter. "I disagree, Balfour. Ye see, my clan and I have been spying on ye both. We know yer weaknesses now. And this wee lass---" his gaze slides to me, cold and calculating "---she's yer biggest weakness of all."
"I'm nobody's property," I snap, finding my voice despite the fear clawing at my throat.
Dougal's eyes narrow at my defiance, and I swear the temperature in the room drops ten degrees. "Ye've got a sharp tongue, lass. I like that. It'll make breaking ye all the more satisfying."
Kirk leaps into action so fast I barely register it. One second he's beside me, the next he has Dougal by the throat, shoving him against the wall. The goons immediately reach for weapons concealed beneath their jackets.
Kirk gnashes his teeth. "Touch her, or even think about touching her, and I'll end ye." His face is millimeters from Dougal's. "I dinnae care how many men ye've brought."
My heart hammers. Five against one? Those are odds even Kirk couldn't overcome. Not without getting seriously hurt or worse.
Dougal's men have their weapons drawn.
"They're mostly his cousins and brothers," Kirk tells me in a hushed voice. "But MacWraith's contingent also includes blokes from further away, like Edinburgh, who MacWraith recruited and paid to become henchmen."
Their boss makes a small gesture with his hand that stops them. Even with Kirk's hand at his throat, Dougal seems amused, like this is all going according to some twisted plan.
"Ye think ye can protect her?" Dougal rasps, his voice strained but still taunting. "Ye couldnae even protect Kenny."
Kirk's grip tightens, and I can see the muscles in his arm flex with the effort of not crushing Dougal's windpipe. I'd love to cheer him on, but I'm terrified of what might happen if those goons decide to intervene.
"Kirk." I spoke his name in a hushed tone and tried to keep my voice measured. "Don't give him what he wants. Please be careful."
Dougal's gaze flicks to me, a flash of surprise in his eyes that's quickly masked. "Listen to yer woman, Balfour. She's the smart one between ye."
With visible effort, Kirk releases his grip on Dougal's throat and steps backward. I notice the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he breathes heavily, trying to regain control. "What do ye want, MacWraith?"
"How many times must I say it?" Dougal straightens his collar with exaggerated care. "The lass belongs to me now."
"I'm nobody's property, you slimy piece of garbage," I inform him. "And I'm not going anywhere with you or your discount mafia wannabes."
One of the goons takes a threatening step forward, but Dougal interrupts him with another gesture. The way these men instantly obey orders explains the power dynamic in the room. These aren't your average thugs. They're disciplined, organized, and deadly.
Dougal's eyes narrow, his gaze sliding from me to Kirk and back again. "Ye've trained her well, Balfour. She's got the same pointless courage as you do." His lips curl into a nasty smile. "But I didnae come here to take her today."
Kirk glowers at the creep. "Then what are ye here for, ye piece of shite?"
"To deliver a message." Dougal gestures to one of his men, who walks over to the coffee table.
The goon tosses a small object onto the table.
It lands with a heavy thunk among the remnants of our snack platter.
I recognize it instantly. The object is a small silver pocket watch with a familiar Celtic knot design.
"That's Kenny's watch," Kirk confirms. "It's the one that belonged to his grandfather. How did you get your thieving hands on it?"
Dougal sneers at Kirk. "Ye should ask where I got it from. Or rather, who gave it to me." He pivots toward his men, waving for them to exit the flat. "You'll soon find out what it all means. And once everyone understands, not even an army of your clansmen and mates will be able to save ye then."
With that cryptic threat, he marches out the door with his goons in tow. Within a minute, they've all gone.
Shit. We are in so much trouble.