Chapter Sixteen
In which there is Shepard’s Pie and shocking propositions.
Kai…
“...Send a team down to Wales, there’s word about some chemical shipments to…”
“...This fecking Grayson. His son obviously hates him as much as we do. Can I just kill him already?”
“...Even in the middle of this, we have to decide what to do with…”
I’m used to this. I can follow ten different conversations if I must. The MacTavishes interrupt each other, shout over someone else, circle back to earlier discussions, and take up the narrative halfway through like we should all remember what point they were trying to make.
Instead, I’m staring at my phone. My security cameras pick up Luna’s movements from room to room. She doesn’t seem to be spying, more like trying to understand me. Picking up a picture of me and my parents, she looks at it for a long time, her fingertip tracing the lines of my face. In the kitchen, she opens cabinet doors, shaking her head at my neatly stacked bottles of protein powder, the vegetables and chicken filling the fridge.
It’s a pity I can’t have the sound up because it looks like she’s chastising me for not having any sugar in the house. Grumpily, she settles for some granola and skim milk.
“Did ya hear a single thing I just said, Kai?” Uncle Cameron is gazing at me, brow lifted.
“Aye,” I say, reluctantly putting away my phone. “Ya want to sabotage a shipment of guns that are modified to fire the gas and put them up for sale with a weapon broker for less than usual.”
A slight smile plays along his lips like he knows exactly what I was really doing, but he nods approvingly. “Good lad. Set that up with The Spook, he loves showing off a bargain.”
“I can have them modified, disabled, and trackers installed within forty-eight hours.” My phone buzzes; a text from Kyle, my security guard at the house.
Miss Jones wants to go for a walk and I quote, buy something non-macrobiotic. What should I do?
My thumb moves rapidly over the screen. Your orders have not changed. She canna leave the house.
Clicking back to the security feed, I spot her seated on a kitchen stool and spinning in circles. I smother a chuckle.
The meeting finally ended at about the same time as my will to live. Gratefully rising from my chair, I almost had a clean getaway until Da’s voice stopped me.
“Son, hold back a moment, please. Cormac and I need to know if you’ve made your decision.”
I was so close…
Turning around, I nod respectfully. “Of course.”
When I’m finally freed from what feels like a century-long planning session, I walk through the front door to be accosted by a desperate Luna.
“You’re home! Thank god. I can’t figure out how to work your high-tech TV, and all the books are locked in your study!” She grabs my shirt, “I was this close to trying to cook something, and believe me, you do not want that to happen!”
Gently disentangling her fingers, I say, “Dinna my sister and the others give ya their phone numbers? Ya could have invited one of them over.”
She looks away from me. “I didn’t want to disturb them.”
Lifting her chin with my curled finger, I wait for her to meet my gaze. “The thing ya must understand about this clan is that no one is willing to give out their number just to be polite.” I shake my head. “In fact, none of those women could ever be accused of being in the same zip code as courteous. If they gave ya their number, they will be happy to hear from ya.”
As I head into the kitchen, she follows me like an anxious duckling. “So, what’s the latest about…” She can’t even say the words. “You know, the stuff?”
I pull a blade out of the block of knives and point it at a stool. “Have a seat. I’ll make dinner, and then we’ll talk, aye?”
Her face scrunches up, and it’s a wee bit adorable. “Do you have anything other than kale and chicken breasts? Oh, god. That was so rude, wasn’t it?”
Her awkward apology surprises me into a laugh. I seem to be doing a lot of that these days. Opening the freezer, I pull out an enormous shepherd’s pie. “My mum sends over care packages of high-fat foods monthly in hopes that I will succumb to the inevitable artery-clogging fate of my forefathers. Fortunately for you, she delivered this yesterday.”
Once the food is plated, Luna carries it into the living room, settling everything on the coffee table. I never eat in here, only in the kitchen and occasionally the dining room, but she looks so happy, settling herself on a pillow near the floor-to-ceiling windows, that I’ll let it go.
Just this once.
“I love this view,” she says, “but the glass is weird. It’s so thick.”
“That’s because it’s bulletproofed,” I say, eyeing my slice of shepherd’s pie. The rich brown gravy oozes out between the savory lamb mince and fluffy mash, which has the approximate nutritional value and fat content as a tub of lard. I’m going to need an hour in the gym and a sixteen-kilometer run tomorrow morning to work this off.
And unfortunately, it is delicious. Luna seems to agree as she demolishes half her slice in three bites. She eats like she’s afraid her plate’s going to be taken away from her. But my little revelation about the glass seems to make her lose her appetite as she puts down her fork.
“It’s a hell of a life you lead, Kai MacTavish.”
“It’s a dangerous life, but a grand one,” I say. “The benefits always outweigh the risks.”
She tilts her head, looking a bit like a goldendoodle. “That sounds like something an accountant would say.”
“We’re trained from birth to analyze any situation for its risk-to-benefit ratio. Are there enough exits if we need one in a hurry? Is working with a ketamine-addicted sociopath worth it if he can deliver the weaponry we need in time? Ya balance the two and make your best choice.”
“I really messed up your risk-to-benefit ratio on the island, didn’t I?”
“Ya dinna do that; those arrogant pricks did, thinking they could throw human trafficking on top of their shite-heap of drugs, weapons, and those fight and fuck fests,” I say. Putting down my plate, I lean closer. “It’s time we talk about what happens next.”
Eyes wide, she whispers, “What happens next?”
“Ya marry me.”