as if I’m somehow better for being my own man and charting my own course.
Brody’s the feckin’ brute. Camdyn is the quiet one, who I’m sure appreciated the solitude of setting the table to a T. But what my brathairs have in common is killing.
Brody pumps iron like a madman. He’ll use his fists to bash a man’s face in. Camdyn appreciates dissecting his enemy while wearing headphones, listening to music. Mam let Cam have at an enemy once. The bastard returned as if he’d attended a therapy session. Around the table, four more wee brathairs of mine are joking quietly among themselves, but they’ll learn under Da’s training one day.
Me?
The bloody feckin’ normal guy.
The good lad who paved his own way, creating a legacy aside from the MacKenzies.
The eejit who attempted to talk Mr. Jiang down before my MacKenzie instincts got the better of me.
I rub the back of my neck. When I look up, Brody’s pawing his beard in contemplation. He regards me like he did when he got me wrecked off a few good pints. It was the first time Mam gave the okay for me to drink. He helped me off my arse, told me to wipe the bit of boke from my mouth, and gave me gum. So, later tonight, I’ll bond with him over the deid fecker in my trunk. I owe my big brathair that.
For the next few hours, we climb on top of each other, shouting and eating. It’s like the first time Chevelle came for dinner, except then Cam was a wee tot and Jamie a new bairn. Now, there are three more bairns, and my younger brathairs are in a match to dominate the conversation with the rest of us. Even Erika and Chevelle are talking together.
Finally, Mam, Da, and my youngest brathairs hit the road. Camdyn says he’ll stick around to watch Mia for us. He’s a good uncle and all. But he has an agenda. As soon as her head hits the pillow, the teen will be twiddling his fingers on his cellphone, begging a friend to pick him up. On his way out, the bastard will have swiped a bottle of my alcohol as barter for gas.
“You,” I snatch Camdyn’s cellphone from his hand as he sits in the corner of the living room, “keep an eye on the lassies.”
“I am.”
“Nae,” Brody heckles. “Listen good, ye American.”
Camdyn begins to sneer. “Fuck you!”
I skelp the back of his head. “Keep an eye on all of ‘em.”
Our little brathair was born in our homeland, and though we visit at least once a year, he doesn’t sound like us. With all the twiddling he does on his cellphone, there isn’t any other nickname we can give him. Camdyn is the American.
I smile as Camdyn slaps my next attempt to pop him. He asks, “Where are the two of you assholes going?”
“Dinna worry yerself,” I reply.
“And they call me the sneaky one.”
“I need to chat with this nugget.” Brody claps my shoulder. “That enough answer for ye, Cam?”
I pull out my wallet and toss a few dollars in his lap.
Camdyn’s white row of teeth shine. “Now, you’re speaking my language, Leith. Though, I would’ve done it for free. Watching my sister-in-law’s ass as she sashays around the house is enough payment for—”
Brody grips me about the waist as my fist glides toward Camdyn.
“Ohhh, fight!” Mia stops staring at the television. Erika and Chevelle are coming from the kitchen with a bottle of wine. My wife cocks a brow, and I pat the top of Camdyn’s head. Leaning down near his ear, I whisper, “Keep breathing, American.”
Chapter 8
Leith
A few minutes later, Brody and I stand at the trunk. He leans in to get a good look at the stiff. Jiang’s body is curled in a ball.
“Och, boke!” He wriggles his nose, pretending to gag. “Wit happened?”
“The feck’s it look like?”
“Who’s the eejit?”
“Nae. I can assure ye the lad was quite smart, well, on paper.” I shrug my shoulders.
“I assume so. Or he didna go down after that clean shot to his brain.”
I roll my eyes. Da trained us to go for the kill shot. So, Brody’s taking a stab at how I shot Jiang in the knee first. “It’s a mess. My mess.”
“So? Ye’re a MacKenzie, Leith. Ye can go around chumming it up with university scholars. Then when shite goes south, ye come to me, not go it alone. I’m yer brathair!”