Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Leith
Behind my Wayfarers I scan my gaze over the guests, all invited by me. Aaron’s younger sister Katie, his former boss and one of his colleagues, our mutual friend Whiting, and Declan, who met Aaron a few times.
A distant cousin of Alec Ramsay officiates, murmuring words from a prayer book.
“We commend to Almighty God our brother Aaron Frye; and we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him and give him peace. Amen.”
As he says this, Katie and Whiting sprinkle dirt over Aaron’s lowered casket. Everyone mutters Amen, and we approach the grave, communing silently with our brother and friend, untimely lost. Alan Sparhawk’s Stranger plays low on the officiant’s phone.
When I heard, eleven days ago, that Aaron had been shanked in prison, my immediate reaction was rage. Rage at his murderer. Rage at the injustice that had landed him behind bars for a crime he didn’t commit. Rage at Iona De Monroy, who put him there.
Almost immediately I turned my rage into something controllable—calculation.
I vowed to avenge my best friend, the man I called Kenzie in my memoir, whom I’d known since eighteen and who helped earn me my job with the Syndicate.
Aaron had a criminal past, but he never would’ve forced a woman, as De Monroy claimed.
I think back to the night of Aaron’s death, when I drove over to Declan’s bit.
* * *
“An eye for an eye is only fitting,” I snarl, staring into the golden whisky Declan has set before me. “Iona is responsible for Aaron’s death, so her life is next.”
He perches his massive frame on the stool opposite. “Do it circumspectly, mate. You don’t want them tracing anything back to you.”
A vicious grin slides up my lips. “I’ll marry her first. Torture her before taking her life in a way only a husband can.”
I’ll break Iona De Monroy, systematically, ruthlessly, and enthusiastically.
“How will you do it?” Declan tosses back a swallow of his drink.
“First, a reconnaissance. She’s a book influencer.
” I’ve had plenty of time to research Aaron’s enemy.
“I’ll make sure she interviews me at the book signing on Saturday.
Afterwards, I’ll lure her in, make her seek me out for a favor.
” I roll my tongue over my lower lip. “Then I’ll blackmail her into marriage. ”
Declan’s hazel eyes gleam with grim satisfaction. “If you need me for anything, you ken I’m here for you.”
For the past eight years, since I joined the Syndicate, Declan has always been there for me. Though I advise his father and uncle, Diran and Callum, I’ve always been closest to him.
“Thanks, mate.” I tip back my glass, reviewing possible scenarios for how to get rid of a wife subtly.
* * *
Now a silent chuckle falls from my lips.
It’s going to be immense fun breaking Iona.
I recall yesterday, sitting opposite her at the sofa, the sun bringing out the natural burgundy highlights of her hair.
Russet, auburn, and burnished copper mix in her shoulder-length locks, the origin of my nickname for her.
I nearly lost myself in the pearlescent depths of her blue-green-grey eyes.
Nothing about her is simple. Even her skin is peaches-and-cream, a blend of pink and pale.
Her nose has a soft hook, pointing down to pillowy lips that jut forward slightly.
Lips made for kissing. Her high, tear-drop cheeks make me want to trace them with my thumb pads, while her delicate throat begs to be bitten.
From the moment she arrived at the interview I knew I had to have her.
Her low, silken voice made my cock stir and heat flash through my core.
Oh, I’ll enjoy undoing her, unraveling her thread by thread, starting with whatever she came to see me about.
She’s hiding plenty, as I could tell from all she didn’t say at the bar.
As I watch the gravedigger pile dirt over Aaron’s casket, my source of guilt for the past four years surges forth.
I didn’t defend him myself when he was charged with the assault because I was swamped with cases for the Syndicate and didn’t want to do poorly by my best friend.
Instead, I hired the best criminal defense lawyer money could buy.
But the prosecution attacked Aaron’s character and pointed to the fact that he’d already served two prison sentences for facilitating illegal gambling.
He was tried on indictment, the jury found him guilty, and the judge sentenced him to five years.
A large hand claps me on my shoulder, and Declan’s full baritone sounds low at my ear. “Come tell me all about him over a pint.”
I tip my head at Katie and Whiting in solemn communion, then trudge after Declan toward the car park. As if in sympathetic mourning, the heavens open up, and fat raindrops splat on the pavement.
“The Yellow Salamander?” Declan raises the collar of his jacket.
“Sure.”
Fifteen minutes later we’re settling in a VIP booth at the popular bar-club, one of half a dozen Declan owns and manages.
Pitbull and Ke$ha’s Timber keeps the mood lively, while a twenty- and thirty-something crowd press against each other with the enthusiasm and tolerance of clubbers at two in the morning.
One of the waitresses who’s always had a thing for Declan, a blonde named Susan, sashays over to us.
I’ll give her this: she reads the room. Her body language and tone are somber and respectful. “If you laddies need a pick-me-up, I have a few I can recommend.”
“Aye, we’ll hear your recs,” Declan drawls.
As she rattles off various cocktails, I tune out, thinking of Iona’s muscular thighs as she swished toward me in her dress at the book convention.
Is all that from cycling? I wanted to reach under her skirt and grab her legs, pulling her so she straddled me in my lap.
If given the chance, I’d bite into the firm flesh of her round thigh till she cried out and my stoner?1 leaked sticky pre-cum.
Declan’s soft chuckle breaks into my reverie. “What’re ye havin’, mate? Incidentally, you look like you’ve solved insomnia.”
I crook a salacious brow. “Mibbe I have.”
He chuffs a good-natured laugh.
After putting in our orders, we lean in like revolutionary co-conspirators.
“Tell me all,” he invites.
I twist my lips in a wry smile. “He understood things, you ken? Things I didn’t include in my memoir.”
Declan nods sagely. “Things you embellished, you mean.”
“Aye,” I concede. Though I’m not about to tell Declan all, I decide to give him something, as my good friend and confidant within the Crew. “At times I had to be clever to survive.”
“You mean at most times,” Declan fills in.
I tip back my drink. “Aaron kent?2 all my dodges and said nary a word to a soul, nor did he condemn me.”
“He was your vault,” Declan intuits.
“Exactly.” I heave a labored sigh. It’s surreal to be confessing to another living soul what only Aaron knew up to this point. “I didn’t leave home at seven for the reasons I stated in my book.”
Declan cracks a knowing half-smile. “I figured as much.”
“Nor did I take off on the ship to Argentina under the exact circumstances I described.”
He tilts his head. “I sensed you were a man of mystery.”
* * *
I always knew Wylie Annand spelt trouble because Maw threatened to ship me off to him if I didn’t obey her and Da. But until now I didn’t know just how repulsive he was.
“Cummoan, boy.” He edges closer as I stand on guard near the bookcase. “Ye’ve got a high voice and an awkward gait, but ye’ll do.”
“They’re looking down on you,” I gasp out, my heart in my throat and galloping a mile a second.
Da and Maw have been dead for nearly a year, but if their spirits are anywhere, surely they can see and hear this sick scene. They may not have treated me well, but even they wouldn’t want this.
“Are they noo?” He leers, his lecherous eye twitching in the telltale sign that he’s about to pounce.
“Then let them give us a sign. I’m waitin’.
” He advances, his dark beard gleaming blue in the twilit room.
He places a finger behind his ear dramatically.
“Nowt??3 Why then, I do believe that’s an invitation for me to carry on. ”
I clench my fists at my sides. “I don’t want the money.”
He barks a crude laugh. “It’s just as well, since I like it myself.” His lips curl into a mean twist. “Whoever said ye’d get it, son?”
“Their will. The trust. I’m to have it when I’m eight?—”
“Words, words. Who’s taking care of that trust? Who’s taking care of you?” he sneers, advancing another two steps. “Och, I’ll take care of you, all right.”
* * *
Declan waves a hand in front of me, his expression solicitous. “Where’d you disappear to, Leith? Y’awright?”
I pass a hand over my face. “Aye.” I shake my head as if to rid my brain of the memories. “Just reliving an unwanted moment.”
“You wan’ tae talk about it?”
“Nah.” I drain my drink, looking about for our waitress. “Let’s talk more about Aaron.”
Eight months. That’s all it took for me to go radge.?4
I was a fucking pathetic teen, but enough was eventually enough.
“What was it about him that set you at ease?” Declan finishes his own glass.
I gaze at Declan’s rough, callused hands. “He understood suffering. That suited me just fine.”
* * *
The next day at my work office I’m sifting through documents on my laptop, when a knock sounds on my door frame.
Diran fills the doorway, his impressive stature reminding me how his two sons, Darian and Declan, came to be so huge.
Like his twin brother Callum, Diran has a wide, round face, ice-blue eyes, and greying hair that used to be acorn-brown.
His solid jaw favors Darian’s, and like his older son he has a quick temper.