Chapter Forty
In which we learn that violence can be extremely satisfying.
Ethan…
There’s always men who think if their guards surround them, they’re safe. Sometimes, they command enough loyalty that they are. But I suspect a prick like Gavin hired men whose only loyalty is to money. This sort are either easy to take out, or they value their worthless hides enough to disappear when the shooting starts.
“Who’s this Warner arsehole?” I whisper to Morrie. He was thrilled to come along since his only exciting moments tend to be takeaway and Call of Duty. He has the answer almost instantly.
“Ah, a German industrialist. Another arms dealer. He’s got his stubby little fingers in all the local conflicts in Africa. He’s notorious for supplying both sides. He’s been working with Masters for a couple of years.”
“It makes sense that the son of a whore would try to marry off Sloan to him for an alliance,” snorts Catriona. She’s an epic shot, better than most of the men in the clan. She was already seated on her da’s jet when the rest of us showed up, casually mentioning that she was handcuffed to her seat and she’d be coming unless we had the time to try to find the key.
My cousin did a great job of slipping the bug under the table by Gavin as she put out the room service meals. My wife showed her eight fingers, clever thing. Ten more armed men showed up and we have a front-row seat to the ensuing arguments. Cat’s got her hands over her mouth, eyes watering as she tries to choke back laughter when Sloan shows her ring and sneers, “I'm married to Ethan MacTavish, the Scottish Demon,” which sets off another round of screaming and fighting.
Michael nudges me. “I think she likes ya.”
There are seven of us circling the cabana, I have two men perched on top of the surrounding structures with sniper rifles and another back at the boat, guarding our retreat. Eighteen in there. Seven of us out here.
But we’re Scottish. So it’s a fair fight.
“So here’s the layout,” Cat’s sketching the room for us. “The double doors to the patio might be good, but you’ll need to take out the two men patrolling outside. Masters is sitting in a wingback chair by the doors, there’s three men guarding the guy with the paperwork at the dining room table. "Most importantly…” she makes a long slash to indicate a couch and adds three stick figures. “Sloan, her brother, and the nurse. When I was in there, they had two arseholes hovering over ‘em, one with his gun to Sloan’s head.”
The shouting’s getting louder inside the cabana and the front door slams open, the German and his entourage get back into a Range Rover and roar off, tires spraying shell fragments.
“Morrie, send up a drone and when I give the signal drop something large and explosive on that car. I want everyone inside incinerated.”
“It’ll be my pleasure, Boss!” he says happily.
“Things are getting bad in there,” Michael frowns, listening to the feed. “Shite. Gavin’s up and he just cocked his gun.”
I curse silently. There’s no way to warn my wife about what’s about to happen. “Throw in the flashbangs.” Pulling on my goggles, I count. “Three… two… one.”
A searing light explodes inside the cabana and a percussive thump drowns out the screams and shouts.
Sloan…
The world exploded.
It feels like I’m underwater, thrashing slowly like a turtle, trying to find my way to shore. My flailing hand grabs Nate’s arm, and I pull him off the couch, trying to shove him under the wicker base. Carmella’s foot is the next thing I feel and she kicks out at me violently, making contact with my cheek. Eyes watering, I keep yanking on it until she’s on the floor with us.
My ears are ringing violently, though I know the rapid thudding sounds must be bullets. Pushing Carmella and Nate together, I start crawling across the floor in the direction of my backpack. My hand slips on something, making my chin painfully hit the tile. It’s blood, a big, spreading pool of it but I can’t be lucky enough to have it be from Gavin’s murderous hide. My knee touches something soft and I stifle a scream.
I’m crawling over a body.
I’m inches away from the dark, wavering shape of the chair and the black lump that I know is my backpack. Someone grabs my ankle and this time I scream, kicking furiously with my other foot, fingers reaching desperately for the backpack.
My ankle’s gripped by a hand and my invisible attacker digs their fingers into my other calf, trying to pull me back. My fingertips just brush the canvas strap of my backpack and I grip it, swinging my bag over my head with all my strength and hit them, hearing a pained grunt before they let go of my leg.
Curling up by the chair, I frantically rifle through my bag, finally feeling the reassuring weight of the Glock and yanking it out. My eyes are still stinging and watering, everyone just looks like a white blob. I can’t shoot. I don’t know who to shoot at.
I just hope Ethan does.
Ethan…
What the feck is my wife doing?
Sloan pulls Nate and Carmella down to huddle by the base of the couch, then she army crawls across the floor. God- damnit that makes her an open target! She’s heading for a backpack crumpled against a chair, crawling over a dead body and kicking another man violently as he tries to pull her back.
I’m pinned down behind a side wall that should disintegrate at any moment from the hailstorm of bullets, shouting directions into my headset.
“Who’s close to Sloan? She’s in the middle of the living room, some bastard’s dragging her down.”
Before anyone answers, Sloan swings the backpack over her head in a move that would make her old tennis coach proud, knocking the man unconscious. Her eyes are streaming with tears and squinted, trying to regain her vision after the flashbang grenade.
“Sloan, stay down!” I shout, “Dinna move!”
Rolling out from the retaining wall, I land on my back and take out the weasel-faced feck who’s about to shoot her. Fortunately, I still have my vision. His shot goes wide and mine sinks into his forehead.
“Clear!” Michael reports, “Everyone down in my area.”
“Aye, no sign of life,” Patrick says, “Nate and Carmella are safe and under the sofa.”
“Who’s got eyes on Masters?” I said, sweeping the room with my gun.
“He was scampering into the kitchen last,” Catriona says.
“Take Nate and Carmella outside. I dinna want him to see the bodies,” I say. “Stay vigilant, we still don’t have Masters' location.”
I kick the body of the attorney aside, bloody, stained papers raining down on him and an expression of outraged surprise frozen on his face.
“You fucking think I’ll let you live?”
It’s Sloan. Vaulting over the kitchen counter, I tear out the back door. She’s got her stepfather pinned against the bamboo fence, holding a gun to his head, nice and steady.
“It’s just business, honey. You know that!” He’s got his hands up and this eejit still thinks he can talk his way out of this. “I had a good marriage lined up for you. Christoph is practically German royalty.”
“You killed my mother!” she screams, her hand beginning to shake. “You poisoned my brother! You were going to kill him and Carmella! I’m putting a bullet in your fucking head and no one will miss you!”
“Wife.” I step up to her, nice and slow. “Sweet wife, I dinna want ya to have this on your conscience. Let me do it for ya.”
“No,” she says, choking back a sob. “I have to do this. For my family.”
“MacTavish, she’s nuts,” Masters bleats anxiously, “we’re businessmen. We can make a deal.”
Pulling out my Smith & Wesson, I step behind Sloan. “Sweetheart. Let me do this for you.”
Her shaking hand lands on top of mine, holding the gun. “We do it together.”
Masters is a man who is comfortable killing with impunity, but it’s clear he’s never considered that death would come for him. His hands fly up in an appeasing gesture. “Wait. Wait wait! I can-”
I line up the shot, and his head snaps back, splattering the fence with blood and brain matter.
There’s little time for a clean-up, so my team opens up the propane valve fueling the stove, throws a flashlight in the microwave for two minutes, and the cabana explodes, lighting up the resort like it’s high noon as we run for the boat.
Sloan keeps her arms around Nate, who's giving her a thorough rundown on the last few months. She doesn’t let go of him, nodding and murmuring questions when it looks like he’s slowing down.
Carmella plops down heavily next to me. “Sorry,” she says, “I don’t have my sea legs.”
“No worries.” I offer my hand. “Ethan MacTavish, Sloan’s husband.”
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting the man who turned her world upside down,” she says with a wry smile.
“To be fair, she up-ended my life first.”
“I believe that,” Carmella laughs. She leans her head against the seat. “So what happens now, Ethan?”
“We all head back to Edinburgh, ya consult with our medical staff and tell us what Nate needs next. You’re family, I hear, so I hope you’ll stay with us.”
She smiles, and I realize that my wife is not the only one who’s carried this family on her shoulders.
After everyone’s settled on the jet and we’re back in the air, I take Sloan’s hand, putting her in the chair next to me. Nate’s asleep, his mouth slightly open, and Carmella’s chatting with Patrick and Catriona.
“How are ya feeling, my wife?”
She’s having a hard time looking at me. “Do you hate me?”
Playing with her fingers, I think about what to say. “Of course not. I know why ya react this way. But I’m raging that you’d put yourself in danger.”
Something occurs to her. “Wait. How did you find me so fast? You have to have been there less than an hour after I arrived.”
I slide my hand around her neck, stroking over a little bump on the back just under her skin. "I inserted a tracker when you were so sick. Ya dinna even notice."
“You!” Her pretty pink mouth is open, she’s so enraged. “You chipped me? Like- like a cat or something?”
“Every MacTavish has a tracker,” I say calmly, “it’s how we can find someone if they’re in danger.”
She can’t seem to get over the first point. “You chipped me!”
I take her chin, forcing her to look at me. “And you’re alive, wife. Because if I lost ya…” Now it’s my turn to swallow and look away. “If I lost ya, nothing else would have mattered.” Placing a long slow kiss on her mouth, I murmur, “Because I love ya.”
Sloan looks even more shocked than she did about the tracker. “You do? Even after everything I’ve done to make your life a mess?”
“For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health,” I remind her. “Aye, I do.”
She crawls into my lap, ignoring the blood on me and a couple of burn marks on my shirt from the explosion. “I love you,” she says firmly, kissing me again. “I do. You saved my family. You saved me.”
I tuck her head under my chin and we just sit there for a moment, enjoying the quiet in our little corner.
“While we’re in this moment of complete honesty,” she says, “I have to tell you that you look even hotter with all these new cuts and wounds. I recognize this makes me a sick human being, but there you go.”
Chuckling, I tilt her head up for a kiss. “Well, darlin’ so am I. Being twisted freaks is a sound foundation for a successful marriage. At least in our clan.”
She starts giggling weekly, and I close my eyes and smile.