Chapter 3 Mac
MAC
Shards of light were like sharp needles poking through my eyelids.
My head pounded.
Groaning, I was helpless against the brightness. It pried my heavy, aching lids open, and I muttered a string of curses as I blinked against the sunlight streaming in through the windows in Lachlan’s stage office.
What the hell?
The room swayed, nausea roiling within as I sat up from where I’d been sleeping on the couch. The stiff muscles in my neck ached. “How the … oh, fuck.” I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Elbows to knees, I cradled my head in my hands and tried to remember the night before.
It came back to me in a rush of images. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
No wonder I felt like hell.
I’d gotten absolutely shit-face blootered at the reception. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d drank that much whisky.
Yet it was the only way I knew how to get through my daughter’s wedding reception after that scene in this room.
I stood up too fast, wondering why I’d returned to the office after that moment with Arro.
My gaze narrowed on the shattered paperweight I’d launched at Lachlan’s bookshelves.
Bloody Nora, I hoped it hadn’t been expensive, because it was coming out of my paycheck.
I had to get out of this room. I couldn’t think about her.
Her expression—the pain, the fury, the humiliation—flashed across my vision, and I almost threw up right there. Resting a hand on the couch, I drew in a shuddering breath and gathered myself.
I needed aspirin, water, and when I was ready, food.
Focusing on that goal, I made sure my kilt covered everything vital and strode out of the office, forcing myself not to lean into the dizziness.
The castle was awake with activity, staff moving back and forth, guests preparing to leave. A few staff members nodded in greeting, and I nodded back, wondering if I looked as green as I bloody felt.
Then, as if being punished, the first person I saw descending the stairs in the great hall was Grayson Evans.
Not once in the fifteen years I’d known Evans did I have a problem with him. He was Lachlan’s mate. He seemed like an all right bloke. But as that fucker’s gaze locked with mine and he grinned as he approached, I had to curl my hands into fists to keep from decking him.
“Hey, Mac, how are you this morning? Gotta admit, I’m fighting a hangover.”
I took in the small carry-on he rolled beside him, then drifted up the staircase.
No Arro.
Yet I’d watched her leave the reception with this bastard last night.
Did her absence mean she’d left already?
Grayson looked far too relaxed for my liking.
Had this bastard slept with Arro? Jealousy was a tight knot, twisting and twisting in my gut until I couldn’t stand it.
It was not an unfamiliar feeling. Arro had dated a few men since that New Year’s Eve we first kissed, and I’d hated every single one of the arseholes.
“Hey, man, you okay?” Gray frowned when I didn’t answer.
I nodded. “Fine.”
Gray narrowed his eyes. “Okay. Hungover, I get it. Well, I’ll see you around. Stay cool, Mac.”
Stay fucking cool? Was he kidding? I tried not to sneer as I nodded again, watching him leave, hoping that he didn’t carry Arro’s number on his phone.
Sighing, I stepped aside as other guests came downstairs, some walking toward the dining room where breakfast would be served, others heading out the front door to depart. There was no way I could drive myself home, no matter the short distance. I’d have to ask one of my team to drive me.
What an arse. I’d made a right nuisance of myself.
“Mac.”
I glanced over as Robyn and Lachlan descended the staircase and strode toward me. My nausea was overtaken with pride and gratitude as I looked at my daughter and friend. Neither of them looked hungover but were fresh-faced and so happy, it was infectious. I couldn’t help but smile.
“Dad.” Robyn stood on tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “You look a little worse for wear.”
“Too much whisky.” I blanched, scratching my unshaven cheeks. Almost a beard now, I thought absentmindedly. “I didn’t do anything embarrassing … right?”
Lachlan snorted. “You flirted so much with Jasmine, I thought Autry would kill you, but other than that, no.”
“Fuck,” I huffed in disbelief. What a prick. “I’ll apologize.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Robyn assured me. “Autry knows you were drunk, and from what I gather, Jasmine enjoyed the fruits of his jealousy.”
I grimaced. “Right. Well …” I glanced over their casual outfits, and realization hit me. Their Hawaiian honeymoon. “Shit, are you leaving now?”
“Aye,” Lachlan said just as Wakefield, the estate butler, appeared like magic.
“Sir, your luggage is loaded and your driver is ready.”
“Thank you, Wakefield.”
“Wakefield—” I caught him before he could leave. “Could you ask one of the men to bring a car around for me? I’m afraid I’m unable to drive myself home.”
His expression forever neutral, he nodded. “Of course, sir.”
“You should stay and eat something first.” Robyn’s brows pinched with worry.
I reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s just a hangover. And I’d prefer to be alone to deal with it.”
I’d tried to inject humor into my tone, but my daughter studied my face as if burrowing for secrets. She saw too much.
“Come on.” I released her. “You don’t want to miss your flight.”
The three of us strode across the hall and out onto the gravel driveway where several cars lined up to leave. Lachlan led us to a black Range Rover. It was part of the estate fleet but for his personal use. An estate chauffeur, Richie, was behind the wheel waiting for them.
Robyn suddenly reached for me, and I enveloped her, surprised by how hard she hugged me. I held her closer to reassure her, but still she whispered, “When I get back, we’re going to talk about what’s going on with you.” She kissed my cheek and murmured, “Love you so much.”
I swallowed past a lump of emotion. “Love you more than life, wee birdie.” The words came out scratchy and hoarse. “Have a wonderful time.”
She patted my chest and climbed into the back of the SUV.
I clapped Lachlan on the shoulder. “Take care of her. And by that, I also mean no work. She’s the only thing you need to think about while you’re away. We’ve got everything covered here.”
My best friend and boss smirked. “You know me too well. But I promise, I will focus on only Robyn.”
“You deserve this,” I said quietly.
And he did. The Lucy Wainwright trial had been in mid-February and lasted two weeks.
After teaming up with Fergus (the estate mechanic and childhood best friend of Brodan and first boyfriend of Arrochar’s), former actor Lucy had wrought devastation on the club.
She and Lachlan had ended their casual relationship a while ago, but he nor anyone had realized she was in love with him.
After she found herself ostracized from Hollywood by the powerful wife of a lover, Lucy grew obsessed with getting Lachlan back.
As if somehow he could fix her life. She believed creating a problem for him and then proving she was his greatest support through it all would push him back into her arms.
It started small, with adoring messages scrawled against walls.
Then it turned darker, the messages more threatening, a deer’s carcass left along with an ominous note.
Vandalism. Then I got fucking stabbed, unaware at the time that the perpetrator was Fergus.
Only Arro and I knew the reason I was stabbed was because Fergus knew Arro had feelings for me.
Thinking he was her friend, she’d confessed it to him.
Secretly still in love with Arro, Fergus had tried to wipe out who he viewed as his competition.
Fergus also attacked Robyn in her trailer, but thankfully couldn’t best her.
Realizing Lachlan was growing increasingly involved with Robyn, Lucy then staged her own attack and had Fergus lock her in the freezer in the club kitchen to garner Lachlan’s sympathy and attention.
One of my men, a good man, a good friend, Greg McHugh, was killed when he cornered Fergus during the incident.
Fergus gutted him. If the bastard weren’t already dead, I’d have ended him myself just for that.
Lucy beat me to it. They kidnapped Lachlan and took him to an abandoned shed located on land owned by a local farmer, Collum McCulloch.
They lured Robyn there, pretending Lucy was Fergus’s victim too.
Lucy “freed” herself and shot Fergus point-blank in the head.
She was going to do the same to Robyn and Lachlan, all because they’d fallen in love, but Robyn was one of the toughest women I knew, and she overpowered the deranged bitch.
Lucy was charged, and it took awhile, but they finally extradited her to the US.
Of course, as she was Hollywood’s sweetheart and Lachlan was also famous, it meant the trial was global news.
We all flew to the US, since we were witnesses in the case, and I upped security around us, hiring men from an American company I often used to secure my family.
The paparazzi were all over us, but we got through it.
Lucy’s defense team entered a plea of insanity, but she’d been independently diagnosed by a handful of psychologists who all agreed Lucy was not insane but suffered from narcissistic and antisocial personality disorders.
For the murder of Fergus, being an accessory to the murder of Greg, and for the attempted murder of Lachlan and Robyn, she was sentenced to thirty-five years without the possibility of parole.
While incarcerated, she was to receive rehabilitation, but I knew enough about the prison system to know resources like that weren’t always available. Only time would tell.
“Aye.” Lachlan nodded. “We all do. We can all move on now. Dad.”
I glowered. “Don’t even—”
Lachlan burst into laughter. “It’s bloody weird, right? I am now your son-in-law.”
“Maybe so, but call me Dad again, and I’ll deck you.”
He laughed harder and drew me into a hug where we pounded our fists against each other’s backs to make the display of affection seem more manly. “As long as you never call me ‘son.’”
Grinning, I shoved him toward the car. “A promise I can keep, I assure you.”
I watched Robyn and Lachlan drive away, heading toward paradise and peace, and a deep bloody melancholy fell over me like a shroud.
It was supposed to be a happy time for us as a family. The victory of justice. Moving on. Robyn and Lachlan getting married. All of us closer than ever.
But I’d gone and fucked it up royally only a few weeks after Lucy’s trial ended.
Arro hated me.
Truly.
Abruptly, my stomach turned, and I hurried around the corner of the castle, out of sight.
It was just in time as the vomit rose up and out.
After a few seconds of upchucking, I leaned on the wall, wiped my mouth with a shaking hand, and forced back the sting of tears.
“Fucking get yourself together, man,” I whispered bitterly and pushed away from the wall to find something to clean up my mess.