Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Mac
“How’d it go?”
Tate’s waiting for me in the car we took to the city, parked just outside the cemetery. It's one of our favorite places to park, because we can easily hide beneath the low-hanging tree branches. It wasn't much of a walk from the city centre, but far enough that she won't see me here.
“Och, better than I fuckin’ expected. Can’t believe I’ve still got it after all these years.”
Tate snorts. “You’re twenty-five fucking years old.
You talk as if you’re an old man.” I laugh and roll my eyes, but the truth is, being a high-ranking member of the Cowen Clan means you age a bit quicker.
I learned to shoot when I was twelve, lost my virginity at fourteen, had my first smoke at sixteen, and witnessed my first execution the same year.
By the time I dropped out of school, I reckoned myself more ready for the world than my damn teachers.
I didn’t need a diploma to help me get a job. I was earning six fucking figures before my twentieth birthday, and mid-six figures before I turned twenty-one. In some countries, that’s the legal age to be drinking. I was a seasoned man by then.
“She fell for it, hook, line, and bloody sinker,” I mutter with a grim smile. I played her so easily it was like taking candy from a baby.
That’s why I feel guilty, I tell myself. It was too easy, no challenge at all.
That’s the only reason I feel guilty.
“Did she?” Tate asks, cranking the engine and making sure we aren’t followed. “Bloody hell, brother. I give you credit. Didn’t think she’d fall that easily. Thought she’d be a bit more wary, ‘specially when she got a whiff of that fuckin’ cologne...”
He winces and laughs when I slug his shoulder.
I stare out the passenger window as he heads out of the city centre and toward the road that takes us north to the Highlands.
"Honestly, I didn't expect it either,” I admit. I look out the window. Thinking.
She's lonely. Repressed. Eager for attention, and I used that to my advantage. I'm doing exactly what Leith wants me to do, exactly what I need to do to avenge my sister, to defend my family.
Then why does it make me feel so bloody awful?
She’s so much more fucking beautiful than she was in the pictures I saw. Her pale blonde hair hangs nearly to her waist, wavy and thick. She wears no makeup except the lightest pink lip gloss. She’s slender but curvy with legs for days.
“I’m coming back tonight to get a drink with her.”
“That’s a lot of fucking driving.” We live thirty minutes from the city centre. Whatever.
I shrug. “I don’t much care. Whatever. It’s worth it. I have to do this. Strike hard and all that.”
He chuckles. “Strike hard, is it? Is it that type of thing, already?”
I immediately conjure up a vision of her naked and on her knees, her gorgeous arse bearing the marks of my palm.
“We’ll see about that.”
We fucking will.
He chuckles.
I’m actually looking forward to seeing her again. There's something about her that attracts me, and it isn't just her stunning beauty, though God, she is a beauty. I enjoyed the brief time I spent with her, and I’m eager to do it again.
“Did you check on MacGowen?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Aye, he’s doing well. Thanked me for the bodyguard. Says there hasn’t been a robbery of the food pantry or the church offering since we put a guard in place.”
“Should’ve done it a long time ago.”
MacGowen’s the Clan chaplain, youngish for a man of the cloth, but witty and bright. He’s covertly friends with the Clan. He’s baptized us, performed weddings, anointed the sick, and buried our dead. He’s as much a part of the Clan as any of us, and we check on him when we head to the centre.
Tate drives quickly, quicker than’s really safe as we go up the steep incline that takes us home, but my mind is preoccupied.
We’re just supposed to be getting a drink tonight. Still, I’ll make sure I butter her up. Pay good attention to her. Do my part in making her fall for me.
I look at her Instagram and find she’s posting pictures to some sort of Save a Turtle fund or something. Why do turtles need to be saved? Why does any type of wildlife need to be saved? Still, I take note. If it’s important to her, it’s important to me now.
Make a donation to the Wildlife Sanctuary. Mention it casually.
Check.
Find out her best friend’s full name and what she’s like.
Next up on the list.
There’s one particular woman she’s friends with, I can tell, because she’s in half of the pictures with Bryn. She’s a buxom lass, a year or two older, with glasses and a ready grin. Name’s Ines, and she lives in the poorest part of the inner city.
Ah. Likely she’ll be sympathetic to the plight of the downtrodden, hmm? Figures I end up needing to seduce a woman with a bleeding heart.
Still, it’s something I can work with, no doubt.
She likes alternative music and jazz, and posts all sorts of pictures of her vegetarian concoctions. I don’t understand the appeal of what should be side dishes alongside the main course involving meat, but whatever.
I scroll back through her posts, and feel my brows rising at the pictures of the things she’s sewn.
She’s bloody talented. There’s a little white baby christening gown, hand-sewn, and a little toddler jumper.
But most impressive is the wedding dress, a delicate affair with lace and pearly buttons.
I laugh at the next picture, though. It isn’t a full-sized dress, but one on a doll. Still impressive.
There isn’t one post on her entire page that has anything at all to do with her family, and I’m not surprised. Her father’s one of the most brutal mobsters in all of Scotland. If I were her, I wouldn’t publicize that either. I’m surprised he even lets her have this. I suppose he may not know.
She has two sisters, much older and already married, a younger brother, and a mother as well as her father.
I don’t know much about her brother, but I’ve asked about the older sisters at length and gotten very little feedback.
They seem to have fled the roost at an early age and not looked back.
No surprise there. Her mother suffered a stroke a little over a year ago, and that’s all I could get.
William’s giving me a full account soon.
“Have you considered renting a flat?” Tate asks, frowning.
I shake my head. “Maybe? She knows literally nothing about us, and visiting us won’t tip her off at all, will it?”
“I don’t know,” Tate says, frowning. “I think you ought to give her more credit than all that.”
“I’ll fish for details tonight,” I tell him with an exasperated eye roll. He’s always the most cautious brother, and it shows.
We get home in time for me to meet with William. The coffee and shortbread from earlier are long gone, and my stomach growls at the scent of chicken soup, roast, and potatoes coming from the kitchen. William joins me in the library, as I shoot Bryn a text.
Hello, gorgeous. Still on for tonight?
She doesn’t answer at first.
Will she?
“Y’alright, Mac?” William asks, coming into the room. He’s an older member of the Clan, my dad’s bookkeeper since I was a wee lad. His blondish hair’s gone a bit gray at the temples.
“Aye, you?”
“Smashing.” He yanks out a little laptop from his shoulder bag and plunks it on the little table in front of him.
“What’d you find?”
My phone buzzes, and I quickly reach for it.
Bryn: Still on? Do you think you’ll rid yourself of me that easily, tough guy? You bet your arse I’m on for tonight, and bring your wallet. I’m awfully thirsty, and gentlemen don’t let women buy their own drinks.
“Jesus, Mac, what the hell is that about?”
I blink in surprise and look up at William. “What?”
“You didn’t hear a bloody thing I said.”
“Did so.”
He quirks a brow at me disbelievingly. “Oh? Then tell me what I just said.”
“You asked me what the hell that was about.”
“Before that.”
“Well, I didn’t hear that bit. So sue me.”
He snorts, shaking his head.
“I said I’ve got some more details for you.” He takes two sheets of printed paper and hands them to me. “But Christ, be careful with that intel, will you?”
I feel my eyes widen at what he gives me. He did a bloody good hack job. He’s got everything from the time and place of her birth, to her major at university, to the color of her bedsheets and her social media passwords.
“Bloody hell,” I mutter.
He smiles. “Good, isn’t it?”
This feels wrong. But no, I have to remind myself what I’m doing and why.
The Aitkens came after my family.
I clench my fists.
I have to avenge them.
A knock sounds at the door, and I yell over my shoulder, “Come in.”
Leith opens the door, Cairstina beside him.
She waves to me and smiles. When she first came here, she was mute, physically unable to speak because of head trauma she experienced as a wee bairn.
But somehow, she found her voice again. Paisley, the more romantic of our two sisters, says it’s because she found love.
Mum agrees. Islan thinks it’s likely. I’m not so sure I believe the power of love is that strong.
Still, even though Cairstina can now speak, she chooses her words sparingly and often only waves or keeps silent when we’re all together. The most I’ve ever heard her speak is when she gets all riled up, and that’s rare.
Bailey, Cairstina’s dog and the Clan watchdog, trots in beside her.
I snap my fingers at him. He trots over to me.
“That’s a good boy,” I tell him, scratching behind his ears. “What’s the story, brother?” I ask Leith.
“Came in to check on how things went in town today.” I look quickly to Cairstina, but she’s kneeling beside Bailey and patting his head. I can’t speak freely in front of her, though everyone in the Clan knows my plans.
“Went better than expected,” I tell him truthfully. “I’ll return this evening.”
He nods. “Good job, Mac. I know you’ll do this well. Has anyone seen Paisley?”