this time, he adds, “And if ya wanna see it that way, wanna believe the lies, then aye, I’m a murderer like yer da, but—”
“But?” I catch his gaze, swallowing a boulder of unease. “What makes you different from him?”
Leith’s voice drops to a poignant whisper, twining a gruff that’s as rough and soft as satin. “I’ll not ever let ye go.”
Internally, I’m shaking like a leaf. Our love scares the ever-loving daylights outta me. The desire I have for him. The fear of him leaving or dying. The fear of what my love could do to him.
“Just so ye’re not wondering, my Crabbit Chevelle, the moment I leave ye, I’m gonna torture Yates until his last breath. While I do, I’ll figure out the dynamics of us because there will forever be ye and me—together. Nae more silly vows.”
I chuckle. “Silly? Being law-abiding is silly?”
“Being someone other than I am, that’s silly!”
At the bass in Leith’s voice, I turn around and regard him.
“I’m a MacKenzie, Chevelle! And another thing, I’m pretty good at troubleshooting with blood on my hands.”
Looking like a stranger I’ve never met, Leith steps over the wooden door on the ground and stalks from the room. I grind my teeth. Leith MacKenzie was right about one thing. My father’s eyes were drowning in love for my momma. After all these years of reflection, had I gotten it wrong? If so, I’ve tormented my husband in vain for years. And if Daddy hadn’t murdered Momma, who killed them and why?
Chapter 50
Leith
For ages, I’ve denied myself certain basic rights as a MacKenzie, which I’ll nae longer abstain from. Chevelle once called me the Funny Scot. Now, the Savage Scot has taken his reign. My inner beast’s unbridled. I’m in the basement of my parents’ home. Yates was brought to us on his knees. A cousin of mine who lives in San Bernardino found him at a private airport. He’d made use of one of those offshore accounts to pay a crooked pilot for a flight out of the country. That’s how I found him, following the money.
The wee fecker was in the hangar, ready to board when my cousin arrived. Had I been working alone, that scabby wankstain would’ve fled.
Now, Yates is no longer capable of screaming, not that his cries had any bearing. These impenetrable vaulted walls hold ghastly secrets.
Blood drips from the tip of the steel hammer fisted in my hand. The broken skin at the wee lad’s knees and legs reveals fractured bone from where the hammer has mauled him. The MacKenzie clan ain’t just henchmen. Our da enlightened us on a few things, from current to historical forms of defeating an opponent. Brody and I read how English prisoners were tortured in Edinburgh as authorized by the Stuart monarchy. It had never been useful information, but I never had a taste for vengeance either. It’s gone down very sweetly as of tonight.
I nudge Yates’ feeble, sweat-stained chin with the hammer. “So, ye planned to use me to kill yer friends, Douglas? I was yer last step before leaving the country with the money ye stole from Phelps? I noticed that the scheming the two of ye had done through Infinity Corp stalled since the last nugget who ye blackmailed died.”
A couple of beats pass before his head shifts side to side. In a curdled voice, he denies my assumption.
“So, what?” I snarl. “Was I to die the same way? In some seemingly freak accident, aye? Was I the last part of the puzzle? Ye use me to kill Phelps then run off into the sunset? Ye’re not just a wee bawbag. Nae, ye’re a coward!”
In a huff of exhaustion, Yates’ eyelids fall.
“Nae?” I tap him with the flat of the hammer. “Wakey, wakey, mate.”
I’m placing my thumb against the faint pulse at his neck when I hear footsteps. Brody appears at the farthest side of the room. “Damn, thought ye were Cam,” I say.
“Wit, yer mate die? Mam won’t appreciate that.”
“Nae, not deid. Aye, I remember the skelping she gave Da the last time someone almost croaked under this roof.”
Pawing at his beard, Brody looks over my work, nodding slowly. “Knew ye had it in ya. Now, did ye tell Chevelle the shootout was all her fault?”
“Nae!” I wag the hammer in his face. “Try me. Ye will find yerself on a feckin’ slab next to this ned.”
I sense my big brathair has more questions. Instead, Brody plucks up a utility knife, “May I?”